Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set

by Deborah Garner

  “The doves are particularly exquisite. I’ve bought a few pieces myself.”

  Paige let her head rest to one side as Lena released it and moved around the table, lifting one of Paige’s arms up and tucking the sheet underneath it. Starting with the upper arm, she worked more lotion into the muscles, gently pulling down toward the hands as she went along. After working on Paige’s hand, she applied pressure on each of Paige’s fingers and then moved to the other arm, repeating the motions.

  Maybe I’ll just stay on this table for the rest of my visit.

  Lena moved once again to Paige’s head, this time working along the base of the neck and up around the ears and forehead. She finished with a light scalp massage, finally stepping away.

  “I’ll be outside when you’re ready to come out. Take a few minutes to relax.”

  It was a solid five minutes before Paige forced herself up off the table. Feeling otherworldly, she donned the spa robe again, and left a generous tip on the counter. When she stepped out into the hall, Lena was waiting to make sure she felt well.

  “Thank you so much,” Paige said. “That was heavenly. I hope you stick around Tres Palomas. If you do, I’ll be tempted to return like all those other believers in the waters and the spa.”

  “I do love it here, but we’ll see. I have obligations that may take me out of town for a few months.” Lena said. “Maybe you’ll have time for another session before you go back to New York.”

  “I hope so.” Paige thanked Lena again and headed for the dressing room.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Paige watched as Sylvia, Martha and others mingled in the lobby, surrounded by suitcases. Martha held a foil packet of pan dulce, which Luz had wrapped up for her after she’d praised the round, cinnamon and sugar covered buns at breakfast. Several others had taken boxes of food to go, unable to finish the spread Luz had set out for their last morning at the resort.

  “Where’s your next stop?” Paige asked Sylvia, who was inspecting the glass case that held jewelry, pottery and other artwork.

  “Durango, Colorado,” Sylvia said, turning to face Paige. She pulled an itinerary out of a tote bag with a Route 66 emblem on the side, unfolding the schedule and looking it over. “Yes, Durango is next, but with some stops along the way. Let’s see….”

  “I don’t need to see the itinerary,” Martha piped up. “I studied it yesterday while I soaked in the iron pool. We’re stopping at Taos Pueblo and then we go on to visit wool weavers at Tierra Wools before we reach Durango,” Martha continued. “Now that’s what I’m looking forward to, the weavers. I want to pick up some yarn for a sweater I’m planning to make. Maybe purple, if they have it.” She beamed. “I love yarn shopping.”

  “You might need some red, too,” Sylvia said.

  “Oh, yes, and maybe some pink.” Martha tapped a finger against her lips, thinking over the collection of yarn she might acquire.

  “We’re staying at the Strater Hotel tonight,” Sylvia said. “It’s supposed to be a ‘fine historic hotel.’ Apparently, it has antiques in all the guest rooms. Have you heard of it?” she asked Paige.

  “It sounds familiar,” Paige said. “I’ve come to love historic hotels. Anything interesting that you’ll be seeing in Durango?”

  “The railroad,” Martha said, her enthusiasm apparent. “It runs between Durango and Silverton. We’re riding it tomorrow. Mesa Verde is the next day. From there we go on to Zion and Bryce National Parks.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful trip, don’t you think?” Paige asked Sylvia but realized the woman was still studying the display case. Paige moved closer, looking inside.

  Sylvia glanced at Paige and then pointed to a shelf in the case.

  “Do you see that pin? The one with the three doves?”

  Paige nodded. “It’s one of Ana’s designs, the girl who works in the spa. That’s the pin that looks so much like the one you were wearing the other day.”

  “Yes, it’s just like the one I have,” Sylvia said. “But Luz told me yesterday that she’s asking almost eighty dollars for it. I’m glad I bought mine where I did, instead of here.”

  “Did you ever remember where you bought it?”

  “Well, I still don’t remember exactly,” Sylvia said.

  Martha, who was sitting nearby, still jotting notes about all the items she planned to knit, paused her writing. “But you found the receipt, Sylvia, remember?”

  “Oh,” Sylvia said. “Yes, dear, I found the receipt last night when I was packing. It’s in my bag somewhere.” She rummaged through the Route 66 tote, pulling out a makeup pouch and setting it on the counter. A bag of candy followed, then a deck of cards, an orange scarf with a cactus print, a miniature, plastic kachina doll keychain, and assorted receipts, none of which showed a jewelry purchase.

  “Well, I thought I had it,” Sylvia sighed as she stuffed her knickknacks back into her bag. “But don’t you worry. Just get up there along that stretch of highway, and you’ll find all kinds of deals. There’s a souvenir stand at every off-ramp. Most carry the same items.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “You’ll be able to find that exact pin, or something like it. Just don’t pay this kind of price for it.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Paige fought to hide her disappointment. It wasn’t Sylvia’s fault she hadn’t found the receipt. After all, she’d taken the time to dig through her hefty stash.

  “The bus is here,” Miguel announced, stepping into the lobby. Indeed, the large tour bus that had dropped them off days before had pulled up in front. A shuffling of feet followed the announcement. Miguel grabbed two suitcases, heading back to the bus to load them into the compartment beneath the passenger section. Paige watched as he returned and retrieved two more, then two after that. By the time the tour group had boarded the bus, he had finished loading the bags. The bus driver pulled the compartment cover down and secured it, patted the side of the vehicle and entered the bus. He did a quick head count and roll call, checking off names on a clipboard. Satisfied everyone was on board, he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Paige leaned against the doorway of the resort office, watching the group members squirm around in their seats, getting comfortable. She noticed Sylvia waving at her, and she waved back. This just made Sylvia wave more frantically, and Paige realized she wasn’t just saying goodbye, Sylvia was calling her over. Paige stepped up to the bus’s window, trying not to breathe the exhaust fumes surrounding the bus. Sylvia cracked the window open the few inches the safety bar allowed.

  “Here’s that receipt,” Sylvia said, shoving a small paper through the opening. “It was in my pocket. I found it when I put the jacket up above the seat.”

  Paige took the paper as the bus driver stepped on the gas and began to move forward.

  “Now, you get yourself one of those pretty pins,” Sylvia called out, cupping her mouth and then waving again as the bus pulled away.

  “I’ll try!” Paige shouted back. You’d better believe I’ll try.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Paige watched Luz clear the breakfast plates off the tables. Remnants of the meal were non-existent, as guests had devoured every last morsel of the tomato, cheddar cheese and cilantro frittata. Only a basket of jalapeño corn muffins remained. Paige pushed it to the side, to avoid temptation. What was it about the southwestern food that made her want to take “just one more bite?” Maybe the spices were the lure. The food she’d encountered since arriving in Tres Palomas was perfect comfort food with a twist.

  Standing up, Paige gathered her notebook and pen, taking one more sip of coffee before pushing her chair in. Since the tour group had left, the notebook had been a good companion. The few other guests had already finished their meals and headed out before Paige arrived for breakfast. Conveniently, she’d had a table to herself, with plenty of time to jot down thoughts between bites. She’d rearranged her article outline to incorporate more aspects of the local way of life, making a list of specifics to double-check.
Like the origin of some of Abuela’s stories. This reminded her that it was Sunday, and she had only a half hour to get to St. Bernadette’s to hear Abuela’s weekly performance.

  This also meant she only had three more days to finish the article and enjoy what she could of vacation time before returning to New York. Paige sighed at this thought. Not only was she unprepared to go back to the city, but she felt uneasy. Maybe it was because of the tense phone conversation she’d had with Jake. Maybe it was because the other two trips had been amazing and romantic because Jake was involved, and she missed that involvement. She knew this assignment would be different if for no other reason than the distance between New Mexico and Wyoming. She hadn’t expected to see Jake. But she also hadn’t expected the trip to cause a conflict. Now that the tour group was gone, she had more time to think about the situation with Jake. Had they argued? It had been close. At least she’d had the good sense to end the call before the discussion escalated. Still, jealousy? All because she mentioned a man she’d met only a few times? It was silly, childish even.

  Paige thought this over as she walked back to the casita. This was one stage of a relationship that she’d never liked, when both sides were weighing the possibility of a future, yet neither wanted to be the first to say this out loud. In the past, this was when she’d often been the one to turn away. And the current confusion about her relationship with Jake was a perfect example why. They’d reached a point where they either needed to move forward or back away. Standing still wasn’t an option. Moving forward was scary, but so was stepping back. One way or another, something would have to happen.

  Back in the casita, Paige closed the door and set her notebook and pen on the desk. She sat on the bed, picked up her cell phone from the nightstand and looked at it. Calling Jake would be easy, just fingertips touching numbers. But she’d gone two days without calling and also hadn’t heard from him. No, she wasn’t going to make the first move. Besides, she needed to hurry if she wanted to hear Abuela’s stories that morning. She’d be gone by the following Sunday, so this was her last chance. She gathered her things, glanced quickly at her reflection – tousled hair, old sweatshirt, but nothing that would cause alarm – and left for town.

  Parked cars lined both sides of the street in front of St. Bernadette’s, overflow from the small dirt parking lot on one side of the church. Those worshipers who weren’t planning to remain after Mass to hear Abuela’s stories were already loading their families in cars. Paige realized her timing was perfect as she filled the first freed parking spot. Taking only keys with her, she locked the car and walked toward the church.

  Small groups stood gathered in the courtyard, just as they had the week before. Some carried on conversations, while others simply waited. The young boy and girl she’d noticed the previous Sunday played in front of the fountain. Paige smiled. Hopefully the young girl would get the story about boxes that she’d requested. Or, better yet, she’d have forgotten about the whole box-fox confusion and would just enjoy whatever stories the old woman had to tell.

  Paige stepped through the gate to the church courtyard and looked around, sensing the crowd was impatient. Or was it uneasy? She scanned the faces of those nearest her, which reinforced her appraisal. The townsfolk looked concerned. Even Father John, who’d finished his post-service handshakes on the church steps, was watching the crowd with a frown. Two women approached him, and he listened intently as he leaned forward. His expression looked reassuring as he spoke to them, but Paige was certain she saw a trace of worry on his face. She crossed the courtyard and climbed the few stairs to reach him.

  “Good morning, Father John,” Paige said, reintroducing herself to the parish priest. “I came to hear the storyteller again.”

  The priest shook her hand, but glanced over her head before speaking, preoccupied with the crowd.

  “What’s going on?” Paige followed the direction of his gaze, seeing the same crowd she’d just passed through, groups of people conversing, children playing and…an empty cement bench surrounding the fountain. “Oh,” she said. “Abuela isn’t here today?” She hesitated as she spoke, realizing the absence of an elderly person could mean bad news.

  “No,” the priest said, lines of worry now obvious on his face. “She didn’t show up today. She always attends Mass and then moves outside to tell her stories. But she wasn’t here at all today, not even for the service.”

  “Has she ever missed before?” Paige asked

  “Never.”

  “Padre Juan,” one woman called, rounding the side of the church and climbing the steps. A second woman followed just behind. Lace scarves covered the heads of both women, who appeared to be in their seventies.

  “No esta,” the first woman said, slightly out of breath.

  “She is not there,” the second added, shaking her head.

  Father John turned to Paige to explain, “Abuela lives behind the church. Consuela and Alma are from our women’s group and went to see if Abuela might be ill and resting, but she isn’t there.”

  “Could I see her room?” As soon as she asked, Paige realized it might seem an odd question from a stranger, but she hoped her meeting with the priest last week might be enough for him to agree. It was.

  “Yes, I don’t see why not,” he said. “Maybe the eyes of a visitor will see something we don’t.” He motioned for Consuela and Alma to lead the way, staying by the church to speak with other parishioners who were approaching him.

  Paige followed as the women scurried alongside the church. Their eagerness hinted of a hope that they might have missed Abuela the first time, a thought that Paige shared. Maybe the storyteller had stepped out briefly, had done something as simple as going for a short walk and forgetting the time.

  The small room was remarkably bare. A twin bed rested against one wall, a metal crucifix hanging above it. A table with two chairs sat on a braided rug. Other furniture included a chest of drawers, a smaller table that served as a nightstand, and a compact refrigerator. A mirror hung over the dresser with a string of rosary beads dangling from it. Two colored paper flowers in a pottery vase were a bright contrast to the otherwise dull surroundings. Abuela was not there.

  Paige walked to a closet on the far side of the room and opened the doors. She sensed the women disapproved; probably they felt she was invading the storyteller’s privacy. But she wasn’t there to snoop. She was hoping to find some sign of where Abuela might be.

  She tried to reassure them of her motives. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’m a reporter, and sometimes I see things others miss.” Paige pulled a hanger with a brown coat out and held it up. “Is this the jacket she usually wears?”

  “No,” both women said at once.

  “Show me which jacket she usually wears,” Paige said, gesturing toward the closet. The women looked at each other, hesitating. “Ladies, please. You might be able to help find her.”

  After Consuela looked at the closet rack, she said, “The jacket she likes to wear is not here.”

  “That means she probably has it with her,” Paige said. She studied the closet more closely. “There are very few clothes here,” she added.

  “Abuela doesn’t own much,” Alma said. “She gives away anything that is given to her, always saying someone else needs it more than she does. But…” The woman paused, stepping closer to the closet. “She does have more than this. A few blouses are missing.”

  “Her favorite skirt, too,” the first woman said. “It is long, made from a woven fabric.”

  “So, several articles of clothing are missing?” Paige glanced from one face to the other; the women nodded. She walked back to the front door, inspecting the lock. “No one seems to have tampered with the lock, and closet doors and dresser drawers were closed when we came in. The bed is made.”

  The women stared at Paige, puzzled.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I think your storyteller, Abuela, went on a trip.”

  “A trip?” The women exchanged glances. �
�She does not go on trips. Her life is here. She would not go anywhere.”

  The other woman gasped. “She has been kidnapped!”

  “What? Kidnapped?” Father John’s worried voice echoed from the doorway.

  “No,” Paige said. “I don’t think so. Nothing has been disturbed or broken. She knew she was going somewhere. No one forced her to go. Does she have a car?”

  “No,” Father John said. “She never learned to drive. She has no use for a car. If she needs to get groceries or anything else, someone always volunteers to drive her.”

  Paige looked around the room again. “There’s no note anywhere.”

  “I don’t think she ever learned to read or write, either,” the priest said.

  “So she knew she was going somewhere and took some clothes. Someone would have had to drive her. There hasn’t been a struggle here, which means she must have gone with someone she knows.” Paige paused. “So who would that be?”

  “The only one I can think of is her brother, Charlie Whitehorse,” Father John said. “I can’t imagine why he’d take her anywhere.”

  “Abuela and Whitehorse are related?” Paige could hardly believe two such different people were brother and sister. Conflicting thoughts ran through her mind as she headed to the door. “I have to go find someone.”

  “Whitehorse?” one of the women asked.

  “No,” Paige said. “I need to find Miguel.”

  “Well, you won’t find him here.” Father John almost smiled. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Paige fought back a laugh.

  “No, but I think I know where he is. And if we can find Miguel, we can find Whitehorse. And I think if we find Whitehorse, we’ll find Abuela.”

  To the confusion of the women and the priest, Paige left them standing in the room and made a beeline for her car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The parking lot at the Coyote Cantina was empty, except for a couple of trucks parked near the front. Whitehorse’s truck was missing, but Miguel’s was there, as Paige had hoped it would be. She parked next to it and hurried inside. Two customers Paige didn’t know occupied a corner table. A half-empty beer glass sat on the bar counter in front of an empty chair. Otherwise, the watering hole was empty.