Sedona Law 4

by Dave Daren

  Susan waved her hand at me and burst into laughter which would have been fine, but her laughs came in short, snorty bursts, and she convulsed with each breath. Vicki and I looked at each other with concern.

  “Your old age,” she laughed and snorted again. “You’re killing me. You’re just killing me.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I mumbled to Vicki.

  “Well, you jokester, you,” Susan was still grinning. “Let’s show you the rest of the house.”

  She took us through the living room, which was decorated in white and glass and the skylight bathed it all with an open beam of mid-afternoon serenity.

  “I love that skylight,” Vicki stated emphatically.

  We went down a small hallway, and Susan took us inside a bedroom.

  “This is the master suite,” Susan said, and she winked and laughed again. “The magic room for you two!”

  “Oh,” I said. “It... already comes with a bed.”

  “Isn’t it groovy?” Susan snort-laughed again.

  Groovy. I thought that was the perfect way to describe it. It was a built-in circular bed, upholstered in sixties style red and gold velvet, with tassels coming off the bottom.

  “This is one of the things the owner couldn’t bear remodeling,” she said. “But I knew you kids would love it, coming from California, and all. They’re into all that whole swinger thing out there, aren’t they?”

  “Uh,” I said. “I’m sure some people are, I guess, maybe. But I don’t know that these are really our colors.”

  “Well,” she said. “You could always update the style. But, it is a gorgeous, timeless piece. Oh, just exquisite.”

  She crossed the room and caressed the bed frame in awe. “Just look at this craftsmanship.”

  Vicki went over and politely inspected the wooden joints of the bed with Susan. I looked around the room and noticed a grainy black-and-white photo of a man hung on the wall. I read the inscription at the bottom, “If you see him, do not be afraid, he means no harm.”

  “What is this?” I asked Susan.

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s the ghost. He’s friendly. I’ve met him before. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “A ghost?” I asked.

  “You’ve met him?” Vicki asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He’s a good ghost. He watches the property. His name is Philippe. He was the first white man to own this property when it was Indian Territory in the 1800s. He died protecting it and now he watches over the place.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “I don’t know if we could be swingers with Philippe unless the ghost of Mrs. Philippe was in the mix, too. What do you think, Vic?”

  Susan dissolved into her snorting laughter again. I was getting used to it by now.

  “I think we’ll see the next place,” Vicki said.

  “You are just a riot,” Susan shook her index finger at me, and then her face perked up. “I have the perfect place for you!”

  I doubted that, but we trudged along after her. Susan gave us another address, and we loaded up in our cars.

  “I do like the smart home,” Vicki said once we settled into the car.

  “Definitely,” I said. “I had never even considered it before, but now it’s a non-negotiable. We have to have that.”

  “You need it,” she said. “That way you might actually keep track of our social calendar.”

  “Well, then what would I have you around for?” I joked.

  “That I’m not worried about,” she said. “You couldn’t survive without me. But, I could do without the dome. Could you imagine what my parents would say?”

  “Just tell them you moved to the Jetson’s,” I said. “Not far from the truth, really.”

  “Well, what would we tell them about Philippe?” she asked.

  “We’ll have to get Alexa to take care of that,” I said. “‘Hey, Alexa, get rid of the ghost.’”

  “That was easy,” she smirked.

  “The latest in home automation,” I said. “Exorcism.”

  “What would Beyo’s ex-wife say, with her ghost locator app?” she joked.

  “The pace of technology,” I said. “It’s a changing game. It’s brutal, man.”

  She sat in the passenger seat and laughed uncontrollably.

  “One day, you’re relevant,” I continued, “the next, you’re obsolete. Get on the bandwagon or get left behind.”

  “The tricky business of ghost hunting,” she laughed so hard she could hardly get the words out.

  We arrived at the next location, and Susan parked in an open field in the straight up desert. We exited the car and congregated in the barren plot of dusty earth. This was everything Arizona was known to be, painted deserts and a couple of Saguaro cacti off in the distance. But there was no house anywhere.

  “I don’t see anything, Susan,” I said as I kicked the dust.

  “That’s the whole point,” she giggled and even bounced a little.

  “What?” I asked.

  Wordlessly, she took us further out into the field. Dust, shrubs, and even a tumbleweed all baked in the Arizona sun. About fifty yards into the field, we arrived at a cluster of bushes. On the other side of the bushes, was a trench with concrete steps.

  “Come on down,” Susan gestured.

  We followed her down the steps five feet down and arrived at a glass door.

  “It has a warehouse bay shutter,” she gestured above us, where I could see a metal door that could be pulled down.

  “It’s underground?” Vicki asked. “I don’t know.”

  “You will love this place!” Susan squealed. “Come on, let me show you. This used to be a military bunker for when they would do secret testing out here, you know, for aliens and all.”

  Susan nodded somberly and held open the door for us. Vicki and I entered into a small foyer with white linoleum.

  “It was sold and remodeled into a private home,” she said. “It is just gorgeous.”

  I had to admit, as we walked around the small space, that it was remodeled quite nicely. It looked like a modern apartment that could be found in any big city. Brick walls, and wood floors, and white carpet everywhere.

  “Look at this bathroom,” Vicki squealed.

  I followed her into the bathroom where there was a gigantic jacuzzi style tub, that looked like something from that Nickelback song about being a rock star.

  “Whoa,” I said. “That. Is. Impressive.”

  “It’s about the size of the bed in that last place,” she said.

  “Bigger,” I said as I investigated the whirlpool jets. “We could definitely be swinger weirdos here.”

  “If they could find us,” Vicki replied.

  “Now,” Susan squeezed past me. “The best part of this, is this.”

  She leaned over and flipped a button. LED lights switched on and changed colors as we watched.

  “When it’s filled with water, it is just fab,” Susan flicked her wrist with emphasis, and I nodded.

  “I love it,” I said. “That is ‘fab’.”

  We walked around the rest of the bunker, and looked at the bedrooms, and another bathroom. Everything looked decent, until I opened one of the closets in the hall.

  “That is still property of the U.S. military,” Susan said.

  It was full of old instrument panels that looked like they’d come from the Cold War era.

  “They were installed as part of the military testing,” she said. “But, they are still operational. The agreement with the government, is that the buyer has to keep these here, and that once or twice a year, agents from the military will come to do readings on the instruments. They also reserve the right to repair them if necessary.”

  “So the military would have access to our home?” I asked.

  “Just the closet,” she said. “And they give advance notice. But, whoever buys this place, gets a monthly stipend from the military in exchange.”

  “The military rents our hall closet?” Vicki cla
rified.

  “Yes,” she said. “But the last owner lived here for twenty years and said she only saw them about every five years or so.”

  I peered over the closet, full of ancient dials and metal boxes. I snickered as I thought about what Landon would have to say about us renting our closet out for military testing. I shut the closet door.

  “Aside from the military closet,” I said. “I don’t think this place is for us. We’re definitely looking for a private getaway, but I think this is too private.”

  “Right,” Vicki said. “We want something that’s more in-town.”

  Susan nodded. “I hear you. So, an urban location?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And something more traditional.”

  Susan cocked her head. “Traditional? How do you mean?”

  “Well,” I said, “just a regular house.”

  “What do you mean ‘regular’?” she looked genuinely confused.

  I made a boxy gesture with my hands. “Square, or rectangular, or--”

  She snapped her fingers and smiled. “I know just what you mean. I’m so glad we could get on the same page.”

  Susan made a sweeping gesture around the three of us gathered in the bunker’s entryway. “Communication is the key to any great relationship, and we’re communicating now. I know, now, exactly what you need.”

  I shrugged at Vicki, and we followed Susan out of the bunker and back above ground to civilization where we belonged. She took us around the back of town and ended in a beautiful place near the Red Rocks. She stopped in front of a gorgeous towering glass structure.

  “Wow,” Vicki said as we sat in the car. “That is cool.”

  It looked like a piece of abstract art. I counted three stories, rising in severe boxes and rectangles, stacked at angles with each other, in cubed layers. Only each story was roughly about the size of our cottage. At least I thought, it was difficult to ascertain, considering that the stories and levels were divided into segments for artistic layering purposes. But the real kicker was the whole thing was made of glass, all of it. From the driveway, we could see the staircase, couches, and even the ultra-modern bathroom appliances.

  “It’s definitely boxy,” I said.

  “It’s all that great communication,” Vicki said.

  From her Land Rover, Susan motioned for us to park in the garage. The garage was simply an open glass rectangle, directly beneath an experimentally modern looking bathtub. We all got out, and a Japanese inspired garden stood between our car and the front door.

  “That’s a nice touch,” Vicki said. “We should get plants.”

  I nodded as Susan hiked up the driveway to us.

  “See?” she said and waved her finger at us. “I know exactly what you want!”

  “Square and rectangular,” I shook my head. “You got it quite literally.”

  “Shall we go in?” she motioned toward the front door.

  “Please,” I replied.

  We entered the house, and it was gorgeous. White marble floors, and white staircases everywhere complemented the glass. But, the design was almost like a Lego house.

  There were infinite platforms and levels, rising and falling with no apparent logic, and tiny stair steps connected them from one to the other. The place had no real rooms or walls, just randomly placed floor spaces, none bigger than about eight or nine square feet.

  “You could get your cardio in before breakfast,” I said as we navigated yet another set of steps up to another platform.

  Suspended in the center of the house, was a large open platform with a bed, and a cleverly hidden white chrome closet.

  “This is the master bedroom,” Susan said as she swept her arms around the level.

  “Wow,” Vicki said. “This is beautiful.”

  I looked around, and it was. From here, the equivalent to somewhere between the second and third story, I could see the Red Rocks rising all around us. Behind them, the city of Sedona spread vaguely off in the distance.

  “The view is unbelievable,” I said.

  “Isn’t it?” Susan looked out over the expanse with us.

  Everywhere I looked, I could see the landscape from a different angle.

  I whistled. “This is a unique design.”

  Susan showed us a couple of other features, state-of-the-art kitchen appliances and bathrooms. There were no ghosts, no moats or dragons, no secret military closets, but…

  “There’s just no privacy,” Vicki said. “It’s all open.”

  “The glass comes with a tinting feature,” Susan said. “You can press a button, and it tints the glass for privacy. But, the view is not as clear.”

  “Let’s think about it,” I told Susan. “It’s getting late.”

  “You do that,” she said. “But we expect this one to go fast as well.”

  We left the glass house, and Vicki and I drove back into town in quiet thought.

  “I love that view,” she said. “But the proverbial significance of living in a glass house, I don’t think I like that.”

  “Just don’t throw any stones, and you’ll be fine,” I said.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “Our life has gotten a little too public lately.”

  “It has, hasn’t it?” I asked, but it was more of a statement. “Plus, I kind of felt like a monkey in a tree climbing up all those platforms and levels.”

  She laughed. “I know, right? What if you were tired and slipped or something?”

  “Okay,” I said. “So that one’s a ‘no.’”

  “That’s a bummer,” she said. “It really was a cool place.”

  “Well, do you want it?” I asked. “Because I’ll buy it for you if you want it.”

  I saw her face soften at my words, and she was quiet for a few minutes. In glances back and forth as I drove, she seemed to be trying to form words. It occured to me that we had never talked about what I said in the interview. Then, she seemed to change her mind.

  “That’s sweet,” she said. “But, I don’t think that place is us.”

  “It’s not,” I agreed. “So, what’s ‘us’? What do we want? I don’t think we ever defined that.”

  “Let’s see,” she said. “After that house, the view is a big one.”

  “Check,” I said. “View.”

  “Also, a jacuzzi,” she said.

  “Great bathrooms,” I said. “Check.”

  “And set up for home automation,” she said.

  “Smart house,” I said. “Check.”

  “And near the office and shopping,” she said. “I love our location.”

  “No commute,” I said. “Check.”

  “But far enough away from downtown that we don’t get caught up in every event or festival,” she said.

  “That’s a big one,” I said. “The film festival was brutal.”

  “Right,” she said. “I want to feel like we’re getting away from it all.”

  “Privacy,” I said. “Check.”

  “It’s too bad we couldn’t just put all this into an app and order it,” she said.

  “Well,” I shrugged. “We could.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “What if we designed our own?” I asked.

  Her eyes got big. “If we bought land and worked with an architect?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We could do it our own way.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Our own way. That is definitely us.”

  I laughed. “Yep. That’s the way we do things. Our own way.”

  Chapter 17

  The next morning was Elena’s immigration hearing. I expected Vicki to be a nervous wreck, but she seemed relaxed.

  “We’re bringing in witnesses,” she told me as we got ready for the day. “Her daughter, her son-in-law, and her employer.”

  “Why won’t you let me reschedule with Judith?” I leaned against the bathroom door frame as she applied her make-up.

  “I told you,” she said. “We need her testimony. This is pro-bono, and
Julianna is drowning in Zondra’s alimony.”

  I laughed. “That is true.”

  “Don’t worry,” Vicki smiled radiantly. “I’ve got this wrapped up. Besides, this is a long process, and you’re a stand-in for Alister O’Brien, so we’ll have you testify at some point.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be,” she said. “We wanted to be able to take on more work, so that we could all be in more than one place at a time.”

  I wanted to tell her how much she amazed me, how she dazzled me right then. But, she hadn’t said anything about the elephant in the room, and it was growing bigger in my mind. Had I misjudged our whole relationship? I kept meaning to talk to her about it, but I couldn’t seem to find the right moment.

  Was her insistence on doing the hearing without me, a sign of her pulling away? I grabbed my bag to go into the office and just hoped the preoccupied smile she gave me was only her nerves.

  When I arrived at the office, Judith was already there. She wore a long green trench coat, and her short red bobbed hair was under a green cap.

  “Hello, Judith,” I greeted her and set my bag down. “Nice to see you so early in the morning.”

  “Yes,” she said hurriedly. “I came to talk to you about the case.”

  “Right,” I said. “Without your own lawyer present, are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’ve got nothing to lose,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said and motioned to the conference room. “Let’s chat back here.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Landon had taken over our conference room as his office and was spread out everywhere.

  “Judith, I presume?” Landon asked.

  “Yes,” she said. She was softer spoken than I had seen her in the past, and I wondered if she was on psychiatric medication.

  “This is Landon,” I said. “He’s taping a lot of our interviews, do you mind if he gets this on film?”

  “Not at all,” she said.

  I shrugged to Landon, who already had the tape queued up. He jumped up, pushed a button, and then stood against the wall and watched.

  “So, tell me,” I said. “What can we do for you?”

  “I told the truth about Beowulf, and the police don’t believe me,” she said. “I don’t know what to do, because this poor girl is going to jail for it.”