Tracie Peterson - [Desert Roses 01]

by Shadows of the Canyon

  “No!” Katherine exclaimed. “No more investigators.” Alex studied her mother’s face. She seemed almost panicked. “Mother, what is it that you aren’t telling me?”

  In spite of Bernice’s presence, Katherine reached out to take hold of Alex’s shoulder. “There are things that are better left unsaid. I can’t talk about this. Please try to understand.”

  “But I don’t,” Alex said flatly. “You are suspected of causing Father’s death. It’s only because of your friends and public opinion that they haven’t already whisked you away to Williams and jail.”

  “Alex, whatever happens, you must understand that I’ve done what I felt best. Just trust me, please.”

  It was then that Alex knew for certain her mother was hiding the truth. Before, Alex had told herself the moments of the murder were just too horrific for her mother to face. Better still, that her mother hadn’t even been there when the murder had happened. She’d tried to convince her heart that her mother had said nothing to the officials because she had nothing to tell. But now she could see for herself that wasn’t the case.

  Nodding slowly, Alex spoke. “I’ll try to do as you ask, but if it all begins to turn against you, you must tell them the truth. God would want no less from you.”

  “I know,” her mother answered sadly.

  Alex helped her mother dress in a Harvey uniform and planted a large straw hat upon her head.

  “Keep your face down and stay in the middle of us. If we pass other people, just keep looking to the ground. Hopefully they won’t be able to tell the difference.”

  When the coast was clear, they hurried down the back stairs. The guard had just forced several newspapermen to the top of the stairs and was to follow later in order to throw off any suspicions about the women.

  Alex heard the ranger reprimand the press for interfering in his job. The men protested loudly demanding their rights to report the truth. Alex pushed her mother past the stairs, laughing and murmuring something inaudible to Bernice.

  Michaela joined them outside, giving the appearance of a friendly group of co-workers out for a stroll. It was a scene often observed at El Tovar, and they figured this to be the best way to avoid suspicion. Whenever they passed by hotel guests or reporters, they giggled like schoolgirls and put their heads close together, as if telling secrets. Alex saw the fear in her mother’s eyes, but she kept moving forward.

  It was agreed between the three Harvey Girls that each one would take turns bringing food and supplies to Katherine Keegan and her guard. Alex could only pray they wouldn’t need to leave her there for long. The place was positively dingy, and Alex feared it would only add to her mother’s depressed spirits.

  “I have to go work at the party the Winthrops are giving now,” she told her mother. “In fact, I’m already late. You remain here and I’ll come to you as often as I think it safe.”

  “There’s no need to fuss over me, dear. I’m not running away or going anywhere. I don’t wish for anyone to worry after me. I’m sorry for the trouble,” she stated, saying more than she had since Alex’s father had died.

  Alex hugged her mother, wishing to herself that she could turn back time and spare her mother this misery. Yet at the same time, Alex felt guilty because she wasn’t all that sorry her father was gone. She was sorry he’d died without Jesus in his life. She was sorry he’d been so mean and adulterous. And she was sorry that she’d never known a time when she felt her father had really cared about her. But she wasn’t sorry he was dead.

  Leaving her mother safe and secure, Alex headed back up to the hotel at a run. She knew she needed to get back to the matters at hand. She needed to make an appearance at the party and assure people that all was well. She needed . . .

  “Whoa, there!” Luke said, reaching out to steady Alex with his one good arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run like that.”

  “Sorry . . . I . . . didn’t see . . . you there,” Alex panted. He continued to touch her, rubbing his fingers along her upper arm. “I’m glad we ran into each other.” He grinned. “I’ve needed to talk to you.”

  “I know, but things have been so crazy. I’m late for the party,” she said, her voice steadied a bit.

  “Surely they don’t expect you to work—your father just died.”

  “Mrs. Godfrey tried to force me to take time off, but I can’t. I’d go mad sitting there thinking of everything that has happened.”

  “They might see you as unfeeling—maybe even involved in the murder if you don’t show some sorrow in his passing,” Luke suggested. “I don’t want them to get the wrong idea about you, Alex.” He reached up and gently touched her cheek.

  Alex’s breathing and heartbeat continued to race. Luke’s touch ignited feelings in her that she had never thought herself capable of. All she could remember was his kiss, his touch, his scent.

  She dared herself to look into his eyes. What was happening to her? Why were all these feelings coming to the surface now, after he said his feelings had changed? Would he go away with Valerie Winthrop? Was there no hope of a future for them?

  “I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” she managed to whisper.

  “But you should. You don’t want to give them cause to turn the light on you.”

  “Let them!” Alex declared, finding her voice. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I may not show all the proper etiquette of mourning, but I’ve done nothing I should be ashamed of.”

  “They think I’m a suspect,” Luke threw out.

  This instantly sobered Alex. “But why?” “Because I was there.” “But you didn’t come until after the screams. Just like the rest of us.”

  “But it’s my word against theirs.”

  Alex shook her head. “You can’t be serious.” “I am. Joel Harper—at least I’m pretty sure it was him—suggested that I might have reason to want your father dead.”

  “No!” Alex gasped. She saw Joel Harper disbanding her support of friends and family, piece by piece. Had the world gone suddenly mad? God, where are you in all of this? First her mother, now Luke. How many more would have to suffer before the truth was brought to light?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  On the horizon, storm clouds brewed and churned in the early morning light. Alex noticed the ugly blackness from her window and silently prayed it would rain all day and night. Tonight the gala party to end all parties was planned by the Winthrops, and already the idea wearied her to the bone. The events the night before were sedate and small, compared to what she would face tonight. Tonight, the candidates would each announce their desire to receive the nomination for president, and their cronies would expound on their capabilities and positive qualities.

  Even more guests were pouring in on special trains, and Alex knew it would be impossible to pause for a moment’s rest once her workday began. Not that she wanted to rest. The night had been impossibly long, and knowing her mother was the prime suspect in her father’s murder, with Luke a close second, did nothing to offer her comfort. Once again her father was ruining her life.

  Father. Alex had tried not to think of her father, for it was a painful chore she’d tried to avoid. She had so long wished him out of her life—out of her mother’s life—but now that he was, she felt rather confused. What plans should they make? Would her mother be freed to go about her business and live out the rest of her life, or would they assume her guilt and jail her? If freed, would her mother want to remain in Williams or go elsewhere? And always in the midst of these thoughts, Alex felt guilt overcome her peace. She’d never cared enough to share the Gospel with her father. Never cared enough to approach him with anything but her anger.

  “You can’t hand your daughter over to your vulgar friends and expect anything but anger,” she said to the room. Her words reverberated off the windowpane right back at her, even as thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Turning from the window, Alex felt a sense of loss. Her spiritual peace felt ripped to shreds. The truths she’d known and ho
nored for most of her life seemed little comfort. Her father had wounded her so often that Alex had lost count. He didn’t deserve to be mourned or cared about. He didn’t deserve her love or sorrow.

  She sat down at her writing desk and brought her hands together in her lap. She tried hard to muster up some feeling other than anger, but short of bitterness and regret, she found nothing she could give in the wake of her father’s passing. Mrs. Godfrey had offered her time away from her job to tend to her mother and deal with her father’s death, but Alex had declined. Her father’s death still seemed unreal. She had hardly known anything of the man.

  “God, I don’t mean to be so hardhearted,” she whispered. “You know that has never been my desire. Every time I had an encounter with Father, I tried so hard to remain at peace with him. I tried to respect his position in my life, even if I found it nearly impossible to respect the man himself.

  “I wanted to have a close family. I wanted to believe he could change and remain faithful to my mother, but instead he only grew worse.” She blinked back tears. “He hurt my mother so much, Lord. How do I forgive that? How do I put this to rest and let go of my hatred and bitterness? How?”

  Alex joined her co-workers as they met to discuss the day’s events and the evening party. Mrs. Godfrey seemed rather frazzled, even though the hour was still quite early.

  “We have a few additional staff coming from along the Santa Fe line here in Arizona. The girls will act as hostesses on the lawn,” Mrs. Godfrey explained. “Michaela and Alex will be in charge of the lawn teams. There will be five girls in each group. A supper is to be given, as well as refreshments after the speeches. As I understand it, there will be festivities until well past midnight.”

  Several of the girls groaned, Alex included. Her job required she get up at five every morning as it was. Now they were suggesting she work until midnight or one and still have enough sleep to pull a full shift the following morning. Politicians and their madness had corrupted the gentle beauty and peace of her canyon park. The entire thing only served as one more incident to deeper harden Alex’s resentment toward the Winthrops and Mr. Harper.

  “You’ll all help with breakfast here in a few minutes,” Mrs. Godfrey announced, “then after the morning rush, Michaela and Alex, along with whomever they choose to help them, will see to the lawn tables. I have lists of necessary articles,” she said, leaning forward to hand Alex a piece of paper. “This entire event will run smoothly and without problems, if you adhere to the list.”

  When the meeting broke up, Alex went to the private dining room and made certain her table was set properly for breakfast. She adjusted pieces of silverware and replaced a chipped plate before leaving the room to retrieve steaming pots of coffee. This was the routine with the Winthrop party. They would no doubt want the same thing today as they had on all the other days.

  True to habit, the Winthrop party, this time minus Valerie, showed up at exactly seven o’clock. Joel Harper seemed to be in particularly good spirits, talking in rapid-fire to the man on his left, laughing and gesturing as they took their seat at the table. Alex wondered what could have the man so gleeful at this hour, but she didn’t care enough to position herself close enough to overhear the conversation.

  “Miss Keegan,” the senator said, taking her aside, “I am so very sorry about your father. He seemed a good man, and I would have enjoyed having him on my staff.”

  “I’m sure he would have enjoyed that as well,” Alex said, feeling hard-pressed as to how she should reply.

  “I’m also sorry about the nonsense with your mother being held suspect. I’m certain such a dear sweet woman could have had nothing to do with such an ugly act.” His drawled words were soothing.

  “Thank you, Senator Winthrop. I’m certain of her innocence as well.”

  “I’ve decided to help the matter as best I can. I’ve hired a trustworthy man I know to do a private investigation for us. He lives in Dallas, but he should arrive by train this afternoon.”

  She was touched that a stranger should care so much about her mother’s innocence as to spend his own money on seeing her name cleared. She also remembered her mother’s panic at the thought of additional investigators. It didn’t make sense to Alex, but she wouldn’t say anything about it. Her mother wasn’t thinking clearly—that was all. “That’s kind of you, Senator,” Alex replied.

  “Not at all. Not at all.” He hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets and smiled. “The real interest here is truth. We want the truth to be told so that we can lay your father to rest without this stain upon your family’s good name.”

  Alex nodded and excused herself to begin taking the breakfast orders. Most everyone stuck to a routine of the same type foods. One man always ordered dry toast and iced, poached eggs. Another wanted three grapefruits and a banana. They were as eccentric in their food orders as they were in their choices of companionship.

  The meal ran smoothly, without so much as a raised voice until a panic-stricken man in a wrinkled blue suit appeared at the door to the dining room. “I’m . . . sorry . . . to interrupt,” he said, gasping for breath. “I just got the news and knew the senator would want to know.”

  “What is it?” the senator asked, while everyone grew silent to see what the trouble was. The scene mesmerized even Alex. She stood frozen, a pot of coffee suspended from her hand.

  “It’s President Harding,” the man said, his breathing coming in a steadier pace. “He’s dead.”

  “What!” several men called out in unison.

  The murmuring between them started out low and built quickly into loudly expressed comments of disbelief. Only Joel sat in silence, a smile touching the corners of his mouth, and in that moment Alex knew that he’d somehow had something to do with the president’s death. His gaze met hers and refused to let her go. Alex felt the malice of his soul reach across the table as if to take hold of her.

  “Do they say what killed him?” Winthrop asked, pushing back from the table.

  “They aren’t certain. He grew ill several days ago. They thought food poisoning might be to blame. It was rumored he’d eaten cherries and milk on his journey down from Alaska.”

  The senator nodded solemnly. “A deadly combination to be sure. Still, it seems unlikely that the president of the United States would have no one to warn him of such matters.” The senator looked to his comrades in the room. “I suggest we adjourn and see to this news. If this proves to be true, we will need to postpone our announcements and party until another night.”

  Alex watched as the men filed out one by one, following after the senator as though they were sheep to a shepherd. Joel got up from the table at a leisurely pace, but instead of following the entourage, he moved toward Alex with a smug expression of satisfaction.

  “You see, I told you I had ways of dealing with troublesome situations. You should have no doubt about the harm I could cause you, should you bring even the tiniest hint of trouble my way.”

  A thought suddenly came to Alex. She put down the coffeepot and braved her question. “Did you murder my father?”

  Joel laughed, then moved closer and lowered his voice. “I wish I could take credit for that. I had planned to push Jastrow over the edge of the canyon—but then, you probably overheard that mentioned when I spoke to your father that night. Keegan’s death ruined my plans, for you can hardly have two people fall within days of each other—especially from the same gathering of politicians.

  “Besides, what do you care? You hated the man. Even now I see the contempt you hold for him written in your expression. Why should you care who did the deed so long as it’s done? You could just as easily have pushed him over the edge as your mother.”

  “My mother is innocent. She had nothing to do with Father’s death!” Alex protested loudly.

  Joel put his finger to her mouth and pressed against her lips. “Shhh, darling, you don’t want to raise the suspicions of others. If they hear you speaking of death, those ink slingers will hardly c
are what the truth is. They’re after a story—the more sensational, the better.”

  Alex stepped back and pushed his hand away. “They’re hardly going to care about my father’s death, now that they have the president to contend with.”

  “But then, you hardly care about his death either,” Joel said snidely. “Funny thing, you hated the man, made clear your utter and complete distaste for him, yet the two of you were so much alike. Dealing with you was like dealing with a younger version of him. Ruthless. Cold. Calculating.”

  Alex slapped Joel hard across the face, then backed away. “Don’t ever compare me to him again.” She started to leave, but Joel took hold of her and pulled her close.

  “You’re really disgusted by such a comparison, aren’t you? Poor Alex. Didn’t you ever see the truth for yourself? You’re just like him. You’re strong, just like he was. You’re opinionated and bold, just like he was. You’re ruthless and care little for things that don’t concern you, and you rush to judgment about anything that doesn’t fit in your perfectly ordered little world.”

  His words hit her hard. The truth of them scared Alex in a way that she’d never experienced. I am like him, she thought. I am as horrible and awful a person as my father.

  “Let me go,” she said, not even bothering to fight back.

  Joel seemed surprised by her reaction and released her. “You think that I’ve just insulted you, but frankly, it’s a compliment. I’d like to win you over to my side. There’s a great deal I could do with a woman like you. Let me move you to Washington once we’ve won the election, and I’ll show you just what I’m talking about.”

  Alex shook her head. “You sicken me. You arrange the death of the president, then talk of making me your mistress? Have you no soul?”

  “None that I’m aware of—thankfully,” Joel mused.

  Alex felt a cold shiver rise up the back of her neck. “Leave me alone, Mr. Harper. I have no desire to even speak with you. Light has no communion with darkness.”