Detour

by Lorena McCourtney

  “How did you happen to get Brian and Kathy to run the park for you?” Mac asked.

  “Fate or destiny, I guess. Whatever you want to call it. I was digging on the hillside back there beyond Sammy—”

  “Digging?” Mac repeated.

  “It’s kind of embarrassing.” Duke had removed Scarlett from the rocking chair and sat there himself, but she’d jumped right back in his lap. “There’s this old story about a treasure chest of gold buried out there along with a couple of bodies. The story is vague on where the gold came from. Maybe a stagecoach robbery. Maybe pirates. Though I don’t know that this coast ever had much pirate activity or why they’d bring their treasure this far inland and haul it up a hill. But maybe the coast line was different a couple hundred years ago.”

  “It changes,” Mac agreed.

  “Right. I’d never really believed either version of the buried treasure story, but I was up in there looking for something I saw moving, and then I spotted this strange circle of stones. They looked like they might be a marker of some kind. So I got a shovel and started digging and got down pretty deep. I leaned over to look down in the hole, and first thing I knew, I fell right into it. Almost as if it pulled me in. Like the dead bodies were guarding the treasure and weren’t going to let anyone find it. If you want to believe in weird stuff like that. But I sure couldn’t get out. The sides caved in around me, and I was stuck like a dinosaur in a tar pit.”

  “And so—?”

  “I was afraid I could be dead there for a month before anyone found me. I started yelling my head off. And then, like angels dropping out of heaven, Brian and Kathy showed up. They’d just been passing through, stopped because the place looked interesting, and heard me yelling. They took me to a doc and then we got to talking, and they weren’t headed anyplace special. So here we are. We kind of traded living quarters, so they live in the apartment in the back of the gift shop, and I moved into this trailer they’d been traveling in, and it’s all worked out fine.”

  “That’s great. For both you and them. But you never found any skeletons or treasure chest of gold, so maybe they’re still buried back there somewhere,” Mac suggested.

  “Right. And if you believe that, there’s a nice bridge down in San Francisco I’d like to sell you.” Duke waggled his eyebrows and chuckled at his own humor.

  I was a little uneasy hearing about the possibility of buried bodies because my first reaction to the park, that it looked like a good place for a dead body, was confirmed. But it was all long ago and only a tall tale at that.

  “Sheila doesn’t much like Brian and Kathy,” Duke went on, “but I think that’s just because she figures if they hadn’t come along we’d of got married and closed down the park and be living happily ever after in her big double-wide. Or some fool idea like that.”

  “And Sheila is—?”

  “Sheila Weekson. She calls herself my girlfriend.” His cheerful smile shifted into a grimace, as if he didn’t concur with that title. “But she’s okay. She brings me books and magazines and stuff. She makes great spaghetti and meat loaf, and we play chess and cribbage or Monopoly. But she’s a bulldozer in high heels about the marriage thing.”

  “She thinks you and she should get married?” Mac asked.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What do Brian and Kathy think of her?” I asked.

  “They’re always telling me I ought to marry her and sell this place to them.”

  That surprised me. The dinosaur park didn’t look like any great investment. But maybe the Morrisons just wanted to help Duke out, give him a little push into a better life. With Porsche-level money, they could probably afford to be generous.

  Mac took notes while Duke talked more about the history of the park and some famous visitors who’d been here. Then, since it was time to get ready for church, I asked Duke if he knew of any nearby church we might attend.

  “There’s the one Sheila goes to once in a while. Just drive back out to the highway and go straight across it. The church is a half mile or so on the right. I don’t recollect the name at the moment, but you can probably recognize a church when you see it.”

  “How will we recognize Sheila if she’s there?” I asked.

  “Fine lookin’ woman. Hair as red as a flaming tomato, and a hat. Always wears a hat. She might come talk to you. She kind of likes to manage things. But some Sunday mornings she chases around to yard sales looking for stuff for her junk store or sometimes she rides her bicycle or runs out to the cove. Or she likes to go to some exercise place in town and lifts weights or something.” He frowned. “Doesn’t seem fittin’ for a woman, getting big muscles. But she says she has to exercise to keep her backside from getting wide as a barn, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a generous backside.”

  I tried not to smile. If Sheila was smart and she wanted to ease him into marriage, she’d better not beat him at arm wrestling.

  We went back to the motorhome, changed clothes, and took off in search of Sheila’s church.

  Chapter 4

  IVY

  We found the North Coast Community Church without any problem, an old-fashioned little white church with a big bell in the belfry. We took seats in a middle pew.

  I immediately spotted Sheila standing in the aisle several pews ahead of us. As Brian had said, quite a bit younger than Duke. Flaming red hair, a purple beret jauntily dipped to one stylish eyebrow, and a purple-and-yellow plaid cape swirling as if she might levitate with it at any moment. On me this would have been an ELOL look. Eccentric Little Old Lady. But on her it was artfully sassy, a bold statement of personal style. I was fascinated by her large, dramatic gestures as she talked to another woman sitting in the pew. What was she describing? An oversized watermelon? A whale with wings?

  The service began with a combination of old hymns and newer praise songs. The young pastor played guitar, along with an older woman on keyboard and a young woman on drums. The pastor’s interesting message was about the different responses of the two criminals who were crucified with Jesus and how this relates to people’s reactions to Jesus today. I was glad we’d come. After the final prayer, several people greeted us, and Duke was right. Sheila rushed over to introduce herself and pepper us with nosy questions. I told her we’d met Duke.

  Sheila flung up her cape-clad arms in a theatrical gesture of despair, a Batwoman in plaid. “Duke is a wonderful man, but I’ve been trying to get him here to church for years.”

  An admirable project, but if she went about it in the same way she apparently tried to bulldoze him into marriage, I had to think the effort might be doomed to failure. Although she had strong shoulders under the cape and looked capable of dragging him to church or altar, or anything else she had a mind to do.

  “I’m taking minestrone soup and lasagna over to Duke’s for dinner this evening,” she added. “Would you come join us?”

  Inviting us to dinner at Duke’s place without checking with him first struck me as a bit forward, but to my surprise, Mac jumped on the invitation. “Sounds great! How about if we bring salad?”

  “That would be wonderful! Kathy and I are always trying to get Duke to eat more vegetables. And having visitors will be good for him.”

  We settled on six-thirty for dinner. She gave us each a big hug, and I found myself liking her more than I expected. She might be a bit pushy, but she really did seem to have Duke’s welfare at heart.

  We’d barely gotten back to the motorhome when Brian knocked on the door and said he could take Mac through the park now to take photos. Mac hastily changed to jeans and rubber boots, grabbed his camera, and they took off. I had texts from teenage grandniece Sandy in Arkansas and Mac’s ten-year-old granddaughter Elle in Montana. I answered both, and then the cell phone tinkled with an incoming message. I was delighted to see who was calling.

  “Magnolia!”

  Magnolia and Geoff are old friends and neighbors from back in Missouri. They’d come up
to Montana for our wedding and then taken off in their motorhome on another of Magnolia’s genealogy expeditions. Most people investigate genealogy by internet these days, and Geoff helps Magnolia do some of that, but she likes to accompany that cyberspace research with in-person pursuit. Often with rewarding results, although a few people have been less than welcoming about the arrival of a large woman enthusiastically claiming a family relationship of some distant degree.

  “Are you in Arizona yet?” Magnolia asked. “We thought we’d come down to wherever you are for a while too.”

  Magnolia and Geoff and I had often arranged meetings in various places around the country when I was on the road alone. Although back then I was also hiding from the murderous Braxtons, who were intent on making roadkill out of me. Thankfully that’s all over now, various Braxtons awaiting trial or incarceration back in Missouri. I explained that we’d taken this detour to the Northern California coast and I wasn’t sure how soon we’d get to Arizona.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Somewhere in Oregon. Where are we, dear?” Magnolia said in an aside to her husband, Geoff, who did all the driving. A brief conversation between them ensued. “We’ll be there tomorrow! Oh, this is wonderful, especially after the experience we just had.”

  I gave directions on how to find us. “Just watch for the triceratops out front. You can’t miss it.”

  I expected her to respond with a puzzled silence, or at least a question about what is a triceratops, but Magnolia rose to the occasion, as she often does.

  “Oh yes, that’s the three-horned one, isn’t it? With the big ruff on its neck. See you soon.”

  I had to shake my head. How did she know that? Even after all these years of friendship, Magnolia can still surprise me.

  Looking out the window, I saw Mac and Brian returning from their photo excursion. When they reached the motorhome, I opened the door and invited Brian in for coffee.

  “Thanks, but I’d better get back and see how Kathy is doing. She’s headed into one of her killer migraines, so I’ll say goodbye for her. We’ve enjoyed meeting you. And you folks have a good trip on down to Arizona.” He backed off with a smile and a wave as if we were already on our way.

  “We aren’t leaving yet,” Mac said. “We’re having dinner with Duke and Sheila this evening.”

  “And Magnolia and Geoff are arriving tomorrow. She just called,” I added by way of explanation to Mac.

  “Hey, great!”

  Brian’s response was less enthusiastic. His heavy eyebrows drew together, and the smile flattened to a stiff line. “We’ve been glad to have you folks with us, but we can’t have a whole contingent of RVs staying here. There are regulations even out here in the country, you know.” He sounded very righteous. The property owner defending his territory from marauding RVs. “We’ll have to ask you to move along.”

  “We can be gone by tomorrow, but I really need more information from Duke first.”

  “No longer than tomorrow,” he ordered.

  After he stalked off, I said, “I wonder if Kathy really is having a migraine or if that’s an excuse to keep us from seeing her again. I don’t think she wants any more discussion with me about our having met before.”

  Mac nodded. “I’m interested in finding out what Sheila knows about the Morrisons when we have dinner with her and Duke this evening.”

  Which, I realized now, was why he’d responded so quickly to Sheila’s invitation.

  “Brian was very adroit at keeping himself out of the photos I took,” Mac added. “He laughed it off, saying it was because he always comes out looking like something the dinosaurs dragged in, but he was quite determined about it.”

  “So you didn’t get any photos of him?”

  Mac winked at me. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  ***

  We ate a late lunch, and then Mac suggested we take the rough gravel road that went on past the dinosaur park and see if it went to the beach. It did, and Mac parked the pickup under a wind-twisted coastal pine near a cove with a sandy beach. Beyond the cove, wild waves surged around offshore rocks, spray shooting skyward in geyser bursts. Within the protected area of the cove, however, the waves lapped almost gently. An old wooden dock stuck out into the cove, a handful of seagulls and even a couple of seals in residence.

  Looking back, we could see the western side of the hill on which the dinosaur park was located. This side broke off in a steep cliff with a jumble of broken rocks below it. More forested land separated the cliff from the ocean.

  “I wonder what that used to be?” I asked as we also surveyed the burned skeletons and foundations of what had once been several buildings near the cove. It didn’t look like a recent burn, but it wasn’t old enough for brush and trees to obliterate the site. Tall weeds and blackberries were making a strong attack on it, however, growing around crumbling foundations and surging up through the old asphalt of a parking area.

  We took off our shoes to stroll along the sandy beach and afterward put them back on to wander around the burned buildings. The whole area had the lonely feel of a vanished civilization, but it was still a lovely setting with a magnificent view. The wind came up and skittered balls of sea-foam across the shoreline.

  It was almost dark by the time we got back to the motorhome. I’d just started a salad when someone knocked on the door. Mac was in the bedroom changing his jeans to go over to Duke’s for dinner. I opened the outside door warily. I expected to see Brian again, perhaps returning to wave a shotgun and a list of unfriendly county regulations about RV parking at us. Instead, Sheila stood there in the early darkness of coming winter. She was still wearing the plaid cape and purple beret, but she’d changed to snug black pants and high-heeled boots.

  “Hi. I came over to bring you some lasagna and soup and tell you we won’t be able to have dinner with Duke this evening.” She handed me two plastic containers. “I’m really sorry, but his knees are bothering him again, and the pain pills make him kind of woozy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. We were looking forward to an evening with both of you. But thanks so much for the soup and lasagna.” I sniffed the warm, spicy scent drifting from the containers. “Smells wonderful! Come on in for a few minutes, won’t you? We didn’t have much chance to get acquainted at church this morning.”

  Sheila managed the step up to the motorhome gracefully. In her spike heels I’d probably have somersaulted through the door. Which makes me sigh. I used to love wearing high heels. I still do, but it takes a very special occasion, and a certain reckless disregard for consequences, to wear them now.

  We sat down and talked about the weather and Duke’s bad knees for a few minutes. I thought about the pickup parked out by the trailer and asked if Duke still drove.

  “He hasn’t driven for quite a while. I always take my SUV when we go anywhere. I suppose he could still drive, though I’m not sure he should drive. But you know men and their vehicles.” Roll of eyes. “Take away their ride and you’d think you’d cut off some vital part of their anatomy.”

  Mac came out of the bedroom, and I explained about the change in dinner plans. He expressed regret and then sat down with us and asked about the burned ruins we’d seen over near the beach.

  “Oh, isn’t that a terrible eyesore?” Dramatic fling of hands from Sheila. “The county has been trying to get it cleaned up ever since the fire a few years ago, but the owner died and the heirs have been squabbling, and it still looks like a disaster area. Some big resort outfit wanted to buy and build there, but nothing ever came of it.”

  “What was it before it burned?” I asked.

  “Kate’s Kabins. One larger building with rental rooms and a small restaurant, plus a half dozen or so rustic cabins. All outdated, but some families stayed for a week or two and came back year after year. They gave the dinosaur park some business. Kate’s dead now, of course.”

  Mac headed the conversation in a different direction. “We got
the impression from Duke that you might have a few reservations about the Morrisons.”

  Sheila’s dramatically lined eyes looked mildly alarmed at our knowing that. “I’m not fond of Brian,” she admitted. “Kathy is okay. But she hates it here.”

  “Hates it? She told me she loved it here.”

  “She tries to convince herself of that, but I know she hates the dinosaurs.”

  “She did mention she felt as if they were ‘hostile’ to her.”

  “She hardly ever goes out in the park. I think she’s afraid a goat is going to sneak up and butt her in the behind. Of course, she does make kind of an obvious target.” Sheila slapped herself on the cheek. “Oh, I shouldn’t say that. It sounds catty, and she’s really a sweet person.”

  “I wonder why they stay here, then.”

  “Because Brian wants to, of course. Kathy is such a wimp where he’s concerned.”

  “Wimp?”

  “Oh, you know. Whatever Brian wants, Brian gets. I think she’s a little older, so maybe that has something to do with it. Afraid she’ll lose him to a younger woman if she makes any waves. He doesn’t appreciate her enough, and she’s so good with the kids in her Dolly Dinosaur costume. She tries to look after Duke too. But Brian . . .” She paused and then, as if she found it necessary to find some good point about Brian, added in a virtuous tone, “Of course Brian did build that ramp for Duke’s trailer.”

  “But?” I finally said, because there was an obvious but lurking in there.

  “I just don’t feel, well, comfortable with how Brian manages the park. I mean, he’s just let everything go.”

  “Does Duke know the foliage in the park is so overgrown you can barely see the dinosaurs?” Mac asked.

  “Really? I didn’t know that. Of course, I haven’t actually been out in the park for years. I don’t go along with Kathy’s silly idea about dinosaur hostility, but I don’t care for the smell out there.”

  “I didn’t smell anything,” Mac said.