by Susan Slater
“Think what you want. But I’m warning you to be careful. I don’t want you to go back to the reservation and get everybody all riled up over nothing. We don’t have any facts. If you want to stay investigating this case, I suggest you be circumspect—”
“Do I detect a threat?”
“Let’s just call it a caution, and now if you’ll excuse me.”
Tommy let himself out, picked up the packet of material waiting at the desk outside the colonel’s office and continued out into the parking lot. He’d struck a nerve. But Brenda had witnessed the death of the man she had loved—or still did, he didn’t know if it was past tense. What would that have done to her? Did she identify the body? And then what? Would she have harmed herself? There were too many missing pieces to the puzzle.
“Did Hap give you a hard time?” Colonel Bertrand was leaning against the Bronco. “Between you and me, I don’t think he’s following up every lead, you know what I mean? Just taking a scrape at the top of things—not digging for the real truth.”
Tommy waited, almost uncomfortable under the colonel’s stare.
“Listen, any chance you knew this Cachini fellow?”
“Vaguely. Mostly by reputation.”
“What was his reputation?”
“I don’t know, daredevil, ladies man.” Tommy took a step toward the Bronco. He thought of telling him about Ronnie and Brenda but didn’t. The colonel would find out soon enough, and Tommy needed to think, not spend time discussing Brenda Begay’s love life with this man.
“Sounds like every other airman. Any feel for his politics?”
“No.” What did that mean?
“Well, thanks. Better let you get going.”
Tommy watched in the rearview as the colonel stared after him not moving until distance blurred his image.
CHAPTER NINE
Edwina Rosenberg slowed to the posted twenty miles an hour and rounded the last twist in the one-lane road before pulling into the Visitor’s Center at Chaco Canyon. She’d come out this way almost twenty years ago and when the degree in anthropology was completed, she’d stayed. Moved her mother out from Chicago, bought a modest stucco and frame house in Farmington and was still here.
The jobs had been ones she’d dreamed about—sifting for potshards among the Anasazi ruins of Chaco Canyon, building a history of these ancient people one miniscule chunk at a time. It had been her life and when the research money dried up, she’d stayed on to conduct tours and work for the personnel at the park she’d helped to create.
She often came to work at the crack of dawn—that time of day when the sun pushed up over the east rim of the rock cliffs. It was her favorite time of day. She always knew she was watching something that these ancient peoples had watched and marveled at—the beauty as streaks of purple and rose and pink licked along the top of the canyon, then dipped down to touch the stone houses before screeching across the valley.
Summer or winter, she would get out of her car and stare. She often drove the arduous, slow-going washboard road into the ruins in near darkness just to see this spectacular sight.
There was never any doubt in her mind why the Anasazi chose this canyon for their home. Even the ruts that challenged the government four wheel drive vehicle never dampened her spirits. Mornings were special; her time to be close to antiquity and a God that she believed existed for all mankind. She loved her time alone with all the beauty around her. But this morning she was almost late. A fight with good old Mom about the sack full of books on the front seat had cheated her of any morning splendor.
She nosed into the parking spot with her initials on a white plaque—third one down from the path that led to the front door. Edwina brought the Bronco snuggly against the railroad tie boundary. She sat a minute gathering her thoughts, another day, another dollar as her mother would say. She sighed, gathered up her lunch and the argument-causing sack of new romance novels, slipped from behind the wheel and turned to lock the Bronco. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have had to do that. She tucked her thermos under her arm and stuffed her lunch sack into the satchel purse slung over her shoulder then shifted the books to her free hand. She sorely missed not seeing the magic of the sunrise.
She turned forty in one month and knew in her heart of hearts that ice cream and cake with dear ol’ Mom just wasn’t going to cut it. She’d sent off for several cruise brochures before deciding on the Caribbean—all those islands with white beaches and shopping. She’d worked with a travel agency in Albuquerque and hidden the tickets when she got them.
She’d bought two after reading a book on visualization—picture what you want, prepare, and it will happen. So far, the second ticket lying in her bureau drawer hadn’t conjured up the companion she hoped for.
And what mom didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Edwina wasn’t up to a lecture on being wasteful or worse yet—her mother would insist on going, too—just assume the second ticket was for her. That was decidedly not in Edwina’s plan.
A fling was more like it. One thousand dollars’ worth of a good time. If a companion hadn’t materialized by the time she left, she’d just find someone on board. She’d heard that the ships hired escorts, at the very least, dance partners for women traveling alone.
And why not? She was prepared to absolutely haunt the ballroom. She’d taken a month’s worth of tango lessons in Albuquerque last year. A warm spring spent one Saturday at a time with her sweaty cheek pressed against Gerald’s. But he just wasn’t her type—polyester shirt and cheap shoes split along the outside hinting at corns on the little toes. They’d had coffee a few times, but the shoes bothered her. Surely the cruise ship would have a different caliber of men.
She set the sack of books down and stooped to pick up a candy wrapper beside the walk. Three feet from a receptacle and two feet from the front door and someone litters. She stepped quickly to the tightly covered can to the right of the front door, lifted the lid and held her breath. They were emptied once a week, every Friday, to be exact, so this one had another day.
“Ma’am?”
She whirled; the thermos flew out from under her arm and banged with a sickening thud against the side of the building. The man stepped from the shadows and blocked her path.
“Please, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Edwina didn’t trust her heart not to simply explode; it was beating so wildly. But for a strange moment she thought she had conjured this man. He was almost too good-looking to be real, six foot, muscles that pulled his Khaki T-shirt flat across his chest and arms, baggy fatigues tucked into boot tops, short black hair, large dark eyes, tanned to perfection … this could be a beer commercial.
“Ma’am. I’d like to go inside.”
“We’re not open.”
“I’m camping in the area and I’d like to use the facilities.”
“At eight, come back at eight—that’s when we open.” Edwina clutched her purse in front of her and wondered at the breathy sound of her voice as her eyes traveled from his face to his chest, stopped at the canvas belt in his pants and darted back to his eyes.
“I’m sorry about the thermos.” He picked it up and held it out giving it a shake. “Oh no, the liner shattered.”
“Old, it was incredibly old.” Why couldn’t she think of something else to say? Something witty, entrancing. Then she made an executive decision. “Did you say that you just needed to … wash up?”
He nodded.
“Well, we open in twenty minutes anyway. Come on.” There were no facilities in the park. Water and wood were available only at the Center. A few scattered porta potties remained—most had just mysteriously disappeared—but no running water anywhere. Camper-trailers had to be self-contained. If he’d ridden a bike in, he’d be at a disadvantage. The park was just not user-friendly. Wasn’t that the term used at the last manager’s meeting? There were plans to improve … but that took money. She was always glad that, year to year, she was still employed.
She was all busine
ss now and, stooping to pick up the sack of books, moved in front of him to the door.
“Let me take those.” He lifted the sack from her arms with a smile that sent her stomach leaping for her throat.
“No, I can—”
“I insist.”
Again, that smile. She had to turn away and, finding her keys in the bottom of her purse, unlocked the front door, but he pulled it open and held it for her. Their arms touched and she shivered, then swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She was alone with the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.
“The restrooms are in back. Give me a minute to turn the lights on.” She smiled at him then went behind the counter and pushed the buttons that brought the shelves of books and maps on the walls into bright focus.
“Thanks.”
His smile stayed in his eyes, she noticed, before she watched him walk to the back around the vending machines to the restrooms. Those incredible eyes, and it dawned on her that she wasn’t the least afraid to be alone with him. But a ranger would be along any minute. However, a lot could happen in a few minutes. Was she being stupid?
She hadn’t moved from behind the counter when he came out.
“I’m afraid I need some change.” He held out a twenty. “Thought I’d load up on some carbs as long as I’m here.” He gestured toward the vending machine that held an assortment of packaged cookies, chips and nuts.
“Oh, sure. Just a minute.”
Well, this could be it. What if he thought they kept cash on hand? Was this a ruse to rob her? He probably wouldn’t have gone to the bathroom first. That’s what her practical side said. She dug the cash box out of the drawer and gave him 5 one’s, a five and a ten.
He handed her back the ten. “Could you spare another 10 ones?” A smile still played around his eyes.
She could, but how odd. He must be planning to make a meal from the machine.
As if he’d read her thoughts, he added, “Got a couple pals who are bottomless pits. Especially after hiking. Do you know of any good trails?”
“No. Well, yes. I guess I do. I better.” She laughed self-consciously. She couldn’t seem to get a handle on her nervousness. She forced herself to look away. “Let me get you one of the park’s maps. At least then you’ll know where you can go and where you can’t.” Edwina reached into a drawer and handed him a folded map of the area.
“Thanks.” He tucked it into a pocket and moved to put the first dollar into the machine. Finally, after amassing a pile of brightly colored sacks and wrappers, he turned back. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bag? I wasn’t thinking how tough it’d be to carry all this stuff.”
“You should have brought one of your buddies.”
“Yeah. But getting them out of the sack at this hour is impossible.”
“I’m not sure what’s around here … oh wait, I always carry a tote.” Edwina dug to the bottom of her purse. “Here. It’s sturdier than it looks.” She unfolded the mesh, straightening some of the knotted strings before handing it across the counter.
“This is great. I’ll bring it back.” He didn’t seem in any hurry to go, and she stood expectantly wondering what else he wanted. “I couldn’t help notice that the pay phone’s out of order. I really need to check in at home. My mother’s sick and I promised I’d let her know when we got here. Is there any possibility that I could use the Center’s phone? I’d gladly pay. It’s only to Albuquerque.”
Edwina felt—actually felt her heart melt. His mother ill and here he was out for a good time with friends but thinking of her all the time. What a dutiful son.
“Ma’am?”
“Oh.” Edwina snapped back to the present. “Yes, use my phone in here.” She held open the swinging gate that let him behind the desk and then proceeded toward the back. Was her office tidy? What had she left out? A quick surveillance of the room showed a neat, if sparse ten-by-ten foot space, its walls covered with maps. And one Fabio poster. Would he notice? For the first time ever, she wished the life-size chest and abs weren’t gracing the north wall.
“Take your time.” She discreetly backed out of the room once he was seated behind her desk, sitting in her chair, and closed the door. She knew she’d never think of her office in the same way again.
She toyed with trying to listen in. Instead, she just hovered by the door. She could hear that he did a lot of the talking. A couple times he had raised his voice. Must be trying to get his mother to do something—maybe she was like Edwina’s mother who only went to a doctor as a last resort. She’d have to be on her deathbed to spend money on a diagnosis. They probably had lots in common.
The call seemed to be taking a long time. She began to worry about the other rangers coming in. That wouldn’t be a good thing. She was almost ready to tap on the door when she heard him hang up. The end was so abrupt she hardly had time to rush to the front desk and appear busy.
“Is she all right?” Edwina hoped she didn’t sound too breathless.
“Yeah. As right as she can be.” He smiled. “Well, thanks again. Here’s two dollars. Will that cover the call?”
“Yes. Uh, you really don’t have to. We’re allowed two personal calls a month out of the area. I haven’t used mine.” She waved off the two crisp ones he held out. It was a lie, of course. The government wanted you to be accountable for every penny spent—but she’d think of something. A call to Albuquerque wasn’t too out of the ordinary. But you were required to report it.
“I insist.”
“Well, OK” She plucked the bills from his fingers, very careful not to accidentally touch his hand. She was already having to control her breathing.
Then, that smile, and he was gone. She clutched the one dollar bills and berated herself for not asking him how long he would be in the area. Camping. He’d said that he was camping with friends. So, maybe he’d be back. Wouldn’t he need to call his mother again and didn’t he promise to return her tote? She had to see him again. What if he was a movie star? He looked exactly like that guy who did the runaway bus movie.
And when he came back, she’d be prepared. Tomorrow she’d wear the short sleeved, cerulean cashmere sweater and her tightest jeans. She could always change to her uniform later. And she’d get the gray out of her hair, pick up the dye on the way home … maybe some red highlights. She hugged herself and walked back to her office. His scent still lingered. A crisp citrus-clean smell just edged out by the aroma of good, honest body sweat. Edwina breathed in deeply and swiveled in her chair, the dollar bills pressed against her breast, staring at the Fabio poster, but not seeing.
+ + +
When he knocked on the glass partition that ran along the side of the Center’s front door, Edwina had already been behind the desk for a half-hour. She’d missed the sunrise but she’d had time to adjust and readjust the blue scarf that pulled her hair into a bun-like pouf at the neckline. And she’d thrown on a strand of pearls, the good ones that had belonged to her grandmother.
“Great sweater.”
That was his only comment on the way to the bathroom, but Edwina clutched the counter to remain upright. His smile filled in all the blanks as to what he was really thinking. It was exactly like that time at the Fabio book signing when Fabio had looked up at her, one foot from her face, and said, “Your eyes are so incredible” in that melodious accent and instead of saying a simple “thank you,” she’d fainted.
She couldn’t think of a thing to say as her mystery friend loaded up on food from the machines (corn chips seemed to be a real favorite), and then he was gone. He’d brought the tote back but she’d insisted that he continue to use it.
She acutely felt the void—like someone had punched the wind out of her—the minute the door slammed shut behind him. She walked to the back window and watched him lope out across the hiking path. Then he turned and waved. She was so embarrassed. He’d felt her stare. Did he think she was checking up on him? Making certain that he took the path designated for visitors? She waved back. Or w
as he so conceited that he’d known she’d check those tight glutes below that narrow waist? She didn’t mind a man who knew he had what it took to be admired. And this man seemed so unassuming.
The third morning she brought sandwiches—ham and Swiss on rye, with mayo and mustard, four dills wrapped separately. She’d left the lettuce and tomatoes off. In the heat they could turn easily and go limp and brown. She’d toyed with making a side salad, tossing it with her orange-raspberry vinaigrette dressing and packing it in a Tupperware container. But there was a chance she might not get the container back. And dear ol’ Mom had every piece of Tupperware numbered. No, she didn’t want to arouse suspicion. The less known the better. And not everyone liked salad so she’d stuck with the sandwiches and an economy package of corn chips.
“This is great. I can’t believe you did this. Let me pay—”
“No. Don’t be silly. I won’t take it.” She pushed his hand away that held a twenty and almost gasped at the contact of skin. She swayed slightly on her feet then thrust her hand out and said, “My name’s Ed—Eddy.”
“Eddy?” He took her hand and held it (overly long she thought) before letting go. “Like in Edward?”
“Edwina. My grandmother’s name.”
“Oh.” And it wasn’t until he’d turned to go that she realized he hadn’t said his name.
“Wait. I don’t know your name.”
“What do you think my name would be?” He paused and nonchalantly leaned against the doorjamb. He was teasing, but she could go along.
“Something like Jacques or Ian or Sean …”
“Yeah. Something like that. Let’s go with Ian.” Then he laughed and pushed through the heavy front door and was gone.
+ + +
Ben Pecos had been able to work in Amos Manygoats right before noon. Amos was a reluctant patient, but his daughter had brought him in complaining of headaches and memory loss. The physicians had asked Ben to do a neurological work up—nothing in detail, but they wanted him to offer an opinion as to whether Amos’s problems were physiological or mental. A barely scabbed-over crease across the crown of his head would seem to indicate the physical.