by Cindy Myers
“Don’t go looking so starry-eyed,” Cassie said. “I wouldn’t trust that one as far as I could throw him.”
“You never trust anyone, Cassie,” Maggie said.
“At least I don’t go making a fool of myself with every handsome man who comes along,” the librarian said.
Cassie had been foolish about plenty of men, but Lucille didn’t bother to point this out. “I’m touched that you’re so concerned about my welfare, Cassie,” she said.
Cassie gave another snort. “I don’t give a fig about you, but I do care about this town, and I won’t see you drag its name through the mud again.” She left, the cowbells jangling behind her.
“Well, I care about you,” Maggie said. She walked over to Lucille and squeezed her shoulder. “Let me know if he says anything to upset you.”
“And you’ll do what? Sic Jameso on him?” While Maggie’s husband was about Duke’s size, and fifteen or twenty years younger, Lucille wasn’t sure he was as tough.
Maggie smiled. “That’s a thought. Mostly, I’d just offer sympathy. Though I could write nasty things about him in the paper.”
“I doubt if he’ll upset me. I have no idea where Gerald is now, and I don’t care.”
“Do you think he swindled somebody else and that’s why this detective is trying to track him down?”
“Probably. I feel sorry for whoever it is, but I can’t help them.”
“Oh well, it’s a little excitement in an otherwise dull summer. One thing you can say for Eureka—we’re not much for scandal and deep, dark secrets.”
Chapter 2
By the time Travis Rowell parked his 1999 Chevy pickup in front of the Last Dollar Café in Eureka, Colorado, he had the shakes from drinking coffee for the past fifteen hours and both knees ached from being behind the wheel so long. He’d driven all the way from Dallas because he couldn’t afford to fly, and because he didn’t like to fly. He wasn’t afraid of flying, mind you; he just hated the hassle.
He unfolded himself from the driver’s seat of the truck and surveyed the place where he was going to be exiled for the next few weeks or so. There was plenty of picture-postcard scenery, he’d give it that, provided you liked looking at mountains, rocks, and trees. The town itself resembled some Old West movie set, complete with dirt streets and false-fronted stores. Red geraniums and pink petunias bloomed in baskets that hung from light posts in front of almost every business, including the café where he’d parked. The Last Dollar proclaimed jaunty lettering over the door—were the prices so high it would empty your wallet to eat there, or did you have to be desperate, down to your last dollar, to attempt it?
In any case, he wasn’t particularly hungry. He wanted to get to work and get this over with. The sooner he had his story, the sooner he could head back to Dallas and his girlfriend, Trish. He’d only taken this gig because of her, anyway. The money from this job would set him up with enough cash to pay off some debts and finally tie the knot.
An old man, skinny as a scarecrow and sort of dressed like one, in canvas trousers held up by suspenders and a checked flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal knobby elbows, emerged from the café and scowled at him. Travis smiled and waved to the man, then turned his back and pulled out his phone. He punched in the number he’d memorized by now and tapped his foot while he listened to it ring. One . . . two . . . three . . .
“Hello? Where are you?” The woman’s nasal twang and demanding tone made Travis’s right eye twitch. “I called and left a message an hour ago,” Mindy Payton said.
“Don’t get in a panic,” he said. “I’m here. In beautiful downtown Eureka. And I didn’t get your message, probably because the service is so spotty here in the back of beyond. I have to hand it to your sister—when it comes to places to hide out, this little burg in the middle of nowhere seems just about perfect.”
“Oh, it’s perfect, as long as you don’t want to go shopping, go to the movies, eat almost anywhere besides that café, or see anything besides rocks and deer.”
Travis grinned. The one good thing about this gig was that Mindy, his erstwhile partner, had to suffer as much as he did. Maybe more. Marvelous Mindy, with her big hair, makeup, and high heels, would be as out of place here in Grizzly Adams country as Tinker Bell in a blizzard. And speaking of blizzards. “We’d better get busy,” he said. “I want to be well shed of this place before the first snowfall. This place probably turns into Siberia in winter.”
“We’ll both be out of here long before then.”
“So she’s here, right? Your famous sister? That detective wasn’t lying through his teeth about that, was he?” Paying off the ex-cop who’d tracked down Shelly Payton for him had taken most of the meager advance he’d been able to wrangle from the publisher. The expenses of getting to Eureka had taken the rest. But it was all going to be worth it in the end. The public would line up to hear the true story of Baby Shelly, all grown up and turned recluse in the Colorado mountains. Especially if the author of the book was her sweet baby sister, Mindy. Travis had even wrangled a byline for himself, as well as a cut of the royalties. “With Travis Rowell” would be his ticket to even bigger and better things.
“So have you talked to Shelly?” he asked. “Was she glad to see you?”
“I’m staying at her house. She was so thrilled to see me, she moved me right into her spare bedroom.”
Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. This was going to be easier than he’d thought. “Great. Why don’t I come over now and introduce myself?” And maybe the sister had another spare room he could use, to save the cost of a motel room. After all, if he was going to document her life for her adoring fans, he should probably spend as much time as possible with her.
“I think we need to take it slower,” Mindy said. “She and I need some time to bond, then I can bring you in.”
So much for feeling optimistic. Travis had been around the block enough times to know how to read between the lines. “You haven’t told her about the book yet, have you?” he said.
“I told her. I mean, I had to tell her. What kind of person do you think I am?”
Travis thought Mindy was a whiny, spoiled, manipulative leech, but he knew enough not to share that opinion with her. “What did she say? Is she going to cooperate with us?”
“She’s not sure. She wants to help me, of course, but the past is so painful. . . .” Mindy’s voice trailed away, as if talking about the past hurt too much. Though of course she’d spent her whole life profiting from that very past.
“Let me come over and talk to her. I’m sure I can win her over.” Travis prided himself on a certain amount of charm.
“I don’t know,” Mindy said. “I think it’s too soon to bring you into the picture.”
“It’s the perfect time.” Travis tried to hide his impatience. “Look at it this way—she’s been stuck here in the middle of nowhere for a while now. After all those years in the limelight, she’s bound to be missing it. I mean, wouldn’t you? I sure would. She’s probably dying for a chance to be the center of attention again.”
“Oh, I’m sure she is,” Mindy said, sounding bitter.
“See, that’s the genius of our plan,” Travis said. “You show up, all young and beautiful and fresh from the city.” Might as well lay it on thick. One of the reasons he was so perfect for this job was that he was good at massaging inflated egos. And Mindy’s ego was almost as pumped up as her chest. “She’s going to want to show you up—to compete. You’re the key to our getting the story we want.”
“She’ll be jealous of me, you mean.”
“Absolutely! I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. You have a big book contract. You’re going places. And where is Shelly going? Nowhere. She’ll be dying to try to grab some of the attention away from you. It’s just human nature.”
“You’re probably right.” Mindy still sounded doubtful.
“I know I’m right.” He shifted his phone to his other hand, leaned into the truck, and grab
bed his notebook. “Give me directions to her place and I’ll stop by and introduce myself. I’ll make it a point to flatter you and let her know you’re the big deal here, not her. She’ll be begging to talk to me before I’m through.”
“All right.” She sounded more cheerful now. “She lives just out of town. Take a street called Pickax on up the hill and around, then turn on Camp Robber Way. Can you believe these street names? Anyway, it’s the house at the very end, on the left.”
“I’ll be right there.”
He found the house easily enough; how could anyone get lost in a place this small? It was typical for the area—a log cabin that looked as if it had squatted on the side of the mountain for a century or more, the metal roof streaked with rust in places, a black stovepipe jutting into the sky. Travis parked his truck and strode up a dirt path to the front door and lifted the heavy knocker.
A woman’s voice called from the other side of the door. “Who is it?”
“My name’s Travis Rowell. I’m a friend of Mindy’s.”
The door opened enough to reveal half a woman’s face: one blue eye, a pale cheek, a hank of light brown hair. “Mindy, there’s someone here to see you,” the woman—it must be Shelly—called over her shoulder.
“Actually, it’s you I came to see, Shelly.”
She flinched at his use of her name. Which made no sense. He’d read the private dick’s report—she went by the name Shelly still. Probably because it was easier than trying to get used to being called a completely different name. She was Shelly Frazier now, though.
“Well, open the door, silly. He won’t bite!” Mindy’s high, girlish voice drifted to him. The door opened wider to reveal the sisters standing side by side. The resemblance was more obvious now—they had the same narrow noses and wide, blue eyes, though Mindy had enhanced her features with copious makeup and bleached and curled her hair. Shelly was plainer, clearly older, and unsmiling.
“Come on in, Travis.” Mindy grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, past her sister and into the open front room of the house, with its soaring ceiling, large black woodstove, and dead animal heads on the walls. Right out of a Ralph Lauren ad, minus the pouty models, though Shelly certainly had the pout down. “Shelly, this is the guy I was telling you about—the one who’s helping me write my book,” Mindy said.
The guy who was actually writing the book, he could have pointed out, but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. “It’s great to meet you, Shelly,” he said. “This is a gorgeous place you have here.”
Shelly folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. “I’ve already told Mindy, but I’ll tell you, too. I’m not interested in any book about my life. I prefer that the past stay in the past.”
Her attitude didn’t surprise him; he’d expected as much, considering all the trouble she’d gone to to hide her identity. But his years as an investigative reporter had taught him how to sweet-talk reluctant subjects. “But this is your chance to really tell your side of the story—to show people that you’re not the person who’s been depicted in all the articles over the years.”
Her stubborn expression never changed. “I’m not interested, Mr. Rowell.”
“Call me Travis, please.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a deliberately casual pose. “I don’t want to pressure you. I’ll just hang around here a few days, talking to people in town, gathering background information. I’m sure Mindy and I have enough for the book without your cooperation, but I want to assure you that I would really prefer to present your side of the story.” Without her cooperation, he didn’t have a story—the publisher had made that clear. He wanted an exclusive account in Shelly’s own words, something that would stand out among the sea of books cribbed from news accounts and conversations with third parties that had cropped up over the years. But Travis hoped the threat of such a retelling would make Shelly feel more cooperative.
“You can do what you like, Mr. Rowell,” she said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”
“Shelly, wait!” Mindy clutched at her sister’s arm. “All we want is for you to talk to us a little. Tell me what you’ve been up to for the past ten years. I mean, it’s not as if anyone’s going to use the information against you. People love you—they always have.”
“They love the cute blond toddler who was trapped in the cave. They don’t even know me.”
“Then here’s your chance to let them know you,” Travis said. “Think of it like Facebook, and our readers are your friends.”
“I have real friends,” she said. “I don’t need any more.”
“Shelly, please!” Mindy’s voice soared to a piercing whine. Travis frowned at her. She needed to shut up and let him handle this.
“I’ll leave now,” he said. “Just think about what I’ve said. You can set the parameters for our conversation. If there are things you want to keep off-limits, I’ll respect that.” Though he would do his best to find a way around any restrictions. After all, that was his job, and he was good at it. He took out his wallet and withdrew a card. “Here’s my number. Call me anytime to discuss this further.”
“Where are you staying?” Mindy asked.
“I have a room at the local motel.”
“You need to leave now, before my husband gets home,” Shelly said.
“Is he a jealous man?” Travis asked. “I promise you, he has nothing to worry about from me. I’m practically engaged to a wonderful woman in Dallas.”
The lines between her eyes deepened and she shook her head. “Just . . . go.”
He nodded, and backed toward the door. She was a tough one, but he knew he’d wear her down eventually. People liked him. They trusted him. He had that kind of charming, easygoing personality.
He was climbing into the truck when the door opened again and Mindy raced out. Surprising how fast she could run in heels. She sagged against the driver’s side door, winded by her sprint in the thin air. “Don’t worry, I’ll work on her,” she said. “She’ll come around.”
“Don’t badger her,” he said. “In fact, act as if you don’t care. That will make her curious. She’ll want to talk to us to find out what we’re up to.”
“I have learned a few things we can use in the book, and I have some ideas.”
Of course she did. Mindy had the idea that she was going to contribute something useful to this project, beyond her access to her sister. It was in his best interest to let her keep thinking that. “I’d love to hear your ideas,” he said.
“There’s a bar in town—maybe the only bar. Called the Dirty Sally.”
“Lovely name,” he said dryly.
“I think it’s named after a mine. Everything up here is, I guess. Anyway, let’s meet there tonight. About eight o’clock?”
“All right.” He could use a drink after the day he’d had. “And don’t worry about your sister. Before this is over, she’ll be telling me her deepest, darkest secrets.”
Charlie came home with the boys while the dust from Travis’s truck was still settling in the driveway. Cameron and Theo, knees streaked with mud from the creek, hair windblown and cheeks sunburned, burst into the house first, both talking at once, their voices high-pitched and eager. “Mom, we caught the biggest . . .”
“Fish so big I thought it was gonna break the—”
“Fishing pole bent almost in two! Dad—”
“Had to help us reel it—”
“Into the bank and Theo almost—”
“Stuck his finger with the hook but—”
“It was just a scratch. No worries.” Charlie finished up the story and kissed Shelly on the cheek. He smelled of creek water and fish bait and the cigars he only smoked when he was fishing. “Did you have a good birthday afternoon?”
Shelly thought longingly of the bubble bath she’d never gotten to enjoy, and the romance novel that still lay on the table, unread. “Something came up,” she said.
“Oh?” His eyebrows rose in question.
; She looked past him to the boys, and the stringer of trout they held between them. “What a gorgeous bunch of fish,” she said. “We’ll have to have them for supper, won’t we?”
Cameron pushed his lips out in a doubtful expression. “But it’s your birthday. We should have something you like.”
“Aww, honey.” She had to swallow past the sudden knot in her throat. “I can’t think of anything better for my birthday dinner than trout you caught.” She patted his shoulder and took the stringer of fish. “Now you both go upstairs and get cleaned up and Dad and I will take care of these.”
“Race you!” Theo shouted, and headed for the stairs. Cam thundered after him.
Charlie took the stringer from him. “You don’t even like trout,” he said.
“I like it fine.” She started to turn away, but he caught her arm. “What came up?” he asked. “Why do you look so upset?”
“I look upset?” She thought she’d been hiding it well.
“You get this pinched look around your eyes when you’re unhappy,” he said. “And your shoulders hunch.”
She straightened her shoulders, then sighed. Why bother pretending? “My sister’s here,” she said.
“Your sister?” Deep lines formed on his forehead, as if he was trying to remember something important. Probably the fact that she had a sister; it wasn’t as if she ever talked about her family.
“Mindy. Five years younger. The spitting image of my mom at twenty-five.”
“So . . . she came to see you for your birthday?” He watched her closely, gauging her reaction.
“She hired a private detective to find me so that she could pick my brain for the book some publisher is paying her to write.”
“Whoa, back up a minute. Your sister is a writer?”
“No, she’s not a writer. She has some ghostwriter, a reporter or something, who’s going to do the writing. She’s just supposed to get me to go along with the idea.”
“What idea is that?”
She pressed both hands to her temples, trying to squeeze out the headache forming there. “She’s writing about Baby Shelly. Some tell-all tome or something. All about what I’ve been up to for the past ten years.”