Above It All (Eureka, Colorado Book 4) (Contemporary Romance)

by Cindy Myers

  “All I need to find is evidence that points in that direction. If I can’t find his body, I might find his car, or his belongings. Those things are harder to get rid of.”

  She shook her head. “This is crazy. I won’t believe it.”

  “If something does turn up, I’ll take what I find back to my client, and to the police. It will be up to them to decide what to do next.”

  “I hope for everyone’s sake this isn’t true. I’d rather that Gerald is lying on some Caribbean beach somewhere, living off his ill-gotten gains.”

  “If I do find evidence that suggests he was murdered, you know you’ll be the primary suspect, don’t you?”

  “Me!” Again, she drew stares from the others in the café. She swallowed. “I did not murder anyone. Why would you think that?”

  He buttered a slice of bread and tore off a bite. “You have the most to gain from Gerald Pershing’s death.”

  “I don’t see how you can say that.”

  She had to wait for him to finish chewing before she got an answer. He took a drink of tea, then looked her in the eye, his gaze searching, and surprisingly tender. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but maybe you have a right to know,” he said.

  “Know what?” She resisted the urge to grab him by the collar and shake him.

  “Pershing left a will. If he is dead or declared dead, half of his assets will go to you.”

  Wednesday was Maggie’s next day to work. She fully expected to come to work that morning and find Rick demanding that she write a story about the discovery of Baby Shelly right here in Eureka. If Cassie already knew about it, not to mention Mindy and no telling who else, it was only a matter of time before word got back to Rick.

  But he remained mute on the subject, instead telling her to write an article about this year’s Hard Rock Miner competition.

  “All right,” she agreed. “Do we have a list of this year’s entrants?”

  “I’ve got it here somewhere.” He dug around on his cluttered desktop and extracted a sheet torn from a yellow legal pad, one side covered with his precise, narrow handwriting. “Here you go.”

  She squinted at the paper. “Badger, Dangerous Dave, the Human Dynamo, the Dark Knight . . . Is this some kind of joke?”

  “It’s a tradition for entrants to use assumed names,” Rick said. “That way, no one knows who is really competing until the last day. Or at least, they can pretend not to know. It’s part of the fun.”

  “How am I supposed to write about these guys when I don’t even know who they are?” she asked.

  “Use your imagination. Have fun with it.”

  She shook her head, but resigned herself to the task and moved back toward her desk.

  “Maggie?”

  “Yes, Rick?”

  “Don’t you want to know what your dad’s nickname was?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.” Her famously volatile father had won the Hard Rock Miner competition three years running; she had all of his trophies.

  “He competed as the Mad Irishman. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  She might have pointed out that she couldn’t judge the suitability of his nickname, since she had never known her father while he was alive. But she’d learned plenty about Jake since moving to Eureka. He was the kind of larger-than-life character who lingered in people’s memories, maybe especially in a small town like this.

  Rick was still chuckling to himself a few minutes later when he left the office. “I’m going to get a haircut,” he said. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

  “Sure.” She glanced at the chair where Ellie usually sat; the older woman had Wednesdays off, because she kept her two grandchildren for her daughter, who worked a double shift that day at the hospital in Grand Junction. Now, when Maggie had the office to herself, would be the perfect time to knock out the Hard Rock Miner article, but it also might be her best chance to talk to Shelly. She should have tried to reach her yesterday, but she and Jameso had the day off together and—perhaps because he felt guilty about ditching her Monday night—he’d suggested a picnic in the mountains. They’d ended up waiting out an afternoon thunderstorm in the cabin her father had left her, making love in the bedroom while Angela slept, rain drumming on the tin roof, lightning splitting the sky with brilliant bolts.

  Needless to say, Maggie hadn’t thought of Shelly until this morning, when she’d awakened late, filled with a sense of dread.

  She’d already put off the task as long as possible, but she really couldn’t wait any longer. No telling who Travis Rowell would blab to next. She called the bank first, and Tamarin Sherman answered the phone. “This is Shelly’s Wednesday afternoon off,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’ll call her at home. Good-bye.”

  “Wait!”

  “What is it?” Maggie asked.

  Tamarin lowered her voice. “Have you heard anything about some . . . some scandal Shelly was involved in?”

  Maggie stiffened. “A scandal?”

  “Something to do with money? Maybe she stole it or something?”

  “Shelly? That doesn’t sound like her at all.” And it certainly didn’t have anything to do with Baby Shelly.

  “I know, right? But her sister said something the other day that made me think . . . oh, never mind.”

  “Have you asked Shelly about this?” Maggie asked. “What does she say?”

  “I haven’t said anything to her yet. I don’t know what to think.”

  “I haven’t heard anything like that. Maybe you misunderstood her sister.”

  “That must be it. I should just call Shelly and ask her. If you talk to her before I do, don’t say anything, okay?”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  She ended the call with Tamarin, then looked up Shelly’s home number in the local phone book—which actually included numbers for everyone in three counties, since the listings for Eureka alone would have made up only a phone pamphlet—and punched it in.

  Shelly answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Shelly, it’s Maggie Clark.”

  “Oh, hi, Maggie, what’s up?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you on your afternoon off, but something happened the other afternoon that I have to ask you about.”

  “Oh?” Apprehension weighted the single syllable.

  “That reporter from Dallas, Travis Rowell, stopped by the office Monday afternoon.”

  “What did he want?”

  Maggie’s stomach knotted, but she took a deep breath and pushed on. After all, her job was to ask hard questions, wasn’t it? “He told me you were Baby Shelly—the toddler they pulled out of that cave in Texas twenty-five years ago. Is that true?”

  “Maggie, I don’t want to talk about this.” Shelly didn’t sound angry, merely weary.

  “I just wanted to find out if it’s true, or if he’s spreading a false rumor.”

  “It happened a long time ago. I don’t know why anyone wants to bring it up.”

  “People still remember,” Maggie said. “I remember. You were, well, you were a part of our lives. I think people still care and would like to know what happened to you.”

  “Maggie, please don’t write about this for the paper. If you do, other papers will pick it up and it will be reprinted all over the country and the next thing I know I’ll have people camping out on my front porch, wanting interviews.”

  “If Travis writes about you for the Dallas Morning News it’s going to be out there anyway,” Maggie said. “At least I’ll tell the truth, not some sensationalized version designed to grab headlines.”

  “According to Mindy, he doesn’t work for the Dallas Morning News. I mean, he apparently did at one time, but now he’s strictly freelance, and as far as I can tell, he hasn’t sold my story because I won’t talk to him. And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk to you, either.”

  “I’ll admit I’m disappointed, but I’ll respect your privacy.”

  “No one understands,” Shelly sai
d. “But haven’t you ever had something in your life you didn’t want to relive in the papers?”

  Maggie recalled the days following her husband’s announcement that he was leaving her for an older, richer woman. As Maggie was a Junior Leaguer and best friend to prominent socialite Barbara Stanowski, her impending divorce had caught the attention of a Houston gossip columnist. She still remembered the sick feeling that had engulfed her when she read the two-line item in that writer’s weekly column in the Houston Chronicle. Her private shame was there in black and white for everyone to see. She’d called Barb, practically hysterical, demanding to know what she could do to stop this. Barb had gently urged her to calm down and accept that she could do nothing but wait for this to pass.

  But what if the scandal had been so big and compelling that it hadn’t faded from the public’s memory overnight? How much worse to know that whenever anyone looked at you, they were thinking not of you, but of something that had happened to you? Something that hadn’t even been your fault?

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “I hadn’t thought about how traumatic being trapped like that must have been for you. Of course you wouldn’t want to relive it.”

  “Being trapped in that cavern wasn’t nearly as traumatic as everything that happened afterward,” Shelly said. “All the attention and publicity made it impossible for me to have a normal childhood. I’ve worked hard to build a quiet, ordinary life for myself and my family. The last thing I want is to expose myself and my children to the circus that was everyday life growing up.”

  “I understand and I respect that,” Maggie said. “And don’t worry—I’ll respect your confidence. I may be a reporter, but I’m your friend first.”

  “Thanks. I wish everyone else was as understanding, but I figure as long as I don’t talk to them, they won’t have much to write about—though I’m not sure that’s enough to stop Travis.”

  “Is he a friend of your sister’s? I’ve seen them together around town.”

  “I don’t think they’re friends, exactly. I think he’s latched on to her to try to get to me.” She sighed. “I’ve got to go now. I’ve got brownies in the oven.”

  “Good-bye. And don’t worry about me.”

  “Thanks, Maggie. I really appreciate it.”

  Maggie hung up the phone and stared at the page in her notebook, on which she’d written Shelly Frazier = Baby Shelly? She tore out the page and crumpled it into a ball. The conversation with Shelly had left her feeling sad and out of sorts, as if she’d spent the day wearing clothes that were too tight. Here was this perfectly nice woman, living a quiet, happy life with her family, and then a reporter and her long-lost sister had shown up in town, spreading rumors and causing trouble.

  Really, why couldn’t people mind their own business and leave well enough alone? Why did something always have to interfere with people’s happiness?

  Chapter 7

  “If Travis thinks he can hide from me in a town this small, he’s got another think coming,” Mindy muttered as she drove through what passed for downtown Eureka. Gravel popped beneath her tires as she slowed to make the turn onto Main. Honestly, what kind of town didn’t even bother to pave the streets?

  She passed under another big banner for Hard Rock Days. It snapped in the afternoon breeze, the liveliest thing on the otherwise still street. Mindy craned her neck, trying to see into the businesses, then slammed on her brakes when she caught a glimpse of curly hair in front of the hardware store, but it was only a tall woman. Where was Travis? She’d texted him twice and called and left a message, but he hadn’t bothered to answer. Maybe his phone had flaked out on him. It wasn’t like he could write this book without her, after all.

  She sped up and swung onto Main. She’d check out the motel again. If nothing else, she could sit in the parking lot and wait for him. Anything was better than going back to Shelly’s place, with those loud, wild boys and that husband of hers, who hardly said two words. In the evenings they did dumb stuff like play board games and read. If Mindy had to spend too many more nights with that bunch, she’d go crazy.

  She sped up, anxious to get to the hotel, but she’d scarcely gone two blocks before the whoop of a siren attracted her attention. She swore when she looked in the mirror and saw the heart-stopping strobe of red and blue lights. Still swearing, she flipped on her blinker and pulled to the side of the road.

  She watched in the rearview mirror as the cop, in a khaki-colored uniform and tan Stetson, stepped out of the patrol car and walked toward her. At least he was young. And good-looking, too. She smiled as he drew near enough for her to recognize him. Oh yeah. This could be very interesting.

  “Hello, officer.” She greeted him with a smile when he stopped by her window.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. Did you realize you were speeding?”

  “Was I?” She put a hand to her chest in her best imitation of a flustered Southern belle. “I’m new in town and I’m not familiar with all the streets. I was trying to find my way and I wasn’t paying enough attention to the signs, I’m afraid.”

  “May I see your driver’s license and registration?”

  “Certainly.” She squinted at his name tag. “Officer Miller.” She handed over the documents. “Didn’t I see you in the Dirty Sally the other night?” He hadn’t been in uniform, but she’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

  He made a noncommittal noise and wrote something on his clipboard. “Wait here and I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” she purred. “Not when we were just getting to know each other.”

  While he returned to his patrol car to run her license or whatever it was they did, she refreshed her lipstick and fluffed out her hair. She’d read somewhere that men in these mountain towns outnumbered women. Even a guy as good-looking as Officer Miller would probably welcome the chance to get to know a beautiful newcomer, especially considering the decided lack of glamour among the local girls. Even though Mindy had no intention of staying in town long, she could at least make her visit more entertaining.

  He returned and handed back her paperwork. “You were doing forty in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone,” he said.

  “Really?” She laughed. “I had no idea. I’m not normally a reckless driver or anything. I guess I was just so enthralled by the view, I forgot myself.” She indicated the distant mountains, visible from any part of town.

  “I thought you were trying to find your way.” He continued writing, not looking at her.

  “Well, that, too. I’ve only been in town five days. I’m visiting my sister, Shelly Frazier.” Might as well let him know she wasn’t an ordinary tourist, but practically a local herself.

  The mention of Saint Shelly worked wonders. He looked up at her, his smile making him doubly handsome. “You’re Shelly’s sister?” he asked. “She is such a sweet woman.”

  “I’m her younger sister. From Dallas.”

  “Your license says Joshua.”

  “That’s just a suburb. But I’m really a city girl.”

  “Guess you’re feeling a little out of place in Eureka,” he said.

  “I am.” She laughed again. “Of course, it’s beautiful, but I could use some help learning my way around. Maybe you’d like to help a girl out and give me a tour sometime when you’re not on duty.”

  “I’m sure Shelly would do a better job of showing you around. I’ve only been here a few months, myself.”

  “Was that your girlfriend I saw you with the other night? The pretty, dark-haired woman?”

  “Not exactly.” He turned the clipboard toward her. “I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but take it easy. Pretty much all the streets, until you get out to the highway, have a speed limit of twenty-five. Sign at the bottom, please.”

  She leaned forward to sign the clipboard, placing her hand over his as she did so. “If she isn’t your girlfriend, I definitely think the two of us should get together,” she said.

  He took the c
lipboard—and his hand—away. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Have a nice evening. And tell Shelly I said hello.”

  He walked back to his patrol car, not even giving her a second glance. She rolled up her window and glared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. What was wrong with the men in this town? She was pretty, and fun to be with, and a lot sexier than anyone she’d seen around here. Honestly, most of them never seemed to wear anything but jeans and hiking boots. And they apparently didn’t know what a flatiron or lip gloss was.

  The officer tapped his horn and motioned for her to move out ahead of him. She put the car in gear and proceeded at a snail’s pace, back onto the highway. As she neared the highway, she spotted a familiar pickup in the other lane, headed in to town. Travis!

  Normally, she would have whipped around in a U-turn right then in order to follow him, but a check behind her showed the patrol car still on her bumper, so she put on her left blinker and turned into the motel parking lot. As the officer cruised past, she gave him the finger, but kept her hand in her lap. After all, she wasn’t stupid.

  Back in town, she had to do the same slow cruise up and down the streets, until she spotted Travis’s rattletrap truck parked down from the Dirty Sally. She should have known he’d end up there. She parked beside him and headed inside.

  The same hot guy was behind the bar again, no baby or wife in sight. Travis had staked out a table off to the side. Mindy stalked up to him and pulled out a chair. “I’ve been looking for you for the last hour,” she said. “Why didn’t you answer my texts or return my call?”

  “I was busy.” He sipped a dark beer.

  Mindy spun around in her chair and signaled the waitress. “I’d like a strawberry daiquiri,” she said.

  “No blender drinks,” the waitress said.

  “What kind of a bar is this, if you can’t get a daiquiri?”

  “We have beer, shots, and mixed drinks.”

  Mindy wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have a Tanqueray and tonic, then. And put it on his tab.” She pointed to Travis.