Tempting Fate

by Meryl Sawyer

  "You wrote the article about Logan McCord."

  "Yes, I did." That explained why the girl knew her name. Matthew Jensen had given her name prominent positioning in the Exposé article, and she had run the story again in the Sedona Sun. "May I come in?"

  "My grandmother is not here. She is out chanting."

  Just my luck, Kelly thought. Navajo chants could go on for days and days depending upon what type they were. "Do you know when she'll be back? It's important that I see her."

  "Why?"

  There it was again, a certain surliness to the girl's tone as if she didn't like Kelly. Why? They didn't know each other. The girl wouldn't have any reason to dislike her unless it was something her grandmother had said.

  "It's about Logan McCord. Surely, your grandmother heard that Logan has been found after all these years. She must be very happy."

  "Grandmother is very upset. She has gone all alone into the San Francisco Mountains to do an Adant' ti chant for Logan." The girl slammed the door shut in Kelly's face with such force that the screen door popped open.

  On the way back to Sedona, Kelly tried to recall the Navajo chants that Uma had told her about when Kelly had been growing up. The Night Chant, Mountain Top Chant and the Blessing Way Chant immediately came to mind, but she couldn't remember an Adant' ti chant.

  Interesting, she observed, no one seemed glad to have Logan McCord return. It was understandable why the Stanfields weren't thrilled, but even Jim Cree and Luz Tallchief were not happy campers. Their attitudes only reinforced Kelly's belief that the true story of his disappearance had never been told.

  Back in her office, Kelly ignored the pink message sheets on the spike beside her telephone and called Uma.

  The housekeeper answered on the seventh ring. Now was not a good time to be calling. Kelly knew Uma's favorite soap, "As The World Turns" was on.

  "What's the haps?" Uma answered, using a greeting she must have heard on television.

  "Uma, what can you tell me about the Adant' ti chant?"

  "Get real! How'd you hear about that chant?"

  Kelly was not about to give whoever had bugged the house this bit of information. "Someone mentioned it in passing. I don't remember you telling me about it, and I'm doing an article on chants." That should jive with the excuse she'd given Woody to speak to Jim Cree, assuming Woody was in on this.

  "An Adant' ti is an evil person who has the power to change form or become invisible," Uma told her.

  "I'm confused. I thought a skinwalker, a witch, had those powers."

  "An Adant' ti is much, much more evil than a witch." Uma's voice had the reverent, hushed tone Navajos often used when speaking of witchcraft. They were terrified of the supernatural, yet it fascinated them.

  "Why didn't you ever tell me about an Adant' ti?"

  "Well"—Uma hesitated and Kelly didn't know if she was reluctant to discuss this or if there was a torrid love scene on the soap opera. "If you say a dead person's name out loud, you call their chindi to you."

  Kelly waited through an even longer pause, vividly recalling Uma telling her that Navajos never spoke a dead person's name—or carved it in stone—fearing their chindi or ghost would appear.

  As a child, Kelly had tried it, saying her parents' names over and over and over. But no ghost ever came. What she wouldn't have given to have seen her parents one last time.

  She would have told them she loved them. When they'd left on their trip, she'd refused to kiss them good-bye because they wouldn't take her. The next thing she knew, they had been killed in an automobile crash.

  "If you even think about an Adant' ti, it pisses him off—big-time and he comes to get you," Uma whispered into the telephone.

  Oh, brother. They broke the mold when they made Uma. See what happened when the Native American culture was exposed to too many soap operas?

  "Okay," Kelly said, her voice indicating she was taking Uma very seriously. "Why would anyone go into the mountains and sing for an Adant' ti? Wouldn't that call him to you for certain?"

  "No, no. It's a curing ritual to get rid of the evil person." Uma was still whispering. "It's the season, you know. Curing rituals can only be done when snakes are safely asleep."

  Kelly thanked Uma, and hung up. The title of a popular book popped into her mind—Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Like walking in a graveyard at midnight—alone—a chill of fear tiptoed down Kelly's spine. In this case it was impossible to tell who was good or evil.

  She pored over the notes Pop had compiled to write his articles about Logan's disappearance. Pop had been very thorough, interviewing anyone who had ever come in contact with the child.

  "Perpetual motion," Kelly said, reading aloud one pre-school teacher's comment and imagining Logan as a young boy. Hell on wheels might have been a better description, considering the man he had become.

  "Interesting," Kelly muttered to herself. "Logan had to be treated by the school nurse seven times, but the report didn't say why."

  The pediatrician listed his check-ups from the time he was adopted. The immunization record was complete, but, of course, there was no shot for mumps.

  "Is he sterile?" Kelly asked herself. He seemed so masculine, so virile that it didn't seem possible. But with Logan you never knew whether he was joking or telling the truth.

  She directed her thoughts back to Pop's notes. The interview with Logan's pediatrician indicated the little boy needed better supervision. Too often he fell down the stairs or out of trees.

  The folder with information from the Coconino Hospital where Logan had been treated in the emergency room revealed that when he was three years old, he had broken an arm falling out of a tree. Later that same year he'd backed into the barbecue and burned his shoulder. When he was four, Woody had brought him in when Logan complained of a pain in his side.

  A complete set of X-rays revealed three broken ribs and two badly cracked ribs. The doctor taped his ribs and ordered his father to make certain he stayed quiet for two weeks so the ribs could heal.

  Three days later, Logan had been readmitted after falling from the water slide into the pool and hitting his head on the decking. X-rays of his skull indicated a hairline fracture.

  "My God!" Kelly cried when she looked at the date.

  Less than a week would pass before Logan would ride off with the twins and disappear. They'd been fifteen, ten years older than Logan who had just turned five. Kelly leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and tried to imagine the arrogant twins at that age. She'd bet anything that they hadn't liked having a tag-along little brother and often tried to ditch Logan.

  Kelly wondered if they had run away from him the day he'd disappeared. Was that why they had so much trouble finding the exact spot where he'd fallen? Or was it something much more sinister?

  "Kelly? Are you all right?"

  She opened her eyes and saw Pop standing in front of her desk, Jasper at his side. She'd been so absorbed with the case that she hadn't heard him come in.

  "I'm fine. I'm just thinking." She motioned for him to sit down.

  He took the seat opposite her desk, and Jasper curled up at his feet.

  "Did you talk with Logan this morning?" she asked, not afraid to discuss things with Pop because she had already checked her telephone and had not found a bug. She'd followed Logan's instructions and looked under her desk and behind the pictures for other listening devices. Whoever had planted the bugs at home hadn't gone to the trouble of breaking into a locked building.

  "It's okay, honey. I can stand having Haywood Stanfield in my home—for a good cause. It's Benson Williams that I may shoot on sight."

  Kelly laughed, thankful yet again for being blessed with such a wonderful grandfather. She couldn't help wondering what the people who had kidnapped Logan had been like.

  "I see you have my notes on Logan's case. Are you planning another article?"

  "Not now, maybe later," she said, then went on to tell him about Jim Cree's strange remarks and Luz T
allchief doing an Adant' ti chant for Logan.

  "What do you make of all this?" she asked.

  "It's odd, very odd, but then the entire case is strange."

  "You have extensive notes on Logan, yet I can't find the interview with his nanny. Didn't you speak with Luz Tallchief after Logan vanished?"

  Pop shook his head. "She packed her bags and was gone just hours after the sheriff was called to the ranch and interviewed her. I heard Luz was living outside Indian Gardens. I went to interview her, but she refused to talk. You know how stubborn the Stone River Clan can be."

  Kelly wondered if she would have any better luck. Now that Logan had returned would Luz be willing to discuss the past?

  Even though she was positive no one could overhear them, Kelly lowered her voice. "Did Logan tell you about the bugs?"

  Pop nodded, his expression grim.

  "It might just be that the Stanfields would like to discredit Logan after he embarrassed them so much that Woody isn't considering running for president, but I wonder if there isn't more going on here. I think the key is in the past."

  "The key to the present is always in the past."

  Pop's enigmatic answer startled Kelly. She hesitated a moment, then asked, "Did you ever consider the possibility that Logan was an abused child? I think he had too many 'accidents.' I wonder if…"

  "If what?"

  "If they found him too hard to handle and got too rough with him, or maybe Ginger couldn't control a wild little boy. Woody might have lost his temper—"

  "Woody was out of town when the major incidents occurred."

  "You checked and came to the same conclusion, didn't you?"

  "Yes," Pop said, leaning down to pet Jasper. "Teachers and doctors weren't required to report suspicious injuries the way they are now. They tended to believe parents, especially rich parents like the Stanfields.

  "Miss Halburton, one of the pre-school teachers told me off the record that she found some of his cuts and bruises suspicious. She mentioned it to Ginger, but she denied any problem and said Logan was just a little rascal who managed to get into everything."

  "Pop, why didn't you tell me this before?"

  "It was just a suspicion. It always bothered me, though. I wondered if someone hadn't gotten too rough disciplining Logan and accidentally killed him. They dumped the body in a remote spot where it would never be found, or if it was, wild animals would have mauled it so badly that determining the cause of death would be impossible. The story about falling into a ravine might have been fabricated. The twins conveniently couldn't remember where Logan supposedly fell."

  Pop paused for a moment, leaned down and petted Jasper again. "Maybe they were only doing what they were told, covering up for someone."

  "Benson and Ginger are the logical suspects."

  "True. Benson is like an uncle to the twins. Maybe he's even closer than an uncle. After all, he's lived with the family for years."

  Kelly mulled over the situation for a moment, then she jumped to her feet. "Pop, everyone was stunned when Logan reappeared, looking just like Woody. He couldn't deny Logan was his son, but back then, people thought it was an ordinary adoption. What if someone discovered the truth and wanted to get rid of Logan?"

  Pop studied her a moment, his expression solemn. "I assume Benson Williams knew the score. He handled all of Woody's business, but I doubt Ginger was aware of it."

  "Logan doesn't think Ginger is nearly as fragile as she appears. What if she uncovered the truth? She took it out on Logan, slapping him around, and deliberately allowing him to get into dangerous situations. One day she went too far…"

  "It's possible," Pop said. "It happened on a Sunday when most of the servants weren't around. Ginger could have enlisted the twins help and concocted the story about a fall."

  "I can hardly wait until Luz returns. I'll bet she knows the truth."

  "Good luck getting it out of her. She must have some reason she's refused to talk all these years."

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  « ^ »

  Pop rose to leave Kelly's office, steadier on his feet than he had been in weeks. Jasper followed, his tail held high. Pop paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder.

  "You know, Kelly, when Tyler Stanfield's wife died, her parents insisted she had been murdered."

  "Really?" Kelly had been away at college when Suzanne Stanfield had died. She remembered very little about the woman except she had been exceptionally beautiful, a statuesque blonde with china blue eyes. She looked a lot like Ginger and Alyx. At least that had been Kelly's impression when she'd seen her shopping at Tlaquepaque when Kelly had been home for Easter break.

  "The coroner ruled her death was due to natural causes, but the Hartleys, her parents, put up a stink. A second autopsy was performed by the Phoenix coroner, who reached the same conclusion. Suzanne had died from a congenital bean problem."

  "Why would Suzanne's parents think she'd been murdered?"

  "I interviewed them myself. I thought their theory about murder was a result of profound grief over the loss of their only child. I doubted any of the Stanfields would kill Suzanne just because she was pregnant, but the Hartleys were convinced Woody planned to will his entire estate to this grandchild."

  "Leaving his wife as well as Tyler and Alyx out of the will?" Kelly asked. "Why would they think that?"

  "I don't know. You might want to talk to Lydia Hartley, though. Her husband passed away, but she still lives out near the Enchantment Resort on Javelina Trail."

  Fifteen minutes later, Kelly turned right off the main road onto Javelina Trail. She hoped this wasn't another wild goose-chase like her search for Luz Tallchief. Lydia Hartley had an unlisted number, forcing Kelly to take the chance she was home.

  Many of Sedona's residents had second homes elsewhere and weren't here full time. Most left in the fall and returned in the spring. Lydia's home was in one of the more affluent areas, indicating she might very well have a second home.

  The address was near a hoodoo, a narrow stone pillar that vaulted heavenward. Against the indigo sky, the unusual red rock spire was breathtaking, but the curtains in the modest home were drawn, blocking the spectacular view.

  Kelly revised her impression of the Hartley's economic status as she parked her car. The small home had been constructed using red rocks from the area, the way many of the original homes had been. None of the high-flying architects who designed Santa Fe-style structures or unusual contemporary homes had left their signature on this building.

  Kelly remembered the Hartleys moving here when she'd been in high school. Suzanne had been off at college then, and Kelly had never gotten to know her. Since she'd returned to be with Pop, Kelly hadn't seen Lydia Hartley. Evidently she didn't spend much time in town.

  A strikingly beautiful older woman with silver-blond hair and blue eyes answered the door. Although she was dressed casually in beige slacks and a cranberry colored turtleneck, she projected elegance. In a way, the woman reminded Kelly of Ginger except that this woman had something Ginger lacked—self-confidence.

  "Lydia, I'm Kelly Taylor. I want to talk to you about the Stanfields."

  "I don't have anything to say."

  Bitterness was too mild a term for the tone Kelly detected in Lydia's voice. Venom fit perfectly. Kelly's experience in interviewing others told her that this woman would vent her hatred—if only Kelly could get her to talk.

  "My grandfather sent me," Kelly told her. "He knew your late husband."

  Lydia arched one regal eyebrow just slightly. Kelly scrambled for something else to say. "You thought someone might have killed your daughter—"

  "One of the Stanfields murdered Suzanne."

  A bead of perspiration marched down the back of Kelly's neck. The mid-day sun, even though it was autumn, seemed as hot as it did in the summer. "May I come in for a minute and discuss the case with you?"

  She opened the screen door and stood aside as Kelly walked into the small livi
ng room. Lydia gestured toward a moss green sofa, and Kelly took a seat. Sitting at the other end, Lydia directed her gaze at Kelly as if she expected her to explain exactly why she'd come before Lydia changed her mind and decided to throw her out.

  "Did you read about Logan McCord being found after all this time?" Kelly asked and Lydia nodded. "It's possible that someone tried to kill Logan when he was a little boy. Saying he accidentally fell into a ravine might have been an attempt to hide the truth."

  "They're evil, the lot of them. They're not above murdering a small child. They killed my daughter, didn't they?"

  There was so much hostility in Lydia's voice that Kelly was speechless for a moment. "Why would they kill Suzanne?"

  "Money. They're all greedy parasites who live off Woody. The twins, Benson, Ginger—the whole bunch. They were afraid that Woody was planning to leave his fortune to the baby Suzanne was expecting." The minute she said her daughter's name, her expression softened and her voice dropped a notch. "The coroner told us it was a little boy."

  "Why would the senator cut out his wife and his own children to leave everything to a grandchild? That seems farfetched."

  Lydia's gaze shifted across the small room to where a large photograph of a bride stood on a bookshelf. The lovely woman must be Suzanne on her wedding day. She looked exactly like Lydia only younger and happier.

  "If one of them killed your daughter, Logan might be in danger," Kelly said, hoping to prompt Lydia to say more. She seemed to be far too intelligent a woman to not have a better reason for believing her daughter had been murdered.

  Lydia turned back to Kelly. "You bet Logan McCord is in danger. Mark my words, they'll kill him."

  "Why? Logan has made it clear that he isn't interested in Woody's money."

  "They won't chance it."

  "They? Who do you mean?"

  She sighed heavily, then replied in a voice raw with anguish. "I wish I knew. I suspect Alyx or Benson even Tyler and Ginger. I'm not sure if they all weren't in on it."

  "What about Woody? Isn't it possible—"

  "No, Woody would never have killed Suzanne." Lydia rose from the sofa and walked across the room. She picked up the picture of her daughter and studied it in a way that told Kelly that she had looked at it hundreds and hundreds of times, but still enjoyed gazing at the photograph.