by Dana Mentink
“I figured I’d strike up a conversation with Rita at the library, but she brushed me off.” He shrugged. “Not very friendly, like I said.”
“Yeah.”
Trent regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “So what’s going on really? Why is this Rita in Furnace Falls, grilling people about you?”
“I would love to know,” Beckett said. And he’d be sure to pass the info on to Jude.
Trent’s radio squawked.
Beckett mouthed a “thank you” and went to pay for his new set of tires. He willed the minutes to pass quickly so he could get back to the hotel.
If Rita was a snake in their midst, he was going to be there to prevent her sinking her fangs into Laney.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laney had polished the dining room tables after breakfast until they shone. The few guests still in attendance had already departed to take advantage of the relative cool. In the afternoon they would be returning to use the pool, nap or gather in the shade underneath the sprawling tree, recharging before their evening plans. Death Valley was a place where people structured their activity levels to match the most hospitable temperatures. There was really no other choice. She’d already added the important details to the chalkboard in the dining room: “sunup 6:19 a.m., sunset 7:14 p.m., high temperature 96. Stay hydrated!”
She’d first come to Las Vegas from Oregon when an acquaintance told her there were plenty of hotel jobs to be had. A flat-broke teenager, all alone, having recently lost her baby, she couldn’t think of another plan. Climbing out of that bus, she’d thought the heat would cook her on the spot. She’d been trying hard not to cry when Aunt Kitty found her in the bus station.
“Where you headed to, hon?” she asked.
“Nowhere,” she’d croaked. Aunt Kitty plopped down next to her, bought her a bottle of water and brought her home to Death Valley as if she were one of the brood, along with Jude and his absent sister, Sadie. It was Aunt Kitty who had found her work at the Hotsprings Hotel, the place where she’d met Beckett.
Determined not to fall into a nostalgic pit of despair, she finished wiping the table, which had housed the bacon, eggs and Herm’s made-from-scratch blueberry muffins. Admiral happily snarfed up the crumbs that settled to the floor.
She headed to the oven to finish the oatmeal-raisin cookies that would go in the dinner pack for the evening tour. It was the first recipe Aunt Kitty had taught her, and one of the few that she could not possibly mess up. Herm sang from his repertoire of country songs while he delved into the commercial freezer to inventory the supplies. The kitchen was redolent with the smell of cinnamon. Her thoughts drifted to Beckett. Four tires would take a while to replace, so she was not surprised at his delay, but she found herself breathing easier when she heard his truck pull up.
He entered through the back kitchen door with all the delicacy of a tornado about to touch down. As he bent low to retrieve the napkins he’d knocked to the floor, she noted the tension in his tall frame. For some reason, he wouldn’t look her directly in the eye.
He slouched against the kitchen counter, frowning.
“Sit down,” she said. “You can sample a cookie while you tell me all about what happened.”
“I already…”
“I want to hear the whole story. You only gave me the highlights on the phone, I’m sure.”
As he sat, she noticed the smear of blood on his throat. “Beckett,” she cried, moving to him to peer closer.
“It’s not bad.”
She tipped his chin up. The strong curve of his jaw was so familiar and new at the same time. Clean-shaven, as he’d been every day since she’d known him, his skin was smooth under her touch. He was a paradox to her, meticulous about his grooming, couldn’t stand his hair getting long enough to tickle his ears, yet completely oblivious about the hole in the knee of his jeans.
“Can I get a haircut appointment with my best gal?” he would call out, bursting through the back door of the hotel, heedless of the hour. She would laughingly shush him before she got out the electric shears and began her trimming. It was an effort, since he would try to steal kisses throughout the whole process.
Swallowing down the memories, she studied the wound. His face was so close, she could smell the clean scent of the locally made soap they supplied at the hotel. Her pulse ticked up. “The cut is long but not deep.” She cupped his chin. “Tell me what happened right now or I’m calling Jude.”
“Kenny went at me with a knife,” Beckett said after a pause.
The breath crystallized in her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was stare into his brown irises, her own shock mirrored back at her. A knife, drawn across his throat. A fraction deeper and… Unfortunately, her eyes began to fill. Annoying hormones. She whirled away and retrieved the first-aid kit. With a shaking hand, she glided an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on the wound.
Beckett grimaced at the sting. “He wasn’t trying to kill me. If that was his goal, I’d be dead already.”
“Why do I not find much comfort in that?” It occurred to her with a jolt that Beckett’s death would mean her baby would be fatherless. But wasn’t that what life would be like for the child anyway, after they divorced and Beckett made good on his promise to move away? Wasn’t that what she wanted? She stood frozen, clutching the cotton.
He reached up and circled her wrist. “Kenny’s got something else in mind.” He paused. “He wants to hurt you because he knows that would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”
She stilled. This time, she could not hide her tears. No words were necessary; she was sure he could read her thoughts like he’d been able to do most of the time they’d known each other. No one could hurt me worse than you did.
She allowed his hands to circle her waist, spanning the growing life inside her. For a moment, she could almost pretend he was still the loving man who had committed before God to stay by her side.
For better or for worse… The muscles worked in his throat, pain etched in the lines around his mouth. Pain? He had no idea how much pain he had unleashed in her heart. All this protectiveness now was too late. The throb of tenderness turned bitter.
He’d quit on their marriage, quit on her. She stepped back, freeing herself from his grasp.
She blinked furiously, snatched up another cotton ball and finished disinfecting the wound in silence, applying antibiotic ointment as a final step. “That should heal up okay now. You won’t even have a scar.”
“Thank you.” He sat back in the chair. “There’s something else. I found out Rita has been asking in town about me.”
Laney jerked. “Our guest Rita? Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know, but I am going to find out. She’s not what she seems to be. I don’t want you around her.”
Laney bit back her irritation but some leaked into her words anyway. “That’s all well and good for you to make pronouncements like that, but there are commitments that need keeping, tours that were paid for. Like I told you, I have to take her and the Timmons family into the park in a couple of hours. This is supposed to be our busy season. We aren’t in a position to issue refunds or withstand the angry reviews they will post on Yelp if we cancel on them.”
“I’ll drive them.”
“Which will leave me here alone, since Levi is leading the horse tour.”
“Herm…?”
“Is on his way to get lumber to fix the chicken coop. He’s already cooked the roast for the couple of families who we are blessed enough to have staying here still. It’s in the warming oven for me to put out.”
Beckett considered, standing and staring through the cheerful checked curtains. “All right,” he said finally. “We’ll go together, then.”
Together. That was occurring entirely too much in the last few days. With her emotions zinging around the place like dust in a whirlwind, it did not
seem to her a very wise idea to spend hours in close contact with Beckett. But there was no help for it. She bent to toss the cotton in the wastebasket, staggering a little when she straightened until he bolted over and pulled her close.
“What is it? Are you all right? Sit down. I’ll get water. Should I call the doctor?” The stream of panicked questions continued until she pressed a finger to his lips.
“Shush. It’s okay. I just get dizzy sometimes if I stand too quickly. Irene says it’s perfectly normal. Everything is fine. I just haven’t had enough water lately probably…”
In a flash, he was pressing her into the chair he’d vacated and striding to the sink. In ten seconds she had a large glass of water in her hand. “Drink.”
She sipped, figuring compliance was the best way to get him to leave.
“Drink more.”
She complied with an eye roll.
“I think you should finish the whole thing.”
“My bladder isn’t that big and I’ve got a baby taking up real estate in there too, so ease up, would you?”
To her surprise, he laughed. The sound was rich and sonorous, and it momentarily took her breath away. There had been so much laughter in this very kitchen… The time he’d baked her a birthday cake and dropped it, the day they’d rescued a squirrel that had been hit by a car and promptly revived in time to lead them on a merry chase. There had been a bounty of blessings that she’d thought would be hers forever…until the moment Pauline’s body was found. Again she felt the tears threaten, and she forced them back.
Beckett’s laughter died away, but his smile was still in full force. “How about just a few small sips, until little Muffin simmers down?”
She arched a brow. “Muffin? Does that work for both genders?”
He gulped. “It just, you know, popped into my mind. Do you…? I mean, do you have a guess about the gender?”
Why did the question stab right to her heart? “If the Lord gives me a healthy baby, it doesn’t matter to me.”
He looked pained. “Me too. I…” He trailed off.
“What?”
He looked down, and she was startled to catch the glimmer of moisture in his eyes. “Nothing.”
Something inside made her whisper. “Tell me.”
“I know the baby will have the best mother in the world…” he choked out. “But why me for a father?”
The moment stretched taut as a wire between them. She’d spent four months wondering what God was up to, granting her heart’s desire at the moment her life cracked into millions of jagged pieces.
“I don’t know why, Beckett, why now, why us, but I can tell you there is no part of this baby that isn’t God breathed and God blessed. If I can just…” Her voice caught, and she clamped her lips shut. What had happened to her ability to control her tongue?
He was quiet for several seconds. “If you can carry the baby to term?” he finished for her.
How could he still read her so easily? It was not fair.
She squeezed her hands together. “I made bad choices in the past, but I know God has forgiven me. He’s blessed me beyond measure with this pregnancy and I trust Him. It’s just that sometimes when I consider all that’s happened, with us, and Pauline, it reminds me how easily blessings can be stripped away.”
He nodded. “It must have been a shock to find out that you were pregnant.”
“It was the second-best day of my life,” she said.
And the first? He didn’t ask because he already knew. As a matter of fact, it was engraved inside the wedding ring she no longer wore. Our wedding day, our future. It was written in his too, and she noticed he still wore his. She was unsure how she should feel about that.
He cleared his throat and walked to the door. “I, uh… I’m going to go check on some things.”
She nodded, relieved that he would leave her in peace to deal with a stomach suddenly gone unsettled.
“What room is Rita’s?” he asked.
“It’s…” Shock slammed into her.
“What’s wrong?”
She felt cold all over. “Something just occurred to me.”
He waited.
“Rita Brown.”
“What about her?”
“She’s staying in Room 205,” she said, around a lump in her throat.
He stared. “She’s in the room Pauline stayed in?”
Laney nodded.
“Did that happen randomly?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “No. I remembered just now. When she made the reservation, she asked specifically for that room. She said a friend of her family had stayed there before and she knew it was a good room.” Why hadn’t she noticed that odd fact before? Rita had asked specifically to stay in the same room as the murdered Pauline Sanderson.
A chill wave passed through her body, rippling her skin. She looked to Beckett, hoping there would be something in his glance that would reassure her that it was strange coincidence.
But Beckett’s demeanor told her nothing of the kind. He knew, and she knew, that something was wrong about Rita—very wrong.
* * *
Beckett clicked off the phone again. He’d left two messages for Jude, neither of them returned. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have made them sound quite so much like demands. What is the status with Kenny? You need to investigate Rita Brown. He wished he could erase the messages and try again. That was the problem, Beckett thought. When would he learn that asking and telling were two different things? Reflexively, he bent his head to pray and then stopped himself. What was the point of that? Laney often would ask him to pray with her, and he’d always declined. Something about the vulnerability of it made him squirm. God didn’t want to hear his woes and it was embarrassing to give them an audible voice. In jail he’d given it up altogether. If God was listening, Beckett wouldn’t have been imprisoned in the first place.
He shoved his phone into his pocket and spent time pulling up a warped floorboard in one of the unoccupied tent units. Practically all of them were unoccupied. Maybe when he’d left Furnace Falls, potential visitors would forget there had been a murder on the premises.
How much time would that take?
After he plucked a sliver out of his thumb and returned the hammer to the toolbox, he lent a hand packing the van and stationing himself there to prevent anyone from adding or subtracting any items. There was no way there would be any intruders this time, reptilian or otherwise.
He sat on the bumper waiting for his opportunity. Rita’s door opened. She shouldered a backpack, a camera in her other hand. The Timmons family was still gathered on the porch, doling out water bottles and snacks for each person. They were appropriately dressed, he was happy to note, with full sun protection and windbreakers in case of a rain shower. Sturdy shoes, faces shiny with sunscreen.
Rita too was clad for the adventure, in jeans and a T-shirt, with a canary yellow slicker tied around her waist. So as not to spook her, he waited until she approached.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Are you our driver now too?”
“Yes.” He paused for a beat. “I figure you’ll have plenty of time to ask me questions directly, instead of interviewing people in town.”
She shrugged. “Small-town scandal is interesting, and I’m a curious person.”
“Me too. I’m curious about why you requested Room 205.”
She went still. “A family friend…”
He held up a palm. “Spare me. How about the real reason?”
Laney walked toward him, her wary glance darting between the two of them. The breeze blew her oversize shirt taut over her stomach, outlining the slight swell of her abdomen. A baby, their baby. He had to force himself to concentrate.
Rita unwrapped a stick of gum and put it in her mouth. She nodded to Laney. “I’ll be ready to go as soon as I finish en
during this interrogation.”
“I’m sorry. We don’t mean to offend.” She tugged the shirt straight.
“I was politely asking why she wanted to stay in Room 205,” Beckett said.
“The truth is exactly what I said, about my family friend who stayed in the unit,” Rita said.
Laney stepped in before Beckett could answer. “Please, Rita,” she said quietly. “We’ve been through a nightmare and all we want is to get on with our lives. The truth…that’s all we want to know.”
Rita’s mouth pursed for a long moment and something seemed to give inside her. “All right.” She tipped her chin up. “I’m a reporter. I’m writing a story about what happened to Pauline.”
A reporter…all they needed. He resisted the urge to groan aloud. “For what paper?”
“An online publication.”
“Which one?”
She was about to answer when Mrs. Timmons rallied her family to start walking to the van. The teens were in the middle of a noisy squabble.
Another interruption, a further delay in getting the real story. Or had he gotten it already? Was she really a journalist reviving a story? She’d rake him through the mud again, but that was preferable to thinking she was in league with Kenny.
Truth or lies?
Was Rita a nosy nuisance? There was way too much at stake.
Keep your guard up, Beckett.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Laney sat in the passenger spot, Beckett behind the wheel. Rita had been only too happy to climb into the middle row seat with Mrs. Timmons. Mr. Timmons sat strategically in the rear between his sons, who both stared stonily at their cell phones. She watched the scenery pass by without feeling the usual rush of pleasure as they crested the Funeral Mountains and dropped down into the area where they would meet Levi at the Keane Wonder Mine. Though Mr. and Mrs. Timmons kept up a sporadic conversation, remarking on the variety of colors the waning sun teased from the rocks, the van was mostly quiet.
“Your visit is well-timed,” Laney said, putting on her tour-guide hat. “The mine was closed by the National Park Service for several years to make it safer.”