Arizona Homecoming

by Pamela Tracy

  She stood, wiping the pieces of bark and resin from the back of her jeans. The day was heating up.

  “I would have liked to meet your mother,” he said.

  “She was quite a lady.” What Emily didn’t add was that her mother—who’d driven her to preschool, stayed late so Emily could swing on the playground and watched My Pretty Pony on television every single night—hadn’t really returned home from the hospital. No, a healthy, active mom had checked in and a mere shell had checked out.

  Emily felt tears in her eyes, but she didn’t know who to feel sorry for. Herself, for what she’d lost, or Donovan, for the family he thoughtlessly neglected.

  There was so much about him to like. His semi-short brown hair with waves. The way his eyebrows arched over hazel eyes that seemed to see more than they should. How his nose was a bit crooked, as if it had been broken. His mouth was perfect.

  And, he had so much to offer: talent, conversation, adventure. He just didn’t understand the concept of having a home, establishing roots. He was like the seeds cast on rocky, shallow soil. They grew, got scorched and withered.

  It was a flaw she neither understood nor forgave.

  Chapter Ten

  After the trail ride, Emily showered and headed out the door. She’d left Donovan to his own devices. He knew how to unsaddle a horse, how to find his way to breakfast and how to get together with her father for the first baby steps toward building Tinytown. She’d let him distract her way too much.

  First on her agenda was walking through the museum. She’d not made it there yesterday.

  Everything was in its rightful place. She said a silent prayer of thanks.

  Heading for the barn, she went for the room where she’d stored the remnants of the Majestic. The sign took up the most space. She’d acquired it for free. If she could get it plugged in, it would sparkle like a disco ball on steroids. The wagon wheels, too, had been a giveaway. They weren’t really wagon wheels, so they basically were curved wood that probably wasn’t strong enough to support a baby carriage. A Tupperware box held keys with large plastic tags with room numbers stamped large enough so the guest staying two rooms over could see. She also had the key cubbie, as well as three guest registers.

  They’d cost money. One had a signature from the guitar player of Elvis’s backup band. One of the registers, the oldest, had at least two hundred signatures—all different—from Mr. and Mrs. Smith. No first names.

  She also had artwork, much of it by Apache Creek locals no longer living. Most of their families were still around. One sure way to get people to visit a museum was to make it personal.

  Heading inside, she paused by a display stating On Loan from the Family of Naomi Humestewa.

  It had been a long time since she’d really talked about her mother to anyone. Her dad always got quiet when she brought Naomi up, eventually making some excuse to walk away. Elise remembered some, but she’d always been the sister out and about, doing things, usually alongside their dad. She’d had the least time to share Naomi memories. Eva, though, remembered quite a bit and willingly shared it. She’d inherited their mother’s nurturing genes as well as her talent at the loom. All Emily could do was create knots, unintentional ones.

  This whole section came from Emily’s family. There was pottery, along with altarpieces, ceremonial garb, fetishes, masks and headdresses. They were not trophies, and many of her family members believed they should not be on display. The artifacts didn’t belong here. But Emily wanted to use them to teach the museum’s visitors the Hopi culture and charm.

  Before she had time to do much more than dust, her cell sounded and a breathless Elise said, “I just got a call from Two Mules. One of my kids fell from a horse and broke her collarbone. She’s asking for me. It’s Bernice Sinquah, and she’s scared to death that her parents will tell her she can’t compete anymore.”

  Emily knew Elise’s flock of kids, as they came once a week, during the school year, and practiced in Cooper’s backyard.

  “She’s the one with the scholarship and the hovering parents?”

  “That’s her.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. Oh, and FYI, I’ve scheduled Dad for a meeting with a lawyer this Wednesday. I need you to support me when he protests.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Emily thought it would be interesting to see who won the battle of wills when it came to getting Jacob to see the lawyer. “Last I heard, he was trusting the Lord to take care of him. And, if I remember correctly, you’re the one who said with no witness, no proof of a crime and no fingerprints on the knife, Dad wasn’t a suspect.”

  “The Lord is taking care of him.” Elise sounded somewhat guarded. “But, yesterday at church, Sam was very careful to avoid me.”

  “Really?” Emily hadn’t noticed. Maybe because she’d been looking at the door, hoping Donovan might walk through.

  “Last time Sam avoided anyone, according to Eva, it was when he arrested Jesse.”

  “I think you’re overreacting,” Emily said.

  “I think Johnny Law is keeping certain finds to themselves.”

  “You don’t trust Sam?” Emily queried.

  “I don’t trust the badge. Last time I spoke with the lawyer, she didn’t think she’d be able to meet with Dad until next week. She called about twenty minutes ago to tell me she had a cancellation.”

  “I guess that’s good.” Emily would like to think it was God working in their favor.

  Elise, ever the worrier, said, “I really think we should be prepared for anything. If I have to, I’ll get Eva to help.”

  Right now, nine months pregnant with Jacob Hubrecht’s first grandbaby, Eva pretty much got whatever Eva wanted.

  Headed back into her office, she had two things she wanted to do. Check her phone for messages and search the internet for Russell Dairy Farm. She decided her phone would be the quickest.

  She was wrong.

  The first message was from one of the trustees, Darryl Feeney, who must have called while she was busy. He wanted the museum’s June account records. An ex-banker who worried about the museum’s finances more than anything else, Feeney often predicted gloom and doom. Emily frowned. June still had a few more days on its calendar. He’d never asked for a report before the end of the month.

  The next message was from Donovan. He sounded excited, telling her he’d had an idea about Tinytown and to call him the minute she got back to the ranch.

  She pulled the computer keyboard closer and searched for Russell Dairy Farm, but before she had a chance to even look at the first entry, a carful of at least six visitors showed up. She gave a tour. When she finished, her cell phone rang. Eva, sounding out of breath, said, “Dad was at the front desk doing a booking when Sam Miller drove up. He asked Dad to come down to the station. Dad’s not arrested. They just want him to come in and answer some questions.”

  “He’s already gone? Why didn’t you go with him?”

  “I wanted to! Then Jesse offered to go with him, but instead he’s driving me to the hospital. My back hurts and it’s so bad I can’t even sit down. I feel like something’s going to break.”

  “I’ll go. Did you call Elise?”

  “I just got off the phone with her. She’s calling that lawyer she knows in Phoenix. She tried calling Dad but he’s not picking up. She wants you to tell him to keep quiet and wait for counsel.”

  “Like Dad will do that.”

  “I know. Both Harold and Cook offered to go, but they’d probably wind up arrested for disorderly conduct.” Eva let out a moan, and in the background, Emily could hear Jesse saying, “Come on. Let’s get going.”

  “Donovan drove Dad to the station,” Eva finished.

  Emily hit the end button and quickly made a sign that said Be Back Soon before heading out
the door. Her father was bluster and backbone, which didn’t always go over well with the police. When Sam turned him over to one of the other officers, her dad could get himself into trouble.

  She started the engine and backed out of the parking lot before she had the driver’s side door all the way closed.

  Apache Creek’s small police station was in the center of town. Emily had been in it only once, back when she was a Girl Scout earning a badge. She’d refused to go into one of the cells and instead had listened to a cop talking about an arrest.

  He’d not known she was listening.

  Later, when she shared the story with the other Girl Scouts, they’d all been enthralled. One phone call from a parent complaining about too much detail stopped that story cold.

  She parked next to Donovan’s truck and hurried out. Pushing open the front doors, she walked into a beige waiting room with ugly green chairs and too many magazines. Who could read when a loved one might be in trouble? Not Donovan, who stood and said, “They took him about five minutes ago. He said he didn’t need me.”

  “Thanks for coming with him. For driving, I mean.”

  An officer at the front desk, on the phone, held up a finger for her to wait. She wanted to jump over the counter and tell him her dad was more important than any phone call, but she’d been raised better than that. Still, she couldn’t sit; she wanted to pace.

  Donovan started for her, but she held up her hand. All it would take was a single touch, and she’d start crying.

  They were interrogating her dad. Her dad. There were two other people sitting in the waiting room. She didn’t want to disturb them, so she looked at the wanted posters on the bulletin board and studied the photographs of officers present and past. Donovan walked with her.

  She paused in front of the portrait of an Apache Creek officer who’d died in the line of duty.

  “James Shingoitewa,” she said. “That’s a Hopi name, but I’ve never heard of him.” His face looked somewhat familiar.

  “Usually there’s a news article, plaque or something.” Donovan said.

  “Miss?” The officer was off the phone and beckoning.

  “I’m Emily Hubrecht. I’m here to be with my father.”

  “He’s with the chief right now. Have a seat, and he’ll be out shortly.”

  Emily had dealt with the police a few times in South Dakota. She knew they always tried to keep a level of control.

  “No, I’d like you to tell him I’m here, and see if he’d like me to join him. I’d also like to give him the name of his lawyer. Unless you’d rather deny him the right to confer with legal representation?”

  The officer didn’t roll his eyes, but Emily could tell he wanted to.

  “Impressive,” Donovan murmured.

  A minute later, she was escorted into a small gray windowless office. A man in a suit stood and held out a hand. “I’m Dan Decker. Captain. We’ve been asking your father a few questions. So far, he’s cooperated.”

  “Dad,” Emily urged. “Elise has a lawyer she wants you to talk to. This can wait. We want to make sure that—”

  “It’s Billy Wilcox,” her dad said.

  “What?”

  Captain Decker leaned forward. “The skeleton you helped excavate. Thanks to dental records, we know it’s Billy Wilcox, son of your neighbor Karl Wilcox.”

  * * *

  Donovan’s phone sounded. He grabbed it, feeling somewhat guilty that it rang in a police station, but that was foolish. His whole life he’d never been in one. He was pretty impressed with the way Emily marched in, took the front desk sergeant to task and then was whisked away to rescue her father.

  Not that Jacob needed rescuing. The man had nerves of steel. His only comment about being taken in for questioning during the drive over was Makes life more interesting.

  “Hello,” he said as he answered his phone.

  The door to the police station opened and Jilly Greenhouse came in. “Where’s Jacob?”

  Donovan put up a finger. Something about his face must have warned her. He got the idea that Jilly wasn’t one who believed in waiting.

  “Donovan,” came Jesse Campbell’s voice, “is Emily with you?”

  “I’m in the waiting room, and she’s in with whoever’s questioning her dad.”

  “Where’s Jacob?” Jilly mouthed.

  Jesse muttered, “She must have her cell phone off.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s not answering!” Jesse’s tone clearly conveyed that Donovan’s lightbulb was dim.

  “I mean,” Donovan said, “why do you need her?”

  “Eva’s in labor.”

  Donovan almost dropped the phone. “Eva’s in labor? You’re kidding.”

  Jilly plopped down next to him. “Give me the phone.”

  Around the Lost Dutchman Ranch, Jesse wasn’t known for his sense of humor. He was a stand-up guy who took care of his own. Donovan had been impressed when he’d heard about Jesse’s background. He’d never have guessed the man to be an ex-con.

  “Eva wants her dad,” Jesse said. “I told her Jacob would be here in forty-five minutes. You’ll see to that.”

  From anyone else, that might have been a question.

  “Yes.” Donovan handed his phone to Jilly and went to the front desk. “I need to speak with the young lady who went back a few minutes ago.”

  “Sorry, they can’t be interrupted right now.” The desk sergeant didn’t look up from the report he was reading.

  Donovan thought for a moment. He had no clue what copspeak would get him, what he even wanted. Instead, he tried the truth. “I just got a call from Jacob Hubrecht’s son-in-law. Jacob’s oldest daughter just went in labor with his first grandchild. Let me repeat that in case it’s not clear. First. Grandchild. I just promised I’d get him to the hospital.”

  The cop frowned.

  “Babies don’t wait,” Jilly said, coming to stand beside him.

  “Just a minute.” The cop disappeared down a hallway. A moment later, a door slammed open. Emily flew down the hall, Jacob a few steps behind her. Captain Decker followed behind them.

  “Let me know when you’re available to continue this conversation,” he called to Jacob’s retreating figure.

  “Anytime. I’ve nothing to hide.” With that, Jacob followed Jilly out the door. He had his cell phone out and spoke loudly into it. “That’s right. Eva’s having the baby. What? I’m glad you’re there. Here’s what I want you to do. Make a sign. Say that the owner’s first grandchild is about to be born. The restaurant is closed for the night. Call the minister. His wife said she’d help out if we needed her. Wait for her to get there, tell her who’s checking in, and then you and Cook get over here.”

  “Dad’s talking to Harold,” Emily supplied. “Everyone will want to be at the hospital.”

  Jacob was still talking away as he got into Jilly’s car. Something about watching a tall cowboy fold his body into a Fiat 500 made Donovan smile.

  Looking over, Donovan saw that Emily was already halfway into her truck. He’d either be following, riding along or heading back to the ranch to his empty room. He’d always done well on multiple-choice questions.

  “Wait.”

  He climbed into the passenger side, put on his seat belt and then watched as Apache Creek’s Main Street sailed by. “Good thing all the cops are back at the station wondering if they did the right thing by letting your dad go.”

  She shot him a dirty look. “They were just questioning him. They couldn’t keep my dad. He didn’t do anything.”

  “Why did they bring him in today? What changed?”

  She hesitated, just a moment, and said, “The remains have been identified as Billy Wilcox.”

  “The bedroom with the posters on the wall.
Karl’s boy.” Donovan whistled. “Finally home.”

  “What’s curious,” Emily continued, “is that the medical examiner agreed with my assessment that we had a male between the ages of twenty-five and forty.”

  “And Billy...?”

  “Disappeared when he was seventeen.”

  “Wow,” Donovan said. “So, it means either he lived out in the middle of nowhere, because unless I’m wrong, that’s what Ancient Trails was back then. Or he came back.”

  Emily tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what the area looked like thirty years ago. Maybe my dad would know.”

  “There was nothing there before we started building. It was hard, packed soil. I found no evidence of a structure. No rusted nails, slate, spent coal. If he’d built some kind of—”

  “He didn’t. When he disappeared, the search parties spent days canvassing the area. They’d have searched there. Plus, if my dad’s correct, Karl actively searched up until ten or fifteen years ago, when it was just too hard for him to continue. And, where you’re building has always been a popular place for horseback riders.”

  “When Billy disappeared,” Donovan mused, “did a horse go missing?”

  “What? I don’t know. That’s a good question. If he had a horse, he could have gone deeper into the wilderness, survived off the land. It’s been done before, and the Superstition Mountains have caves and year-round vegetation.”

  Donovan shook his head. “It’s easy to sit here and suppose, but what kid wants to be so totally alone, especially so close to home and comforts?”

  “We’ve always had tourists complaining about their stuff going missing. Food, clothes, books.”

  Donovan shook his head. “I know I brought it up, but now that I really think about it, not a chance.”

  “There are many kinds of hermits,” she pointed out.

  “And this one died with a knife next to his body.” Donovan was smart enough not to mention the initials.

  “Okay,” she said after a moment. “Then, let’s assume he came back. How did he wind up there? Was he walking, heading for Karl’s place, or did he call someone and Ancient Trails is where they met?”