Born in the Valley

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  She was just repeating herself. And judging by the expression on his face, not explaining things any better.

  Hands on the dryer, Keith turned, his blond hair endearingly mussed as he looked down at her. “Can you tell me, from the heart and with complete assurance, that you want to stay married to me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But?”

  “But there’s something out there calling to me, Keith. I don’t know what it is, but I have to find it.” She said the words quickly.

  His head dropped. “Then all I have to say, Bon, is that if you ever figure it out, you think long and hard about what our marriage means before you act.”

  “You’re so sure that whatever it is, I can’t do it and have you, too?”

  “What exactly are we talking about?” He sounded as frustrated as she felt.

  “I have no idea. I just know I need to help people. There’s a convention in Phoenix next Thursday and Friday I’d like to attend. It’s being sponsored by the city and has to do with public facilities to help the needy. I’ve been asked to speak on caring for young children.”

  “They just asked you and it’s next week?”

  “There was a cancellation.”

  “And you think you’ll find your answers there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Then you have to go.”

  He gave his blessing fully, but then, she’d expected nothing less. Of course he’d encourage her to attend professional seminars if she wanted to, as she would him. It was all the other stuff that scared her.

  “So, what if I find an opportunity to run some facility or program…”

  “You think that would make you happier than being my wife or Katie’s mother? To direct a program somewhere? In some other city?”

  “No.”

  Keith sighed, dropped the last pair of matched socks on the pile. “My life is here in Shelter Valley. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be willing to consider a move if there was some powerful reason for doing so, but it would have to be pretty damn good to weigh against everything we have here.”

  “I’m not asking you to move.”

  “I think I realize that, but then, you probably didn’t intend to be feeling this way, either, so who knows what’s ahead?” He resumed the sock-matching.

  “You’re giving up on us?” Fear suffocated her.

  “No. I’m just trying to be prepared for whatever the future brings. I can’t live forever with the threat that you might leave hanging over my head.”

  “Of course you can’t! I’m not going to leave.”

  “You don’t think you will, but who knows? What kind of program will you find to direct here in Shelter Valley? Other than the one you’re already directing? In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a whole lot of homeless people here. And you just said that helping people who are well loved isn’t enough for you anymore.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” she said, stamping her foot. She couldn’t remember ever having done that before.

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t give up, Keith,” she pleaded, tears springing to her eyes. “Please don’t quit believing in us.” Bonnie wrapped her arms around him, holding on even though he didn’t immediately envelop her in his comforting embrace.

  “I’m not going to quit believing, Bon,” he said, eventually doing what she craved and pulling her close. “At least not yet.” His chin moved against the top of her head as he spoke. “I can’t. I love you too much.”

  There was no joy in the declaration.

  “And I love you, too.”

  “Then chances are we’ll get through this.”

  She hoped so. Oh, God, more than anything else on earth, she hoped so.

  GREG HAD INSPECTED every inch of the Little Spirits craft room before he’d let Bonnie start cleaning it up.

  He’d had every single suspect particle inspected by his top lab people. And still, a week and three days after the second fire, he had nothing more to go on.

  Someone had launched a toy rocket through the window. A mistake? A boy with bad aim who didn’t even know where his rocket had landed?

  Maybe.

  Not likely in Shelter Valley, though. Everyone knew about the fire. Even if a boy didn’t have the courage to come forward, very likely the parents who’d purchased the rocket would.

  Except that, judging by what remained of the rocket, it didn’t appear to be purchased. Greg’s lab people were pretty sure it had been homemade.

  And Greg was pretty sure its launch hadn’t been an accident. The window to that craft room was in an alcove at the back of the strip mall. Its accidental landing in the craft room would be pretty remarkable, considering its very limited flight pattern. He was sure of one thing: whoever set that fire had been in the alcove and aiming for that particular window.

  But who?

  In the past week Greg had talked to Bonnie, to Beth and Keith, Becca Parsons, Phyllis and Matt Sheffield, the parents of Bo Roberts, the little Down syndrome boy, Randi and Zack Foster, Tori and Ben Sanders, the Montfords and every other parent on the roster, previously on the roster and hoping to be on the roster eventually. He’d never reached so many dead ends in his entire career. He’d even talked to the brain-damaged guy, Shane Bellows.

  Judging by his conversation, his inability to follow intricate thought processes, the guy wasn’t capable of planning and carrying out a series of crimes.

  He also had no motive. Shane Bellows was obviously very fond of Bonnie.

  Everyone loved Bonnie. And Little Spirits. Even those who weren’t closely acquainted had heard only good things about the day care.

  There was a little grumbling from various people who’d done business with some of the nearby establishments, due to the traffic jams at drop-off and pick-up times, and sometimes because of noise, but certainly nothing negative enough to be termed resentment, let alone the darker motivations that would drive someone to criminal acts.

  In his super cab pickup, rather than the cruiser that sometimes garnered attention he didn’t need, Greg drove out of town, two boxes of groceries on the seat beside him.

  He made his biweekly drop-off to Hugh Francis, a hermit who’d helped him solve the ten-year-old mystery of his father’s carjacking.

  And then, still incognito, he drove a little farther, pulling into the parking lot of the Kachina Grounds casino.

  It was the first time he’d been back since Beth’s breakdown there the previous September.

  Triggered by a piano player on stage in the casino, his wife had started to recover her memory that night. She’d suffered a frightening loss of emotional composure as a result.

  They’d also been attacked. They’d walked unknowingly into the middle of a drug deal in the back parking lot.

  And later that night, he and Beth had shared their first kiss.

  Hoping to dispel the cloud of unease that had settled over him, Greg concentrated on that kiss as he entered the casino.

  He was on a fool’s errand; he knew that. But he had no other stones to overturn at the moment and, at least for him, activity was always better than idleness.

  When he’d dropped by to see Mike Diamond Tuesday at noon, the first day of April, Diamond’s secretary had said her boss had taken the afternoon off. Either playing a hunch or giving in to desperation, Greg had played his sheriff card—giving the impression that his need to find Diamond had an air of urgency. He’d learned that while Diamond hadn’t told his secretary where he could be reached, he often spent his free time at the casino.

  As Greg had told Beth, he didn’t really suspect Diamond. Didn’t make sense that the man would sabotage his own property, especially when he had a deal pending. However, even remote possibilities were worth checking out.

  The casino was swarming with people, mostly senior citizens from what he could tell, waiting two and three deep for slot machines. Greg weaved his way through them, eyes alert for the man he’d come to see, at the same time trying
to stay inconspicuous.

  He didn’t want Diamond to know he was there. If by some chance, the man had something to hide—

  “Hi, Sheriff!”

  Turning, Greg saw Mr. and Mrs. Bob Mather, Sr., sitting together at a pair of quarter slot machines.

  “Bob! Clara! Good to see you!” Greg moved to stand behind them, glancing around as he did. “Any luck?”

  “Clara just hit the spin for a thousand,” Bob said, grinning at his wife. The smile Clara Mather sent her husband almost made Greg envious. In all the years these two had been married, life’s hardships had not dimmed their love the slightest bit.

  It was the same look he used to intercept between his sister and her husband when they’d been so wrapped up in each other they’d forgotten he was around.

  “Congratulations!” he told the older couple, hoping he and Beth shared that look—and that they’d still be doing so fifty years from now.

  And what about Bonnie and Keith?

  After chatting for a couple of minutes, Greg excused himself, slowly casing the casino. The Mathers said they hadn’t seen anyone they knew. But then, they might not know Mike Diamond.

  And they hadn’t been through the entire room.

  By his second go-round, he was ready to call it quits. Ryan was getting his two-year molars and hadn’t been feeling well. Greg was anxious to get home and see what he could do to distract the little guy.

  Then he saw him. With his back to the casino, Greg hadn’t recognized the Shelter Valley landowner until he’d taken off the cowboy hat Greg had never seen him wear before.

  Instincts buzzing, Greg pulled a dollar from his pocket and fed it to a quarter slot machine that had just become available.

  Diamond wasn’t wasting his time on slots. Or Bingo. Or Keno. Or even the sports club. He was sitting at a poker table. A high-stakes poker table.

  Greg pushed the Bet Three button and looked around the casino. Diamond was at the highest-stakes table in the place.

  And by the looks of the chips in front of him, the number of cigarettes in the ashtray, the empty drink glass and the state of his finger-ruffled hair, he’d been there awhile.

  “You done, mister?”

  A tiny, elderly Indian woman with wrinkled skin and gnarled knuckles gazed up at him.

  “Ah, no,” Greg said, glancing at the machine. He hadn’t won anything, but he had a quarter left. He pushed the Bet One button and put his knee on the stool.

  The woman stood patiently behind him, apparently taking him for an early leaver.

  Greg pulled another dollar from his pocket. Fed the machine. And watched Diamond. The man studied his cards, his shoe bobbing nervously on the stool’s foot bar, and pushed an entire stack of chips to the betting line.

  The woman behind Greg cleared her throat. Hardly looking at the buttons, Greg pushed one—and watched the game going on a quarter of the way across the room.

  The dealer threw a card. Scooped up Diamond’s chips. As Diamond moved, Greg saw how few chips he had left. Greg ducked his head, preferring, especially now, not to be seen by Diamond, who’d stood up to leave.

  A slot machine was clamoring, bells ringing so loudly Greg was getting a headache. A moment later, deciding Diamond had had enough time to get out of there, he got up to leave.

  And turned to see the dealer scoop up the bill Diamond had just laid on the table and count out another stack of chips. Diamond had apparently stood up to get more cash, presumably from the automatic teller close by. One thing was certain: that had been no small bill.

  “Jeez, mister, look at what you done!” the weathered old woman practically shouted at Greg’s shoulder.

  The irritating noise was coming from his machine.

  Greg had just won five thousand quarters.

  “You take it,” he said, as he pushed the old woman to the stool in front of his machine.

  “If this is an April Fool’s trick, mister, you’re one sick bastard.”

  Greg leaned toward the woman, speaking directly into her ear. “It’s no April Fool’s trick, just your lucky day.” With a squeeze to the speechless woman’s shoulders, he walked out.

  People were starting to gather around, and the last thing Greg wanted was to draw attention to himself.

  Besides, he might’ve hit a jackpot that really meant something.

  He’d bet his badge Mike Diamond had a gambling problem.

  Not that it made damaging his own property any more plausible—unless he was so desperate he was trying to force Bonnie to move. Maybe losing the sale was worth it if he could jack up the next tenant’s rent. His sister had mentioned a bathroom leak the previous month. Had that been more than an accident, as well?

  Greg just might be jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Then again, ridiculous had led to answers more than once in his career.

  For now, he had a job to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “CURRENTLY WE’RE DOWN-LINKING about fifty percent of our programming from satellite,” Martha said, her brow creased in concentration as she sat back on her side of the two-cushion couch in the deserted studio.

  Elbow on the arm of the couch, Keith studied some of the numbers she’d already given him. “So that means our catalog of digital media currently provides less than ten percent.”

  Analog and MPEGs were both at twenty.

  “Right.”

  “We’re a digital cable station with full production capabilities.”

  “Yes.”

  “And half of what we do is coming from Philadelphia, Germany and Japan?”

  “Right.”

  Ankle across his knee, Keith asked, “How much from Philadelphia?” as though he expected good news.

  “About five percent.”

  “Damn.” The Philadelphia Public Broadcasting Company, from which they purchased satellite downloads, at least produced programming in English.

  “The good news is that most of the German and Japanese stuff is on overnight.” Martha’s grin helped. But only a little.

  Caught up in the administrative issues, like getting the money, federal licenses and cable company partnerships, he’d lost sight of MUTV’s inventory over the past year. Martha had just taken over as program director after a couple of years spent volunteering on scripts and productions while she worked with the theater. She’d only now finished a thorough investigation of the station’s programming inventory.

  “I promised one-hundred percent original programming within two years,” Keith muttered.

  “I know.”

  “We have a hell of a lot of work to do.”

  Martha tossed her clipboard between them. “I’m ready.”

  The tension gripping his chest eased noticeably. He stared at her. Here was someone he could count on. With his life scattering about him, that meant a lot.

  Martha tilted her head. She’d gotten a haircut the previous weekend, had it textured, she’d said. He liked the sassy windblown look.

  “It’s late. You should probably get home to your kids,” he said, disappointed.

  “They’re not home.”

  Neither was his family. Because it was Wednesday night, Bonnie was at church choir practice with Beth, and Greg had taken Katie and Ryan to a face-painting extravaganza at Wal-Mart.

  He and Martha had put in a long day. Having been called in at six that morning due to a malfunction in the TiRac system, they’d been at work for more than twelve hours already.

  “We could map out a general plan if you’d like, just to have something to come back to in the morning.” She was smiling, didn’t look tired at all.

  “Don’t you want to get home?”

  “I have an empty house waiting for me. Tim’s at ball practice, followed by a pizza party, and the girls are with Ellen at the mall in Phoenix. But if you need to go home…”

  Keith tried not to be affected by the calm in her eyes. “No, Bonnie and Katie are out, too. I guess we could make a start.”

  “Great.” She picked up her
clipboard, flipping to a new page.

  “But only if we order in something to eat.”

  Martha laughed. “You men, always thinking about your stomachs.”

  Keith had intended to stand up. Find a phone. Call for pizza. Instead, he soaked up the amusement on Martha’s face. It was honest. Real. So unlike anything he’d seen at home lately.

  God, he missed the easy laughter that used to light up Bonnie’s eyes. He missed his wife so damned much.

  “Have you ever felt like you were wasting your life?” He hadn’t planned to ask the question.

  Martha shrugged, her shoulders slim in the white, short-sleeved pullover she was wearing with her jeans. “Yeah. Doesn’t everybody?”

  Shaking his head, Keith debated continuing the conversation. “I don’t just mean fleeting thoughts,” he said. “Has there ever been a time in your life when being who you were was not enough?”

  “Yeah.” She answered slowly, watching him.

  “There has?” He hadn’t really been expecting that. Martha seemed so sensible.

  But then, until recently, so had Bonnie.

  “Yeah.” Martha brought her leg up to rest it sideways on the couch; it was only inches from his ankle.

  “What did you do?” He regarded her intently.

  She took a while to answer him. The question was personal. Maybe too personal. Something was happening between them. A distance diminishing.

  He could tell exactly when Martha made the decision to eliminate the distance altogether.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she said, surprising him again. “I was everything I thought I’d wanted to be. A wife. A mother. An active citizen of Shelter Valley. When the dissatisfaction started, I ignored it. Just kept reminding myself that I had everything I’d always wanted. And I’d busy myself more and more with the house, the kids, volunteering. And eventually it worked. Sort of.”