The Nora Abbott Mystery series Box Set

by Shannon Baker

  The raft crested the top of a swell and the canyon narrowed. Nothing but foam, frigid waves, and rocks ahead. The raft tilted to the right, banged against a boulder, and pitched forward, careening through another wave. It smashed into the canyon wall.

  Nora popped from the waffling bottom. Her feet flew over her head. She clawed for the rope, but her fingers only scratched at slick rubber. A somersault catapulted her from the raft and she splashed into the freezing river, cracking her tailbone on rock.

  Fighting for her breath in the glacial water, she succeeded in flipping onto her back with her feet pointed downstream. The life vest offered neck support and her wetsuit and splash jacket kept her from instant hypothermia. She cooperated with the current until the canyon walls widened and the water calmed. She navigated to the bank, struggled for solid footing, and crawled out of the river moments before the raft crashed into the bank.

  Cole jumped from the raft, nearly flattening her. He yanked on the rigging and the raft slid out of the water, coming to rest on the grassy bank. He spun around, breathless, his eyes wild, and focused on Nora, surveying her from head to toe. Apparently satisfied that she had indeed survived, he relaxed as his face split into a grin. “Whoo-hoo!”

  Nora whooped in response, releasing tension. “I’ve never seen this river so full.”

  They’d pulled out in a small meadow—green grass lit by bright Colorado sunshine, edged in by pines and a few elms. The Rocky Mountains rose on either side of the Poudre River, where a heavy spring runoff raged. The rapids roared upstream, but peace reigned here.

  They shrugged out of their life vests. Cole settled to the ground, pulling off Neoprene socks and wiggling his water-wrinkled toes. His sandy-colored hair dripped, and he pushed it back on his forehead.

  Nora stripped off the splash jacket to let the sun warm her. She yanked the elastic from her ponytail and squeezed her shoulder- length hair, wringing out the river water. Stretching into the raft, she unbuckled the water bottle securely fastened to the rigging. She flopped down on the grass next to Cole and handed him the bottle. The sun kissed her and she tilted her head to catch its heat while the breeze teased a few strands of her drying, copper-colored hair into her face. “Whose great idea was it to play hooky today?”

  He leaned back with easy grace. “You needed to get out of the office.”

  He was right. Probably. “What if Lisa needs something?” “She’ll figure it out.” A mountain wren twittered, answered by more sweet birdsong.

  Nora ignored the knot trying to form in her belly. “She called yesterday while I was Skyping with the board about forest restoration. I figured she’d call back if there was an emergency.”

  Cole’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like you.” “It’s killing me, but I’m trying to learn to delegate more.”

  He kissed her. “And you’re making fine progress.”

  They watched the river race past. She stole a glance at Cole and found him smiling, his blue eyes twinkling. “What?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  She landed a playful punch on his arm. “Talk to me.”

  He laughed. “I’m from Wyoming. Men aren’t big on sharing feelings there.”

  “Says the man who insists I tell him everything like he’s a therapist. Come on. It can’t be bad—you’re smiling.”

  He let his gaze rest on her and his smile faded. The blue of his eyes deepened. “I was thinking how damned lucky I am to have found someone who fits me so well.”

  His simple words took her breath with as much force as the icy river. “Me too,” she whispered and kissed him.

  They took a moment together, making out on the bank like teen-agers. It was a perfect day—too perfect. At that thought, worry flooded in and Nora sat back.

  “The film deadline is tomorrow. Lisa says she’s almost done, but I haven’t seen it.” Reminding herself of the timeline sapped her of the exhilaration from the rapids and from her day with Cole. So much rested on the success of the film.

  This was Nora’s first big project as executive director of Living Earth Trust. She’d hired her college friend, Lisa Taylor, to create a feature film documenting Canyonlands National Park in Utah and the threats it faced. They were scheduled to screen the film for a committee of congressmen to advocate for expansion of the park’s boundaries.

  A flash of blue in the trees behind Cole made Nora gasp. Cole twisted to look. He turned back to her. “What?”

  She inspected the tree where she thought she’d seen the blue, then plastered on a smile. “Nothing.”

  “Is he there?” He studied her.

  So much for brushing it off. Cole knew about her kachina. “No.

  I haven’t seen him in months.”

  A blue jay squawked and fluttered onto a pine bough behind Cole, as if mocking her.

  “That’s good, right?” Cole asked.

  Nora didn’t miss him, exactly. “It’s great. Who needs a visit from an ancient Hopi spirit? It’s scary, and he always gets me into trouble anyway.”

  Cole didn’t look convinced. “Except you’d like to see him.”

  There was no hiding from Cole. He knew her better than anyone and, surprisingly, still wanted to be with her. She’d struck a gold mine in him. “He made me feel like …” She struggled for the words. “Like maybe I really am Hopi and, well … ” Exposing herself like this, even to Cole, made her hesitate. “Like I might belong.”

  “Belong to what?”

  He actually seemed to take her doubts seriously. Once again, he proved she could trust that he really cared. “I don’t look Hopi. I’ve got no evidence. But as long as a kachina shows up every now and then, I don’t feel like a poseur.”

  Cole threw an arm around her shoulder. “You worry too much.” “I used to dream about him. And even though I’ve been dreaming about Hopi stuff, he’s not appearing. And then I wake up nervous.”

  “I think you’re dropping off to sleep nervous, fretting about Lisa’s film.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “Probably. But these dreams are vivid. I’m standing in front of a petroglyph panel in the desert. There’s this big design with concentric circles, like a bull’s- eye, and lines shoot out from it.”

  “Like a sunburst?” Cole lowered to rest on his back, moving slowly so Nora lowered down, too.

  She’d dreamed about it so often that she could see the petroglyph in detail. “Kind of, but not really. Instead of rays all around the circle, there are two parallel lines spaced evenly around it. Anyway, in my dream, I’m looking at it and feeling all this angst.”

  His voice vibrated in her head. “That’s it?”

  The sound of a telephone interrupted them. It was muffled, but Nora’s ears pricked. She jumped up and raced for the raft. It rang again while she fumbled to unbuckle the dry sack from the rigging. She unrolled the top of the sack, but by the time she dug through the towels and lunch to find her phone, it had stopped.

  Cole stayed on the ground with his hands behind his head. “You brought your phone along on your day off?”

  Nora glanced at the caller ID. “I thought it might be Lisa.” “And?”

  “It’s Abigail.”

  “You don’t want to talk to your mother?”

  Nora switched the alert to vibrate and set the phone on the raft. She gathered up the sandwiches and apples and settled next to Cole. “She only wants to tell me about a new skin product or alert me to an executive position opening up in some bank. Besides, I said I’d take the day off to spend with you, and that’s what I’m going to do. Sorry I weakened.”

  Her phone vibrated. Cole raised his eyebrows. Nora opened a plastic container and pulled out half a ham sandwich. “Abigail’s nothing if not determined.”

  “You don’t think it’s Lisa?”

  With determination, Nora said, “I’m taking the day off.”

  Cole sank his teeth into an apple. A muted Mexican tune played from the raft.

  No
ra listened in surprise, then grinned. “You brought your phone, too?”

  Cole shrugged. He stood and hurried to the raft. “Guess it’s my turn now.”

  He found it easily in the near-empty bag, swiped it on, and held it to his ear.

  Nora took another bite of the sandwich, enjoying the salty ham after the exertion of their morning on the river. Slowly, Cole’s influence had pulled her from her driven, make-every-moment-productive lifestyle to one where she took the time to enjoy what she loved: Cole and being outside.

  She realized she hadn’t heard Cole speak. She twisted toward him. His face seemed to melt as it went from happy to serious to alarm.

  Her phone vibrated again, and she debated. No. She and Cole still had a day off together, and she’d cling to that.

  It only took seconds for Cole’s shocked expression to harden with control. He had formed a plan and was ready for action. He lowered the phone and stared at a spot above her head, obviously working out details in his mind.

  When she couldn’t wait any longer, she asked, “What’s wrong?” “That was Mom. Dad had a stroke a couple of days ago and…”

  He gathered up the sandwich container and started stuffing things in the dry bag.

  Nora followed, once again ignoring her phone when it started buzzing. “A couple of days ago and she’s just calling you now?”

  He didn’t address that. “My brother is causing some trouble and I need to get up there and see what’s going on.” He picked up his life vest and shrugged into it.

  “Your younger brother?” “My only brother, Derek.”

  She retrieved her life vest. “What kind of trouble could he be causing?”

  For the first time since Nora had known him, he snapped at her. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got to go home.”

  “Home? As in Wyoming?”

  He inspected the raft to make sure it hadn’t been damaged in the rapids. “Yes. I don’t know much, but I need to get up to the ranch and see what’s happening.”

  He secured the water bottle. Nora rolled the top of the dry sack. He strode away from her, crashing into the forest. “Pit stop.”

  Nora moved to buckle the dry sack when her phone went off again. Their day together had taken a bad turn; she might as well answer. She checked the ID. At least it wasn’t Lisa with a problem. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Nora! Thank god. I’ve been trying to call you. Don’t you ever check your phone? I’ve left you a million messages since early this morning.” Abigail sounded distraught, but that could mean anything from suffering a paper cut to losing her house in an earthquake.

  Damn. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t heard from Lisa. “This stupid phone drops messages sometimes. I don’t know why.”

  “You need a decent plan with a legitimate company. Not that one you got for Trust employees because it’s the greenest.”

  “Okay, whatever.” Nora began with the usual questions. “Is something wrong? Is Charlie okay?” Abigail’s fourth husband, Charlie, traipsed off into the mountains outside of their Flagstaff cabin nearly every day. So many accidents lurked in the wilderness.

  “We’re fine, dear. But … ”

  Something in Abigail’s voice made Nora hold her breath. “What?”

  “Sit down. Is Cole with you?”

  “Just tell me, Mother.”

  “I don’t know how to say this.” “Mother!”

  “Okay, okay.” Nora pictured Abigail waving her arms. She waited impatiently while Abigail drew in a deep breath. “Rachel called me.”

  “Rachel? Lisa’s wife? Why would she call you?” Because Lisa couldn’t.

  “Nora, please; you’re not making this any easier.”

  Part of Nora wanted to scream at Abigail to spit it out. Another part wanted to end the call and turn the phone off.

  “Nora, I’m so sorry, but Lisa had an accident.”

  Nora’s breath caught in her throat. “What kind of accident? Is she okay?” How soon could Nora get home and pack her car for the six-hour drive to Moab? How many days would this put the film behind schedule? Nora would have to take over and do whatever Lisa needed her to do. Together they’d meet the deadline. They had to.

  Abigail made a clicking noise as if her throat refused to form the words. Nora tapped on the warm rubber of the raft, hating Abigail’s struggle. “Is she injured? How bad is it?”

  Finally Abigail’s voice found the words. It sounded like they had traveled through a tunnel from the center of the world. They rang in Nora’s brain, refusing to make sense.

  “Nora, honey. Lisa’s dead.”

  3

  Warren Evans pushed himself to sit up. His weak fingers clasped the protein drink, and he raised it. The can’s metal cooled his lips. The vanilla-flavored concoction touched his tongue, and he lowered his shaky hand to set the can in a shaft of sunlight on the desk. A drop of white splashed against the oak.

  Nausea overwhelmed him, and he waited for it to pass.

  He concentrated on the blueprints spread across his desk that detailed the masterpiece he’d created. With God’s help, of course.

  His calculations satisfied him that he’d provided perfectly. Three more groups planned to arrive in Moab today. He needed to contact his nephew to make sure everything was in place.

  He paused and fought his stomach for control. And won. At least he’d already lost his hair and it wasn’t coming out in handfuls everywhere. His new toupee pleased him. It had cost him more than his first house, but it looked natural. He assumed the housekeeper or one of her workers had vacuumed up the evidence of his weakness.

  He knew for certain Christine wouldn’t. She barely spoke to him these days.

  Trying not to think about his wife of nearly thirty years, he sighed and reached for his phone.

  Christine only wanted him for what he gave her in this life. She loved his wealth. She’d smiled and kissed him at every charity ball and political fundraiser from here to Hollywood, but she hadn’t shared his bed for a decade. And when she’d learned of his illness, she’d only grown more distant.

  She was a great public and business asset, but she’d provided him with no heir and gave him little comfort as he neared his end. Still, with the trust fund she’d handed over for his use after they were married, she’d been a fortuitous initial down payment on his fortune.

  Now, with time dwindling, he needed to make sure nothing was left undone. Warren pushed speed dial and waited.

  “Uncle Warren. How’s New York?”

  Warren lied, “I only have a moment. We’re about to hit the back nine.” Warren lowered his head and closed his eyes, willing himself not to vomit. His heirs didn’t need to know about his illness.

  “Weather must be good there.” His nephew’s voice held the slightest edge of resentment.

  Warren forced a good-natured chuckle. “I know you’re working hard. It’s the curse of the young.”

  “Enjoy your rest. You’ve earned it.”

  Warren said, “I just learned another group will join the other two today. You need to meet them for initiation rites and instructions.”

  “I’ve already been in touch with them, and it’s all arranged.”

  Warren liked the way his nephew took charge. Did he have the faith to lead the chosen? “And the film?”

  His nephew paused. “I’m making some progress.” Warren clenched his teeth. “What about Rachel?”

  More uncomfortable silence. “She’s planning the funeral.”

  Acting as if she were a widow. When did homosexuality become so respectable? “She’s vulnerable. Now is the time to approach her.”

  “I’ll see her tomorrow at the service. I’ll talk to her then.”

  Warren sat back. The chair used to fit like a power suit, with the soft leather caressing him like a lover. Now he felt dwarfed in its massive expanse and the leather chafed his skin. “Find the camera, too. Her last images could be damaging.”

  “I’ll find them. What’s going on in Wa
shington?”

  He couldn’t blame his nephew for asking. Warren hadn’t told anyone the timeline, and they didn’t know the end would come sooner than they expected. “The debate is close. Stanley insists expanding Canyonlands will devastate the local economy. Ruben waves the letter from the Outdoor Industry Association defending expansion. Right now the congressmen on the energy corporation’s payroll probably hold a slight lead.”

  His nephew sounded worried. “They can’t see the propaganda on that film or we’ll lose the homestead.”

  Warren’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth. “I’m glad you see the importance of getting that film.”

  “You know you can count on me.”

  4

  Nora pulled up in front of the Days Inn in Moab. She’d risen before dawn to drive the six hours from Boulder to arrive in plenty of time for Lisa’s funeral. She climbed from the Jeep into the bright sunshine and let Abbey, her aging Golden Retriever, hobble out and water a tire.

  The sun lit the red rocks around her, chasing off the morning chill. Light air tickled Nora’s senses, tingling with new-day freshness. Moab hadn’t awakened yet, so voices and bustles didn’t disturb the town as it stretched and yawned and readied itself for another day.

  Lisa loved mornings like this. A thousand phone conversations had started with Lisa’s breathless account of a sunrise bursting over the jagged purple La Sals or of the play of light on the red canyon walls. Lisa couldn’t wait to be out in the majestic beauty of the towering red rocks.

  Only three days ago—maybe a warm day, just like this—Lisa had gone for another shot of petroglyphs at the Moonflower campground. At dusk, the light faded, and she’d have put her camera away. Why had she climbed the ancient log scaffolding deep in the crevice? The prehistoric site was restricted, and Lisa respected that kind of protection, especially the antiquities she cherished. It made no sense for her to cross the barrier and wedge herself in the incredibly narrow space where the Anasazi had set logs zig-zagging up the straight walls. They’d cut slices out of the logs, worn smooth by countless feet and centuries of weather, to create a ladder to the top of the deep canyon.