The Nora Abbott Mystery series Box Set

by Shannon Baker

  Abigail bustled about the kitchen putting the groceries away. It looked like she’d bought all the basics. It’s true that Abigail’s presence often turned Nora into a raving lunatic, but sometimes she knew just what to do. In this case, it was making sure Rachel’s kitchen was stocked. “I have to agree with Rachel. Lisa, while I adored her, would never have been good presenting her case to Congress.”

  Abigail set a bag of pasta in a cupboard. “Nora, you can be very cool, almost standoffish. You should be the one to make a professional presentation, and Darrell can supply the charm.”

  Nora ignored the insult nestled in there. Rachel’s lie had slipped out so easily. She must have plenty of experience with them. She could be lying about more backups.

  Charlie spoke softly. “Don’t see your Jeep anywhere.”

  A stab of annoyance flashed. “It’s not going to be fixed until tomorrow. Can you give me a ride back to town?” Nora asked.

  Abigail inserted a corkscrew into a bottle of Chardonnay. “We can drop you on our way home tomorrow.”

  Rachel sat on a barstool made from pine and covered with a woven cushion similar to the Navajo rugs. She rested her cheek on her hand and watched Abigail.

  “I need to go tonight.”

  “Why tonight?” Abigail asked. The cork extricated from the bottle with a cute little pop. “Your Jeep won’t be done until tomorrow.”

  “I need to get a hotel room.”

  Rachel pointed to a stemware rack above the sink. Abigail slid three glasses off and placed them on the counter. “All the rooms are booked. There’s a big bike race or somesuch and not a room to be had.”

  “Then I’ll get my camping gear from the Jeep and sleep outside.”

  Abigail poured the wine and handed a glass to Rachel. She picked up the other two and walked around the counter to hand one to Nora. “That’s silly. Rachel has kindly offered to let us stay here. You know, Lisa always said since I gave her the loan for this place, I could stay anytime I wanted. Rachel won’t mind if you take the other room, will you, Rachel? And I’m sure Lisa would want us to be here.”

  Rachel took a sip of wine and lowered her glass. She glared at Nora. “Feel free to stay as long as you like.”

  13

  The chill of early morning pricked Nora’s nose. She sat huddled on the front porch in a soft throw she’d found on the couch. The glow over the tips of the La Sals hinted at the sun’s arrival. She drew the throw, with its earth tones and gentle pattern, closer around her. Abbey sniffed and explored the yard, stopping to pee on an Apache plume shrub beyond Abigail’s Buick. Nora tucked her feet under her in the Adirondack chair. She’d chosen the chair painted with mountains and dancing yellows and blues of swirling Van Gogh skies. Small birds flitted from the gnarled branches of the scrub oaks and the meadowlarks had just let out their first blast of song.

  Nora’s mind had been spinning in circles all night. She’d fought the blankets and finally cried uncle. She’d plodded down the stairs, intending to go through Lisa’s office again. She’d no sooner clicked on the desk lamp when Rachel had appeared and stood in the doorway with her arms crossed until Nora retreated to the front porch. Rachel had gone back upstairs but Nora didn’t want to upset her any further, so she left the office alone.

  She’d been sitting on the deck for the past few hours. Cole would be stretched out in his family’s house in Wyoming, no doubt flat on his back, sleeping that deep sleep he fell into almost every night. She longed to cuddle next to him.

  Her brain switched to Etta and her threats. She loved her job but hated the dance to keep the Board of Directors happy. After that, she felt the weight of Lisa’s death. Had someone killed her to keep her from finishing and distributing her film? Rachel said local law enforcement wouldn’t help. Nora had no proof and only a vague suspicion, so taking it to another agency, like the FBI, wouldn’t do any good. Wrapped in frustration and helplessness, she tried to distract herself by trouble-shooting an upcoming public education event the Trust planned to sponsor next month in Boulder.

  But an image of her kachina popped into her head. His absence felt like rejection. Maybe she’d been fooling herself into thinking she could be a part of the tribe when really, she’d never be anything more than a tourist.

  Unable to stay still for another second, she threw off the blanket and scurried into the house. Trying to be as silent as possible, she leaped up the stairs and ran to her room. With growing urgency, she rummaged in her backpack until her fingers finally closed on the small leather pouch. She pulled it from the pack and raced back to the porch.

  Her hand shook as she reached into the pouch, pinched at the corn dust inside, and brought it out. She faced the mountains and held her breath.

  Three … two … one.

  The sun flared over the peak. Nora inhaled and tossed the corn dust into the air.

  A real Hopi would sing out loud. She’d express her gratitude to the spirits for creating the world and pledge herself to protecting it.

  Nora gazed at the sun over the mountains, inhaled the fresh morning air, and kept her mouth shut.

  “What are you doing?” Abigail’s voice preceded the squeak of the screen door opening.

  Nora jumped and spun around. Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I couldn’t sleep so I got up early.”

  Abigail stood on the porch in one of her velour workout suits, this one a brilliant turquoise. She held two thick pottery mugs with swirling browns and deep reds adorning the sides. She must have been brewing coffee in the kitchen when Nora raced upstairs. Nora had been so wrapped up in her own angst she hadn’t even smelled it. Abigail narrowed her eyes. “Did you just toss corn into the air?”

  Nora shoved the pouch into her shorts pocket. She sauntered back to the chair and picked up the throw. “Is that coffee I smell?” she said.

  Abigail handed her a mug. The warmth of the coffee penetrated Nora’s palm and the moisture from the aromatic steam greeted her. “Thanks.”

  Abigail lowered herself into a chair painted with a red armadillo, purple javelina, and yellow ground squirrels. She sat on the edge and clutched her mug. “You and that old fool, Charles.”

  Nora raised her eyebrows. “What about Charlie?”

  Abigail waved her hand in dismissal. “He was up hours ago. He said he couldn’t sleep and went trudging off like he does.”

  Nora scanned the yard. “I didn’t see him.”

  Abigail sipped her coffee and stared ahead. “He wouldn’t disturb your vigil. He’s like that.”

  Nora nodded. “Abbey must have gone with him.”

  They sat in silence for a while until Abigail said in a tight voice, “I don’t suppose there’s anything wrong with saying thank you for this sunrise.”

  Nora sat in her mountain chair, careful not to spill the coffee. “This porch is the reason Lisa bought this place.”

  Abigail spoke quietly. “I remember that first summer she lived here. No running water, the stairs threatening to cave in. I believe a family of skunks lived under the porch.”

  The coffee tasted a little like heaven, though not a big chunk of heaven because Abigail had made her usual anemic brew. Still, it was good enough that Nora felt a pang for enjoying it, knowing Lisa would never drink another cup.

  That kind of maudlin attitude wouldn’t help anyone and certainly didn’t honor the spirit of her friend. “It was really nice of you to loan her the money for this place.”

  “I was happy to do it.”

  That wasn’t exactly how Nora remembered it. To Lisa’s face, Abigail was all generosity and graciousness, but to Nora, Abigail complained about the foolishness of buying a dilapidated shack and fixing it up herself. She argued that the house sat on a flood plain, although no one living could remember a flash flood so violent it would rush though this wide valley. Abigail had told Nora one reason she lent Lisa the money was to distract her from the ridiculous notion of being a lesbian. If she focused on something else, she’d get over it and find a man, he
r mother reasoned. Abigail had progressed a long way since then.

  Nora closed her eyes to the sun’s warmth. “She loved it here.” “I’ve never liked Moab.”

  Nora watched Abigail’s tense face. “I didn’t know that. Why?” “Bad juju.” Abigail twisted her mouth in distaste.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The vibes. I just don’t like it.”

  It surprised Nora that Abigail noticed anything beyond the retail experience of a place. “I didn’t know you spent any time here.”

  “A little.”

  “When?”

  “What is this? Twenty questions?” Abigail snapped. Nora sat back, puzzled at Abigail’s reaction. “Sorry.”

  After a pause, Abigail said, “Your father and I visited once.” Nora sat up. Abigail didn’t offer up much about Nora’s father.

  “When?”

  Abigail gazed at the mountains. “Not long after we met. He loved it here and wanted to show it to me. We backpacked in Arches and spent some time in Canyonlands.”

  Nora nearly choked on the coffee. “You … ” She couldn’t picture it. “You backpacked?”

  Abigail frowned at her. “I wasn’t born being your mother. I was young once, too.”

  In principle, that made sense. Nora could see Abigail as a high school girl in Nebraska, being head cheerleader and dating the football captain. She could imagine her in college giggling with the girls on her dorm floor. What she couldn’t fit into her brain was her mother sweating under a pack and sleeping on the ground, covered in the red dust of the Southwest.

  “So you and my father came up here? What did he show you?” Nora grabbed hold of any knowledge about her father. She longed to know more about him, and these rare snippets from her mother were all she had.

  Abigail waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t know. We hiked around and it all looked pretty much the same to me. I was young and just happy to be with him.”

  “Did he tell you anything about the landscapes or traditions? This isn’t typical Hopi land, so I wonder why he brought you here and not the mesas.”

  Abigail clucked her teeth. “You’ve been to the mesas. They aren’t much to look at. I suspect your father felt reluctant to introduce me to his family. They weren’t likely to approve of me.”

  Nora waited. There had to be more.

  “He did what you just did, though. Every morning he would get up ridiculously early and say prayers to the sunrise and throw corn dust into the air.” Abigail shook her head. “I’m glad you don’t grunt and moan like he did.”

  “Singing, Mother. They call that singing.”

  Abigail waved it away. “Yes, I know what they call it. What I call singing is the Beatles or Neil Diamond. And throwing corn is odd.” “You and Berle used to go to church every Sunday. What’s the difference?” Berle was Abigail’s second husband, the man she’d been married to the longest—unless she and Charlie stayed together for another twenty years.

  Abigail gave her an incredulous look. “How can you even compare the two? Sunday services at Boulder Presbyterian were conducted at reasonable times on the day of rest. Not at sunrise, except for one day of the year, of course.”

  Maybe Abigail wasn’t as progressive as Nora hoped. Nora reached across to Abigail’s chair and took her hand. “Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you and Charlie.”

  Abigail looked startled by Nora’s affection. She eyed Nora closer, as if checking for fever. “Lisa was special to me.”

  They sat, silent for a moment, probably as long as Abigail could stand. “But this whole thing she was doing, this film. I don’t understand what it’s about.”

  Nora sipped her cooling coffee. “She was making a film to screen for the people at the Department of the Interior and to Congress to show them how important and fragile Canyonlands Park is and how desperately we need to enlarge the park boundaries.”

  Abigail sat up, as if spoiling for a fight. “That’s silly. You’ve got Arches Park,” she pointed behind them, toward Moab. “There’s Escalante and then Canyonlands. The whole darned state of Utah is practically a giant park.”

  Who knew Abigail harbored such resentment for conservationists? “Actually, Mother, there’s one point four million acres of public lands surrounding Canyonlands National Park that need protection.” Nora heard the edge in her own voice. It was the defensive hue that colored her words since she’d first berated her mother for crimes against the rainforest when Nora was in fourth grade.

  Now, Nora and Abigail were grown women. They could be friends. The kind of people who respected each other and could engage in civil discussions.

  Nora started again. “The original proposal for Canyonlands, way back in 1936, was for one million acres.”

  Abigail’s mouth set in disapproval.

  “But it was whittled down to 338,000 acres before Congress voted. That’s about a third of its original size.”

  “Even if it’s desert wasteland, you can’t restrict such huge portions of land.”

  “So many cultural resources and relics lay just outside the park with no protection.”

  Abigail waved her hand in the air again and made a dismissive noise with her lips. “Do you really believe there aren’t enough petroglyphs and pot shards protected already?”

  With clenched teeth, Nora said, “Do you really believe we need to preserve Romeo and Juliet since we already have Henry the VIII?” “That’s not at all the same thing.” Abigail stood up and reached for Nora’s empty coffee cup. She retreated into the house.

  Nora watched the light play on the mountain range, the shadows deep on Castle Rock. She leaned her head back on the chair and closed her eyes. The bird chorus erupted in full sunrise crescendo. Even the flies and other insects buzzed in their morning busyness.

  The screen opened again and Nora smelled coffee. Abigail must be back with a second cup. “I’m going to stay,” Nora said, more to herself than to Abigail.

  “Good idea. Enjoy the sunrise and have another cup of coffee. I’ll start breakfast.” Abigail set the coffee cup on the wide arm of the chair.

  Nora sat up, eyes on the changing light of the mountains. “No, I mean I’m going to stay here in Moab.”

  “Now what’s the point in that? As I understand it, there are no copies of Lisa’s film so there’s no reason for you to be here.”

  “I have to do something about this,” Nora replied. “About what, the film?”

  “Find it, yes. But … ” “What?”

  Nora wanted to take back the “but” she’d uttered. Abigail didn’t need to know Nora suspected Lisa’s death wasn’t an accident. If the local police wouldn’t help, she’d have to do it on her own.

  Abigail frowned, “This isn’t … ”

  Nora jumped up, letting the blanket fall to the porch. “Where is Lisa’s camera? She said I’d know. They might have destroyed the film but not the camera.”

  “They who?”

  Nora grabbed Abigail and coffee splashed from the mug. She pulled her mother close and squeezed. “I’m going to finish this for Lisa.”

  She jumped toward the door, ready to get started.

  Rachel stood just inside the screen, coffee cup suspended halfway to her mouth. She glared at Nora for half a second, and then whirled around.

  14

  Fueled by determination, Nora hurried from the porch. The screen banged closed behind her, then opened and tapped closed to let Abigail in.

  Nora rushed into the office and stood in the middle of the room, the wool of the Navajo rug warm under her feet. She placed a hand on the cool wood of Lisa’s box. “What were you trying to tell me?”

  If Lisa were murdered, the logical suspect was a local landowner with a grudge against environmentalists. While Nora didn’t know many people who fit that description, one face popped to mind.

  Lee Evans. Those hate-filled dark eyes focused on her at the funeral. He ran her off the road and pretended it was an accident. Was he trying to scare her and make her go home
? Had he done the same to Lisa? When she wouldn’t back down, had he created an accident?

  He’d been out at the cabin yesterday having a serious conversation with Rachel. Rachel wanted Nora to drop the film project and go home. Was she protecting Lee? If so, why?

  A cold wind blew across Nora’s brain—an affair! Both Marlene and Lisa mentioned Rachel’s upbringing and how hard it was for her to give up her old life. Maybe she was trying to go back to it.

  Lisa’s message said she’d recorded something on film. Her voice had sounded terrified. Whatever she wanted to tell Nora was on that camera, and Nora needed to find it soon.

  She glanced quickly around the office, but didn’t see a camera sitting anywhere. She hadn’t expected it to be in plain sight. She shook her head at the pile of papers on the desk and lowered herself to sit. The bottom left-hand drawer squeaked as Nora tugged on it. Inside, a mass of file folders, envelopes, and odd bits of articles torn from newspapers and magazines tumbled in an orgy of clutter. She shoved it closed and tried for the drawer on the other side.

  The stairs creaked and seconds later Abigail appeared in the doorway. She’d traded her velour running suit for beige slacks, a T-shirt with all sorts of shiny bling attached, and flats. For Abigail, even a few days away from home required an extensive wardrobe. Even if Nora had expected to stay longer than overnight, she wouldn’t have packed much more than a change of clothes. As it was, she was reduced to wearing the same shorts but had donned a clean T-shirt and underwear. “Would you like more coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” She looked around for her cup, couldn’t remember where she’d left it, and shrugged at Abigail. She returned her attention to the desk and started arranging the piles of papers. None of them had to do with household expenses. Rachel must handle all that. Lisa’s papers mostly dealt with environmental issues. Articles about climate change and the benefits and challenges of sustainable energy tangled with maps of Utah in various iterations. Topo maps, park boundary maps, historic renderings. Black Sharpie circles pointed out various locations. Next to many of these, Lisa had scribbled dates and times.