No one else could have done what Warren had accomplished. Why would God call him home before he saw it through to completion?
The answer was obvious.
Humility. God fulfilled his promise through Warren. Together, they’d done the impossible. Warren would be rewarded, along with all his ancestors. He just wouldn’t lead the final exodus.
Who would?
Warren had it narrowed down to two of his nephews. Neither of them had Warren’s strength or his brain. Why hadn’t God provided a successor for such an important job?
“My goodness, it’s like an oven in here!” Christine swept into the room, pulling Warren from his plans.
The heels of her pumps left mini craters in the carpet as she swished across the room in her flowing black pants and jacket like a queen strutting around her chambers. She adjusted the thermostat.
Warren straightened and strode to the chair, costing himself too much in an effort to appear strong. “I thought you were having lunch with Amanda Reynolds.”
Christine folded her arms, her back to him as she studied a framed five-by-seven-foot artist’s rendering of the solar system. “That was hours ago.” She tilted her head one way, then the other. “I don’t understand why you have this here.”
Of course Christine wouldn’t appreciate Warren’s fascination. “Reminds me of our place in the universe.”
She spun toward him. Warren wished he could capture the energy she wasted on her quick movements. “It seems out of place here.”
“Can I help you with something?” On a good day he could indulge in chatter. This wasn’t a good day. Christine didn’t enter his sanctuary often, so she must have a reason.
She ignored his question and wandered over to an amateur’s painting of an old-fashioned white barn with red rocks in the background. “Has Bourne Financial weathered the recession?”
Money. She wanted to know if the giant financial conglomerate Warren had created would keep her in style. “Yes.”
She left the painting, crossed to the far side of the room, and stood in front of a slab of sandstone he’d had extracted from a Utah cliff. Unknown hands had etched designs into the rock more than a thousand years ago. “How much do you think this petroglyph panel is worth?”
Heat rose to his face and his heart beat faster. “It’s not worth much since I can’t sell it on the open market.”
She kept her back to him. Christine had a head for numbers. She had come to his office to appraise his treasures and see what she might expect in a payoff when the cancer finally won. “It came from your family’s ranch, didn’t it?”
He wanted to rise from his chair and pull her away from the panel. Her calculating eyes felt sacrilegious—especially as she focused on the figure of a person in what appeared to be a boat. “Doesn’t matter if it was private land. You can’t cut into a petroglyph panel and remove it from the rock. It’s a violation of the Antiquities Act.”
“So you having this here is illegal?”
He didn’t answer her. She knew this. Maybe she wanted to drive home the point that she knew his secrets. That brought a smirk to his face.
“So why did you want this petroglyph? It just looks like a bunch of stick people with big heads. It’s not nearly as remarkable as the drawings of horses or deer.”
An electric shock of pain made a circuit up Warren’s spine to the base of his skull. He closed his eyes against it and waited for the worst to pass. “What’s on your mind, Christine?”
With practiced nonchalance, she started toward him. Her voice sounded young and lilting. “My goodness. You have such an interesting mix in here. I don’t know much about decorating”—he scowled at her blatant lie—“but I think they would tell you to pick a theme. You have this barn picture that looks like a first-year art student with little talent painted it, then kachina dolls and pottery on shelves and the strange mix of astronomy and rock art.”
“I’m not interested in what a decorator thinks.” It came out as a short-tempered growl. “What is it you want?”
Her lower lip protruded. “I haven’t seen you much lately. I thought maybe we could catch up.”
Clouds brushed across the sun and the shafts of light on the carpet disappeared, as if God was toying with a dimmer switch. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here.” Her practiced grin made her face sparkle as if she delighted in this news, when Warren knew it was nothing more than the effort of a consummate actress. “We’re going to Moab Saturday.”
Her well-shaped eyebrows shot up. “I can’t make it. I’ve got two committee meetings.”
“You’ll have to reschedule. Darrell Burke is running a close race, and we need to throw our weight behind him.”
She shifted into a sympathetic tone. “It’s Utah, dear. Darrell is Mormon. I can’t see there’s a crisis.”
Bile rose in Warren’s throat, and he waited it out. “Darrell isn’t traditional and can’t count on the Mormon vote. He’s going to need our help.”
“You should concentrate on you now. The chemo’s made you weak, and you shouldn’t be running around the country.” She paused for effect. “Darrell needs your money, not your personal testimony.”
He didn’t have the strength or the will to parry with her. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Her lips tightened and her dark eyes lasered in on him. She lowered herself to a leather-covered client’s chair opposite his desk and stared at him. “I don’t know how to bring this up,” she began.
He watched her struggle for the right words that wouldn’t make her sound like a vulture. Maybe he held a modicum of responsibility for what she’d become. Thirty years ago she’d been a vibrant, loving young woman. She’d grown up in New York in wealth and privilege. She hadn’t even finished her undergraduate degree at Columbia, something she was certainly smart enough to complete, when they met at one of her father’s cocktail parties.
By that time, Warren had already accumulated his first million. But he’d divvied up those profits into investments and needed a cash flow so he wouldn’t miss out on the opportunities opening before him. More than that, he needed a wife. Back then he had considered a career in politics, and that required a bright, well-connected, impeccably raised woman by his side.
That was before he’d found his true aptitude lay in creating huge wealth. That kind of money could buy whatever politics he wanted without him having to suffer public scrutiny.
Warren had only loved one other woman. Puppy love, really. Christine, with her fine breeding, dark beauty, and social ambition was a completely different species than the naïve, simple blonde of his college days.
Christine and her trust fund entered his life at the right time. He gave her value for her money, though. She wanted an ambitious man, one who would provide for her, not only financially but give her the kind of notoriety and status even money couldn’t assure.
It sounded cold in retrospect, but he’d loved her. He thought she’d loved him. Through the years of toil, when he’d spent eighteen to twenty hours a day amassing a fortune whose dimensions only he knew, the disappointment of no children and the demands of great wealth had evaporated their affection, leaving only a functioning business arrangement.
Finally, Christine spoke. “What has the doctor told you?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got cancer.”
She tilted her head in annoyance. “Yes, I know that much. But you won’t allow me to accompany you to your appointments or consultations with your medical team. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“You mean, you don’t know how long you have to wait for me to die.”
Her shoulders slumped the tiniest bit. “I’ve upset you.”
“No. This disease upsets me.”
She pushed herself from the chair. “I’ll go.”
He waved her down. “You want to know how much money you’l
l have when I’m gone. Is that it?”
A flush rose to her cheeks, but she remained where she was and nodded. “I don’t like talking about this, but I’m ignorant of our holdings. I’d hate for the estate to wither from neglect after you’ve gone.”
She made it sound as though her concern was for his legacy. “Don’t worry. I had Darrell draw up papers for a generous fund for you. The rest is not your concern.” He’d left her more than enough to last into her dotage.
Her face tightened. “That’s generous of you to take care of me, but what about your businesses and investments?”
“It’s all down to one holding. And the rest will go to the church.”
He didn’t need to wonder how this news struck her. The pale face and wide eyes revealed shock. “One holding? How is that possible?”
He smiled at her. “I’ve invested in an important project.” The most important since Noah’s nautical venture.
“What project?” Her voice sounded strangled.
He pushed his chair from his desk with shaky arms. “It’s time for my medication. Please excuse me.”
He envied her quick jump to her feet. Her flushed face indicated the panic that must be raging inside. “It’s not fair that you don’t share the details of the estate with me.”
“I’ve left you a hundred million dollars. If you live frugally, it should last. The houses, of course, are in both our names, as well as the yacht, art, plane, and cars.”
She nodded, cool as January snow. “And the bulk of the estate?”
“Invested in the family ranch.” He watched her, fascinated by her self-control.
She drew in a long breath. “Your entire fortune is invested in a cattle ranch?”
He grinned. “It’s a very nice ranch.”
Eight
The little bell above the door tinkled and the wooden floor creaked as Nora walked into the Read Rock. The musty smell of old books lingered in the cool air, making the shop feel comforting after the blazing sun outside.
Nora realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out and inhaled. She’d never heard such heaviness in Cole’s voice. He had to be hurting about his father, but he didn’t want to talk about it. She’d give him time before she pushed. Maybe he knew how much Lisa’s death pained her and wanted to give her support. She wanted nothing more than to hurry back to him and feel his arms around her. But first, she needed to get a copy of Lisa’s film. According to Lisa, she’d completed everything except one video session and the final edits.
Darrell stood in front of her, all warm sympathy again. “You’re frowning. Are you worried about the presentation to the committee? Don’t be. Even without Lisa’s film, I’ll make a great case for expanding Canyonlands’ borders.”
No simple presentation would pack the wallop that viewing the iconic landscapes would. Lisa had created time-lapse footage with stars and sun trading places and views of pristine sunrises juxtaposed with damage from tar sands mining.
If there was no film, Nora might as well start sending out her résumé again. Just the thought of leaving the Trust hurt. Nora’s position at Living Earth Trust was so much more than a paycheck, even a much-needed one. For twenty-five years, the Trust had done good work for the environment. But recently, it had been tainted with scandal and murder and corrupt leadership. In the last few months as executive director, Nora had worked endless hours repairing its rep-
utation. She’d flown from coast to coast meeting with past and potential donors. She’d staked her personal integrity, taking responsibility for the programs and policies coming out of the Trust. Another disruption could finish the Trust, and all the good work would stop. Nora would lose the anchor of a job that gave her life meaning.
Darrell’s voice brought her out of her funk. “It’ll be okay. I can be very convincing. You can come with me, and together we’ll make the committee understand the importance of preserving this area.”
Maybe Darrell was right. Probably he wasn’t. “I’ll get a backup of the film and figure out how to edit it,” Nora told him.
Darrell looked skeptical.
The door opened again. The sunshine outlined a slightly stooped, thin man with a halo of unruly hair.
Nora grinned. “Excuse me,” she mumbled to Darrell, leaping around him and running the two steps to fling herself at the grizzled old man. “Charlie!”
His arms circled her in a bear hug. “You are a vision of loveliness.”
She loved the way he always spoke, as if acting in a melodrama. “I didn’t know you were here, too!”
He patted her arm. “It’s tough when your friends leave this world. Your mother and I thought you’d need us with you.”
Nora squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He scrutinized her. “How’re you holdin’ up?”
Why did he have to ask? Her throat closed up, and she fought tears.
“Nora. Dear.” Abigail spoke from behind Nora.
Nora didn’t anticipate her reaction when she turned to see her mother. She stepped into Abigail’s comforting embrace, probably surprising them both.
Abigail patted her back. “There, there.” Her soft words lasted only seconds. She took Nora by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. Abigail reached up with a tissue that had magically appeared in her hands and dabbed at the tears streaming down Nora’s face. “Since you don’t wear makeup, at least you don’t have black streaks.” Yep, typical Abigail. Thank goodness some things didn’t change.
Abigail lowered her voice. “You have to be strong for Rachel. She’s going to need you now.” Then she turned to Charlie. She placed her white hands on either side of his Velcro face and planted a solid kiss on his lips. “Thank you for parking the car, dear.”
Charlie glowed in his worship of Abigail.
Darrell approached them. He held out his hand to Abigail. “Hi. I’m Darrell Burke.”
Abigail slipped her hand into his and smiled. “Abigail Podanski. This is my husband, Charles.”
Charles? Nora raised her eyebrows at Charlie. He had been one of her closest friends for years. But once he’d laid eyes on Abigail, he’d been a goner. No one, ever, in a million years, would think of him as Charles. No one, that is, except her mother.
Charlie locked eyes with Nora, shrugged, and gave her a little grin.
Darrell shook Charlie’s hand. “Were you friends with Lisa?”
Abigail’s mouth tightened. “What a lively spirit. I can’t believe it’s been snuffed out. How did you know Lisa?”
Nora tuned out while Darrell explained. She looked around the bookstore. All the guests had disappeared, leaving only their little group and Rachel.
Charlie nudged Nora and tilted his head toward Rachel. Rachel stood alone, her eyes unfocused.
She should go speak to Rachel. Nora understood how confused and alone a person felt, how you quit thinking and doing ordinary things when your spouse dies. When Scott died, Charlie and Abigail had helped Nora.
Nora took a tentative step toward Rachel, then another, and soon stood directly in front of her. She opened her mouth to ask about the film but couldn’t do it. “Can I drive you home?”
Rachel’s head snapped up and her eyes focused. The sorrow turned hard. “You … ”
Abigail appeared and took Rachel’s hand. “It looks like everyone has gone. Charles is bringing the car around. We’ll take you home.”
Rachel gave Abigail a tired smile. “Thank you.”
Abigail linked her arm with Rachel’s and they started for the door. Abigail looked back at Nora. She raised her eyebrows, indicated the box on the table and Nora, and gave her head a “come-on” wag. Translation: Bring the box to Rachel’s house.
Great idea. It sounded like Rachel blamed Nora for Lisa’s death. The last thing she needed was for Nora to traipse into her home uninvited.
Nora remembered the first week of their freshman year at CU. She’d been in the communal bathroom on their dorm floor, brushing her teeth. Someone was taking a shower. A pale girl from several doors down crept into the bathroom. She slipped into a stall. Within seconds, the sound of sobbing wafted over the stall walls.
Nora didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard the poor girl’s misery, but knocking on the stall door seemed inappropriate. She stood, paralyzed by indecision.
Water turned off in the shower and the curtain swished aside. A petite girl with dark hair that curled despite the weight of the water drenching it wrapped a towel around herself. She strode to the closed stall door. “My name is Lisa. What is it, honey?”
“Please. Go away.” The girl’s voice barely carried in the echo chamber of the tiled bathroom.
It was as if Lisa broke a barrier and Nora was able to act. She joined Lisa at the stall door. Together they talked the girl out of the stall and coaxed her to talk.
Charlotte came from rural southern Colorado and trusted everyone. The attention of an older guy thrilled and flattered her. Until the creep got himself invited to her dorm room, didn’t understand the word no, and nearly raped her.
As soon as Lisa got the story, she stomped from the bathroom, not bothering to dress. Nora bounded after her, and they burst into Charlotte’s room in time to confront the weasel.
It still tickled Nora remembering Lisa, with the towel barely covering her, giving the shocked creep what-for.
Nora and Lisa had been friends ever since.
Curtains concealing a passage at the back of the bookstore parted and a tall woman peered out. She scanned the store, eyes resting briefly on Nora and dismissing her. She flowed out of the back room and into the store. She appeared to be around fifty and had the face of someone used to being outdoors: weathered and wrinkled, browned by the sun. Her gray hair was shorn short enough that it spiked at the top of her head, and the large hooped earrings she wore dangled nearly to her shoulders. She wore a long skirt and blouse in the deep reds, oranges, and golds of a desert. She appeared solid and strong under the rich fabric.
Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) Page 5