Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery)

by Shannon Baker

  Hope swelled in her chest. This might save the day.

  Nora lunged for the laptop, fingers running along the sides, looking for a disc drive. Damn. The newer machine didn’t have a one. Desperate, she jumped from the desk and rummaged through the debris scattered across its surface.

  She yanked out a drawer. The wood stuck. Nothing but files and notebooks. She shoved against it and tried another drawer. This time she hit pay dirt. An external drive sat amid discarded phones and charger cords.

  Nora pulled it out, sweeping her hand through the dead and dying electronics. She came up with a USB cord and quickly attached the driver to the computer and inserted the DVD.

  This was it: Lisa’s work. Something for Nora to hold on to.

  Nothing but a whirr of digital and black screen. Nora’s heart shriveled.

  The screen flashed bright and suddenly sprang to life with a broad view of the cliffs. Time-lapse photography took the scene from dawn to midnight in a matter of seconds. Stars shone bright, then faded as the sun swept across the sky and reemerged. The image faded to a creek, the same spot Lisa’s box had rested just that morning. Again, the images on the screen shifted to show a trampled, barren creek bed eroding away and leaving desolation behind. A gushing black flood of tainted water showed the uglier side of tar sands mining.

  Lisa’s film. Edited but without narration. Nora and Darrell could finish it. No one with a heart could turn down the chance to protect this iconic landscape. Lisa had done it!

  “What are you doing?” Rachel’s ragged voice demanded as she stood in the doorway between the living room and kitchen.

  Nora jerked and sucked in air. “You scared me.”

  “This is Lisa’s office. She’d hate for you to be in here.”

  Nora couldn’t point out that someone, sometime would have to be in here and pack up Lisa’s life. Maybe sharing the news that Lisa’s work would go on might help Rachel. “I found it.”

  Rachel’s face blackened like a storm cloud. “Found what?”

  Nora spun the laptop around to face Rachel. “The film. I suppose it’s missing the last bits, but we can totally use this.”

  “Where did that come from? There were no backups.”

  Nora pointed toward the bookshelf. “I found it, buried.”

  “No! No more. Leave it alone.” She leaped forward. Before Nora could stop her, Rachel grabbed the computer and jerked it off the desk. The attached player dangled from the upraised computer. Rachel brought the laptop down on the side of the desk with all the rage of an abandoned wife. “I won’t have it!”

  She raised her arms and smashed it again and again.

  Nora kept her eye on the external drive that swung back and forth, occasionally smashing against the side of the desk. As long as Rachel’s temper tantrum focused on the laptop and left the player alone, the film would survive.

  Rachel grabbed the cord of the player. She yanked it from the computer and threw the laptop with enough force that it crashed against the bookshelf and fell to the floor, separating the screen from the keyboard. She held on to the drive and ejected the DVD.

  “No!” Nora cried as she lunged across the desk.

  Rachel gritted her teeth and, using both hands, brought the disc down on the corner of the desk and leaned her weight on it. It bent slightly, then snapped with a popping that might as well have been a BB to Nora’s heart.

  twelve

  Rachel stood in front of Nora, panting with spent rage. Her flashing eyes dared Nora to challenge her.

  Heat surged through Nora, her hands clenched in their urge to throttle Rachel. The film. The only copy she knew existed. All Lisa’s work—her passion, her talent—destroyed in a tantrum. She stifled the frustrated scream, fighting to understand Rachel’s grief but really wanting to smack her.

  “Why did you do that?” Nora barely restrained her temper.

  Tears glistened in Rachel’s eyes. “Forget about the film.”

  “But it was Lisa’s dream!”

  Rachel flung her arm in the air. “If you’d never given her funding, she’d have had to give it up. She’d be alive now.”

  There it was, the familiar guilt drenching her. Nora fought to keep from drowning in it again. “Her death was an accident.”

  Rachel spit her words at Nora. “You keep believing that.”

  Marlene had said it, now Rachel. Nora kept her voice slow and even. “I understand how you feel.”

  Contempt dripped from Rachel’s words. “You don’t know anything about how I feel.”

  Sadly, Nora probably understood more about it than either liked to admit. She knew because her husband had been murdered. It had felt like her heart had been ripped out, leaving a raw, bloody hole. She’d barely been able to breathe, let alone believe she’d ever smile or laugh again.

  Nora stepped toward her, intending to reach for Rachel’s hand or put an arm around her.

  Rachel stepped back. “I won’t have anything to do with that film.”

  Nora nodded. “Okay. I … ” She was going to say she understood but stopped herself. “Saving Canyonlands meant so much to Lisa. She believed, and I do, too, that her film would make all the difference with the committee. I’d like to finish it for her.”

  “It’s not safe to continue.” Rachel’s thin lips disappeared in her anger.

  “What do you mean?”

  Rachel skirted Nora and stomped into the living room. “You have no clue what it’s like around here. The Mormons—my family and everyone I grew up with—believe they own this land. And why not? They came here when it was empty. Nothing.”

  Sure, empty—except the indigenous people scratching out their existence, migrating and living off the land. The first people to live around here were the Anasazi, and the Hopi believed they were descended from the Anasazi. That would make them Nora’s ancestors. The Anasazi wrote their history on the rocks everywhere throughout this place. They built shrines across the land.

  Rachel spewed in her rage. “My ancestors were persecuted. They were chased from New York to Illinois and Nebraska. They only wanted to live their lives in peace. They sacrificed every luxury to move west and settle here. It was a hard life, but they survived. And now you do-gooders, who think you know what’s best, are trying to steal their sanctuary.”

  Nora kept her voice calm. “Protect it, not take it away. We’re only trying to keep it alive and safe for future generations.”

  Rachel glared at her and let out a bitter laugh. “Sure. Because the Mormons are stupid and haven’t been good stewards for the last hundred and seventy years.”

  Nora didn’t mention the riparian areas ravaged by tromping hooves. Overgrazed, arid pastures that blew sand, creating such severe dust storms that highways had to be closed down. “Things can’t stay the same way they’ve been. The land won’t last.”

  “The Mormons believe in stewardship. Joseph Smith wrote about taking care of the land and the animals so we’d have abundance.”

  “We’re trying to use science to conserve the land,” Nora ex-

  plained.

  “From what you call over-grazing. What they call making a living,” Rachel countered.

  “Grazing cattle out there is inhumane. There’s not enough for them to eat.”

  “These people, my family, only want to raise their children the way they were raised.”

  “Expansion of Canyonlands can’t destroy a livelihood that doesn’t exist because the land has been exhausted.”

  Rachel’s hands shook and tears glistened. “It’s their land, and people who don’t understand their way of life are trying to steal it. Do you know what that’s like? It’d be like social services barging into your home and taking your child because they don’t agree with your religion.”

  A kinder person would not say anything. “Is that why someone killed Lisa?”

>   Rachel’s eyes widened until Nora thought they’d pop like water balloons. “Don’t say that.”

  “Lisa climbed like Spider-Man. She wouldn’t have fallen from that ladder.”

  Rachel dropped to a brightly padded Morris recliner and buried her face in her hands. Nora sat on the sturdy pine coffee table in front of Rachel and tried to peer into her face. “You said as much yourself.”

  Rachel lowered her hands and stared at Nora with dead eyes. “Leave it alone. You can’t bring Lisa back. If you keep after this, you might have an accident, too.”

  “So you’re just going to ignore that someone might have killed Lisa?”

  Rachel glared at her.

  Nora stood. “I’m going to the cops.”

  Rachel jumped to her feet. She took two steps toward the galley kitchen and spun around. “Don’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the law around here is Mormon. They’ll take care of their own, but if you go telling them what to do, you’ll only get in trouble. And I mean big trouble.”

  “I can’t just leave it alone.”

  “I’m begging you! Go back to Boulder and the Trust and find another project. The planet is a mess—surely you can find another way to spend your time and money.”

  “If I could find a copy of Lisa’s film, I’d be out of here right now.”

  “There is no copy. I destroyed them all.”

  “They weren’t yours to destroy! They belong to the Trust.” Nora wanted to hit something. She placed her palm on her forehead, trying to think. “Did she put anything in a safe deposit box, maybe? Or store it in the cloud?”

  Rachel lowered her eyebrows. “It’s not like home videos of a birthday party. This stuff can’t be put in the cloud. And believe me, I’ve thought of every place Lisa might have stored a backup. I’ve destroyed them all. Every one.”

  “There was that one on the bookshelf.”

  “You won’t find another. Go home.”

  “But if Lisa was murdered … ”

  “She wasn’t!”

  “Who wasn’t what?” Abigail interrupted, opening the screen door on the front porch.

  Rachel startled and spun toward Abigail. “You’re back.”

  Abigail’s sandals clicked on the wood floor, then thudded on a Navajo rug, then clicked again. Charlie dogged her, balancing several grocery sacks. “Put them on the counter, dear.”

  Charlie obliged and retreated to gaze out the window.

  Abigail pulled gourmet coffee from one of the bags, followed by a bottle of white wine. “You said ‘she wasn’t’ and sounded all worked up. I asked who she was and what she wasn’t.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Nora thought Lisa planned on going to D.C. to screen the film and represent the Trust, and I said she wasn’t.”

  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.”

  thirteen

  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.”