When I finally caught up to Aunt Zoe who was waiting for me by the entrance to our abode, I noticed she was holding something behind her back. “What have you got?” I asked.
“A surprise.”
“For Gracie?” We’d be picking Matt’s mutt up later today.
My father’s youngest sister laughed. “No, silly, for you,” and then she quickly exposed what she had been hiding. “Ta da.”
“Oh, no.” My hands immediately flew to the sides of my face. “Please, tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Sorry,” my aunt replied. “No can do.” Now, she placed a bright red-and-white cowgirl hat on her head and held the fuchsia one out to me.”
“I refuse to be a part of this.”
“Oh, come on, Mary. It’ll be fun. You need to lighten up a little. Your schoolmarm charm isn’t going to rope any cowboys in.”
That did it. I grabbed the hat from my aunt and tossed it in the hallway closet. “It’s staying right here,” I said in a terse tone, “and that’s final.”
“Suit yourself. But if you lose a cowboy over it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
*****
When Matt agreed to let me stay in his apartment, he said I could use his underground parking space at the Foley as well. Of course, he left it up to me to figure out where to store his Topaz. The idea did occur to me to just leave the clunker on a nearby street. No one in his or her right mind would want to touch it. But then I had a thing about respecting other people’s property, so I asked Michael to take it off my hands, which he did the day after I moved in.
Today, however, I discovered Matt left out one teeny, tiny bit of information when he said I could use his garage spot. He never mentioned how difficult it was to get in the car. By the time my aunt and I stepped into Fiona, we felt like we had missed our calling: contortionists.
“What’s with the narrow parking spaces?” Aunt Zoe grumbled as her car strap and buckle took time to duke it out.
“I think it’s more to do with how the people on both sides of us park their cars. The space allotted is ample enough.”
“Humph. Well, maybe we’ll luck out when we return, Mary, and both cars will be gone.”
“Let’s hope so. I don’t think I can handle a repeat performance.”
“Me neither.”
With no time to spare now, I turned the key in Fiona’s ignition and then handed off the garage door opener to Aunt Zoe. I figured if I was steering, she could at least manage the mammoth garage door. Once the door was high enough for the “Bug” to pass through, I floored the gas pedal and then zoomed out onto the main street.
The minute Fiona’s tires smacked the freeway, my aunt dished out another question. “Mary, do you know where you’re going?”
“Southeast. According to Mr. Griffin, his property’s situated right on the dividing line between two suburbs, Cottage Grove and Woodbury.”
Aunt Zoe turned her head towards me. “I meant do you have good directions?”
“I hope so; I don’t own a GPS.”
“GPS? Is that one of those new-fangled tracking devices I’ve heard about?”
“Yup.” I held the steering wheel with my left hand and grabbed the lone slip of paper off the dashboard with the other. The paper held the directions Griffin gave me during our phone conversation. “I hate getting directions that say ‘go east so many miles then go south four more miles’. Why can’t men just tell us what landmarks to look for?”
“Because that would be too easy.”
I passed the directions off to my aunt. “Here, why don’t you help me watch for the turnoffs.”
She hesitated for a moment. “Okay, but I think I should warn you that your Uncle Edward used to say a tiny tot could do a better job of reading a map. He swore that’s why we got lost so often.”
I smiled. “Typical man. He didn’t want to admit that he purposely ignored your assistance.”
My aunt shook her head. “Hmm? I never thought of that. Do you really think that was the case, Mary?”
“You bet. There are three men in my family and believe me, I know all there tricks.”
My passenger straightened her short body. “Well, I’m sure glad we had this little chat concerning map reading skills. Too bad there’s no way I can confront Edward in regards to this matter. His being six feet under makes it quite difficult to do so.”
“Not really. All it takes is a séance,” I joked, and then I drew serious. “I actually do know someone who does séances for a living. If you like, I can have her set one up? You know when a person dies there always seems to be unanswered questions.”
Aunt Zoe fanned her hand in front of her face. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to be a part of a séance. Edward was dearly loved by me for thirty-six years, but I’m not bringing that man back. There’s a good reason for the expression, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie,’ and I’m not about to mess with it.”
I snatched a quick glance at my aunt to make sure I hadn’t dug up some raw emotions she had been trying to keep deeply buried. Supposedly, the grieving process for a lost loved one can take up to three years. Since she appeared to be in good shape, I continued to grill her. “Aunt Zoe, where exactly is Uncle Edward buried? I never asked Dad.”
She twisted her head slightly in my direction. “Why, he was cremated.”
“So, where’s his urn?”
“There’s no urn.”
I could feel my thick untamed eyebrows inching ever upward as I repeated, “No urn? But . . . but, I thought that’s where ashes of a cremated person were placed?”
“Oh, no. It’s not necessary. Ashes can be put in almost anything. For example, I requested Edward’s remains be placed in a small hand carved lidded bowl he happened to buy the day before he died. He said it was a gift for me. Perhaps he had a foreboding, but if he did, he never shared that. Anyway, the bowl makes it much easier to divvy up ashes that way.”
Divvy up ashes? What the? My aunt’s words threw me off kilter in more ways than one. The car swerved and almost connected with an early morning jogger. As I quickly overcorrected my steering, the Ford Focus traveling alongside me was almost stamped out. The Ford’s owner, a total jerk, wasn’t understanding at all as he laid on his obnoxious horn and gave me the finger salute. I pretended not to see or hear him.
“What was that about?” Aunt Zoe asked.
“Nothing.”
Once the car was back on track, I thought about asking more concerning my uncle’s ashes, but responsibility overrode curiosity. The questions could wait. Two good scares in less than a minute were enough for me this morning. I didn’t exactly relish the thought of joining the ranks of females at Shakopee’s Correctional Institute anytime soon. Besides, I heard through the grapevine the facilities were already overcrowded.
Fifteen minutes after our harrowing escapade, Aunt Zoe drew my attention to our final turnoff. “Take this exit here, Mary. Then go left on King’s Trail. Griffin’s place should be just a mile down the road.”
A few minutes later the car crawled onto the driveway leading to Reed Griffin’s property and I stepped on Fiona’s brakes. “Good directions. No deviations and plenty of time to spare,” I said, “That’s what I like.” I turned to my passenger now. “See, Aunt Zoe, you didn’t get us lost.”
“Interesting.”
“Yup. It just proves what I said earlier.”
The two of us stared at the massive, black wrought iron gates that stopped Fiona from tooling along any further. Obviously, they were meant to keep unwanted guests out. A two-foot white letter X hung smack dab in the middle of the gates, and aged elm trees untouched by Dutch elm disease cloaked the rest of the entrance.
I started to unlock my seatbelt, so I could get out and see if the gate was open, but my aunt stopped me. “Don�
��t bother, Mary. I’ll check the gates.”
“Thanks,” I said as my trembling hands lingered on the steering wheel. An unexpected reprieve, exactly what I needed. Unfortunately, it didn’t register with other parts of my body. My heart raced out of control, and the steering wheel was given an unwelcome bath. I flicked on the car radio hoping it would soothe me. It didn’t. Nothing but church services this time of the morning. Maybe fresh air would help. My sweaty fingers settled on the control button for the front windows. A second later, they slid down.
Nope. That didn’t help either. All right. If you must know, the truth was hard to face, especially when it concerned oneself, but here goes. I’m a chicken through and through. It doesn’t matter how much I pretend otherwise. I enjoy keeping life simple. I don’t like trying new things, and yet, day in and day out I had challenged my students to conquer new things. What a hypocrite, right?
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been asked by friends to try skydiving, kayaking or even rollerblading because I had. Of course, I’d smile sweetly and agree to go only to take myself out of the equation at the last moment. Make up a lame excuse. “It’s my aunt’s birthday.” “My dad’s sick.” “Got a cold.” I think I figured if I didn’t attempt a new experience, nothing terrible would ever happen to me.
This past winter though, I tempted fate, like I’m doing today. There were four of us staying together in Puerto Vallarta, and I suggested we go parasailing. My brother, Matt, expected me to chicken out at the last minute like I always did, but boy did I fool him. I went up first, and guess what? Nothing happened. But when the last person in our group took her turn, Matt’s girlfriend, Rita, things went dreadfully wrong. Thankfully, Mother Nature played a part in her accident, not me. I would’ve never lived that down.
Why couldn’t my hands stop sweating? Forget about them. Keep your eyes focused on the gates. Yeah, sure. Just what I always wanted to stare at, property containing my worst nightmare. Yikes! Well, what did you expect, Mary, when you stuck your neck out? Huh? That you wouldn’t have to pay the piper a trillion times over.
Chapter 7
Aunt Zoe finally returned to the car after what seemed like eternity. “I saw a couple men standing at the top of the hill. Maybe that’s where the stable is, Mary.”
“You could be right. Let’s check it out.” I quickly shifted the car’s gears from park to drive and slowly crept onto Griffin’s private property.
When we were approximately halfway up the hill, I pulled in to what looked like graveled parking slots for roughly eight cars. Wide, lush open field as far as the eye could see began its journey right where the gravel ended, at Fiona’s front bumper. I turned the engine off and told Aunt Zoe to stay in the car until I found out exactly where Mr. Griffin was. She promised she would. With that settled, I hopped out of the car and began my ascent.
Good thing it wasn’t raining like the weatherman had predicted. Otherwise this city slicker would be sliding on her butt all the way back to Fiona. The terrain was rough and definitely not a place for sandals. Of course, I’d never admit that to my aunt. On the other hand, even if boots were the appropriate wear, this gal still wouldn’t be caught dead in them. I was never much for watching westerns, and by the time I was old enough to watch TV, Dale Evans and Roy Rogers were long gone. Maybe if they had stayed on the air in reruns, I’d have wanted boots just like Dale’s. According to what I’ve heard, she was the one cowgirl young girls loved to emulate.
The two men Aunt Zoe referred to remained in deep conversation as I drew ever closer. Even at three feet away I couldn’t make out what they were saying yet, but my eyes sure liked what they gathered in so far, especially of the tall, lean man who appeared to be around my age. Definitely hunk material, Mary.
The way his booted feet were clamped to the earth gave one the impression he owned the ground he stood on. He had a younger Clint Eastwood air about him. Think of the movie, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. His skinny sideburns, thin mustache, prominent Adam’s apple, tousled sandy hair and clenched teeth helped to complete the look. The only thing missing was a cheap cigarette dangling from his fine, chiseled lips. There was no way this man was Reed Griffin. Over the phone, I heard a more mature, self-assured person not a cocky and raw one.
Finished with his face, my eyes moved slowly downward to the shirt he was wearing, a navy-and-white striped logo polo shirt. Top two buttons were undone. The small opening near his neck exposed a clump of dark chest hairs. My face began to warm considerably. Not wanting to endanger what I’d come here for, I decided this was a good time to shift my attention elsewhere, like the older man standing next to Clint’s double. Before I could do that though, the super-hot guy’s voice shot up several decibels.
I froze, watching the dude’s every move. His left hand pumped wildly as he drew ever closer to the older man’s face. “I told you before, Griffin. Keep those damn horses off my property. If I catch them there again, you’ll be sorry.”
Shoot! I had unknowingly stumbled on to a bad Old West shoot’em out, except this was the twenty-first century and I was in Minnesota not Texas or Wyoming. Before I could decide what to do next, Aunt Zoe came rushing up from behind. I was glad to see my support person had arrived, even though she had been told to stay put. I turned to her.
“Ah, Mary,” she said in an almost inaudible voice, “perhaps you should wait in the car until these two gentlemen settle whatever dispute they’re having. It wouldn’t be too smart to get in the middle of it.”
“Too late,” I whispered back, “I already am.”
A minute later, Clint’s double became aware of our presence and immediately stopped the flow of fist and words. But just because it appeared he had nothing more to say, it didn’t mean he was finished. His beautiful fiery-blue eyes bore into us now. “Looks like you’re getting pretty desperate for help, Griffin. Grandma and the young chick over there ain’t going to give you a day’s worth of work. Heck, I bet they can’t even mount a horse.”
My French-cut nails dug into the palms of my hands. “Why you . . .”
Only my aunt’s quick thinking kept my words from being blasted to the South Pole. “Hush, Mary. Remain neutral. It’s not your fight.”
She was right. I bit my tongue and patiently waited for the older man, my client, to say something in our defense, but those mediocre lips of his didn’t budge an inch. What did you expect, Mary? The man doesn’t even know you yet. So what. It shouldn’t matter if he knows me or not. According to old episodes of Oprah, chivalry is still alive. Well, obviously not at this ranch. The nasty dude I had become so enamored with, only a few minutes earlier, thrust his non-calloused hands into his narrow-legged Calvin Klein jeans now and then turned on his heels and stomped off to a bright red-and-black four-wheeler stationed near the rough-hewn chestnut-colored riding stable. Heavy clouds of dust engulfed the three of us as the man and his vehicle fled lickety-split down the hill. Poor Aunt Zoe. She began to cough uncontrollably.
Mr. Griffin’s unkempt brown brows dug into his forehead making them even more pronounced now. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I’ll be fine,” Aunt Zoe sputtered through her coughing fit, “Just give me a sec.”
“Are you sure?” the man with the jutted broad jaw asked one more time. “Cuz it’s no trouble to fetch water from the stable.”
My aunt got control of her diaphragm reflexes real fast at the mention of stable water. I have a feeling she thought Griffin was going to retrieve the drink from a trough not from a fridge full of bottled water waiting to be dispensed. Nowadays, riding establishments provide water out of necessity. They don’t want lawyers knocking at their doors because heat exhausted customers collapsed on the trails.
Griffin turned to me. “Sorry about that little incident you just witnessed, Miss. That young man’s very ill-mannered.”
“Ah, it didn’t bother me in the least,” I lied. Su
re, I can’t ride, but the way the guy said it left me mighty sore.
“So, what can I do for you gals this morning? The riding stable’s not open until noon.”
“We’re not here to ride,” I said as I stuck my hand out in front of him. “I’m Mary Malone, Matt Malone’s assistant,” and then I pointed to my companion, “and this, Mr. Griffin, is our, ahem, indispensable secretary Zoe Rouge, another relative. I hope you don’t mind that she tagged along.”
“Shoot, no. That’s fine.” The man offered a gracious smile as he reached for my hand and pumped it vigorously. “It’s nice to see family members working side by side.”
Well, that went better than anticipated, I thought.
“However, we need to get something straightened out before we go any further,” he added.
Oh, boy. “What’s that?” I cautiously asked, concerned he had checked up on me and found out the only thing I’d done since college graduation was teach.
“People around here call me Reed.”
Whew. I breathed in a sigh of relief now. He wants to be called Reed. I can handle that. “Sure. That’s fine.” I pointed to the road leading off the property. “I have a feeling that’s the guy you’ve been having problems with. Am I right?”
Reed Griffin rubbed the edge of his firm jaw with his thumb. “You’re dead on, Miss Malone. Been told his daddy was in real estate and left him tons of money. Big deal. That doesn’t give the spoiled son of a gun the right to do whatever he wants to those of us whose lands butt up against his.”
Aunt Zoe cast her eyes on the sloping hill. “He sure was fired up about something. Care to fill us in?”
Way to go, Auntie. Time to dig out paper and pen and the mini-recorder my brother left in his nightstand. They were stashed in my medium-sized, summery blue-and-white woven shoulder bag. Thankfully, I had just cleaned the purse out last night, so it didn’t take much effort to wrap my fingers around what I needed. Most days a squirrel could locate his buried acorns faster than I could find one lousy tube of lipstick.
Death at the Bar X Ranch Page 6