by Sylvia Nobel
Her hand flew to her middle. “I can’t face that twisty road on an empty stomach. I have to eat something first.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s not quite four-thirty. You want to go someplace for an early dinner?”
“You bet. And it’s my treat,” she announced benevolently. “Let’s find the best place in town.”
“According to the old guy I was talking with a few minutes ago, that would be the Copper Queen Hotel.” I pointed to a gracious four-story building overlooking us from the street above.
We parked the car nearby, strolled past several young couples sharing early drinks on the narrow veranda, and were soon seated next to an impressive burled-wood sideboard in the spacious but nearly empty dining room. “This place is really ancient, huh?” Audrey remarked, her appreciative gaze sweeping over the robin’s egg-blue walls edged with dark crown molding and finally coming to rest on the lace-curtained windows.
“According to my book, almost a hundred years.”
“Wow.”
A neatly attired Hispanic boy, bearing ice water and menus beamed a bright smile and, in halting English, informed us that the waiter would come shortly. I opened the leather-bound menu and perused it with interest. “What looks good to you?” I asked Audrey who was staring dreamy-eyed out the window.
After a moment’s review, she proclaimed, “Everything.”
I raised a brow. “Everything?”
The impish grin dimpled her cheeks. “Suddenly, I’m totally starved. Let’s order prime rib. It costs the most.”
I studied her animated expression, marveling at the sudden change in her. Was this the same girl who was usually ambivalent about eating at all?
When the friendly waiter arrived, she surprised me further by boldly ordering appetizers and a sinfully expensive bottle of champagne. Fascinating. In the space of a few hours, she’d progressed from timid young girl to poised woman-of-means. There was no doubt her display of self-confidence was the direct result of her new station in life.
In breathless fragmented sentences, Audrey chattered on about her good fortune until the champagne arrived. After the cork had been popped and the bubbly golden liquid poured, she proposed a toast. “To my mother,” she said, misty-eyed. “How I wish she was here to share this super-wonderful incredible day with me.”
“Here, here,” I concurred, touching the rim of my glass to hers.
“Mmmmm,” she sighed after the first sip. “It tastes as cool as it looks.”
“So...you’ve never had any before?”
Her smile was demure. “No, but my friend Robin used to sneak us beer once in a while.”
“Well, I’d go easy if I were you. Champagne has a way of sneaking up on you.”
We polished off the smoked oysters and marinated artichoke hearts in short order and when I reminded her again about taking her medication, she dug a bottle from her purse, extracted a white tablet and downed it with a gulp of her drink.
“So, it’s okay to mix alcohol with your pills?” I asked, eyeing her flushed complexion.
She gave an indifferent shrug and giggled. “I don’t know.”
Her jubilant mood, probably heightened by the champagne, continued throughout dinner. She likened her unexpected situation to that of someone winning the lottery and jabbered non-stop, regaling me with fanciful daydreams that included traveling to far away places and buying enough clothes, shoes and jewelry to sink a cruise ship.
I shared her joy, but also realized that at some point soon she’d have to face reality. Hating to burst her bubble, I nevertheless gently nudged her with, “So, what are your plans for Morgan’s Folly?”
She looked momentarily nonplussed and pushed her plate away. “Please don’t make me think about that now. It will ruin the very best afternoon of my whole life.”
Instead of saying, ‘Fine. Bury your head in the sand,’ I said nothing and finished my meal to the soft clink of silverware and subdued conversation from the other patrons in the packed dining room.
“Okay. Okay,” she blurted out in a tone of impatient exasperation. “What do you think I should do?”
I looked up and studied her petulant expression. Apparently she must have interpreted my silence as censure. I laid my fork down and leaned back. “I couldn’t tell you, but let’s look at your options. You could always follow up on Dr. Orcutt’s suggestion and take the easy way out by signing control over to your cousin, Haston. Then, all you have to do is agree on a suitable income and return to your old life in Pittsburgh with no worries.”
Her expression hardened. “No way. I don’t trust that little weasel any further than I could throw him.”
“Okay. Option two. You could sell off the bulk of family assets to fund the mine opening, retain Haston to run the show, but stick around to keep an eye on him and the venerable Jesse.”
She wrinkled her nose at that suggestion, so I said, “Or, you could accept Duncan Claypool’s offer of majority ownership and pay Haston and Jesse to get out of the picture.”
She brightened perceptibly. “Now, that sounds a whole lot better.”
“But remember, if you do that you’ll be going directly against your great-grandmother’s wishes that the Defiance Mine remain in the family. Also, there’s Willow Windsong. Are you prepared to take the heat she and her group are bound to dish out?”
Her deep sigh held resignation. “If it’s the best thing for most of the people in town to re-open the mine again, what choice do I have? Either way, I’m toast.”
“You’ve got some real tough decisions to make all right.” Another uneasy silence fell between us until I ended it. “Aren’t you at all curious to hear what I learned at the sheriff’s office?”
“Do we have to talk about it right now?” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I was feeling so good. Thinking about all this stuff is making my head spin.”
“It’s probably the champagne.” She looked annoyed so I said, “Okay, just one more question and I’ll shut up. What did your lawyer advise you to do?”
“He read through Duncan’s proposal and said it’s a very generous offer.”
“And?”
“He said if he were me, he’d give it serious consideration.”
I clamped my mouth shut, determined not to allow my misgivings about him to dampen her hopeful expectations. She insisted on ordering an enormous slice of Black Forest cake for dessert and by the time we returned to the car it was nearly six-thirty.
Bathed in twilight, its quaint streets cloaked in an aura of hushed tranquility that denoted a community that had come to terms with its own destiny, Bisbee’s distinctive allure captured a special place in my heart. Audrey must have felt the magic too because she seemed reluctant to leave, and suggested we take another leisurely jaunt through town before heading back to Morgan’s Folly.
Conscious of her propensity toward carsickness, I took my time on the curves and by the time we descended out of the flower-sprinkled hills and reached the valley floor again, I felt relieved the desert heat had relinquished its harsh grip.
As we cruised along the vast empty expanse of cactus-dotted grasslands on a highway almost devoid of traffic, Audrey sat in thoughtful silence wearing a long, somber expression.
I tried, but couldn’t ignore the guilt gnawing at my insides. Look what I’d done—gone and spoiled her euphoric mood by forcing her to confront the cold hard facts of life. Mentally, I kicked myself for not leaving her alone to enjoy her moment of glory. Worse yet, I couldn’t think of anything witty to say or do to make it up to her.
But, then an idea struck me. Oh, boy. Dumb. If Tally were here, he’d label it just plain idiotic. And, my dad would accuse me of acting in my usual impulsive manner but...what the hell. I searched the distance and when I slowed and swung onto a deserted ranch road, Audrey turned to me looking mystified.
“What are you doing?” she asked as I brought the car to a stop and turned in her direction.
“How would you like to drive you
r own car?”
Her mouth dropped open. “For real?”
“For real.” I shifted into neutral, slid out and trotted around to the passenger side where she sat unmoving. “It’s okay, Audrey,” I said, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right beside you.”
Tears misted her eyes. “Kendall, you’re the best. I don’t know how I would have managed things without you.”
Grinning, I pulled the door open. “Scoot over.”
She had a little difficulty mastering the clutch and gears, but after a few false starts, she got the hang of it. And with me practically in her lap, ready to grab the wheel at the slightest sign of trouble, we bumped along the narrow road, never getting much above thirty miles an hour. But it didn’t appear to matter. Her delighted squeals and expression of total ecstasy seemed worth any qualms I had resulting from my snap decision. When the road suddenly dipped lower and dissolved into a rutted, weed-choked track near the sandy riverbed, I said, “Whoa. This isn’t a jeep. Better stop or we might get stuck.”
She braked and the car skidded a little when she brought it to a neck-snapping halt. “That was the most fun ever,” she cried out, clapping her hands together. “Now it really has been the best day of my life.”
When she threw her arms around my neck, my heart melted. She really did have some endearing qualities, but I cautioned myself again about staying impartial. I told her she was very welcome and we switched places again. It was no easy task turning the big car around in the narrow space, but I finally succeeded. When we reached the top of the rise, she let out a gasp and we both stared transfixed at the western skyline, ablaze in brilliant shades of cinnamon and tangerine.
“Wow,” Audrey breathed. “That is so awesome.”
I echoed her sentiments wholeheartedly but she looked a little dubious. “Oh, come on. You probably take something like this for granted, huh?”
“Hardly. Remember I’ve been here barely four months myself so I’m still a relative newcomer. I’ll tell you what though, as far as the spectacular sunset category goes, Arizona’s definitely got the market cornered.”
And then, as if to illustrate my words, fiery shafts of sunlight cut a swath through gold-rimmed clouds and spread the evening shadows over the surrounding hills like dark icing.
“Look at that,” she marveled. “It looks like God is about to speak. Maybe it’s a good omen.”
“Let’s hope so.”
By the time we reached the highway, I decided that if the picture-perfect sunset was a harbinger of better times ahead for Audrey, the menacing black clouds gathering in the direction of Morgan’s Folly were not. I switched on the headlights and gave her a sidelong glance, anxious to share what I’d learned at the sheriff’s office, but yet reluctant to tarnish her mellow mood. “So, you want to know what I found out this afternoon?”
“Do you think we’re going to get caught in another thunderstorm?” she asked, frowning into the distance, adeptly sidestepping my question. “Maybe we should stop and put the top up.”
“Let’s wait a few minutes. Those clouds are still pretty far north and could drift away like they often do.”
Silence prevailed again, so I let it linger on a few more minutes, before saying, “You sure you don’t want to hear?”
She flung me a pained look. “Oh, I guess so.” With the miles falling away behind us in the fading crimson light, I filled her in on the few new things I’d discovered. She appeared puzzled as to why her father would refuse to divulge the contents of the threatening calls and reacted with stunned bewilderment when I told her about the car stolen from Toomey’s place. “Do they think there’s any connection between that and the other things taken from the house?”
“I don’t know, but Archie’s shady background certainly puts an interesting spin on that theory.”
“So, you’re pretty sure it’s him and D.J.?”
I gunned the engine as we climbed into the mountains once more. “It’s all speculation at this point, but it could very well be a combination of him and well, any of them, including Bitsy Bigelow.”
“I guess I’d better get rid of him tomorrow.”
“Um...it can’t hurt to wait a couple of days.”
She looked thunderstruck. “Why? I thought you were so hot on me firing him.”
“Look, I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s up to his eyeballs in all this, but Detective Kemp is right. We need hard evidence. Why don’t you wait until I hear back from my office? Plus that, if he doesn’t suspect that we’re on to him, he’s more liable to get careless and make a mistake. And anyway, he won’t be around tomorrow because it’s his day off and he’s supposed to drive Marta to Naco, remember?”
“That’s right, I forgot.” She seemed relieved to have the decision postponed and within minutes was fast asleep.
The clouds continued to darken and savage flashes of lightning illuminated the indigo sky, but other than the incessant grumble of thunder and a few scattered raindrops, the impending storm threat appeared to have subsided.
We arrived back at the house by nine o’clock and were surprised to find Marta in the kitchen. She explained that her daughter had unexpected company, so she’d opted to skip her usual Thursday night dinner routine and stay in. “I would be just one more mouth to feed,” she said with a shrug. “But, it’s good I am home because that loco Windsong woman comes banging on my door.”
“She was here again?” Audrey asked.
“Less than twenty minutes ago. That woman’s mouth goes a thousand miles an hour,” Marta said with a wry smile, indicating the massive piles of brochures cluttering the kitchen table. “She says you must read all of them and she will bring more important papers tomorrow.”
Audrey’s only response was a glassy-eyed stare. Fearing the worst, I braced myself for another full-blown seizure, but within seconds, she blinked and mumbled in a dazed voice, “What?”
Marta frowned and repeated her statement. I said nothing, but once again questioned the wisdom of Audrey’s decision to keep her illness a secret.
“Also,” Marta continued, “the exterminator comes today. He is here a long time and says he looks everywhere but does not find the signs of mice or squirrels.”
Audrey looked puzzled. “What else could those weird squeaking noises be?”
“Sometimes when the wind blows, the old house makes many strange sounds,” Marta said and then fished a slip of paper from her apron pocket and extended it to me. “A woman from your office called.”
Anticipation flared inside me as we thanked Marta once more and beat a hasty path across the breezeway to the little parlor where I quickly dialed Ginger’s home number. “Hey, there. It’s Kendall. You got something good for me?”
“Sure do,” she crowed. “I talked with Phil Gross over at the pharmacy and he showed me this big ol’ book and you wouldn’t believe how many different types of drugs...”
“Ginger,” I interrupted gently. “Did he have any idea what it might be?”
“He didn’t have a whole lot to go on, but he’s thinks it might be Decadron.”
“What is that?”
“A steroid kind of like cortisone.”
“What’s it used for?”
“All kinds of allergies for one. Some folks take it for arthritis and some people use it for asthma like you got.” “Hmmm.”
“Hmmm, what?” she asked with a giggle.
“Did you mention that the prescription was filled in Mexico?”
“Sure did. And it’s just like you thought. Most kinds of drugs are a darn sight cheaper and sometimes folks don’t need a doctor’s prescription at all.”
“Oh.” My high hopes for getting the goods on D.J. went sliding down the tubes. “What about the second project?”
“I’m going to the library on my lunch hour tomorrow and Brian’s promised to do some surfing on the Net when he gets home from class.”
“Thanks, Ginger. Oh, one more thing. Call Phil back and ask him for a
list of any other drugs that begin with those same letters.”
“I’m on the case, sugar.”
Wishing I could share in her elation, I cradled the phone and turned to Audrey. “D.J.’s taking a steroid just like he told Marta.”
Her small rosebud lips formed a perfect O. “So, he and Archie aren’t mixed up in illegal drugs like you thought?”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’m not throwing in the towel just yet. Let’s wait and see if Ginger comes up with anything new tomorrow.”
Audrey tried to suppress a yawn and lost the battle. “I wanted to show you some of the stuff the lawyer gave me but I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.” “That’s okay,” I said, suspecting her introduction to champagne combined with the recent absence seizure was adding to her lethargy. “Go on to bed. I’ll look at it in the morning.”
It wasn’t quite nine-thirty yet, so I spread out my notes on the bed and began to compile all the data in chronological order. I finished writing a rough draft of my article and it was well past midnight when I finally gathered everything together and set it aside.
In retrospect, it was a mistake to have my mind engaged so close to bedtime, because it produced fractured sleep saturated with frenzied, work-related nightmares filled with missed deadlines and broken print presses.
During those restless hours, I was vaguely aware of the rising wind and before long the storm I’d pronounced ‘dead on arrival’ punched through the hills with the force of a freight train and bore down on us carrying a full cargo of lightning and thunder.
Still half-asleep, my tired brain was unable to identify the sudden clatter filling the room. I fought my way to consciousness and sat up. Hailstones were pouring through the open window, bouncing like miniature ping pong balls on the hardwood floor.
I grabbed my bathrobe and hurried to the window, wincing as my bare feet encountered the pea-sized ice pellets. At first, the humidity-swollen frame wouldn’t budge and I had to endure a barrage of hail stinging my face until I finally slammed it shut. Breathing hard, I rested my weight against the wide sill. It was time for Audrey to invest in some window screens.