by Cathie Linz
Megan shook her head.
“Would you like that photo? This is a nice one too.” She held up another shot, this one in color. Astrid stood in the foreground while the background had a dreamy, gauzy look. Even more than the previous Woodstock photo, in this one she was the center of the composition. Everything and everyone around her faded as the camera focused on her; she seemed to take pleasure in the attention. Her smile was heartfelt and her eyes sparkled with a mischievous expression that Megan had never seen displayed in other photos.
“Did my mom have a sense of humor?” Megan asked. “What was she like back then? Did she ever talk about having a family?”
“She did have a sense of humor even though not everyone understood it. I don’t remember her talking about kids or a family. It was the sixties. We weren’t thinking that far ahead. We were totally in the here and now.”
“She looks like she’s having a good time.”
“She did,” Fiona said. “I’d never seen her that way before.”
Tears welled in Megan’s eyes as Logan’s earlier words came back to her. When he’d mentioned the divorce, he’d talked about custody. What had made her mother agree to give Megan’s dad full custody? Why hadn’t she asked for shared custody or visitation rights? Had Megan been such a bad child that her mother wanted nothing more to do with her? Or had Astrid been driven away?
Megan had so many questions. Each one made her heart painfully crumble a little more. She’d shoved those thoughts away when she’d first heard about the custody issue back at Aunt Sally’s. But staring at the photos of her mother now, the doubts and fears all came back with a vengeance. People didn’t just walk away for no reason. Especially mothers.
Megan couldn’t imagine walking away from any child of her own she might have in the future. She’d always wanted kids. Now she just wanted answers.
“If you’d like, I can scan copies of those photos for you to take with you,” Fiona said.
Megan got all choked up, barely able to say, “Thanks.”
To Megan’s surprise, Logan reached over and squeezed her shoulder. His offering of comfort both surprised and grounded her.
“How long has it been since you’ve heard from Astrid?” Logan asked Fiona.
“It was about ten years ago, before our thirtieth high school reunion. She e-mailed me out of the blue and asked if I was going to attend. I said no and asked how she was doing, but she never replied.”
Ten years ago. Megan had been eighteen. The same age of her mother in those photos.
“Do you have her e-mail address?” Megan immediately asked.
Fiona shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. That computer crashed, taking my address book with it. But I remember it was from someplace in Europe, I think. Maybe she was just traveling there or something. I do know that she did not come to the reunion. I can check and see if anyone else from school has heard from her, but I wouldn’t count on it. She wasn’t really a people person.”
“I’d appreciate you asking around, thanks. Here’s my e-mail address.” Megan wrote it down on a pad of paper that Fiona handed her. Fiona recited her own e-mail, which Megan immediately entered into her BlackBerry. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk with us.”
“Sure, hon. No problem,” Fiona said. “I just wish I could tell you more than I did.”
Megan clutched the photos of her mom that Fiona had scanned. “You gave me more than I had when I arrived.”
“I wonder why your dad would tell you she’d died.”
“That’s the first thing she’s going to ask him when we get back to Vegas,” Logan said. “We’re heading back there right now.”
Fiona shifted her attention to Logan. “Come back anytime.” Fiona gave him a sultry look. “We’ll give you a special rate.”
“He’s a cop,” Megan said.
Fiona shrugged. “So? Prostitution is legal in this county.”
“Thanks for the offer,” Logan said.
“But you’re not going to take me up on it.” Fiona’s sigh indicated her disappointment. “Because your heart belongs to Megan.”
His jaw practically dropped. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Come on, now.” Fiona patted his bare arm. “Don’t be shy. It’s obvious. Her heart clearly belongs to you as well. Tons of chemistry going on here.” She pointed from Logan to Megan.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Megan demanded.
Fiona lifted an eyebrow. “So you two aren’t having sex?”
“No!” Megan said, “We just met today. Yesterday, I mean.”
“So?”
Megan realized that having this conversation with a madam was probably not a good idea. “Anyway . . . what I mean is . . . uh, thanks again for the photos and the info about my mom.”
“Good luck with your search,” Fiona said as she waved them out.
Trying to assimilate what she’d learned about her mom, Megan didn’t say much after they left the ranch. Her brain felt all jumbled with images and information. Her mom flashing the peace sign at Woodstock, promising Fiona to keep the mud-spattered jeans as a memento of their time together that history-making weekend. Did her dad even know that Astrid had been at Woodstock? Had she ever told him about it? Did she still have the jeans?
Daylight had streaked its way across the broad sky, painting it bright hues of red and pink. Mother Nature’s show rivaled any light display on the Strip. Granted, the surrounding landscape was barren, but there was beauty to be found if you looked close enough. Kind of like the picture she was trying to create of her mother’s life.
Megan wasn’t the only one keeping quiet. Logan also appeared lost in his own thoughts. A strange sound captured her attention.
“What was that noise?” Megan asked a short while later.
“Nothing good.”
“Is it the car?”
“Yes.” He swore under his breath.
“Are we out of gas?”
“No, of course we’re not.”
“It’s just that cars this old don’t get very good gas mileage.”
“I’m aware of that.” The noise—a cross between a clank and a rattle—got louder. “We’re going to have to stop.”
She looked out the window. They were surrounded by miles of sagebrush and little else. “But there’s nothing here.”
“I think there’s a town nearby. Check the map on my phone.”
It took her a few minutes to figure out how to use his iPhone, and he wasn’t exactly patient about giving her instructions. “Yelling at me isn’t going to make things easier,” she said.
“I wasn’t yelling.”
“You may not have raised your voice, but it still sounded like you wanted to yell.”
Seeing Logan grit his teeth, she was tempted to tell him that wasn’t good for him, but decided that would just elicit more irritation on his part. So instead she focused on figuring out the map app on his phone. “According to this, the closest town is a place called Last Resort.”
The grinding noise from the car got louder the farther they got from the main highway and the closer they got to the town. They passed a handmade sign hammered to a leaning fence post. The sign read WELCOME TO LAST RESORT. POPULATION: NOT MANY and had several gunshot holes in it. Next up were a few boarded-up cinder-block buildings that looked like they hadn’t seen any action since the 1957 Chevy first hit showroom floors.
“This doesn’t look real promising,” Megan said.
“You think?” Logan said. He took the phone from her. “Great. We’re in a dead zone now.”
“You make it sound like zombies live here or something.” She turned to face him, only then realizing he was referring to his phone.
“What about your phone?”
She checked it before shaking her head. She inadvertently hit the music play button and “Life Is a Highway” started playing. “Sorry,” she muttered before fumbling to stop it.
Finally they came upon a small group of buildings huddled
together like cold campers around a warm fire. A vintage sign with a martini at the top and a cup of coffee farther down welcomed them to JJ’s Golden Lounge and Café, which didn’t look like it had had any customers for several decades despite the OPEN sign on the dusty door.
Logan got out and came around to open the passenger door for her. Megan looked around cautiously. Another vintage sign next door proudly proclaimed that the Queen of Hearts Motel had color TV. The U-shaped building looked as if a stiff wind would send it tumbling into the surrounding sagebrush.
“Afraid to get out?” Logan said when she didn’t move to leave the car,
“Of course not.” She hopped out of the Bel Air. “I’m just sorry your aqua car is having trouble.” Her eyes widened as she stared over Logan’s shoulder. “Oh, look. We’ve got a welcoming committee.”
Chapter Five
Logan stared at the threesome, who looked older than dirt, walking toward them. His cop training kicked in as he sized them up: two male Caucasians in their late seventies, both just over six feet, wearing Western-style shirts and jeans, one with a head of white hair and the other with a hairpiece; one female Caucasian, probably late seventies, five-foot-five, one hundred twenty to one hundred thirty pounds, long platinum hair, piercing blue eyes, penciled eyebrows that were slightly crooked, huge dice drop earrings, colorful rings on eight of her ten fingers. Not exactly a threatening bunch of seniors.
They greeted him with huge smiles on their tanned faces.
He greeted them with a frown. “Is there a car mechanic in town?” His lack of sleep was catching up to him. His dark mood had gotten blacker when he’d reached for his iPhone and realized there was no service. Nothing he saw in front of him now improved his spirits any.
“What do you mean, exactly, by mechanic?” the woman said.
“Someone who works on cars.”
“Well, Chuck here has changed the oil in my car,” the woman said. “My name’s Pepper Dior. Maybe you saw my act in Vegas?” She struck a pose. “I do celebrity impersonations.”
“Show him your Marilyn Monroe,” the man on her left said. “She does a slam-bang Marilyn Monroe.”
Pepper socked the man’s arm playfully. “You’re just saying that. This here is Chuck Spicer. I’m sure you recognize him. Why, in the 1980s he was known as the Nevada King of the Infomercial.”
“If Pepper and I ever married, she’d be known as Pepper Spicer.” Chuck guffawed at his own observation.
“Nice car,” the third man noted. “Had one of them myself. Chevy Bel Air, 1957, right?”
Logan nodded.
“I had the red convertible. Allow me to introduce myself. Rowdy Goldberg at your service. I’m the mayor of this fine town.” He put his arm on Logan’s shoulders. “Come on into the café and sit a spell. You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
“I could use a mechanic,” Logan said. “Or a phone. Our cells don’t work out here.”
“Well, now, as it turns out we don’t have landline phone service at this exact moment,” Rowdy said cheerfully. “High winds over near Reno knocked down the lines. They should have it back up in no time. Meanwhile, come on in and take a load off. I don’t believe I got your names.”
“Logan Doyle and Megan West.”
Rowdy held the café door open and ushered them in. “Well, Logan and Megan, welcome to the place time forgot.”
He wasn’t kidding. Booths with red vinyl seats lined one gilded wood-paneled wall. Framed photos of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin hung on the wall along with lots of other faces he didn’t recognize. Red bar stools stood in front of a luncheon counter with a fading gold-flecked Formica top. A large pass-through allowed a clear view of the kitchen. A vintage jukebox stood in the back corner behind the booths. This wasn’t a rehabbed version, as was indicated by the duct tape holding it together.
“It still plays,” Pepper said proudly. “You just need to know where to kick it. Just like a man.” She paused before looking at Megan. “You are gorgeous, girl! I love your dress even if it is a bit fancy for Last Resort. I wore an outfit like that to a gala at the Flamingo Casino in 1955. Ah, those were the days, huh, Rowdy? The Rat Pack—Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr.”
Logan could tell by Megan’s expression that her inner history buff was fascinated. He didn’t share her enthusiasm. If he didn’t get some sleep soon, he’d end up face-down on the counter no matter how many cups of coffee he drank. Rowdy motioned him to sit at one of the stools at the counter and quickly poured him some coffee in a chipped white mug.
He couldn’t believe the way his trip to Las Vegas was turning out. Not that he’d had real high hopes given the fact that he was sent here to stop his grandfather from marrying and committing bigamy.
Sure, he’d expected a few speed bumps along the way. But he hadn’t expected Megan. She was more than a mere speed bump. She was more like a force of nature.
When his grandfather had first told him about Megan the librarian, Logan had no burning desire to meet her as his matchmaking Gramps had wanted. Now that Logan hadmet Megan, there was a burning desire going on, all right. A desire for her.
He’d seen more beautiful women, although she was no slouch in the looks department. Great legs, great cleavage, sexy lips. Her body wasn’t the only thing going for her. She had a one-track mind. So did he.
Watching her was like a drug. Maybe that was just exhaustion and too much caffeine talking.
Or maybe it was that “chemistry” everyone else kept going on and on about. Sure, he’d denied it aloud, but internally he recognized the claims were true.
Not that he could do anything about it. She had girl-next-door-white-picket-fence written all over her. She was no good-time badge bunny. You wouldn’t find her warming a bar stool at a cop bar, waiting to pick up one of Chicago’s finest for the night.
He couldn’t help wondering why she had a chip on her shoulder about cops. He’d always been too damn curious for his own good. Were her reasons personal? Had some guy done her wrong? Cheated on her?
Or were her reasons philosophical? Was she one of those bleeding hearts who thought all cops were guilty of brutality? Logan always found it ironic that even those folks called 911 when they were in trouble.
Not that he condoned police misconduct. And Chicago had had more than its fair share lately—all making the local nightly news. But the stories of the majority of police officers who did their jobs and put their lives on the line every day went untold. If a cop saved someone’s life or caught the bad guys . . . well, those stories rarely appeared in the media.
And that reality fostered the “us versus them” mentality in the force. Only another cop could understand what it was like.
“You’re awfully quiet, Logan,” Chuck said.
“Oh, leave him be. Maybe he’s the strong, silent type,” Pepper said. “Is that right, Megan?”
Megan, who was seated on the stool to his right, darted a glance in his direction. Not a nervous I’m-embarrassed-by-the-question glance, but more of an evaluating glance as if sizing him up. Whoa, that had unexpected connotations, he thought as he got hard. Apparently not all parts of his body were too tired to party.
“So, Megan, what do you say?” Logan raised an eyebrow. “Am I the strong, silent type?”
“I don’t really know you well enough to say.”
“How did you two meet?” Pepper asked.
“At my cousin’s wedding,” Megan said. “That’s why I’m wearing this dress.”
“You wore black to a wedding?”
“It was a black-and-white wedding with red roses.”
“Sounds striking. So you ran off together. How romantic. Logan clearly had time to change out of his suit into jeans. But he couldn’t wait for you to change your clothes before sweeping you off.”
“To Last Resort? Who in their right mind would want to be swept off to this place?” Chuck said.
Pepper smacked Chuck’s arm hard enough to make him wince. “Don’t
you go insulting our fine town.”
“How many people actually live here?” Logan asked. There went his damn curiosity again.
“Not many,” Chuck said vaguely.
“How about some breakfast to go with that coffee?” Rowdy suggested. “You’re looking at one of the best short-order cooks in the West. One of the fastest too. How do you want your eggs?” Without waiting for an answer he said, “Over-easy sounds good. I can do that with one hand tied behind my back.”
“Now, Rowdy, you know what happened the last time you tried that,” Pepper said. “You made a mess. You need both hands.”
“The magic is all in the fingers.”
“Cappy isn’t going to like you cooking in his kitchen.”
“Cappy isn’t here right now.”
“Where is he?” Logan asked. He was starting to feel like he’d stepped into a Twilight Zoneepisode or something. Were these three seniors the only inhabitants of this ghost town?
“Sleeping off a hangover.” Rowdy moved into the kitchen, though Logan still had a clear view from his seat at the counter. “Okay, people, stand back and observe the master at work.”
To Logan’s surprise, Rowdy was as good as his word. Using one hand, he cracked eggs and deftly dropped them on the grill before tossing the shells over his shoulder into the garbage with Michael Jordan precision.
“Show-off,” Pepper said fondly.
Rowdy beamed. “I told you I hadn’t lost my touch.”
Something about the guy reminded Logan of his granddad. At least Logan had been able to briefly touch base with Buddy while Megan had used the rest room at the pancake house back in Las Vegas. The truth of the matter was Logan never thought he’d be gone this long.
Checking his watch, he realized it was almost nine in the morning. Okay, they hadn’t been gone twelve hours yet. But it seemed like a lot longer than that.