by Stephen Bly
Fox Island
The Hidden West Series
Book 1
Stephen and Janet Bly
Copyright©1996 by Stephen Bly and Janet Chester Bly
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Originally Published by:
Servant Publications
Ann Arbor, Michigan 48107
Cover design: Left Coast Design, Inc.
Cover photo: Steve Terrill
For the
Class of’62
Chapter 1
Until recently, Fox Island’s fame was limited to a footnote in art books, as the home of reclusive and mysterious 1930s artist Jessica Davenport. But the Northwest population flood of the late twentieth century has bridged its way into every corner of Puget Sound. Situated in the southern reaches of the Sound, Fox Island still offers residents and guests a sylvan retreat, only seventeen miles from Tacoma and forty-eight miles from Seattle.
Of course, it is 1,454 miles from Scottsdale, Arizona.
Tony Shadowbrook stormed into the kitchen in stocking feet. His long-sleeved black-and-red Brooks & Dunn western shirt dangled, unsnapped and untucked. He waved a magazine in his left hand. “Did you read this? This clown in Publishers Weekly never even read my book. Did you see this review?”
“Tony, do you think these earrings are too flashy for going on a plane? You know, daytime travel and all?” Price held the ornaments to her ears, pulling back the shoulder-length ash-brown hair streaked with highlights, some natural, some not.
“But listen to this….” Tony’s eyes squinted close to the flying pages, his tanned face framed by a light line where his cowboy hat usually perched.
“Daddy, that’s homemade oatmeal raisin chewies you’re smelling.” Kathy’s long blond hair straightened as she whirled around, then folded again in tucked, perfect waves.
“Oh, thanks, kiddo, my favorite. But why do you think…?”
Price, with soft scent of roses and musk, slipped between her daughter and her husband. “Have either of you seen Kit? She does know we’re about to leave?”
Kathy took a bite of cookie. “She’s out in the garage, I guess. Do you want me to put these things in a bag or tin?”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Price she buzzed her daughter’s cheek. “Put them in a bag. They won’t take up as much room.” She marveled at her daughter. Hair in place, spotless white shorts, crisp denim blouse, not a sign of flour splotches anywhere. She wondered how many times Kathy changed clothes already this morning.
Tony jammed on his steel-rimmed glasses as he circled the oak-topped kitchen island. “‘Shadowbrook’s latest offering is like looking at the Black Hills after you’ve seen the Rockies. Nice, but lacks stature. It should cause Louis L’Amour to rest easy in his grave. The mantle has certainly not been passed yet.’ What does he mean, ‘lacks stature’? Who is this guy, Albert Cummings III? Teaches English at some junior college, no doubt, and moonlights to make ends meet by writing nonsense garbage like this. I know the type. A frustrated writer masquerading as literary critic.”
Kathy wiped off the sink and refrigerator with a dish towel. “Oh, Daddy, come on… teachers aren’t that bad. Mother teaches English.”
“Well, sure, at Arizona State. That’s different. Besides, your mother happens…”
“…to like your books?”
Price stepped closer. “The earrings. Tony, what about these silver-and-gold feather earrings?”
He grabbed the wall phone. “I’ll call Liz. She’ll be indignant. Probably will want the publishing house to voice some public protest. I’m not about to let…” He stopped as Kathy motioned to him to look at his wife. Price’s almond-shaped eyes and full lips flashed warmth his way. “They’re stunning, absolutely stunning. You look classy, as always. And such a young lady. Now, what about…?”
“But are they overdone for daytime travel?”
“No, no, no… I love ’em. Hey, what time is it?”
“It’s 9:10.” Kathy quickly tied back her honey-colored hair with the woven southwest belt she pulled from the waist of her shorts and scooted through the kitchen picking up scattered sections of the Scottsdale Progress Tribune and Wall Street Journal.
Tony hung up the phone. “When should we be at Sky Harbor?”
“No later than 9:50. I do think I’ll wear them. They sort of soften the gray, don’t they?”
“Mother, you don’t look a day over thirty-five and you know it.”
Price felt a sudden stab of emotion. She would miss her girls. Why wasn’t it ever easy to let their kids go? “You’re the sweetest liar in this whole family, Kath, but I feel every bit of forty-nine, especially with my babies in college.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to be fifty next year.”
“Is anyone going to listen to this cheap review of Shotgun Creek or not?” Tony slammed down the magazine on the countertop and tried to snap his buttons and tuck in his shirt at the same time, his face blotched with streaks of red.
Price patted his cheek. “I promise to read it on the plane. How’s the temp outside?”
“It’s June 10th in Scottsdale. What do you think? Definitely over a hundred. Where’s Kit? She’ll blow a gasket when she sees this.”
“Kristina’s in the garage, but you’d better finish getting ready first. Is your suitcase packed?”
“Oh, yeah. Just a couple more things. I’ve got the batteries charging for our laptops.” Tony shoved the magazine in his mouth and finished tucking in his shirt.
“Daddy, did you pack your gun?”
The magazine dropped to the counter.
“Why on earth would I need a gun?”
“I read one of those clippings in your Fox Island file, about the two prisoners who escaped from the federal prison and held a family captive.”
“That was forty years ago.”
“But the prison is still on that neighboring island.”
“Yes, but I am not taking a gun. They’re all locked in the safe.” He looked her in the eye. “And they better stay that way. I’ll get the laptops. Price, be sure and pack that lousy review. Should keep my adrenaline pumped for a week.”
Price packed the cookies and the magazine in her purse. Tony didn’t need his adrenaline pumped since this was the summer he promised to slow down and take it easy. One last time she glanced around the kitchen at the white walls, white cupboards, and red tile floor. The only color accent was the turquoise pottery dishes Kathy left to air dry on the white drain board, and fresh-picked blooms of Indian Blankets, marigolds, daisies, and a few paintbrushes bursting from a white ceramic pitcher on the oak board center island. “To remind us this is a cheery going away,” Kathy explained at breakfast.
Price peeked at her watch. “I hope we’re not forgetting anything.”
Kathy hugged her as doors slammed from the master bedroom. “We can ship it to you, if you did. Fox Island sounds like such a peaceful place. I bet you and Daddy have a really tranquil time writing this new book.”
“It surely won’t be as hectic as last summer in Utah.”
“All because Kit decided to rebuild that diesel engine in the family room of the house we rented.”
“In fact, I was thinking about the Saturday nights that blond Adonis couldn’t get you to the house before 3:00 a.m.”
“Nicholas is the only guy I ever d
ated who spent more time looking at himself in a mirror than he ever did looking at me.”
Price heaved a sigh. “Seems strange to be leaving you and Kit for the entire summer.”
“Mom, we’re eighteen and going to be college sophomores. We’ll be fine. We’re mature women now.” Kathy opened the cupboard door under the sink to toss a paper towel into the trash. “Oh, yuck!”
“What is it?”
“There’s water running out of that crooked pipe.”
“Oh no. Tony!”
One Justin cowboy boot jammed on his left foot, he hobbled to the kitchen trying to pull on the other.
“We’ve got a leak.” Price pointed to the chrome trap under the sink.
“No kidding.”
“Daddy, what am I going to do?”
“Stick a bucket under it, and don’t use that side of the sink until the plumber comes. I’ll call Dewitt.” He looked at Price. “A ten-dollar job that will cost a hundred bucks instead.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Right. I’ll call, then load up the luggage.” Tony mumbled his way down the hall.
Price placed a bucket under the leak and glanced at her earrings again in the small mirror next to the kitchen sink. “Kath, you’d better go get Kit. What’s she doing out there, anyway?”
“I think I’d better let her explain.”
By the time Price and Kathy traipsed in, Tony had all four suitcases and two briefcases stacked on the red tile entryway. “Honey, you better go talk to your daughter.”
“What’s Kit up to?”
Kathy straightened the collar of her father’s shirt. “She’s replacing a water pump on your car.”
“She’s what?”
“You said that we ought to take your Cherokee to the garage this week and get the water pump checked. So, Kit decided to replace it herself.”
Tony groaned. “Tell her to clean up and come on. We’ve got to go.”
Price nudged him in the ribs. “You need to talk to her, Tony.” Clutching his straw cowboy hat, Tony Shadowbrook rambled through the scattered cacti and succulents of the front patio toward the three-car garage.
Price attempted to lift the luggage. “You know you girls can call us anytime, day or night, don’t you?”
“Don’t worry so much, Mom. Mark and Josh both promised they’d check on us.”
“Yes, but a married brother in Tucson won’t get by too often and Josh…”
“He’s just a few minutes from here,” Kathy reminded her. “Unless he’s hang gliding in the Canyon, or jet skiing on the Colorado, or ballooning in Yuma.”
Kathy giggled. “Or falling off some building at Rawhide. Isn’t that new stunt totally awesome?”
“I refuse to even think about it. Makes me angry to know several thousand people pay money to watch my son almost kill himself four times a day.”
She stared across the patio, expecting a husband and daughter to appear. Lord, when do they get on their own so much that Mom and Dad can relax? Other people had normal children… peaceful, simple, easy care. Yet she really loved her kids the way they were—most of the time. And she was the one who wanted to marry this guy who wasn’t peaceful, simple, or easy care.
Kit led the way across the patio.
“Kristina!”
Kit reached out to hug her mother, her hands, clothes, freckled face, and bobbed brown hair smudged with grease and dirt. She pulled back. “Hey, I like the earrings, Mom. They really bring out the shiny gray strands in your hair.”
Price grimaced. “Did you finish with your father’s car?”
“Almost got the sucker done. It’s a lot easier than I thought.”
“Did you say, almost?”
“She’s really doing a pretty good job,” Tony bragged. “Maybe I should let her fix that drip under the sink. Kit, you can buy one of those traps at Wal-Mart and…”
“Tony, how are we getting to the airport?”
“We’ll have to take one of the other cars.”
“All that luggage won’t fit in my Neon,” Kathy wailed.
“Well,” Price said, “it certainly won’t cram into the Mustang convertible.”
Kit wiped her hands on her faded Wrangler jeans. “No big deal. We can take my truck. Grab a suitcase, Kath. Let’s get ’em loaded up.”
“Tony, we can’t all fit in that pickup,” Price said.
Kit threw up her hands. “I can ride in the back.”
Price gave her husband her best “You’d better do something quick, Shadowbrook” look.
“Honey, you and Kathy ride in the Neon. I’ll load up the luggage in the truck. Kit and I will meet you at the Alaska Airlines terminal.”
Price studied her silver-and-gold watch. “You realize we’ve only got twenty minutes leeway.”
Kit grabbed a bag and scooted for the garage. “We’ll probably beat you there.”
Flight 670, nonstop to Sea-Tac, scheduled to depart the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport at 10:25 A.M. At 10:05, Price paced with Kathy on the sidewalk in front of the Alaska Airlines sign. “I never should have put the two of them in the car together. They have absolutely no sense of time.”
“If only they’d at least wear a watch…”
Price studied the steady surge of hotel shuttles, busses, cabs and cars. “It wouldn’t make any difference. Neither would bother looking at it. But how could they possibly get lost from home to here?”
“There they are,” Kathy shouted. “And they’ve got someone with them.”
“Who on earth…?”
“No, not who. It’s a dog or something.”
“Good grief. It’s a cow.”
The rusted blue ’58 Chevy pickup rolled up to the terminal with a jolt. A slightly smudged and wrinkled Tony Shadowbrook jumped out and signaled for a skycap.
“What happened?” Price called out.
“Pop knew a shortcut by the riverbed,” Kit explained as she hauled out their baggage.
“What’s with the cow?” Kathy ventured.
“It’s a calf. It was on the highway about to get smashed. We chased it down. I’ll go find its owner soon as we see you off. Want us to go in with you?”
Tony rushed up and began tugging Price inside. “The skycap says we’ll have to check in at the gate. I guess we’re a little late.”
“You’re a mess, Shadowbrook,” Price said.
“Thanks for the lift, girls. We’ll call you when we get to Fox Island.” Tony threw them a kiss.
Price turned for one more quick look. Kathy was waving both arms. Kit’s were buried in her pockets. “Remember the list I left,” Price called out. “One copy’s in the kitchen, the other’s…”
“Go on, write your book,” Kit hollered.
“We’re okay, Mother,” they heard Kathy say as Tony scooted them through the automatic glass doors and ran back. “Kit, the calf jumped out!”
“I’ll get him, Pop. Kath will help me.”
Katherine jammed her hands on her designer shorts clad hips. “Me? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Their last view of the twins was Kit dashing in front of a parked tour bus to grab the frightened calf while fending off the attacks of a cane-wielding senior citizen. Kathy stood locked in place on the sidewalk, hands clutching the top of her head.
At 32,790 feet, somewhere over Susanville, California, Tony returned to Row 14, seat C.
“You look much more presentable, Mr. Shadowbrook.”
“And you look elegant and fashionable, as always.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“Really feels different not bringing the girls along.”
“They have jobs, summer school classes, trips of their own planned. They’re growing up, Mama.”
Tony and Price stared at each other, then a smile broke across their faces.
“Do you know Kath told me not to worry, that they were mature women now? How long do you think it will be until we get a ‘Daddy, you won’t believe what Kit did’ call?”
/>
“Not until we get to Sea-Tac. How in the world did we ever produce such unidentical twins?”
“I always figured it was your fault or that it was proof of God’s sense of humor. But we’d better get our minds on this new book.”
“Yes, the waiting public wants to know: What will the Shadowbrooks do for the fourth installment in their ‘stunning’ Hidden West series?” Tony glanced up the aisle. “But first, I think we’ll eat lunch.”
The flight attendant handed them two small baskets—turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches on rye, with coleslaw, bags of chips, small apples, pear juice and granola bars.
Price pried out a small slip of paper from the bottom of the basket and read it aloud. “‘For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous.’ I really appreciate these Psalm cards on Alaska Airlines. Oh, rats!”
“What?” Tony mumbled through his turkey sandwich.
“We forgot to pray with the girls. Everything was so hectic. How could we forget something so important?”
“We prayed at breakfast.”
“But I wanted something more. I’ll write it out for them. Maybe that’s better. That way they’ll have something more permanent to read whenever…”
“No preaching.”
“Who, me? I’m a wimp when it comes to preaching and you know it. I’ll share honest concerns from a mother’s heart.” Despite her faith, worried gnawed at her. The kids practically grown and still so much she wanted to say and teach them. Now she wouldn’t be with the twins this summer. They really needed spiritual guidance in this world. So did she. And the boys. And Tony. They were all so busy. And disconnected. A crazy way to start the summer.
Somewhere over central Oregon Price retrieved her notebook. “Book planning time, Mr. Shadowbrook. How about opening with a different slant? Don’t you think we’re getting into a rut?”
Tony flipped through an airlines magazine without reading it. “But it’s a highly successful rut. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’”
“Not even if it’s routine and predictable?”
“Are you calling Promontory predictable? Sunset Magazine said it was ‘The must-read book for any trip to northern Utah.’”
“You’re right. It was fun. But I want us to stay creative.”