by Ann Charles
The bottles of vodka and hot sauce clinked against each other in the small paper sack sitting in the passenger seat as Kate rumbled toward the R.V. park.
On the bright side, the rain had finally stopped, and sunshine glistened on the wet rocks and shards of broken glass littering the shoulder.
On the not-so-bright side, Butch hadn’t changed his mind and come chasing after her.
Up ahead, someone walked along the shoulder carrying an orange suitcase. Kate let off the gas as she neared the pedestrian, swerving into the middle of the road to give plenty of space as she passed.
A familiar pair of green eyes met Kate’s through the windshield. She slammed on the brakes, the Ford’s tires skidding on the wet roadway as the pickup spun one-hundred and eighty degrees before stopping.
Her fingers still white-knuckling the steering wheel, Kate rolled forward to where Jess stood on the shoulder with her mouth gaping, her ponytail blowing in the breeze the storm had left in its wake.
“What are you doing, Jess?”
Jess walked over to Kate’s open window. “Did they teach you how to do that in driver’s ed.?”
Kate ignored Jess’s question. “What’s in the suitcase?”
“Nothing.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Yuccaville.”
Jess’s stony expression clued Kate that she needed to step carefully. “What’s in Yuccaville?”
“A bus.” Jess shifted the suitcase to her other hand. “I’m going to Ohio.”
Shit! Talking sense into Jess’s head was Claire’s job. Kate had agreed only to helping out at the store.
“Does Claire know about this?”
Jess nodded. “She’s the one who told me I needed to leave by tomorrow, since Mom’s coming home on Wednesday.”
What in the hell was Claire thinking? Kate chewed on her lower lip. There was no way she could let Jess leave on her watch. If she could just stall Jess for the evening, she could dump this problem on Claire’s lap tomorrow morning. But how?
“Why don’t you hop in? I’ll give you a ride to Yuccaville.”
Her eyelids narrowing, Jess took a step back. “How do I know you’re not going to kidnap me and take me back to Ruby’s?”
Okay, so Plan A was a bust. “You have my word.”
When Jess hesitated still, Kate said, “Come on, Jess. It’s a long way to Yuccaville. It’ll be dark before you even reach the halfway point, and trust me, you don’t want to hitchhike at night. Climb in and let me drive you to the bus station.”
The kid stared Kate down for several more seconds. “Okay, but you’d better not try to stop me. I’m going to Ohio and nothing you say or do is going to change my mind.”
“I won’t,” she lied.
As Kate stuffed the paper sack from Biddy’s under the seat, Jess jogged around the front of the pickup and pulled open the passenger side door.
“You’re kind of weird,” she said to Kate and crawled into the cab, smelling like grape bubblegum and fresh desert air. “But I still like you. You should visit me sometime in Ohio.”
Maybe she would.
Kate hit the gas.
Maybe she should even save Jess the bus fare and drive her to Ohio. There certainly wasn’t any reason for Kate to hang around here now that Butch had kicked her to the curb.
Wait a second! She was supposed to be figuring out a way to keep Jess in town, not daydreaming about a Thelma-and-Louise road trip to the Buckeye state.
“What are you going to do after you arrive in Ohio?”
“Get my license.”
“You have someplace lined up to stay?”
“No.” Jess patted the orange suitcase. “But I have plenty of money, so I’ll probably just live out of a hotel for a while.”
Crap! Jess must have found that stash of cash Claire mentioned Ruby had hidden somewhere around the house. So much for scaring the kid into sticking around. If Jess had that much cash, she’d be set for a few months without a problem.
Kate avoided looking over at The Shaft as she paused at the highway junction.
“Does your dad know you’re on your way?”
She turned onto the main highway.
“Nope. I want to surprise him on my birthday.”
Wincing mentally, Kate glanced over at Jess. The girl stared out at the passing scrub, chewing on her sparkly fingernails. Kate whipped her gaze back to the road as Jess looked over at her.
“Kate?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Claire is really going to drag your mom to the airport tomorrow?”
Knowing her sister, probably. “I don’t know. It depends on Mac, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Claire’s mad at Mom because Mac is mad at Claire. If Mac forgives Claire and changes his mind about kicking her out, Claire might let Mom stay.”
“What’s it like to have a big sister?”
Kate shrugged. It had been a way of life since birth, so she hadn’t put much thought into it. “It’s okay, I guess. Claire is usually pretty fun to hang around.”
A large orange diamond sign whizzed by, warning of road construction ahead, followed shortly by a green sign stating Yuccaville was just fifteen miles away. She was running out of time. How was she going to keep Jess from climbing on a bus?
“What about your other sister, Veronica? What’s she like?”
“Ronnie? She’s fun too, most of the time. Every now and then she gets pretty bossy, but she’s not as bad as Mom.”
Jess sighed dramatically. “I wish I had an older sister.”
“You do, kind of.”
“I know, I have your mom. But that’s not the same. She’s just a stepsister, and not very nice most days.”
“I wasn’t talking about Mom. I was talking about Claire—and me. We’re kind of like big sisters, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I guess. I just wish you lived closer.”
“Me, too.” But Jackrabbit Junction wasn’t big enough for Butch and her. She didn’t think she could stomach running into him off and on, smiling like she didn’t care who was sharing his bed, waving as if they were just old friends. “Maybe you’ll find some more big sisters in Ohio.”
“Probably not.” Jess sounded like someone had torn the arm off her favorite teddy bear.
“You can always—” A loud bang interrupted Kate in mid-sentence. The steering wheel jerked hard to the right. She jammed her foot down on the brake pedal.
Jess screamed as they skidded across the asphalt toward the ditch.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A steel gun barrel jabbed into the side of Claire’s head.
She stood frozen, her jaw clamped tight, her breath whistling through her teeth.
Shit-criminy! She’d been around more guns in the last few months than she had her whole life. They must hand out guns with birth certificates in Arizona.
“Who are you?” the man at the other end of the revolver asked, his voice a steady baritone with a slight rasp.
“Avon calling?” Claire tossed out the first thing that came to mind.
“Real funny.” He planted his free hand in the middle of her back and shoved hard.
She stumbled forward, falling, her palms and wrists taking the brunt of her weight. Joe’s package of porn spun across the dirt floor in front of her, pictures sliding out of the envelope and fanning in several directions.
“Leave her alone.” Mac’s vocal chords sounded rusty, as if they’d weathered under the desert sun and rain for too many years.
Claire looked across the room at him, relief spreading through her at the site of his hazel eyes wide open.
“Shut up, Garner.” The gunman placed his cowboy boot on Claire’s hip and pushed, rolling her onto her back. “Get up!”
Scrambling to her feet, Claire stared at her attacker in the low light of a battery-powered lantern, finally able to see who’d been holding the gun to her head.
He looked vaguely fami
liar, with his silver sideburns and salted black hair greased back off his forehead. His ruddy face and jowls were stretched taut in a menacing grin. His eyes shifted back and forth like windshield wipers between Mac and her.
“Now get over there next to Garner.” He used the gun to motion Claire toward Mac.
How did he know Mac’s name?
She licked the dust from her lips, wondering what in the hell this guy was doing in Ruby’s mine and how they could get away from him without losing any blood. She needed a distraction. Something to sidetrack him long enough for her to get that gun from him. But what?
As she walked toward Mac, she glanced at the drawings covering the wall over his head. Were those actual petroglyphs? Did Joe know about those? Did they have anything to do with the mummy hand, sandal, and twig animal?
Claire slowed as she neared the package she’d dropped, bending over to scoop it up.
“Leave that alone. Get moving.”
Johnny Ringo could use a little work on his manners. Claire stepped over one of the bawdier shots of Bianca and Joe, then stopped and spun around to study the gunman again.
Holy Little Smokies! “Richard Rensberg,” she said.
“What?” Rensberg raised the gun.
“You’re Richard Rensberg—the Third.” He looked a bit thicker in the face than his father, and very little like the young boy in the newspaper photos, but add a handlebar mustache and a cane, and he was a dead ringer for his grandfather.
“And you’re about to get a bullet in the teeth if you don’t move your ass, lady.”
“Claire.” Mac’s tone practically vibrated with tension. “Would you please get over here next to me?”
Hesitating, she eyed the photo at her feet. But what if Richard saw the photos of his mom and Joe? He might …
Claire’s pulse kicked into a buzz-roll that would make any jazz drummer envious. That was it! Her distraction, front and center, courtesy of Kodak. If she could get Richard to take a look at the photos, the sight might set him off his game enough to offer her the opportunity needed to get that gun away from him.
She joined Mac, squatting instead of sitting so that she’d be ready to pounce when the time came.
Mac frowned. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”
Ignoring Mac’s warning, she focused on Richard.
“How’s your mother doing, Richard?” Claire tried to keep her tone light and happy, like old friends catching up.
Richard’s face crinkled. “Shut up.”
Bingo. There was that nerve. Too easy!
“Claire,” Mac whispered, “stop poking the bear.”
“Is red still her favorite color?”
“I said shut the fuck up.” Richard’s ruddy complexion deepened to a nice purple hue as he aimed the gun at her head.
“Calm down, Richard.” Rising to her full height, Claire held out her hands palms-up. “I’m just curious how that snake tattoo on her hip looks now that she’s eligible for Medicare.”
“Oh, shit.” Mac didn’t hide his struggle to free his wrists.
Richard’s nostrils flared, his mouth white around the edges. “How do you know about my mom’s tattoo?”
Scanning the pictures spread across the floor in front of her, Claire pointed at the close-up of Bianca’s hip. “I saw it in that picture right there.”
“You lie!” The revolver trembled, but stayed locked on her.
“Claire, please shut up.” His wrists still bound, Mac reached for the rope tethering his ankles together.
“Look for yourself,” Claire continued. “It’s right there in Kodak color.”
Richard angled over to the picture. Keeping the gun on Claire, he glanced at the floor. His brow scrunched as he peered at the shot of his mother’s hip, along with Joe’s bare butt cheek. “Where did you get that?”
Claire ignored his question and pointed at another photo. “Check out that one over there. It’s a great profile shot of your mom.” And Joe, in the middle of tearing off Bianca’s red panties with his teeth.
Richard followed her advice, the gun drooping a little as he eyeballed the second picture.
“She sure has long legs. Was she a dancer before she married your dad?” As in the pole-hugging, bump-and-grind kind?
His eyes were rimmed with red when he focused on Claire. “Where did you get these?” he asked again. A vein throbbed in the center of his forehead.
“I found them. That one over by the wall is particularly interesting.” Especially if he enjoyed seeing close-up views of his mother in the process of orally satisfying Joe.
“Your mother’s lipstick seems to be the exact same shade as her panties—which you’ll find in the bottom of that package, if you’re interested in keepsakes.”
A pain-filled groan rose from Mac.
Claire tried to keep an eye on Richard as he tore into the package, while sneaking peeks at Mac, who’d paused to lean his head against the wall. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his face chalky white except where dried blood stained it dark maroon.
“Are you okay?” She spoke low, for Mac’s ears only.
“I’d be a hell of a lot better if you’d stop trying to get shot.”
“Trust me.”
He grimaced. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I’m a licensed pyromaniac. Besides, I have a plan.” Well, she kind of did. Some parts were a bit murky.
“That’s what worries me.”
Richard roared and threw the package across the room. “I should’ve known.”
“Should’ve known what?” Claire prompted him. If she could get Richard talking, maybe he’d forget about his revolver.
“He blackmailed her.”
“Joe Martino or whoever took the pictures?” She’d bet the farm on Joe, but that left the question of who took those shots.
“Yes, Joe. The mother fucker!” Richard’s breath mimicked an old steam engine. The gun dangled from his fingers.
Claire needed to get that gun, but her intentions got tangled up in her curiosity. “Why would Joe blackmail your mom?
He sneered at her. “For money, of course. And revenge.”
Her ears perked up. “Revenge? What did your mom do to him?”
“Not revenge on her. On my father.”
Claire checked on Mac, who was now sitting forward again. She breathed easier at the return of color to his cheeks.
Behind him, she noticed a pointy, softball-sized chunk of rock lying on the ground, undoubtedly making a painful cushion for his lower back.
With an almost audible pop, an idea formed in her brain. Stealing a small step backwards, she tried to act as if she were casually leaning against the petroglyph-covered wall.
She needed to keep Richard swimming in the past for a bit longer. “What did your father ever do to Joe?” She tried to sound disgruntled on behalf of the Rensberg clan while stretching her foot behind Mac.
“Killed his dad.”
Say what! Claire paused in the midst of using her heel to nudge the rock toward her.
“Your father murdered Joe’s dad?” She hadn’t expected that.
“No. My father bought some low-end equipment for the mining company that turned out to be faulty.”
When Mac noticed what Claire was up to, he pressed back against her foot, pinning it to the wall.
Richard was fixated on the photo in his hand, his face blotchy. “The cause of the mine fire that killed Joe’s dad was listed as ‘human error,’ but the bastard blamed my father.”
“So, he blackmailed your mom to ruin your dad’s marriage?” She purposely confused the situation to keep Richard’s tongue greased.
Meanwhile, she tried to pull her foot free, shooting Mac a knock-it-off glare.
“Don’t you get it?” Richard snorted, crumpling the photo in his palm. “Screwing my mother was only part of that asshole’s revenge.”
“I’m confused.” With a grunt, she extracted her foot from behind Mac’s back. “How would black
mailing her with these photos exact revenge on your dad?”
“Joe knew my father would do anything for my mother. He must have used her to convince my father to sell off what company stock he still owned in the Copper Snake.”
“So that’s how the Rensberg family lost control of the mining company.” Mac sounded as if an itch had been scratched.
Richard’s laugh was ragged, harsh. “And the money-hungry bitch still left him. A year later, he blew his brains out.”
Claire grimaced. Young Richard must have been in his early teens then. And she thought living with Mommy-dearest had been rough.
“Did your father have any idea that Joe played a part in his demise?”
“No, but I did. I’d caught Joe in bed with my mother once. After she left us, I figured she’d run off with him. Years later, when he came back to town, I wanted to kill him for what he did to my family. I even followed him up here one night, planning to leave him to rot at the bottom of a shaft, but I lost him in the mine. When I finally found him, he was standing in front of that boarded up wall, lighting a stick of dynamite. After the explosion, when I finally found my way out of here, he was long gone.”
Richard stared at the wall above Claire’s head. “I tried to come back and see what he’d been hiding, but I ended up lost again and gave up. Now, I understand why he wanted to keep this place hidden.”
“Because of these petroglyphs?” Claire indicated overhead.
“No, because of the mummified bodies lining the walls in that side chamber.” Richard nodded his head toward the shadows hovering in one of the corners of the room.
Mummified bodies?
That would explain the stick-figure deer and the sandal, answering several of the questions that had plagued her over the last two weeks. Joe had stumbled onto some kind of ancient burial chamber. But he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to find it and risk the authorities sniffing around the Lucky Monk, especially with his practice of stashing stolen goods in his mines.
“Unfortunately, there’s a lot of copper and a little gold in this mine.” Richard pointed the revolver at a shimmering vein that ran down one of the walls. “Ore that the Copper Snake could profit richly from over the next decade.”
“Maybe so.” Mac struggled with the rope around his wrists, trying to pull one hand free. “But once word gets out about the archaeological remains here, there’s no way the state will allow anyone to touch this hillside.”