Nickolai placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to the Jeep. “I doubt waking anyone up after midnight would put them in a decent mood to answer any questions about Phillip Fontenot.”
“No, but I’d still like to know who he really is and why he’s here.”
Nickolai stopped at the passenger side door and faced her. “And why Stan isn’t happy that he’s here.”
She shrugged, cringed at the burn, and then shook her head. “I think there’s more to Stan and Mrs. Winslet and Bartholomew and this Phillip Fontenot than we know. I think we’ve been so focused on the map that we’ve forgotten someone was murdered. Now that we’ve gotten threats … well, let’s just say that we should probably look into all these connections a little closer.”
“I agree.” He unlocked the door by the remote and opened it for her.
She didn’t resist his chivalry as he helped her up into the Jeep. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d have done had he not been there. She couldn’t drive with this pain. Well, she could if she had to, but it’d be pretty uncomfortable.
Despite her and Nickolai’s truce, so to speak, Landry didn’t like having to depend on anyone for anything. Especially one who was, basically, her competition.
Marcie would get a huge kick out of this situation. She chuckled, remembering her best friend’s horrified tone last night.
“What’s so funny?” Nickolai shut the driver’s door and clicked on his seat belt.
“Thinking about my conversation with my best friend last night. She’s not amused about the wreck.”
“Neither am I.” He eased out of the parking lot onto the main road. No cars moving on either side of the four lanes. The couple of blocks drive had no events, thankfully.
“Well, Marcie tends to be a little over the top as far as being cautious and concerned. She all but begged me to come home.”
“You might consider that.” He glanced at her before turning into the café’s parking lot. “Not because of anything other than your safety.”
Her back stiffened a little. “What about yours? It was your brakes messed with. I only got a flat and a letter.”
“That flat could’ve caused a blowout and gotten you in a wreck where you just might be in as bad a shape as you are now, or worse.” He pulled the Jeep into one of the many empty spaces and slipped it into PARK.
“Now you sound like Marcie.” Boy, she’d demanded Landry send her photos last night then made her video call with her. Neither seemed to make her feel better about Landry staying in Apache Junction. “I’m not leaving. No one is going to run me off from a job I took.”
Nickolai opened his mouth then shut it before opening his door and stepping out of the Jeep.
She knew he wanted to argue with her but realized it probably wasn’t in his best interest at the moment.
Smart man.
He helped her from the Jeep and into the café. Stan waved them over as soon as they entered. He sat in a corner table with another man.
“Good morning.” Stan smiled as they sat. “I hope you’re feeling okay, Landry. Nickolai filled me in on your accident early this morning.”
“I’ll be fine; thank you for asking.” She wanted to trust him, really wanted to. He was nice and polite and had been nothing but a gentleman on their flight and while here. Yet the implication of something between him and Winifred Winslet left her feeling a bit uneasy.
“This is Phillip Fontenot,” Stan introduced the man sitting on the other side of the table.
“What can I get you two?” An older waitress with her hair pulled back from her face interrupted, smiling as she handed Nickolai and Landry menus.
“We’ve already ordered, but asked them to hold until you joined us.” Stan took a sip from his coffee cup.
Nickolai ordered juice and Landry ordered chocolate milk and the waitress left, giving them time to look over the breakfast options. The tension at the table was thick. Surely that’s why the waitress rushed off so quickly. Landry hastily decided what she’d have then took a minute to take in the café itself.
Hardwood floors with a carpet overlay, standard café-style tables and chairs with a few booths, a combination of ceiling fans with lights and just plain light fixtures, a TV mounted on a wall, and a smorgasbord of car and truck pictures and items hung on the walls—typical of a local café-diner type of place. What set this one apart was the beautiful, full-wall mural down one entire wall.
The mural depicted the local area, with a blue truck and red sports car on winding desert Route 66 with the Superstition Mountains large in the background. Right smack-dab in the middle was a landmark Landry had come to recognize from all her research and the photocopies she had of the map: Weaver’s Needle.
After the waitress returned with their drinks, took their food order, and left, Nickolai caught Landry’s attention and raised his brows.
Landry sat up as straight in the chair as the pain shooting down the back of her shoulder would allow. This was going to get interesting. She would take the lead here.
“So, Phillip, how do you fit into the puzzle here?” Landry asked.
Stan’s ready grin faltered.
Phillip, however, was all smiles. “I sit on the board of Winslet Industries, but I’ve been friends with Bartholomew and Winifred since they were dating.”
Landry studied him. He was about Stan’s age, maybe a year or two older, and they actually resembled one another. Both had gray and silver hair. Both had neatly trimmed beards and mustaches. The main difference was where the top of Stan’s hair was thinning, Phillip’s had already let loose. But his top-of-the-head baldness wasn’t unattractive. It actually added a bit to his overall mature look. Landry could see how Winifred could be attracted to both men. Or either.
“Do you have new information to share about the map? Or the murder?” Nickolai asked.
“No, nothing new. The police in New Orleans haven’t told us of any progress. It’s actually quite frustrating.”
“Then, no offense, but why are you here?” Landry pushed. “If there’s nothing new, I don’t understand why you’re here.”
Now Phillip stopped smiling, too. Landry could tell he wasn’t accustomed to having his motives questioned. “I’m here to protect Winifred’s investment.”
“I thought that was your job,” Landry said to Stan.
“Stan’s here to provide you with what you need on-site. I’m here to check on the overall status of the case.”
Landry could almost reach out and touch the hostility between the two men. This was not good at all. “So, Mrs. Winslet asked you to come?”
Phillip didn’t respond for a moment. “I asked Winifred if she’d like me to come check things out. She did.”
Landry didn’t know how to reply. At the moment, she felt like they were smack-dab in the middle of a danger zone.
“It’s clear someone doesn’t want us to look into this any further,” Nickolai interjected, “so we have a right to question everything that’s going on with this investigation, including new people showing up and getting involved.”
Stan aligned the salt and pepper shakers with the napkin holder. And the jelly packets holder. And the little brown rectangle holding packets of sugar and sugar substitutes.
“Stan’s informed me there have been a few mishaps, so I can understand your leeriness of a new person being involved.” Phillip offered another smile.
“Mishaps? I’d say more than a mishap or two. There has been a punctured tire, threatening letter, and messed-with brakes. Now you show up.”
“I assure you, Mr. Baptiste, that I’m only here to observe and oversee on behalf of Winifred.”
“I’m just a little confused as to why you’d think there was a need to follow up since Stan here gives a report to Mrs. Winslet.” Landry leaned closer to the table. “Is there something going on we should know about?”
“No, of course not. I’m just helping out a friend.”
Nickolai caught Landry’s subtle shake
of her head. She’d said she’d overheard the two men arguing.
“You’re only here as Mrs. Winslet’s friend?” Landry asked.
Phillip smirked and nodded. “And as a member of Winslet Industries board, of course.”
“The paperwork Mrs. Winslet gave me shows she hired us, not Winslet Industries.” Even with her arm in a sling, Landry wasn’t to be dismissed.
“Ms. Parker, Winifred Winslet is Winslet Industries. You can’t split the two apart.” Phillip’s smile had lost some of its authenticity.
The waitress returned with their breakfasts and handed out plates. She refilled coffee then returned with more milk and juice for Nickolai and Landry. Just as quickly and efficiently as she’d served them, she left them alone.
Nickolai took a bite of his bacon, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed Landry bend her head and close her eyes. Her lips moved for a few moments before she lifted her fork and took a bite of her biscuits and gravy.
Praying again?
He didn’t want to really think about that. Praying was for the weak. A crutch people used when they couldn’t accept the truth, usually about themselves or a loved one. Landry had never struck him as a weak person, though.
“Tell me, have you made any progress on the case?” Phillip asked around mouthfuls of pancakes.
Landry nodded. “Some.”
Phillip waved his fork in the air, pointing first at Landry, then Nickolai, then back to Landry again. “That’s right—you two aren’t working together. You’re working against each other like in a contest. Whoever finds the map first wins the monetary prize.” He waggled his brows at Landry. “Sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot and tell any progress in front of the enemy.” He grinned at Nickolai. “For either of you.”
“Actually—” Landry started.
“I’ll bring you up to speed on how much progress I’ve made after breakfast.” He looked at Landry, sending her a look that clearly conveyed he didn’t want Stan or Phillip to know they were kind-of-sort-of working together. Nickolai didn’t like the way Phillip looked at Landry.
Whoa! He was getting territorial now?
He scarfed down his omelet, anxious to ignore analyzing how he felt toward Landry. Starting to feel? He couldn’t explain. Didn’t want to. He just wanted to finish his breakfast and work the case. He needed to remember why he was doing this: Lisbeth. Everything had gotten too complicated as it was.
“Yes, let’s finish breakfast.” Stan took another sip of his coffee. “Did the police have any more information on your accident?”
Nickolai had to agree with Landry in her assessment: there was clearly no love lost between Stan and Phillip. “They’re looking into it and will let me know if they find out anything.”
“I had just explained to Phillip that I believed you both were wrapping up your leads here.”
Wishful thinking, buddy. “I still have some angles to investigate. And now, with my truck being wrecked … I don’t even know if it’s drivable. The mechanic said he’d know more after the forensics mechanic finished.”
Stan looked hopefully at Landry. “How about you?”
She slowly shook her head. “I’ve got a few things to check out myself.”
“Since you obviously can’t drive in your condition”—Phillip nodded at her arm in a sling—“I’m more than happy to drive you where you need to go. I have a rental car.”
That wasn’t going to happen. “Actually, Phillip, if it’s going to take a few days to get my truck back, maybe you could help me out?”
“Sure. I can be driver to you both.”
Landry straightened and shook her head. “Oh, I’m fine to drive. The sling is more of a hassle than it is prohibitive.”
“I’d be happy to take you to the rental place and get you a car, Nickolai,” Stan offered.
Phillip frowned. “No need for the extra expense. One of us can drive him wherever he needs to go.”
Was Phillip really here to keep an eye on the bottom line? Sure, the fifty thousand recovery fee was a big chunk of money, but that was only payable if they recovered the map. If that happened, the fifty big ones would be nothing but chump change. Their expenses so far couldn’t be more than a couple of grand. That had to be nothing for a lady like Winifred Winslet.
Unless she wasn’t as wealthy as she put on the airs. If she needed the money from the map to keep her business and home, and whatever else.
Nickolai downed the rest of his cranberry juice. He’d call Chris as soon as he could and see what his former partner could find out about the Winslet fortune.
THE VISION
Gopan, alone and naked, prayed all night and all day. Thanking for his life. Asking for continued good life and health.
As the sun set on the second day, Gopan stood and faced the eagle feather and conch shell on the altar and prayed, asking for direction. The cold of the desert night swirled around him. Not letting go of his pipe, he wrapped his blanket around him. He continued praying.
As sparks of light, the spirits came, and they came as beings Gopan had known before. Just as was the tribe’s history from the beginning. His father, who had died, came. Each whispered in his ear. Images blurred as he weakened, but he stayed upright until dawn broke. He fell to his knees, holding his pipe. Praying. Praying. Praying. The blanket slipped off him, but he didn’t move.
Murmurs swirled around him as the Arizona sun heated his bare back. Telling. Coaching. Advising.
Warning.
As the third evening’s stars filled the sky with brilliant light, Gopan wobbled to his feet. So tired. So drained. So spent. But he had to continue his journey. His quest. He had no other option. He wrapped himself in his blanket.
Holding tight to the edges of the blanket to keep himself covered, Gopan lifted his pipe high above his head and began to pray. For his protection. His body. His mind. His spirit.
The sky split open, and the sun chased the stars from the sky. Gopan’s blanket slid to the ground, but Gopan didn’t move. The stillness in his heart calmed the restless spirit inside.
Sometime later, Gopan couldn’t really tell when by the sun’s location—his mind focused inward and his physical vision blurred—the medicine man with his helpers came.
After standing or kneeling for three days and nights, Gopan’s joints were stiff. He felt the burn of pain, the weakness from hunger, and the dying thirst. He had endured scorching exposure to the sun during the day and freezing cold at night. The experience had taken him beyond the physical. It took him to the point of realizing his potential, of seeing what he could do, what he could go through, and still come out in a good way, with his heart and mind clear, and his body still able to function.
The medicine man and his helpers gathered up the tobacco ties, the prayer flags, and the altar, but Gopan continued to pray. Ever so carefully, the medicine man wrapped the blanket around Gopan’s shoulders, took him by the elbow, and led him down the hill and back to the sacred fire.
Still holding his pipe in one hand and clenching the edges of the blanket in the other, Gopan reentered the purification lodge tent. Somberly, he sat opposite the medicine man on the west side, Gopan’s back to the center. Prayers continued; then the medicine man led them in the sacred songs of their forefathers.
Suddenly, it was silent. Gopan lifted his head and opened his eyes. He looked to the medicine man, who nodded that it was time for Gopan to share the vision that was revealed to him, everyone in the purification lodge tent understanding what is shared is not allowed to leave the lodge.
“Indaa comes.” Gopan’s voice cracked from the dryness, but he continued in his native tongue. “But the Great Spirit has shown me what to do. How to protect from the white person. How to soothe the Thunder God’s wrath.”
Quietly, the others in the tent began to chant. Gopan revealed what the Great Spirit had directed him to do. He would meet with the other shamans and do what they must.
It was the only way.
CHAPTER FIFTE
EN
Awkward silence settled over them.
Landry stared across the table at Stan after Nickolai and Phillip had left the café. Nickolai had volunteered Stan to give her a lift back to the hotel while he took her Jeep. She had started to argue but caught the look he’d given her, so she’d agreed. He must be pumping Phillip for information.
Stan handed a credit card to the waitress, and she rushed away. Now was Landry’s chance to do her part.
“I’m not sure I’m fond of Mr. Fontenot,” she ventured.
Stan tipped his head. “Many are not. He comes across quite forcefully at times, but he does have Winifred’s best interests at heart.”
A noncommittal support? Hmmm. Landry tried again. “I guess I just don’t understand why he’s here. Is he spying on us? Making sure we’re not just throwing Mrs. Winslet’s money away? You wouldn’t let that happen.”
“No, I would not.” Stan straightened the salt and pepper shakers again.
Time for a different direction. “How, exactly, does he fit into the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Winslet? I know he said he knew them both before they married, but it’s a little confusing.”
Stan hesitated for a moment then let out a rush of air. “The three of them met in their college days. One of them fell for another. Who fell for whom changes, depending upon who’s telling the story. At any rate, they dated then separated. Winifred’s family’s wealth goes back several generations. You could say she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, although you’d not know it by her demeanor.”
Landry might argue that. She’d thought Mrs. Winslet’s air of wealth and entitlement fit her like Landry’s jeans—comfortable and well worn.
“Bartholomew went out straight from college, determined to set the world on fire. He started what was Winslet Oil & Gas and over the next five years, built it up as a company of note. I was hired by Bartholomew some thirty years ago, right when his business started booming. Phillip came around soon after and stepped back into the role of Bartholomew’s best chum.”
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