“I can’t imagine Sasha being lost for this long,” Ned said. “I mean, she’s a guide and a park ranger.”
“I’m surprised she’s still lost too,” I said. “I just think we need more evidence before we jump to conclusions that there’s been foul play. But I’d be glad to take on the case. If more evidence exists, I’ll do my best to find it.”
The Starflowers beamed. “Oh, thank you, Nancy,” Mrs. Starflower said, blinking back tears. “You’ve given us hope.”
I assured the ranger that my investigation wouldn’t get in the way of his. I also asked him to let me know if he found any clues, and vice versa. We said good-bye, and I promised the Starflowers I’d be in touch soon.
Just before leaving, I remembered an important question. “Where had Sasha been living?” I asked her parents, thinking I might look for clues there.
“At a luxurious dude ranch outside Moab called Red Horse Ranch,” Mrs. Starflower said. “She is taking care of the horses in exchange for room and board.”
With that information, an idea started bubbling in my head. On our way back to Moab, I suggested to my friends that I move over to Red Horse for a couple days to cast a wider net in the investigation. Bess, liking the word luxurious, offered to come with me, while George and Ned decided to stay at the Ranger Rose to keep an eye on Nick. A quick phone call on our return sealed the reservation. The owner of Red Horse, a jolly older man named Earl Haskins, even offered to lend us his extra Jeep.
Later that afternoon George and Ned dropped us off at Red Horse. Once we were settled, Bess and I explored the gorgeous grounds. Simple, well-made cabins dotted the green lawns that were shaded by cottonwoods and stately pines. Large horse pastures surrounded the buildings. On one side the view was of snow-covered mountains. On the other we could see red-rock canyons and desert mesas. A main building housed a comfortable lobby and a rustic dining room with an elk’s head overlooking a cheerful fireplace.
“Let’s check out the game room, Nan,” Bess suggested, noticing a sign for it pointing right. “I’ll challenge you to a game of pool.”
She led the way—then stopped dead in her tracks. The pool table was already taken, by none other than Missy Powell.
A spark of blue flashed on Missy’s finger as she shot the cue. I gasped. Missy was wearing Sasha’s turquoise ring!
6. Avalanche
“Isn’t that Sasha’s ring?” Bess exclaimed, always alert to fashion.
Missy smiled as she fingered its smooth turquoise surface. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
“How did you get it?” Bess asked. “I mean, I doubt Sasha gave it to you. It was a birthday present from her father.”
“Is that so?” Missy said vaguely. “Well, Sasha did give it to me, at least temporarily.” She lined up another shot, her blue eyes squinting like a hawk gauging prey. With a loud crack, the orange ball rolled into a pocket.
“You’d better tell us how you got the ring,” I said, “unless you want us to suspect you of stealing it.”
Missy waved her hand. “I don’t care what you girls think. But if you must be so nosy, I’ll tell all. When we were hiking in Canyonlands yesterday, I noticed the ring. I told Sasha how beautiful it was, so she let me try it on. Sasha got lost before she had a chance to take it back, so now it’s temporarily mine.”
Bess and I traded looks. I decided not to get into awkward details with Missy for now—that she was not related to Sasha, so had no claim to her ring.
Looking at Missy, Bess asked, “Are you staying here too?”
“Sure am,” Missy said, shooting the yellow ball into a pocket.
“What was wrong with the Ranger Rose?” I asked, even though her answer wasn’t hard to guess.
“Mom. She’s just so embarrassing,” Missy replied. “I couldn’t stand being with her a moment longer. Plus, the Ranger Rose is such a dump. At least there’s a decent spa here, and the horseback riding is okay.”
“But... aren’t your mom’s feelings hurt?” Bess asked.
Missy shrugged. “She barely notices—too busy meditating. Anyway, I’m here now, so I might as well make the best of it.” She flashed us a friendly smile. “Want to play pool?”
“Not now,” I said, elbowing Bess. “Maybe after we unpack. But thanks anyway.”
Back in our cabin, I sat on my incredibly comfortable brass bed across from Bess’s. I wanted to discuss the case with Bess right away—especially this new Missy angle.
“I think we should keep an eye on Missy,” Bess said firmly. “She and her mom were the last to see Sasha, and Missy is wearing her ring! She might as well have the word guilt written across her chest.”
“But why would the Powells want to ditch Sasha in the desert?” I countered. “Nick makes more sense as a suspect. He was Sasha’s ex-boyfriend, he was upset when they broke up, and he might want revenge.”
Bess frowned. “I just have a hunch that Nick’s not guilty.”
“But we’ve got to look at the evidence, too,” I said. “It’s true, the Powells don’t seem very sorry about Sasha. That’s pretty weird. Are they really just selfish, though, or is there something else going on?”
“Maybe Sasha fell and hurt herself, and the Powells didn’t want to deal with helping her back to safety,” Bess suggested. “Then they panicked about being held responsible for abandoning her, so they lied and said she left them, making it seem like her fault. And Missy’s fine with that, she’s got Sasha’s ring.”
I had to admit Bess was on to something. The ring was our first real clue. “Nick had motive, and the Powells had opportunity,” I told Bess. “I’ve got to consider them both.”
“This food tastes great!” George exclaimed, biting into her grilled chicken with lime juice and chili peppers. “Hot, though,” she added, reaching for a sip of iced tea.
“It’s real Southwestern fare,” Mrs. Starflower said. “Hot, spicy, and heavily grilled, with a Mexican influence. A lot of local ingredients are used, like corn and peppers.”
The Starflowers had invited my friends and me that evening to join them at this fancy Moab restaurant that served Southwestern grilled dishes. I think they appreciated my helping them look for Sasha. Dining with us was a friend of Mrs. Starflower’s, Nigel Brown, a British archaeologist who specialized in ancient Indian civilizations. He explained that the name Anasazi meant “Ancient Ones” in the Navajo language.
“The Anasazi were fascinating,” he said, his green eyes looking lost in thoughts of ancient times. “They had an advanced civilization. They lived in these intricate cliff dwellings in Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado. Of course, those weren’t states back then.”
“I heard that the Anasazi packed up and left overnight around thirteen hundred A.D.,” I said, remembering what Sasha had told us yesterday in Arches. “Is it true that no one knows why?”
Mr. Brown smiled pleasantly. “Unfortunately, it’s true. I wish I knew why they left, Nancy. But I’m currently on a dig in Arizona looking for clues to Anasazi culture. My bet is—and a lot of archaeologists agree with me—that the Hopi Indians are direct descendants of the Anasazi.”
Ned tilted his head. “I’ve read about the Hopi. They live in Arizona, right?” he asked.
Mr. Brown nodded. “They live in pueblos, which are community buildings made of stone or adobe, similar to the Anasazi cliff dwellings. They’re a fascinating tribe. Their family line descends through the mother instead of the father, and they’re known for being very private, but very peaceful. The name Hopi means ‘Peaceful Ones.’”
“You certainly know a lot!” Bess exclaimed.
“No more than Kate does,” Mr. Brown said, glancing at Mrs. Starflower.
“Nigel is way too modest,” Mrs. Starflower told us. “He’s a leading authority in England on the ancient American Southwest. But I haven’t cracked a book about it since he and I were archaeology students together at Oxford years ago.”
“You studied the South
west in college?” George asked her.
“That’s how I met Paul—on a student dig in Arizona,” Mrs. Starflower explained with a fond glance at her husband. “I returned to live here after getting my degree, and Nigel always enjoys visiting old friends when he’s in the neighborhood.” She paused, casting her eyes downward, as if suddenly remembering a painful thought.
I knew that Sasha was never far from her mind. Just as Sasha was never far from mine.
“You’re really going riding with Missy?” Bess asked me after breakfast the next morning. She looked horrified. “You’ll be stuck with her alone for at least two hours.”
“A perfect opportunity for me to question her about Sasha,” I said. “It’s a good thing Red Horse has a rule against riding alone. Otherwise, Missy never would have asked me to come with her. I’m not exactly her favorite person.”
“Who is?” Bess said. “Anyway, at least she won’t be able to dodge your ques- tions out on the trail.” She paused for a moment. “Guess what I’m doing this morning, Nancy? Helping Nick repair bikes at the Cliff-Hanger, this rental shop where he works part time.”
I grinned. Maybe Bess didn’t look the part, but she was actually a wiz mechanic. “Awesome, Bess. Maybe you’ll discover some clues linking him to Sasha’s disappearance.”
“Maybe I’ll learn enough to prove him innocent!” Bess said with a flick of her long blond hair. “But don’t worry, Nancy. If Nick is guilty, I won’t let him blind me to that. You know I’ll do whatever I can to find Sasha.”
An hour later Missy and I were riding into the hills on a path that wound through a fragrant pine grove. Moon Dance, my horse, was a beautiful dappled gray with a gentle temper. Missy’s horse, Cricket, a lively black mare, led the way. The sun beat down, and I could tell the mercury was heading way past ninety degrees. Another scorcher. But the scrub firs gave us some shade, and the heat actually brought out their great pine smell. The higher we climbed, the better the view of desert cliffs in shades of orange and red, rimmed by snowy mountains.
I pulled up beside Missy to ask her some questions. After all, I wasn’t there just for the view.
“So, Missy, what were you and your mom doing in Canyonlands before Sasha disappeared?” I asked, trying to sound unconcerned.
Missy whirled toward me, her face like an angry cloud. “None of your busi—”
A rumbling sound on the hill above us drowned out her words. I looked up. A rock avalanche was hurtling toward us—a tidal wave of giant boulders!
7. Mystery Woman
We didn’t have a second to spare. Ahead of us, the trail passed under an overhanging cliff. Maybe the cliff would offer some shelter. It was our only hope.
Urging Moon Dance forward, I shouted to Missy to head straight for the cliff. But either she couldn’t hear me over the deafening roar of the rocks, or she thought she had a better idea. Screaming in panic, she turned Cricket downhill in a hopeless attempt to outrun the avalanche.
I raced after her. The deadly cascade of rocks loomed over us. In seconds we would both be buried alive.
No time to waste words. I reached out, grabbed Cricket’s bridle, and yanked her toward the overhang. We reached it in the nick of time. I could feel the hot rush of rocks brushing Moon Dance’s tail.
The horses were terrified. Cricket reared up, flaying her legs and foaming at the mouth. Moon Dance’s body shook uncontrollably, his eyes white and bulging. The avalanche sounded like a freight train as we huddled under the cliff, covering our ears. But the overhang did the trick—it totally sheltered us.
The landslide seemed to take hours, but it actually only lasted a minute. When the noise died down, I dismounted and gave Missy a comforting pat on the back. She stiffened away from me, then changed her mind and gave me a tentative smile. She was trembling harder than the horses. Her freckles stood out in a peppery mass against her sheet white face.
I leaned out from the overhang and cautiously peeked up at the mountain, alert to more rumbling sounds from above. But everything was quiet. We were safe!
Taking a deep breath, I scanned the hillside below. The landscape was freaky. Where scrub pines and dry grass had been minutes before, a field of rocks, all sizes and shapes, pocketed the slope. There was no evidence of trees. They’d been completely buried or uprooted. It was like a totally different place. But the trail ahead of us was clear.
“It’s okay, Missy,” I said. “The avalanche is over. Let’s go.” I knew I’d better make the decisions, or we’d be here all week. Missy was way too petrified to take action.
“Nancy, that was the scariest moment of my life,” Missy said. Cricket, whinnying and prancing around, was a basket case. With a trembling hand, Missy tried to calm the skittish mare, but I think she made her more nervous. I stepped over to help.
After soothing Cricket and Moon Dance, I climbed onto Moon Dance and led the way forward. Missy said, “I hope you’re not thinking of continuing on, Nancy. My nerves are way too shot. Let’s get back to the ranch. An afternoon in the hot tub is my only hope for a cure.”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. Rats. I was hoping to find out more about her hike with Sasha. I didn’t have any more time to lead up to the conversation in a subtle way. I only hoped Missy wouldn’t be too nervous to talk. There was only one way to find out. I plunged ahead. “So what were you and your mom and Sasha talking about before she disappeared?” I asked. “Do you remember?”
She shot me a puzzled look. “What made you think of Sasha, Nancy? How can you even talk about her when we were almost killed?”
“Because she’s in danger too.”
Missy frowned. “I can’t possibly think of anything but how traumatized I am,” she complained. “I mean, my brain is totally shaken. You lead back please, Nancy. But absolutely no talking. I can’t deal with it.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes—and fortunately Missy was too preoccupied with her own stress to notice. Twenty minutes later we were handing the horses over to a groom at Red Horse. We told him about the avalanche and that the horses needed to spend a stress-free afternoon.
After he assured us he’d pamper the horses, Missy and I headed toward the main building, where a small spa was located behind the dining room in one of the wings. Missy seemed shell-shocked—too stressed to talk. “A massage first, then a long soak in the hot tub,” she muttered as we crossed the lobby. She turned down the hall to the spa, moving like a zombie.
My heart sank. With no information from Missy, my morning had been wasted. I now had no more clues on the case than I’d had last night. But I’m not my father’s daughter for nothing. I immediately put my negotiating skills to the test.
Scooting in front of the doorway marked SPA, I blocked Missy’s way. “I pulled you to safety under that cliff, Missy,” I said firmly. “Now I want you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Draw me a map that shows the place where you last saw Sasha.”
She crinkled her nose. “But my mother already told the police where we last saw her.”
“I know, but a map would be helpful,” I said. “It can’t hurt.”
She shrugged, too tired to make a fuss. “Okay, why not.” Shoving me aside, she opened the spa door. A pungent herbal aroma greeted us. Once inside, Missy seemed to come alive. I had a hard time getting her to focus on the map with all the distracting lotions and tonics in colorful bottles on display shelves. But before long, she borrowed a pen and paper from the spa receptionist and drew me a crude map.
“Here, Nancy,” she said, handing it to me. “Have a ball.”
I left feeling perplexed. Sometimes Missy seemed totally heartless. But that didn’t prove she’d actually harmed Sasha. Or even that she knew what had happened to her. I glanced at the map. It showed the Colorado River flowing just a mile away from where Sasha had last been seen. But if Missy or her mom were culprits, the map might be totally wrong. Missy might have deliberately drawn errors on it
to mislead me. I gritted my teeth. I had no choice. The map was all I had to go on.
As I passed the front desk I ran into Earl Haskins, the owner of Red Horse Ranch. He was a gregarious man with curly gray hair and apple cheeks—and he didn’t look busy.
“Mr. Haskins, could I ask you a few questions about Sasha?” I asked.
“Sure!” he said, eager to talk. “I know she’s gone missing in Canyonlands; the police came by yesterday looking for information. How can I help you, young lady?”
“Sasha was working here, taking care of the horses for room and board,” I said. “Was there anything unusual that happened while she was here?”
Mr. Haskins frowned. “Unusual? Yes, I reckon so. See, she worked here until last week. Then she suddenly quit. She never gave me a good reason why. But I liked the girl, so I told her she could take her time looking for a new place to live.”
“Hmm. Well, did she act any differently from her normal self around the time she quit?”
“She sure did,” he said, puffing out his fleshy cheeks. “She went from being a cheerful, talkative girl to a sad one. Something was bugging her, I just know it.”
I perked up. “Do you have any clue what?”
“I reckon so,” he said. He picked up a pen and chewed it thoughtfully. “Sasha’s good-for-nothing boyfriend had been lurking around, and she wanted independence from him. So she broke up with him. Don’t blame her a bit. He’d been getting on her nerves, and she thought she’d be happier without him. They broke up a day or so before she quit.”
“It sounds like she wanted a total change in her life,” I said.
Mr. Haskins shrugged. “I thought she’d be happier after the breakup, but the opposite happened. I’m guessing she quit here because she was so sad. Still, I don’t get it. Why wasn’t she thrilled she’d finally dumped the lout?” He sighed, throwing out his hands. “Who can explain love?” he said philosophically. “You can’t understand people unless you’re in their shoes.”
The Stolen Relic [Nancy Drew Girl Detective 007] Page 4