Gracie finally wrested the little book from the bottom of her backpack and began thumbing through the pages. “Aha! Here it is. An elegant trogon. That’s gotta be it,” she exclaimed. “Wow!”
Marc laughed. “If I’d known you were such a bird lover, I’d have taken you up here immediately. If you live here, you’ll see this kind of stuff all the time. Maybe even bobcats or bears too.”
“I’m not exactly sure that carnivorous wildlife is something I want to be acquainted with.”
“They’re more afraid of us, you know,” he teased, stepping out of the shady trail into a patch of sunlight.
“Well … not convinced of that, but it would be exciting to see one from a distance. A safe distance.”
“All entirely possible as a resident here.”
Gracie removed her baseball cap and swatted at the flies that kept pestering her. She caught his dark blue gaze, which had melted her insides when she’d first met him.
Marc had been the first on the scene to investigate a robbery at the kennel. He’d also saved her life a couple of times. His confidence, straight-arrow ethics, and twisted sense of humor had won her heart. The Harrison Ford good looks were the icing on the cupcake. Steeling her emotions against the gushy feeling that threatened to overtake her, Gracie decided to plunge into the topics she’d shied away from the night before, while adhering to her open mind resolution.
“Jim and I have a very successful business. My family is all in Deer Creek, for the most part. Those I care to see, that is. I know zero about breeding Belgian Malinois, especially for law enforcement. You’ve already admitted you don’t have the experience either. I see a huge learning curve and a lot of money going out and not coming in for some time. It’s an exciting idea, but I don’t understand any of it. Why are you even considering such an expensive business? Arizona is beautiful, but I don’t understand why you want to actually move here either. Your career is in New York.”
Marc’s face hardened, his eyebrows drawn together.
“I know it’s a big change, and not without some risks. This business venture could be ours, a new start for both of us. Max and I can try to find private training somewhere. I can go on to be certified as a trainer. It’s a hand-and-glove operation. A business that’ll only grow. These dogs are in big demand, and we could—“
“Wait a minute, Marc. You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘ours’ in all of this. What does that mean? I haven’t heard where ‘we’re’ going. Are we business partners or … what exactly?”
Their eyes locked. Marc’s face twitched slightly. Gracie had no intention of letting the conversation end. They would hash everything out today. Marc had captured her heart, but good business sense had to reign over her emotions. What was wrong with having a successful kennel in Deer Creek? Why had this almost crazy notion of breeding drug dogs and now training them come out of the blue? Marc hadn’t mentioned anything about marriage or even her opinion about his decision to stay in the West. She’d been blindsided by the entire scenario. It was reminiscent of his decision to take the temporary position in Arizona.
Was he deliberately hiding something from her? Why? She needed to know what was going on. Marc dropped his gaze, removed his straw cowboy hat, wiping sweat with the back of his forearm against his forehead.
Another group of hikers appeared, breaking the tension. They murmured “hellos,” and Marc shifted his backpack as if to move out when the last hiker passed.
“I really need an answer, Marc,” Gracie insisted, grabbing the strap on his pack.
CHAPTER 8
Marc twisted around and grabbed Gracie’s hand.
“Come over here,” he snapped.
His grip frightened her, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t forced the issue. He pulled her into the trees away from the trail.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, snatching her hand from his.
Marc took off his pack, resting it against the trunk of a pine. His face was unreadable, alternating between anger and something else Gracie couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“What’s going on is that I’m without a job in three weeks.”
“What?!”
She was at a complete loss. What was he talking about? He was a Wyoming County deputy.
Marc closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he answered.
“I don’t have a job to go back to. Two weeks before you came out, the sheriff contacted me to let me know my position was cut. Two other people lost their jobs too.”
“How could they cut your position? They’re undermanned now.”
“Typical budget woes. They can’t afford everybody. Somehow, I made the chop list.”
“But you’re one of the most experienced deputies they have. Your record is stellar. They need you.”
“But I don’t have a family to support, and probably more importantly, some of my views don’t always align with the sheriff’s.”
Grace huffed in disgust. “Is it a political move?”
“Could be. I’ve had a few encounters with the current sheriff that weren’t exactly friendly.”
Gracie pulled off her backpack, setting it next to Marc’s. A welcome breeze cooled her damp shirt.
She grinned. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re a bit of a boil on the sheriff’s butt?”
Marc nodded sheepishly. “I guess so. Apparently, my opinions aren’t always welcome. I could be wrong. However, the other two who belong to this special club with me have been known to disagree with him too.”
“What about the state police? Or some other law enforcement agency?”
Marc grimaced. “No openings. Believe me, I’ve tried, and others have tried. I’m too old for some positions, and there seems to be a lack of personnel budgets everywhere.”
“Then you’ve gotta get some support from the union or whatever you guys belong to. Can’t they help?”
“The wheels of bureaucracy barely roll forward when it comes to actually helping somebody. Plus, if the sheriff really doesn’t want me there, what kind of work environment is it going to be? He’s early into a second term. I don’t need that anymore. I hate playing games.”
“So, why didn’t you tell me about this when it happened? And this other deal with dog breeding. I’m really confused.”
Gracie’s mind was trying to reconcile several rabbit trails into a logical destination without any success. Marc had no job, but was thinking about investing some serious money into a dog-breeding program. Maybe he was counting on her money.
Marc’s face hardened again, and his eyes seemed fearful. “I thought that maybe it was time for a second career. I have some money set aside that would give the business a decent start. Max’s Schutzhund training gave him some extra points for the El Paso program, and I figured we’d be a shoo-in. But that’s not happening.” He sighed. “Initially, I thought we could take those skills back to Wyoming County. The county could really benefit. Then the two breeders came along at the same time I was handed the pink slip. They were visiting the area, watching the dogs work at checkpoints and border crossings. I happened to strike up a conversation with them and …” His voice trailed off.
He kicked at the dirt and began pacing between a pair of boulders. Gracie sighed, searching for the right response.
“That’s when a new life and business in Arizona seemed like a good solution to unemployment then,” she said quietly.
“It did. I know it’s harebrained and a lot to ask you to get involved in.”
“My tirade about a boring life and escaping the familial bonds in Deer Creek only encouraged your line of thinking though.”
“To be honest—yes. I know you and Jim have a good thing going there, but if you want something new and more distance between you and your family, this would be it.” Marc stopped pacing and looked at her.
Gracie chewed her bottom lip, still hesitating about the real question that plagued her. Her cousin Isabelle’s fingernails-on-a-blackboard voice echoed in her head, �
��A lady never asks that sort of question.” However, Isabelle was over 2,000 miles away in Deer Creek and had her own romantic issues brewing. Isabelle could go kick a brick anyway.
“That leads us back to where we stand. Are you offering me a business partnership or something else?”
The distance between them instantly dissolved. Gracie felt Marc’s strong arms press her tightly to his chest.
“I want you to be my wife. I love you, Gracie Andersen,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “But without a job, it’s not the right time yet to, well … Please wait a little longer. Can you trust me?”
She pulled away from him, staring him down. It was an important question. Maybe more important than the one she’d wanted to hear.
“Yes,” Gracie answered with conviction. “I can. You’ll find a job. And soon too. I have no doubts about that.”
Gracie was confident the kiss that followed was of the caliber Buttercup and Westley experienced in The Princess Bride. It was perfect. She even felt a smidge like fainting.
CHAPTER 9
Gracie watched as Marc gingerly removed the protective boot from Max’s injured foot. The hulking black-and-tan shepherd licked his master’s hand as if pushing him away.
“Sorry, Max.” Marc refastened the boot. “I know it’s not fun. Hey, buddy, it’s looking pretty good.”
“No sign of infection,” Gracie concurred, looking over Marc’s shoulder.
Max followed the pair back to the sofa, limping only minimally before lying down, his long black muzzle touching Marc’s pant leg.
Gracie passed an admiring gaze over Amanda’s comfortable living quarters. The great room was full of cowboy memorabilia on the walls. Gene Autry and John Wayne movie posters were in the center of one wall with belt buckles, spurs, and an ivory-handled Colt .45 displayed in several shadow boxes. Terracotta-colored tile ran throughout the space, with a couple of brightly woven Navajo rugs in front of the sofa and chairs.
Amanda appeared from her small kitchen with water in tall glasses.
“Is the foot looking all right?” she asked, placing a tray with the drinks on a leather-topped rectangular coffee table.
“It is,” Marc replied. “Thanks for watching him.”
“Not a problem. Anything to help the cause of love,” she laughed.
Gracie reddened and flashed her a wry smile. Despite Marc’s assurance that he wanted to marry her, she still had nothing to show for it. And he hadn’t actually proposed. Uncertainty seemed to be the name of the game when it came to her relationship with Marc.
“We’ve made some headway,” Gracie managed, looking at Marc, who’d turned his attention back to Max.
“I hope so.” Amanda smiled, and took a sip from her glass. “On the subject of progress, what can you tell us about the investigation?”
“Not anything really, Amanda,” Marc said. “It’s an active investigation. Speaking of which, I should check in and see if there are any updates.”
“Spoken like a cop. I have a little news, though. Gary stopped in while you were hiking. He’s been checking on Stephanie, Manny’s widow. She’s adamant that Manny wasn’t involved with drugs in any way, shape, or form. Stephanie wants his name cleared and pronto. The DEA has torn apart her house looking for evidence and hasn’t found anything. Plus, they still can’t find Ricky. They’re tracking down any relatives he has in Douglas and Naco, but, so far, nobody’s seen him. Or will admit to seeing him.”
“Ricky is probably the key to the whole thing,” he said. “Although his record isn’t good, he doesn’t have a history of violence. A drug paraphernalia charge, possession of marijuana, shoplifting … that sort of thing. If he’s addicted to cocaine or anything else, all bets are off. When you need a fix, anything can happen. If he and Manny got into a fight, it’s entirely possible he killed him. Ricky’s on the run for a reason, and that’s a good one.”
Amanda frowned. “I know. The kid worked for me several times cleaning out the barns when Manny and Stephanie first took him in. He did all right and seemed to want a fresh start. Manny was serious about helping him do that. Ricky had a good deal going with them, if he could play by the rules. Manny was pretty strict.”
“I guess he couldn’t, unfortunately.” Gracie adjusted a small pillow behind her back. “However, he’s not the only one who could be up to no good. Your favorite guests were spotted on our hike. They were a little off the trail. Engaged in suspicious activity, I’d say.” She looked to Marc for confirmation.
“That reminds me, I need to make a call,” he announced. He stepped out into the courtyard, pulling his cell phone from the holster on his belt.
Amanda turned her gaze to Gracie as Marc shut the door behind him. “Well, did he pop the question?”
Gracie bent over and scratched behind Max’s ears, mulling over her response. Her love life had clearly become of great interest to her hostess.
“Not in so many words,” she began cautiously.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure myself. I guess we’re still working out a few things.”
She had no intention of sharing Marc’s employment dilemma or his old-fashioned insistence on being the breadwinner. The investigation seemed a much more palatable topic.
“Where do you think this Ricky might have gone?”
Amanda raised her eyebrows and then smiled, apparently accepting defeat on the topic of romance.
“If I had killed someone, I’d try to get into Mexico. If he has relatives or friends in Douglas or Naco, I’m sure they could slip him over the border. It’s not that difficult in a border town.”
“Have you talked to Stephanie yourself about Manny and Ricky?”
“No,” Amanda replied thoughtfully. “Gary’s been doing that.”
A sharp knock at the door startled the women. Max barked and struggled to stand, while Gracie held him. Amanda opened the door. Before them stood Ranger Ortiz, who filled the doorway with his imposing physical presence.
“Sorry to barge in, Amanda, but I’m looking for your guests, Alex Kramer and Justin Gardner.”
“Are they in trouble again?” Amanda asked.
“No. Nothing like that. I need to let them know about the permit they applied for.”
“They actually applied for a permit? That’s surprising. I’m not sure where they are. Alex and Justin have been hiking every day until late afternoon. They’re leaving here on Saturday morning, which is none too soon. I’ve had enough of their extracurricular activities.”
“Those boys seem to be looking for trouble, but the powers that be are going to let them take a camera crew up to the old mining area off the Crest Trail.”
“Interesting,” Amanda replied, hands on hips.
“It sure is. They need some instruction on what they can do and mostly what they can’t do up there. Do you have a cell number for either of them? The office didn’t send it to me.”
“Sure. Have a seat. I’ll get it for you.”
Amanda opened the computer that lay on the dark granite kitchen counter. She supplied the phone numbers, which the ranger scribbled onto a small pad.
“Thanks, Amanda. I’ll track ‘em down.”
“Marc and I did see them up around Ramsey Canyon this afternoon, if that helps,” Gracie offered.
The ranger raised his dark eyebrows and frowned. “Did you talk with them?”
“No. Nothing like that. We saw them a little ways off the trail. Not sure what they were doing. They didn’t see us, though.”
The ranger narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Oh.”
“Marc was actually calling somebody about them.” She hesitated. “To let the police or DEA … uh, they seemed to be ….” She wasn’t quite sure how to explain the spying they’d done on the pair.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to Officer Stevens on the way out. Seems to be a little complicated.”
“You might say that,” Gracie said with relief. “I’m sure he can explain it.” She
stroked Max’s head, trying to calm the restless dog. He whined and pushed his nose against Gracie’s forearm. “Hey, Max. Settle down.”
“New dog, Amanda?” the ranger asked.
“No. That’s Marc Stevens’ dog. Max cut his foot searching for Ricky Fuentes.”
“That’s too bad. Nice-looking dog.”
“Thanks. He should be fine in a few days.”
“Good luck then. Any luck that Ricky Fuentes had is running out. It’s dangerous on your own in the mountains.”
“Do you think he’s still up there?” Amanda asked. “I’m hearing that he probably took off for Mexico.”
“Could be, but he left Manny’s vehicle in Ash Canyon. That tells me he’s probably still in the area somewhere.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to get back, so if you see those gringos, please tell them to call me in case I don’t get a hold of them,” he instructed, handing Amanda a business card.
“Sure thing, Armando.”
Max settled down on the bed after Amanda closed the door behind the departing ranger.
“Interesting that Armando thinks Ricky is still up there,” Amanda mused. “It makes sense with Manny’s truck left in the parking lot.”
“Maybe Ricky called somebody to pick him up.” Gracie took a glass of water from the tray.
“That’s possible too. I really hope he didn’t kill Manny. I don’t want to believe he did. I don’t believe for a minute that Manny had anything to do with drugs either. He could have taken them away from Ricky.” Amanda sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Manny and Stephanie did so much for the kid in only a few months.”
The door opened, and Marc reappeared, tapping at his phone’s screen.
“Geez. Interesting,” he mused.
“What? Did they find Ricky?” Amanda asked.
“Maybe. An anonymous caller reported seeing Ricky in Naco.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll turn himself in.”
“Maybe. If Ricky’s connected to the cartels, the sooner he turns himself in to law enforcement, the better his chances of survival. His family could get caught in the middle.”
Washed Up (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 4) Page 5