Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set

by Deborah Garner

  February 26, 1937

  I attempted the simplest of scenes today, a lone Blackfoot atop a horse on a hill, overlooking this glorious Judith Basin. My intention was there, but the inspiration was not. The hills evolved dull and lifeless and the Blackfoot, without expression. In a fit worthy of a child of three, I kicked the easel and sent the piece soaring through the air. It landed against the wall, the sharp spike of a hook ripping through its fabric, leaving the frame rocking back and forth, taunting me. With defiant hands, I seized it and smashed it on the ground, finishing off its demolition with my work boots. Of course I felt no satisfaction whatsoever.

  Dec. 23, 1942

  Dreary winter times, void of color and inspiration. There is little to put on canvas and even less to put on paper.

  Automatically, Paige turned the last page and looked for another, discouraged to find only a blank page and nothing attached beyond that. Any entries written after December 1942 were likely trapped inside the wall.

  Cursing herself for yanking the book from the wall so carelessly, Paige tossed off the afghan and covers, ignoring the remaining chill in the room. She struggled once more to explore the inner cavity with her hand. With the radiator throwing off heat now, she had to avoid pressing against it, for fear of burning her skin. This resulted in even more contortions than before. Several times her arm became stuck inside the wall. To her relief, each time she was able to remove it. Common sense won out, and she surrendered. She would have to find another way to search. The rest of the diary was sure to have fallen. The first floor of the hotel would be the next place to look.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The girl behind the counter was not what Paige expected, even with Betty’s description from the evening before. She was tall and thin and moved with a subtle, gliding motion that should have been calming, but Paige found unsettling. She didn't look Californian – whatever that might mean. Her skin was pale, almost pasty, and her dusky hair – the portions not tied up above her head with a peacock feather – fell in wisps around her shoulders. She was a mouse, but too tall, a gazelle, but too slow. Her clothing struck Paige as odd in a way that she couldn't pinpoint, from the ivory gauze blouse tucked into a multi-colored, floral skirt to the work boots she might very well have inherited from a Cal Trans worker along a California highway. A lengthy earring of tiny seashells dangled from one ear lobe; in the other ear she wore nothing at all. For no logical reason, Paige felt nervous as the curious figure drew near.

  “My name is Mist,” the girl said, barely smiling. She stood before Paige's table, looking neither eager nor reluctant and continued to stand quietly until Paige spoke.

  “Mist, that must be short for Misty,” Paige said awkwardly.

  “No,” the girl responded. She gazed past Paige.

  “Well, maybe for Mystique then, or Melissa,” Paige offered.

  “It’s just Mist,” the girl said and waited.

  “I'd love a cup of coffee, please.” Paige quickly realized it was best to stick to the business of a morning meal. The conversation was clearly going nowhere.

  “Moonglow has Java Love,” the girl said quietly. “It is not just coffee; it is love. It is the right way to start a new day.”

  “Java Love it is, then,” Paige agreed. “One cup of Java Love.” Anything to get the dose of caffeine started. It had been much easier getting a cup of coffee the morning before at JFK Airport.

  “Java Love is not measured in cups. Java Love is limitless because love is limitless.”

  The girl pivoted away. Paige watched as she crossed the floor and entered the kitchen. After a few moments of muffled noise from the back, a carafe of coffee landed on her table, along with a thick pottery mug with a mottled glaze. Apparently Java Love, though limitless, could be consumed in measured amounts, by the mug full. Paige found this reassuring. She poured a generous amount of the fresh brew and took a sip. It was extraordinarily good.

  “Will you want breakfast?”

  The coffee was so exceptional that Paige had forgotten the unusual server still stood beside the table.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I'll take a look at a menu, thank you.”

  “Moonglow does not have menus. Menus complicate life. Today is Tuesday. I will bring your Tuesday breakfast. Is there anything that you do not or cannot eat?”

  Paige wrapped both hands around the warm mug. “Anything is fine.”

  Again Mist retreated to the kitchen. Paige took another sip of coffee, followed by a pause, followed by a full gulp. She was still on New York time and New York momentum. Reentry to the slower pace of the West was going to be rough for a couple of days. The caffeine was helping.

  Paige stood and wandered around the empty dining room, taking the mug of coffee with her. Soft-hued paintings of landscapes hung at varying heights on the walls. Golden tones of rolling hillsides blended in with the natural wooden walls of the café. Blue watercolor skies picked up the sparkle of dangling crystals in the front windows. A tiny, flowing “M” had been added to the lower right hand corner of each piece. Betty had mentioned that Mist painted, but she hadn’t said how talented the girl was.

  Paige returned to her seat just as Mist placed an oblong plate on the table. Aromas of apples, cinnamon and fresh cream floated up from a magazine-perfect presentation of breakfast fare. Papaya slices and blackberries lined the left side of the plate, forming an edging to what seemed to be a cross between an apple pancake and cinnamon pudding, topped with whipped cream and a drizzle of maple syrup. She took a bite of frittata to the right of the sweet entrée. The blend of spinach, sun-dried tomatoes and feta cheese was perfection. Any thoughts of a rough first day vanished as she savored the meal.

  When finished, Paige set the plate aside gently, almost reverently, took a few more slow sips of coffee and asked for the bill.

  “Leave what your heart tells you. You are ready for the day now,” Mist replied, removing the plate and vanishing once again into the kitchen, leaving Paige at a loss. When she didn't reappear, Paige stood and left a generous amount of cash. As she was leaving the café, a group of five or six people, chatting and laughing, entered Moonglow. Good, Paige thought as she walked back to the hotel. She’s a little daffy, but she deserves the business.

  “I can tell you’ve been to Moonglow and have met Mist,” Betty said as Paige stepped into the hotel. “You’ve got that glimmer that says you’re ready for the day.”

  “I'm sure I overpaid,” Paige said.

  “We all do,” Betty laughed. “If Mist ever leaves, we'll be stuck with Wild Bill's.”

  At the front desk, Paige picked up a map of the town, unfolded it and placed it on the counter. It was designed for tourists, with lines indicating streets and whimsical drawings that represented town businesses or sightseeing spots. The name “Timberton,” was written across the top in a lavish script with a scroll sketched in the background. The entire map served more as artwork and advertising than function, but it worked for Paige's purpose.

  “Off to explore?” Betty asked while dusting a Tiffany-style lamp at the end of the counter.

  Paige nodded. “I need to make a couple phone calls and then head over to the gem store you have in this town. I'm researching sapphire mining for The Manhattan Post and figure that's a good place to start.”

  Betty nodded without much enthusiasm. “You're talking about The Timberton Gem Gallery. I doubt you'll find much out there. The shop's a tourist attraction, something to draw people into Timberton and bring the town a little income. They sell gravel by the scoopful, which people buy up and sort through, hoping to find special stones, sapphires in particular. You'll see pictures on the wall of gems that have supposedly been found by customers. Whether that's true or not, I don't know.”

  “Can't hurt to take a look.” Paige tried to stay optimistic though her hopes of digging up much information in this town were sinking. “It's a starting place.”

  “That it is,” Betty agreed. “Probably the only place in town to start, for
that matter. At least you'll get an earful of fanciful stories, if nothing else. Clive Barnes runs that store, and he's lived here his whole life. Old curmudgeon, that one,” Betty grumbled.

  “I'll remember that.” Paige laughed as she headed upstairs to get her cell phone.

  She needed to make two calls. The first would be easy, just a quick call to touch base with Susan and let her know she'd made it to Timberton. The second call made her nervous, ridiculous as it seemed. She'd jumped at the opportunity Susan offered by packing quickly, booking the room at the Timberton Hotel and heading straight to Montana. What she hadn't done was to warn Jake that she was on her way out west. Whether to surprise him or out of her own hesitation, she'd decided to wait until she was in Timberton to contact him about her trip. After all, it wasn't as if she were dropping directly into his town without notice. Timberton was easily an eight-hour drive from Jackson, Wyo. Logistically, it was possible they wouldn't even be able to see each other, though that thought depressed her.

  Oddly enough, glimmers of insecurity had started to haunt her. It was one thing to meet and form an attachment for a few weeks, as they had done on her previous trip. And keeping in touch during the following weeks had seemed natural. Every few days one of them had called the other, chatting casually about daily news and sidestepping any heavier conversation. They hadn’t discussed specifics about when they might see each other again.

  Paige refocused her attention on work and dialed the number to The Manhattan Post, entering the extension for Susan's office. It went straight to voicemail, a reminder that she was two hours behind New York time. While she had just finished a leisurely breakfast, her editor would already be headed out to an early lunch meeting.

  After leaving a brief message, Paige disconnected the call and dialed Jake's number, which also went to voicemail. She left a brief, casual hello. She could surprise him with her whereabouts when he returned her call.

  Paige slipped the cell phone into a pocket of her jeans and headed back downstairs. Betty had finished dusting and was now tackling the floorboards with a broom.

  “Where will I find The Timberton Gem Gallery?” Paige asked as she crossed the entryway and peered out a leaded glass window. She looked up and down the street.

  “You can't see it from here,” Betty said. “It's about two blocks down, on this side, on the corner of Main Street and Gulch Road. You'll know it when you see it, what with its gaudy storefront and all. A real eyesore, in my opinion.” Betty sighed and shook her head.

  “Not your style, Betty?” Paige asked, amused.

  “Not anyone's style, if you ask me,” Betty answered. “Clive has no idea how a real business should look. He wouldn't even have customers if it weren't for people thinking they might end up with a gem straight out of a fairy tale. Of course, they just go away disappointed.”

  “Well, maybe I'll be the lucky one who takes a two carat stone home with me.” Paige said as she headed for the door.

  Betty's laughter followed her. “Go for four carats, as long as you're dreaming.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A walk along Timberton’s Main Street revealed that the gem gallery wasn't the only tourist-oriented business. One after another, weathered structures housed shops filled with western garb, jewelry and souvenirs. Old wooden barrels and milk jugs lined the boarded sidewalks, a few filled with shrubbery. Window displays were upscale, aimed at visitors looking to spend some cash while traveling. Timberton didn't appear to be much more than a tourist stop.

  Paige smiled as she passed “Pop's Parlor.” No western town would be complete without a saloon. The door stood ajar and country music poured out. The bar was just getting revved up for the day. An old-fashioned candy store followed, looking oddly out of place next door to a bar. After Paige passed a few more boutiques, she reached the gem gallery.

  Betty hadn't exaggerated. In contrast to the chic style of the other shops, the gem gallery was tacky. A false front, painted in harsh, primary shades of red and blue, reached higher than the surrounding buildings. Christmas lights hung across the frontage, draped unevenly. Two thirds of the lights glared brightly. The other third were burned out. The pièce de resistance was a life-sized cutout of a miner that protruded from the roof at an angle. Paige stepped out from under it, worried that the shaky plank of wood could fall at any minute.

  Garish yellow painted words on the front windows’ glass panes beckoned tourists in with promises of treasure. Someone had taped up pictures of proud customers displaying their sparkling discoveries. Another row of haphazard lights lined the doorway. Betty was right; the place was gaudy. Paige would even call it downright ugly.

  When Paige stepped inside, she was surprised to find the gallery itself was tasteful and appealing. It consisted mostly of unpainted wooden walls and rustic support posts. An antique glass case displayed polished gems set in 14k gold pendants and rings. Customers would probably assume that the jewelry held locally mined gems, though Paige questioned the gems’ true origins. Nothing about the place felt authentic.

  Her opinion didn’t matter; she was there to research the area’s mining history. Tourist trap or not, the gallery was her only alternative to Google for researching the topic.

  “You’re looking at authentic Yogo sapphires! Nothing prettier 'n that.”

  She jumped at the sound of the nearby voice.

  “Are you Clive?”

  “In the flesh!”

  Clive Barnes looked exactly as Paige had imagined him. He was of medium height and slight, easily in his mid-70s. Dressed in overalls, a faded red shirt and sporting a bandana around his neck, he looked like a movie character. Scuffed work boots with tattered, leather laces completed the look. Paige could see he'd been a Timberton fixture his entire life.

  “I’ve been running this gallery most of my life,” Clive said, as if he’d read Paige's mind. “I've seen many a sparkling sapphire in my time, and helped a lot of others find them, too. I bet there's one here just waiting for you to discover it.” He nodded his head toward a worktable and tapped his finger against the jewelry case at the same time.

  “You've got a beautiful assortment here,” Paige said. It was an impressive collection of sapphires. The center of the case held elegant rings, sparkling pendants and shimmering earrings, all mounted with differing sizes and shapes of stones. “The settings are beautiful, so unique. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  Clive looked pleased. “Thank you kindly, ma'am. I like to think of myself as a designer, gives me something to do in my spare time. There's a lot of that around here lately – spare time, that is.”

  Paige was stunned. “You designed these?”

  “Yep. One-of-a-kind. I just keep making them so folks coming through Timberton have a chance to take home a sparkling bit of Montana that can't be found anywhere else. One of these bracelets would look mighty fine on that slender wrist of yours.” He motioned to the arm Paige had extended alongside the display. Her fingertips brushed the oak trim of the jewelry case.

  Paige resisted the urge to laugh. He had his pitch down pat. Whether it was true or not that he'd led visitors to discover gems, she didn't doubt that he'd gotten many of them to try. And if they didn't find anything, there was always the display case. For the right price, they could take home a showy souvenir.

  “You're that New York reporter, I bet,” Clive said. “I heard you were coming out to pay our little town a visit.”

  “Word travels quickly,” Paige said. “I only found out myself a couple days ago.”

  “Modern times, fast communication. Besides, I've had a few jewelers from back east calling, lately, looking to get ahold of some sapphires right quick. Some sort of gem convention coming up, right?”

  Paige nodded. Businesses were always looking to make money off of convention attendees. It was natural to hear jewelers were making calls. “Exactly,” Paige said. “The paper I work for is planning to run an article on Montana sapphire mining.”

  “Well, you've co
me to the right place, then. Who knows,” Clive raised his eyebrows, “you just might end up with a nine carat dazzler like the one Prince Charles gave Lady Diana Spencer as an engagement ring.”

  “Princess Diana's ring?” It sounded far-fetched.

  Clive shrugged. “Well, that's what they said for a long time. Nowadays most people think that was just a legend. Sounds impressive, though, don't you think?”

  “Impressive, but not likely,” Paige said. “Montana's quite a ways from England.” She leaned over the display case, noticing the soothing blue tone to many of the sapphires, not as dark as others she'd seen. Not that she'd ever paid much attention to precious gems. Jewelry had never been an obsession of hers, unless it had sentimental value. She reached up and fingered the gold locket that dangled from a dainty chain around her neck, a gift from Jake.

  “More likely than you’d think,” Clive said. “These sapphires were mined by the English for many years during the early 1900s. Charles Gadsen ran those operations, and plenty of stones made their way across the Atlantic. He knew what he was doing, putting in mine shafts and timber supports inside all that limestone and then waiting for nature to take its course. You can't blast those crystals out without fracturing them. It takes weathering to bring them out.”

  “So these are Yogos.” Paige said. “Are they called Yogos because of the color? It's an unusual blue, not what I think of as sapphire blue.”

  “They're from Yogo Gulch, that's why the name. And that cornflower blue is one of their claims to fame. They're not all that color, but the ones that are shine like the blue Montana sky. Big, blue skies we have out here, you know.”

  Paige glanced at the display case again. “You've got a couple rubies in here too, it looks like.”