Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set

by Deborah Garner

  “And you, Ernie,” Betty said, pointing to a different table. “Haven’t you done a few things around here?”

  Ernie shook his head. “Sorry, Betty, Pop’s Parlor takes up all of my time.”

  Betty eyes grew wide as she turned to Clive and searched his face. “Why, Clive, you've been the one fixing things, all this time? Why would you do that?”

  “Don't you know why, Betty, after all these years?”

  The light chatter around the room fell to a hush as it became clear the usual banter between Clive and Betty had changed.

  “Because you’re my girl, Betty,” Clive said. “You always have been. I just never had the nerve to ask you to be.”

  “I might have said yes way back then, you silly old fool – or maybe not.”

  “Then I’m going to ask you now.” Clive stood tall and looked into Betty’s eyes. “Betty, will you be my girl?”

  Betty paused, whether to think over her answer or to make Clive endure a few stressful seconds, no one knew.

  “Well now, Clive, I think I’d like that.”

  Betty jumped as Clive let out a wild hoot, took her face in both hands and planted a kiss smack on her lips. A burst of laughter filled the parlor, followed by high fives, glasses clinking and a few enthusiastic whistles.

  Releasing Betty, Clive pulled a gold broach from his pocket and pinned it on the scalloped collar of her dress. Paige recognized the design from Clive’s display case. The Yogo sapphires above the sculpted hotel sparkled under the parlor lights.

  “Does that mean I can make a list of everything that needs fixing?” Betty’s attempt to be serious didn’t hide her smile.

  “I’d say that’s a fair request,” Clive said.

  Mist emerged from the kitchen with plates of hot apple-cherry cobbler. Betty took a seat and motioned for others to sit down.

  “Sometimes timing in life is perfect,” Mist whispered, as she set a dish of the freshly baked dessert in front of Paige.

  “And other times it isn't,” Paige added softly. Once again, she felt torn, just as she had the last time she'd left to go back to New York.

  “That doesn't mean it won't ever be.”

  Lost in thought, Paige first believed Clive spoke the words. It only took a moment to realize she was wrong. As she felt Jake's strong hand cover hers, she turned to face him.

  “No,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “It doesn't mean it won't ever be.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Heartfelt thanks go to the many people who helped bring The Moonglow Café to life.

  My amazing editor, Elizabeth Christy, is responsible not only for making this manuscript shine, but for keeping me sane during the process, as well as keeping Paige from bumping her head too many times.

  I owe thanks to beta readers Carol Anderson and Jay Garner for their excellent plot suggestions and to Carol for her proofreading abilities. Tim at Book Design and More deserves thanks for his patience while teaching me a few tricks of the trade. And Keri Knutson at Alchemy Book Covers deserves a standing ovation for cover design, as well as several bonus rounds of insightful advice.

  Though the town of Timberton is fictional, some of the initial ideas for the book stemmed from a visit to Philipsburg, MT, many years ago. The Broadway Hotel, the Sapphire Gallery and the Granite County Museum all contributed background knowledge for the story.

  As always, I am grateful to family members and friends for believing in me. Without their support and encouragement, The Moonglow Café would still be an unpolished sapphire, waiting to be discovered.

  THREE SILVER

  DOVES

  A Paige MacKenzie Mystery

  Deborah Garner

  Cranberry Cove Press

  Three Silver Doves

  by Deborah Garner

  Copyright © 2015 Deborah Garner

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  First Printing – June 2015

  ISBN: 978-0-9960449-3-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  EXCEPT FOR BRIEF TEXT QUOTED AND APPROPRIATELY CITED IN OTHER WORKS, NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM, BY PHOTOCOPYING OR BY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE COPYRIGHT OWNER/AUTHOR.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  To Elizabeth Christy

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gravel shot up against the underside of Paige’s car as she navigated the steep, dusty road. She pressed her foot against the brake pedal to slow the momentum of the vehicle as it responded to the downward incline.

  The sharp upward grade of the road had been unsettling enough as she ascended the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. But the downhill portion was proving even more challenging. Between the gravity pulling her rented Camry forward and the staccato pings of stones against metal, her nerves were on edge.

  Tall, ponderosa pines cast late afternoon shadows, adding a surreal element to an already eerie journey. She glanced at her odometer: two more miles. She exhaled slowly, both an attempt to relax and a sigh of relief. She was almost at her destination.

  Agua Encantada nestled into a small valley, set against a backdrop of granite slabs that soared skyward with an alarming sense of permanence and power. By comparison, the reclusive hot springs resort appeared as tiny and fragile as a bird’s nest. Fragile, Paige thought as she swerved to avoid a pothole – exactly the way she felt after four months of New York winter.

  She rolled the car window down, but quickly rolled it back up as dust slapped the side of her face. The fresh New Mexico air waited on the valley floor, and she was looking forward to clearing out her lungs. After she returned to New York from her two previous trips – one to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, the other to Timberton, Montana – she’d been unable to get re-acclimated to city air quality. By assigning her a series of articles on the Old West, The Manhattan Post had inadvertently given her a gift. She’d found a different way of life – one that included not only clean air, but the camaraderie of small town residents.

  As always before heading out on an assignment, Paige had done her research on Agua Encantada. The resort dated back centuries. Long before the mineral pools were developed and the guest casitas built, rumors of the water’s healing powers had drawn those seeking rejuvenation and health. Legend had it that young children had been cured of polio and that the elderly had found freedom from respiratory distress. Paige hoped the water would vanquish her own blues, which had grown worse as the East Coast winter dragged on. When her editor, Susan, had suggested an article on southwestern hot springs for an upcoming special issue on health, Paige had jumped at the suggestion.

  Everything Paige had ever heard or read about the Southwest had intrigued her. Descriptions of warm colors, soft breezes and savory spices beckoned her with the promise of hospitality. As she pulled up in front of the small, adobe office, she was beginning to have second thoughts. The property looked sparse and deserted, and the sunshine that had accompanied her from Albuquerque’s airport was quickly slipping behind ominous clouds. Shadows, previously cast by local landscape, faded into nothingness. A gust of wind sent a flurry of dust across the hood of her car.

  Paige set the emergency brake and pulled the keys from the ignition, pausing only long enough to take a deep breath and let out an exhausted sigh. Travel fatigue often skewed her first impressions of destinations, so she tried not to take them too seriously. A hot shower and a good meal would help, the sooner the better, she thought as she stepped out of the car.

  The wind whipped her shoulder-length hair to the side and pressed her faded T-shirt against her slender body as she approached the building. The office door’s warped screen shuddered within its frame, threatening to tear loose from the thick, mustard-colored adobe brick. Paige grasped the handle and
pulled the door open, stepping inside. She closed the screen door behind her and looked around.

  Decorated in warm, soothing colors, the lobby was a welcome relief from the chilly weather outside. Thick Navajo rugs in reds and grays covered the floors, and bright paintings of southwestern landscapes hung on the walls above leather couches and armchairs. A kiva fireplace filled a far corner of the room, flanked by fireplace tools and buckets of wood. A display case to the left of a registration counter exhibited Native American wares. Stepping closer, Paige peered inside, taking in varied pottery, silver jewelry and carved stone figurines. She’d seen similar carvings before and knew them to be Zuni fetishes, but the variety surprised her: bears and horses, as well as badgers, rabbits, snakes, coyotes and birds – some smaller, some larger and all intricately carved. Small cards rested alongside each figure, naming the artist, animal and type of stone.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  Paige turned to the counter as a woman in her early twenties greeted her. The woman’s hair, almost black, was drawn back and held at the nape of her neck with an intricately designed barrette of silver and turquoise. Matching earrings dangled above a ruffled white blouse with embroidered flowers around the neckline. Dark brown eyes hovered below lush eyelashes.

  “Yes, they are,” Paige said. “Zuni fetishes, right?” She glanced back at the case, noticing a deep blue figure of a mammal of some sort. Squinting, she tried to make out the animal – a mountain lion, perhaps?

  “Yes. They’re from my mother’s store – it’s called Luz, just like her name,” the young woman said. “It’s in our town, Tres Palomas. You’ll have to visit it while you’re here.”

  “I would love to.” Paige faced the counter again. “Tres Palomas…that means three doves, right?

  “Very good. Do you speak Spanish?”

  “Barely any,” Paige admitted. “Un poquito.” She held up one hand, thumb and index finger barely spread apart.

  “Ah, just a little.” The woman nodded.

  “Is Tres Palomas far from here?”

  “A few miles, only. An easy drive. There’s a little bar and café there called the Coyote Cantina – a hole in the wall, but popular with locals. And a beautiful, old adobe church. And, of course, my mother’s store.”

  The young woman smiled, revealing a row of natural white teeth, set off against a deep tan. Not a single wrinkle broke the smooth surface of her skin. “You must be Paige MacKenzie,” she said, sliding a registration card across the counter. “Welcome to Agua Encantada – ‘Enchanted Water.’ Since you’re the only guest checking in today, I knew who you were as soon as your car pulled up. I’m Marisol. My mother runs the resort when she’s not at her store, but I’m usually the one manning the desk. How was your trip?”

  “Uneventful but long,” Paige admitted. “Between the two-hour layover in Dallas and the drive up from Albuquerque, I’ve been traveling for about ten hours.” She pulled her cell phone out of one pocket to check the time.

  “The time difference makes it harder, too,” Marisol said. “You’ll be hungry soon, I imagine. Our café is not offering dinner tonight, but will be open tomorrow at breakfast. We serve a simple meal each morning, whether we have guests or not, so the staff can eat.” She gestured to a door beside the kiva fireplace. A sign above the door announced the back room as simply “Café.”

  “I can give you suggestions for tonight,” Marisol continued, “the easiest being homemade tamales. I just made them yesterday. It’ll save you the drive into Tres Palomas.”

  A sharp crackle of thunder outside made it an easy decision. A downpour of rain was imminent and the driveway had been difficult enough to navigate when dry. “Homemade tamales would be wonderful,” Paige said. She filled out the registration card and handed it back to Marisol.

  “You’re in the Garden Casita,” Marisol said, indicating its location on a printed map of the property. “Back toward the end of the main building, across from the spa. You’ll see a parking space next to it. If you hurry, you’ll make it in before the rain.” She handed Paige a key, attached to a circular web of string and feathers.

  “A dream catcher,” Paige said, taking the key and smiling.

  “Yes, right again,” Marisol laughed. “Zuni fetishes and dream catchers. Maybe you’ve visited the Southwest before?”

  “Just pre-trip research,” Paige said. “I’ve never seen this part of the country. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  “This is a fascinating area,” Marisol said, as Paige moved toward the door. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your visit.”

  “I’m sure I will, too,” Paige said before exiting the office and heading for the casita.

  * * * *

  The dream catcher swayed as increasingly forceful gusts of wind sent the circular web of feathers and beads into motion. Paige slipped the key into the door of the Garden Casita. The small studio was as welcoming as the lobby: golden-yellow paint on the adobe walls, a kiva fireplace in one corner that promised additional warmth in the evenings. The comforter on the double bed featured angular, brick red shapes with sienna Kokopelli figures spread throughout the design. Two bedside tables held reading lamps with tin shades. One window, not more than two feet across, was embedded into one of the walls. On a non-stormy day, it would throw more light across the room than the current gray clouds allowed. Conveniently, a writing desk rested below it. The cozy armchair by the fireplace looked the most inviting, bringing an image of evening reading to mind. After all, she had promised herself equal parts writing and relaxation on this trip.

  Paige turned to an alcove near the door, setting her luggage on a low wooden bench below a half dozen dangling hangers. She crossed the room to a small bathroom where she twisted the faucet handle, leaned over the basin, and splashed cold water on her face. Looking up, she hardly recognized herself in the tin-framed mirror. Her green eyes, normally bright, looked almost gray, and her auburn hair drooped around her face, dull and lifeless. Her muscles ached. The drive from Albuquerque had unnerved and exhausted her. Suddenly the bed in the main room seemed especially inviting – that or one of the mineral pools she’d read so much about.

  A flash of lightning eliminated the idea of soaking in an outdoor pool. She’d hope for sunshine the next day and spend the evening unpacking and settling in.

  Pulling her cell phone out, she was discouraged to find no service. She’d told Jake about the trip and wanted at least to let him know she’d arrived safely, but calling him would have to wait.

  Paige took toiletries from her overnight bag and set them on the bathroom counter, admiring the bright mosaic of blue and red tiling. As she headed back to the main room to pull clothing from her suitcase, she heard a knock at the door.

  Strong wind pushed the door inward as Paige opened it. As expected, Marisol stood on the doorstep, a foil-covered plate in her hands.

  “Tamales, senorita,” Marisol said as she handed the plate to Paige. She shivered visibly as another burst of wind swept in. “There are two kinds, beef and chicken. The beef has red chili in it and the chicken has salsa verde. Both are delicious. I put some sliced mango on the plate, too.”

  “Thank you. You should come in,” Paige said, watching the first torrent of rain hit the ground behind Marisol.

  “No, but thank you,” Marisol said quickly. “The storm will get worse before it gets better. I should head back to the office. But enjoy the tamales. I’m glad you won’t be trying to drive into town in this weather.”

  “That makes two of us,” Paige said as the rain began to pour down harder. “I’m so grateful to you for sharing your food with me.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Marisol said. “When we make tamales, we make dozens – always plenty for us to share.” Turning away to head back to the office, she paused long enough to point to a small bin in the outside hallway. “There is wood for your fireplace, and you’ll find matches in the desk drawer.”

  “Is there cell service here?” Paige held up her ph
one. “I can’t seem to connect.”

  “Yes, most of the time,” Marisol answered. “But it often goes out during storms. It should be back on later tonight or in the morning. And we always have a phone in the lobby that you can use.”

  “Thank you again,” Paige said. “I just wanted to tell a friend I arrived safely. It can wait.”

  She closed the door and watched from the window of the casita as Marisol hastened toward the office. The strength of the downpour grew quickly above the dramatic landscape. The thunderous sound of rain against the rooftop lulled her mind into a flowing wave of thoughts, jumbled together and scattered like seashells. The trancelike state hardly matched the scene outside, where cactus stood stoic against the force of the downpour, yet the pampas grass whipped sideways under the dual assault of water and wind. Terra cotta containers of blue salvia cringed against nature’s beating. Still the resilient New Mexico terrain stood firm.

  Had she really just called Jake a “friend” when mentioning him to Marisol? He wasn’t merely a friend. Yet he wasn’t a…what was the current term…significant other? Why were these relationship labels so difficult to determine? For that matter, why were labels needed at all? This was always a dilemma when it came to including Jake in conversations with others.

  This was the first western assignment she’d received that held little chance of seeing him. Not for lack of want on either her side or his, but simply because of logistics. She’d resigned herself to this before leaving New York.

  Paige turned away from the window, set the covered dinner plate on the desk and peeked under the foil. As the enticing aromas of corn-based masa and chiles floated up to her, she realized she was hungrier than she’d thought. She pulled out the desk’s rattan chair, sat down, separated the silverware from the cloth napkin, and started in.