Legend of The Lost: (Z & C Mysteries, #4)

by Zoey Kane

  Stuffing her bills securely into her purse’s side pocket, Zo said, “Our plane blew up and we landed here by accident. Somebody really nice purchased our cute boots and ensembles because our suitcases went up in the flames. It would be wonderful if we knew who the generous donor was.”

  “Oh, I know.” It was like a light bulb went off above the girl’s head, but she slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself. “I told ’em I wouldn’t tell.”

  Zo turned to Claire with a sparkle in her eye like the challenge was on. She told the girl while leaning against the counter, “I was just thinking how nice it would be to anonymously thank whoever it was in return. Wouldn’t that be fun? Whoever donated our clothes will get a nice little donation in return… without having any idea from who or why.”

  The girl bit the corner of her lip. “I don’t know if I should say.”

  “Of course you should. Just think—don’t they deserve something special? By telling us who the donor was, you’re actually doing a good deed.”

  “But I promised I wouldn’t say anything, and I was taught never to lie.”

  “That’s good,” Claire said, discreetly nudging her mother to give up, but Zo paid no attention.

  The girl was now fiddling with the bottom of her apron, avoiding eye contact.

  “I understand,” Zo said. “You don’t have to tell us who did it. Maybe just a couple hints would be nice. Was it a man or a woman?”

  The girl made eye contact again, and with hesitation said, “A guy…”

  Zo smiled. “Okay. What else?”

  “Well, he’s… nice.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “And old.” She stopped herself. “But that’s all I’ll say.”

  “Thank you so much,” Zo said, smiling wider. “I can connect the rest of the dots for myself. Add ten bucks to pump seven?” She passed her a bill.

  On their way out the door, Claire said, “So it was Mackey.”

  “He’s becoming such a dear.” Zo approached their shiny ride, swinging her new purse.

  *

  There was no sign of Marlene on their ride back. When they arrived outside the front office to park the ATV and drop off the key, they had to maneuver around people carrying picnic tables. In fact, they couldn’t miss the hustle and bustle going on all around the ranch. It began right in front of the office, and extended all the way down to the dance barn. A portable bar was being set up, people were cleaning some barbecue pits, and a platform was being raised with a sound system. And the picnic tables? They were being moved to the now taped-off parking area. Cars were relocating across the way in an open field.

  Zo stepped onto the porch and eyed the commotion. “What do you think is happening?” she asked. “Did you hear about anything tonight?”

  Claire joined her with hands on hips. “I did hear of something, but you know, graphs and charts are my thing, not redneck festivals. At any rate, I wasn’t expecting anything special for this evening.”

  “Redneck festival?” Zo repeated with interest.

  A kitchen boy overheard them and answered, “It’s the Redneck Summer Party. A barbecue with all sorts of contests and stuff.” He jogged off the porch, carrying a bowl of sliced onions.

  Sales booths were being set up, and the sound of shovels and hammers urgently scraped and banged to make the deadline for kicking off the festivities at six p.m. A group of strong guys hoisted a large, outdoor grill out of a pickup, and the smell of some spicy meat rubs wafted in the air. Somewhere close by, speakers turned on, blaring the song “Sixteen Little Red Noses and a Horse That Sweats.”

  “Well…” Zo smiled. “It looks like some fun.”

  The kitchen boy ran back up the porch steps with the bowl empty. “The Desert Cabbage Five will be here tonight, too,” he said.

  “Old cowboys, huh?” Claire presumed.

  “No! These are kids. Ten, twelve, fifteen, and seventeen—all from the same family.”

  “You say they’re The Desert Cabbage Five? That’s only four.”

  “Not if there’s a set of twins, it’s not.” He disappeared inside.

  “Well!” Zo took her straw hat off and fanned herself with it. “We’ll want to be here tonight.”

  Claire nudged her mom. “Okay, let’s turn that key in, and then I think we ought to get ready.”

  “Yes, I feel like I’ve been lightly salted in sand. A shower sounds wonderful.”

  While they handed back the key, Claire informed the young ranch hand, Ralph, that Marlene had purposely rear-ended them twice, so if there was any damage, it wasn’t because of their poor driving. Since Marlene hadn’t returned yet, he promised he would tell Mackey so he could confront her as soon as possible. Feeling a certain satisfaction that justice would be done, they headed toward their room.

  As they approached their door, Elena came out of her room across the hall. “Oh, goodness. It’s good to see you two again. How are you doing, now?” Her smiling face said she really cared.

  “I would say very well, Elena,” said Zo. “We just love looking around. The desert valley is beautiful.”

  “That’s what keeps me working here all these years. That, and my arthritis feels better in this dry heat.” She beamed.

  Claire’s eyes widened while saying, “We think the prospectors are a little crazy, though. We have never seen so many people anxious to beat each other up, and who would actually go so far as to shoot and kill.”

  “Oh, yes. They all think they’ll be the ones to discover The Lost Dutchman’s Mine. There have been a lot of murders, that’s for sure.” Elena shook her head at the thought. “But no one has found it yet, and they all look for it everywhere, but where it’s at.”

  “So you believe in it?” Zo asked.

  “As sure as little kittens are cute. ’Course, a lot of people think I’m addlepated. But… some think I’ve got good reason to believe.”

  Zo raised an eyebrow in interest, stepping closer. “Some do? Why you?”

  “I’ve got something they don’t have.” She gave a half smile.

  “What would that be?’

  She cupped her mouth to emphasize a whisper. “I’ve got the map.”

  Zo humored the sweet, ol’ lady. “Then you are a lucky woman, aren’t you?”

  “That mine is never lucky, my dears. That mine means murder. As has been proven over and over again.” She turned the key in her door, locking it. “Well, I got to go. You two are just precious. Don’t get sick by eating too much at tonight’s festivities.”

  “Thanks, Elena,” Claire said.

  Zo added, “Bye.”

  The old lady waddled away.

  Claire tilted her head. “Another map!”

  “Maybe she has the true one.” Zo shrugged, opened their door, and stepped in. The place was turned over, with all the drawers taken out and emptied onto the bed. Even the toilet tank lid was broken on the floor.

  NINE

  “What the…?” Claire’s nerves forced out a strange laugh. “Why not?! Haven’t weirder things happened to us?”

  “All this does is make me mad!” Zo picked up her crumpled robe off the bathroom floor before taking a new towel off a rod. “Nothing is going to stop me from getting that shower, unless they’ve taken the shower head.” She pulled the plastic curtain, its rings clattering. “Does somebody think we have the map?”

  Claire was eyeing a dresser drawer, turned over with her clothes in a heap. “We’ll figure all this out after we get ourselves washed and dressed. So don’t disturb anything. We’ll report it.”

  The shower turned on full-force, whining through the pipes. Claire called the police while waiting for her turn. Captain Daniel wasn’t available. Another officer soon came, who took pictures and wrote up a report. When he left, Claire closed the door behind him after repeating her sincere thanks.

  They straightened up the room and put everything back, then took a nap because of the energy-sapping desert heat. Once they awoke, they got dressed in well-fit
ting jeans and blouses. They checked the mirror one last time for a hair smoothing and new-makeup assessment before heading out to the Redneck Summer Party.

  People were arriving a little early. A bar was already selling beer to a long line of guests. Vintage muscle cars drove in with growling engines, their proud owners hoping for a trophy. They parked in a taped-off area for judging, and put their hoods up for engine inspection. The spicy, barbecued scent of ribs mingled with the sugary scent of funnel cakes.

  Zo and Claire ordered some ribs and medium soft drinks. They found a table and chairs outside the barbecue area, covered in a red-checkered plastic tablecloth.

  “Wow. This is so good,” said Zo while chewing.

  “Hello, ladies.” It was Brooks who seemed to come from out of nowhere, hatless, and displaying a nasty, purple bruise under a big, Angry Birds Band-Aid.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Claire stood up and gave him a hug. “How are you?!”

  Zo was glad to see him, too. “You are looking so much better,” she said, stifling her laughter through clenched teeth.

  “Feeling great!” He took a chair and sat down next to Claire, giving her an intense look of desire before turning to Zo to say, “I know what you’re thinking. The medical clinic is a bit unconventional out here.”

  “Who am I to judge?” she slurped her soft drink innocently.

  He went on, concern flashing across his eyes. “I heard how you two found Goldstrike an’ got into some danger at the Superstition Mountains.”

  Zo said, “Yes, the mule saved us.”

  “I’m going to buy that mule from Mackey,” he said, then asked, “do you mind if I follow you two around this evening?”

  “We’d love it,” Claire replied. “Join us.”

  “Good… I’ll go get myself a plate of those ribs.” He pushed back his chair as he got up.

  When he was safely out of earshot, Claire gushed, “He is so cute with his farm-boy curls and blue eyes.”

  “It’s not his eyes that I notice,” Zo said raising her brows toward his extra tight, faded jeans, as he walked away.

  Claire rolled her eyes and said, “Mother…”

  “What?” Zo sipped some of her 7-Up. “He knows what those jeans do to his buns. But, anyway, I’m more into Captain Daniel. You know, I had the most interesting daydream while we rode back to the ranch together.”

  “Yeah?” Claire’s eyes lingered on Brooks.

  “I think you should find some time for yourselves this evening,” her mother said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Claire rattled her drink’s ice.

  The music was interrupted with the announcement of The Desert Cabbage Five taking the stage. They bounced out with unexpected energy, grabbing instruments, and standing microphones. The twin boys were identical little cuties, around age nine. A crowd gathered and everyone smiled as the kids sang. Zoey, Claire and Brooks had a good table for watching. The dad played his own guitar and their mom took over the drums for one of the twin boys when the country clogging started, earning even more cheers.

  When the Desert Cabbage Five were finished with their show, the emcee announced karaoke time, saying, “We saw Brooks out there in the crowd. Hey, Brooks, come up here and lead us off. There he is. Always with the beautiful ladies. Come on, Brooks!”

  The handsome cowboy blushed and excused himself from the table.

  The emcee continued. “Now it don’t take any talent to sing karaoke. It’s all entertaining, even the bad singers. In fact, we strongly urge those without talent to muster the courage and sing. You can get some liquid courage over there at Mackey’s portable bar. However, Brooks is the real deal. He’s the cowboy with the voice. Get up here, Brooks!”

  Brooks made his way up to the stage, and whispered to the emcee who said something to the lead guitar boy. He turned around and said something to the rest of the Desert Cabbage Five still sitting at their instruments.

  The emcee announced, “Brooks Lanning, singing Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire’!” before jumping off the stage.

  The music began with guitars and mellow drums, then Brooks came in with a very smooth, baritone voice that mesmerized the audience. He made eye contact with Claire a couple of times, flashing an enchanting smile that a peppermint gum advertiser would have died to do a photo spread with.

  Claire leaned into her mom. “Who would have thought it? Who would have thought his voice could be that beautiful?”

  Her mother responded, “For sure!”

  When the song was over, people yelled for two other songs before Brooks could finally say, “Thanks, folks!” as he jumped down from the stage. He got all kinds of pats and comments on his way back to the table.

  “That was wonderful, Brooks,” said Claire, with Zo nodding and clapping.

  “Thank you.” He pursed his lips in humility, emphasizing his mouth’s sexy, little scar. “Are you two ready to walk around and see what people are selling?”

  They passed a pretzel and cotton candy stand, an ice cream stand, and a tooled-leather wallets and purses vendor. Zo was distracted by the handmade wallets while Brooks and Claire kept smile-talking with each other, going down another aisle. They happened upon a booth selling artsy computer graphic images. To their surprise, Richard was standing behind the counter.

  “You’re a vendor here, Richard?” Brooks asked.

  “Yes. Marlene does this work.” He half-heartedly gestured toward the art, some in plastic sleeves for those who planned to frame them themselves. “That’s why we came here. To be a vendor during these two nights of the festival.”

  “Wow,” said Claire, lifting an artistic rendering of a hummingbird. “I hate to admit that this is all very good, with such wonderful detail.”

  “Ahh, thank you. I have to warn you though that Marlene will be back any moment,” he said, his head down and looking up with a you-know-what-I-mean expression.

  “Thanks for that,” Claire responded. “We’ll be on our way.”

  Now that Zo had some money, she picked out a red leather wallet to go with her new red purse from the gas station. A cashier with fake Bubba Bucktooth teeth took her twenty-dollar bill. She lifted the money high toward the hot sun, and squinted an eye, then marked it with a pen. “Just checkin’ for funny-money,” she said around her goofy mouthpiece.

  “Oh yeah?” Zo said. “Do you get a lot of that around here?”

  “It occasionally pops up now and again,” she said. “But this one passed the test. Congratulations on your new wallet. Enjoy.”

  An announcement alerted the fun-seekers that trophies would be awarded to the Best-in-Show car at ten o’clock. A few cheers were heard. There was also a photo booth where Zo was invited to take a picture with Claire and Brooks.

  “Hhhheck no,” Zo said. “You two go ahead. I’m busy over here, people-watching.”

  Brooks’s blue eyes looked neon in the photo-booth’s light. He said, “Okay, let’s cuddle up.” He put an arm around Claire’s waist and they scooted closer together. Claire’s eyes lingered on him, which resulted in a sudden kiss that was warm and perfect.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She put a hand to her head in embarrassment. “I don’t know why I just said that.”

  He tilted her chin toward his and kissed her again.

  The booth’s camera flashed.

  “Ladies and rednecks,” the emcee interrupted the music. “Especially the ladies…” Zo was eyeing a candied-apple stand when the rest of the announcement piqued her interest. “It’s that time for mud wrestling. Are you reeeeady?! Belly up around the mud arena. You politicians might wanna give it a try, as it’d sure be fun for you mud slingers.”

  Claire and Brooks came out of the booth giggling.

  “Okay, where’s the kiss picture?” Zo correctly presumed.

  Brooks grabbed the photos, showing kisses all the way through.

  “You two didn’t know that you’re supposed to ch
ange poses for each picture?” she kidded.

  Claire ran her fingers through her sleek hair. “We’ll get it right next time.”

  “Probably not,” added Brooks with a grin.

  Zo asked, “Should we go over to mud wrestling? They just announced it.”

  The three stood beside the pit, looking down at a group of men throwing each other down, while slipping and falling on their own. Two wore “Daisy Dukes” and fake blond pigtails, slapping at each other, having a rehearsed “girl” fight. Despite this, the greatest wrestling match was sure to be that of a Sumo-sized wrestler who was pitted against a skinny, old man in bib overalls.

  A spectator yelled, “Oh, man! The kill is on!”

  The big man sloshed toward Grandpa. The crowd sucked in their breath, fearing the massacre. He lunged at the old man who skittered off to the side.

  “Ha-ha! You thought you could get ol’ Gramps. It’s not going to be that easy! Bring it on, potato butt!”

  Sumo Man gritted his teeth.

  The old guy took out his dentures and growled, clicking the false teeth between his fingers. He inserted them back into his mouth with a cackle. “Come on… come get me!”

  Sumo Man thudded forward with splashing, sucking sounds. But the little, ol’ guy just high-stepped away from him. Then Gramps ran behind Sumo Man and leapt onto his back like a spider monkey, wrapping his skinny arms around his neck, and his legs around his belly. The big man pulled at his arm-lock as he turned round and round. Sumo Man slipped in the mud. Gramps managed to let go and roll off just in time. Sumo Man was now flat on his back.

  Gramps took a fistful of mud and splat it across his competitor’s face. “I win!” Since Sumo Man didn’t get up right away, Gramps was indeed the winner, according to redneck wrestling rules.

  The lady wrestlers were more ferocious, hurling themselves, while yelling and screaming at each other. Banshees couldn’t have sounded worse. They rolled around and fought down in the mud with leg locks and matted hair.

  One man asked another, “Is that your wife in there?”