Calamity Jayne Heads West (18 page)

“There have been a few minor glitches,” I said, “but we’re still on course to get the deed done,” I told her.

“You keeping out of trouble?” Shelby Lynn asked.

“As a matter of fact, I may have stumbled onto a bit of a puzzle out here that could have some reader ap-peal,” I confided. “A riddle or two begging to be solved, and you know how I love little whodunits,” I said. “So make sure you tell Stan I might have a high-profile piece for him from the contrasting climes of northern Arizona.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll do that,” Shelby Lynn said. “Oh, and I’m really glad you called, because there actually is something we need to talk about,” she added, “while I have you on the phone.”

“Anything, Shelby Lynn,” I said. “I’m here to help you in whatever way I can. What’s the problem? Hav-ing trouble with your headlines? Need a snappy, reader grabbing opener? Can’t get my new chair to lower? Tell me. What is it?”

“Uh, it’s about Marguerite Dishman,” Shelby Lynn said, and I felt my throat begin to close up. “She came in today to place something in the paper.”

I could feel my heartbeat pulse in my right eyeball. Bup. Bup. Bup.

“And? What did she want to run?” I asked, suspect-ing I wasn’t going to like the answer.

“An engagement announcement,” Shelby answered.

Good Lord, I was right.

“She had an announcement?” I asked.

“Well, not so you’d know, but she did have a picture of your groom-to-be and she had a picture of you. She wanted us to use the computer to put the two pictures together and make it look like it was a picture of the two of you together,” Shelby Lynn explained.

I frowned into the phone. “How did she get a pic-ture of me?” I asked.

A long pause.

“She had the Grandville yearbook for the year yougraduated,” Shelby Lynn finally said. “She wanted us to scan your head shot and stick it with her nephew Manny’s picture.”

Good gawd in Heaven, it was worse than I thought! My senior picture could’ve been a before shot for Curls Gone Wild hair tamer. Coupled with the make-over I’d received at the mall compliments of my gammy, and I looked like something from Macabre Theater. Or a streetwalking mime on crack.

“For all that’s holy, please tell me you’re joking,” I begged.

“It’s not all bad news,” Shelby Lynn said.

“It isn’t?” I asked.

“The announcement indicated that a wedding date hadn’t been set,” Shelby Lynn said. “So you still have time to break it off. If you’re so inclined.”

“Break it off? Break what off? This engagement is a product of a well-intentioned but not well-thought-out favor for a friend. It’s not real. It’s just pretend! Under no circumstances are you to run that announcement!” I yelled.

“How are we going to get around it?” Shelby Lynn asked. ”She’s willing to pay good money to run it.”

“Stall her!” I said. “Tell her you’re having trouble with the picture! Tell her the next issue is full! Tell her anything, but don’t run that announcement!” I yelled.

“Two thousand miles away and you can still create chaos,” Shelby Lynn said. “I’ll see what I can do. After all, I suppose I owe you for recommending me to Stan,” she added.

“Uh, yeah, there is that,” I said, and turned to find Townsend on the stairs watching me. “Hope you can follow up on the instructions I just gave you without too much difficulty,” I said. “And don’t hesitate to get in touch if you need further assistance. I’m here for you,” I told her. “Bye-bye now.”

“Good grief,” Shelby Lynn said and hung up.

“Problems?” Townsend asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, you know. Putting out fires long distance for the rookie reporter,” I said. “It’s rather trying being indispensable.”

“I’m sure,” he said, with a twitch of his lips. He held out his cell phone. “You’re so popular I’ve got people calling for you on my cell phone,” he added, and I stared at him.

“Huh?”

“It’s Carena Whitehead,” Townsend said.

“What?”

“She wants to speak to you,” Townsend replied.

“Me?” I shook my head. “Why would Whitehead want to talk to me?”

Townsend shrugged. “Guess you’ll find out,” he said, and handed me the phone and left. I’d expected him to stay and eavesdrop—which is exactly what I would’ve done if he’d been speaking to the lovely Carena.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Miss Turner?”

“Speaking,” I said, maintaining a cool, detached tone.

“This is Carena Whitehead.”

“Yes, I know. What can I do for you, Officer White-head?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s what I can do for you,” Whitehead said, and I was instantly intrigued.

“Oh? How so?”

“It’s about Raphael,” she said. “I have some infor-mation I’d like to share with you. Could we meet somewhere?”

I considered my options. With my past history, you weren’t about to find me in some dark, underground parking garage, taking shorthand notes from some-one I barely knew. And had no reason to trust.

“We were getting ready to head to the mall to shop,” I said. “I suppose I could meet you there.”

“Will you be able to get away on your own?” White-head asked.

“I’m a professional,” I reminded her.

“Oh, right. There’s a bookstore at the west end of the Flag mall. Can you meet me in the coffee shop there at six?” Whitehead asked.

A bookstore? It was a safe bet my gammy wouldn’t be shopping there for her wedding attire.

“I’ll be there,” I said.

“Come alone,” Whitehead said, and hung up.

She just had to say that, didn’t she?

Several hours and more than a few dress changes for Gram later, I checked my watch. A quarter to six. It would take me fifteen minutes to get to the other end of the mall—if I didn’t stop to window shop at all.

“Has she found anything yet?” I asked, knowing the answer.

My sister-in-law, Kimmie, shook her head. “She’s in the dressing room with your Aunt Kay, arguing about how much cleavage is appropriate for a woman of a certain age to show at her own wedding. Your aunt says a half inch, and Hannah says as much as you can get away with.”

I shook my head. Thank goodness Aunt Kay was dealing with this crisis.

“Have you found a dress yet, Tressa?” Kimmie asked, and I shook my head.

“Still looking,” I said.

“Kimmie! Tressa! Gram wants your opinion on her latest frock.” Sophie motioned to us from the dress-ing area.

“You go on, Kimmie,” I said. “I saw a cute little num-ber over there I want to try on. I’ll join you in a sec-ond,” I said.

Once Kimmie was out of sight, I hurried from the high-end department store and made my way to the bookseller located at the other end of the mall. I lo-cated the coffee shop and spotted Whitehead at a table in the corner. I looked around. Lots of foot traf-fic. Lots of people. Seemed benign enough.

I dropped into the booth across from her. A waitress materialized in record time.

I wanted a chocolate milkshake but when I saw the price I settled for a Coke instead. I was happy with my choice until Whitehead indicated the food was on her. Talk about your opportunities lost. Dang.

“So, Officer Whitehead, how do you know Raphael?” I asked. Whitehead smiled.

“I knew I’d given myself away that day at the canyon,” Whitehead said, “when I looked at the pic-tures. I was just so shocked to see him there. In your pictures. I suspected you picked up on my reaction.”

“I’m a trained observer,” I said, sipping my cola. “It’s a requirement of the job. So, you were about to tell me how you know this Raphael,” I reminded her.

Whitehead took a long swig of her Fiji water.

“He was my boyfriend. We were together two years.”

“Were?” I asked.

She nodded. “We broke up about a year ago. He started getting very secretive about his activities. He’d up and disappear for days at a time with no explana-tion as to where he’d been, other than ‘business.’ Ra-phie had always traveled a lot in his job as a consultant, so I really didn’t think much about it until he started getting angry and moody whenever I questioned him about his trips. I finally told him that he had to level with me and tell me what the hell was going on or we were through.” She took another drink of her bottled water. “Guess you can see what his choice was,” the ranger said with a sad smile.

“Why were you so shocked to see him in the pic-ture?” I asked. “Apart from his actions, that is. I gather he still lives around here,” I added.

Whitehead shook her head. “That’s just it,” she said. “I thought he had left the area. I hadn’t seen or heard from him for well over a year until that day at Oak Creek when I found out that not only was he still around, but that he’d been right there in the same park as I was and he hadn’t even cared enough to stop and say hi. I was crushed,” she said.

“You sure hid it well,” I told her, taking a drink of my Coke.

“I’m uncomfortable showing weakness, especially in uniform and in public, so I put my game face on and it was business as usual,” she said.

“Uh, and that business included giving your num-ber and an invite to a certain ranger from out of town?” I asked. Whitehead had the good grace to color.

“I was angry and hurt and I thought what the hell, Carena, go out, have a good time with a handsome man and forget all about Raphael Calderas,” she said. “Turns out the good-looking ranger apparently had another woman on his mind.”

“He did?” My gawd, was there no end to the line of females in Townsend’s world? “Who?” I asked.

Whitehead looked confused. “I was going to say you,” she said. “Would I be wrong?”

I shook my head. Would she? Who knew?

“After the incident at the club when you accused Raphael of stealing your cousin’s handbag, I really started getting concerned. I’ve contacted every friend or acquaintance of Raphie’s to try and get in touch with him, but without success,” Whitehead went on. “I’m worried about him. I’m scared about what he’s gotten into. I want to help him.”

I looked at her. “I think you’re still in love with him,” I said.

“I care about him,” Whitehead admitted. “That hasn’t changed despite our differences.”

I nodded. I knew just how Whitehead felt. No mat-ter how ticked off Townsend made me, I still had feel-ings for him. I would risk much to help him if I thought he needed me.

“Do you have any idea what Raphael might be in-volved in? Why he’s acting this way? What he could be up to?” I asked.

Whitehead chewed her bottom lip. “There are many possibilities,” she said. “None are very pleasant to con-sider,” she added.

“Did your boyfriend by any chance own any kachina masks?” I asked. Whitehead looked at me.

“Ex boyfriend,” she corrected. “Many natives pos-sess such items. Why?”

“Someone drove by my aunt’s wearing one the night of the break-in at their house,” I said. “And I thought someone wearing one followed us back from Sedona our first day here. Could it have been Raphael?”

Whitehead shook her head. “I wish I knew,” she said. “I wish I knew.”

Whitehead placed two of her business cards on the table.

“If you happen to see Raphael again, could you give me a call or give him this card and tell him Carena needs him to call her right away? I’d appreciate it.”

I considered the cards. How did I know that any of what Carena Whitehead had just told me was on the level? She’d already lied by omission. By her own admis-sion, she presented a fake face to the world. Who knew what else she could still be keeping close to her vest?

An awkward silence followed and Carena smiled. “I understand,” she said. “Trust but verify? Am I right?”

I nodded. “A wise man once recommended some-thing like that,” I said. “Seems like pretty sound advice.”

Whitehead smiled. “I suppose it does at that,” she said.

Her cell phone began to ring and she excused her-self from the table to take the call. I watched her from the table and something about her body language and the way she kept her back to me made me suspect a certain ranger was on the other end of the call. White-head returned to the table.

“I’ve got to run,” she said, placing bills on the table.

“Give Ranger Townsend my best,” I told her and she smiled.

“Those keen powers of observation again?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Playing a hunch,” I told her.

“Goodbye, Miss Turner,” she said, shaking my hand. “I hope you do manage to enjoy the remainder of your stay in the Grand Canyon State,” she said and left.

I counted the bills Whitehead had thrown on the table.

“Miss! Oh, miss!” I said, raising my hand to hail the waitress. “I’d like to order a chocolate shake, please,” I told her. “And don’t skimp on the whipped cream.”

Tomorrow we’d make the move to The Titan Hotel. In two days time my grandma would be hitched, Rick Townsend would be my stepcousin, and Kookamunga, along with a wide assortment of fellow phallic fellas, would have a new home with Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Townsend.

And me? I’d have my domicile to myself once again.

Funny. The prospect of coming home to an empty trailer each night didn’t hold the same appeal as it once had. I shook my head. Who’d been smoking too much locoweed now?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The following morning I sat on a leather sofa in front of the mammoth-sized fireplace in the lobby of The Titan Hotel and debated if it was too early in the day to hit the hotel bar and start a tab. Here I was, just steps away from one of the seven natural wonders of the world and my sole companion was a bronze statue with a perpetual erection. On the brighter side, things couldn’t get much worse. Unless Joe walked through the lobby in a Speedo. Or Townsend sauntered past with Whitehead.

“Hi. What are you doing here? Where’s Uncle Rick? How come you’re sittin’ here all by yourself? Did you two fight again?”

Or his nephew Little Lord Fauntleroy showed up to interrogate me some more.

I sighed. “I’m on vacation,” I said. “Can’t you tell?”

He looked at my bag.

“Is that ugly dude still in there? Why do you carry him around? Are you really going to give it to Grandpaand Hannah? Are you still mad at my Uncle Rick? How come you don’t like kids?”

That got my attention.

“Hey, I like kids all right,” I said. “Nice ones. Who know their place. And who don’t give me a lot of atti-tude.”

“Like I do, you mean?” Nick asked, and I didn’t deny it.

I shrugged. “I try to take into account that you can’t help it. It’s in your genes.”

He looked down at his shorts. “But I’m not wearing jeans,” he said.

I shot him a half smile. “Ah, the Townsend wit. I rest my case,” I said.

“So, are you gonna give the statue as a wedding gift or not?” he asked. I nodded.

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

“It’s a fertility god, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“And it’s supposed to help things reproduce, right?”

I nodded again. “In theory,” I said. “Why?”

“And you want to give it to our grandparents? That’s, like, really sick, dude!” he said.

“Exactly,” I said.

The little twerp reached out and grabbed my bag.

“Hey, knock it off, kid. I want to keep the surprise under wraps until the happy couple uncovers the to-ken of my affection. Do you mind?” I reached out to grab the bag away.

“I just want another look,” he said.

“No way. Last time he ended up in a freakin’ foun-tain of foliage. Give him back.” I yanked on the bag.

“And I think he’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen and you’re dumb for buying him!”

“That’s where I’ve got you, kid,” I stated, pulling onmy backpack, “ ’cause your Uncle Rick bought him, so that must make
him
the dumb one.”

“Then it’s more mine than yours, ’cause he’s my un-cle!” the tiny troll yelled, tugging on the bag again.

“Well, he’s my boyfriend!” I yelled back.

“Is not!”

“Is, too!”

“Is not!”

“Is, too!”

I heard a rip and the shoulder strap of my bag tore loose and the silly little goose yanking on the bag fell backwards, my backpack sailing through the air along with him. It hit the wood floor with a clunk.

“Now look what you’ve done!” I hissed, retrieving the bag. I opened it up and pulled Kookamunga out. “If you’ve damaged him, I swear I’ll take that iPod of yours and toss it over the south rim!” I promised him.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

He obviously didn’t know me very well, did he?

I ran an eye over Kooky. He appeared to be un-scathed. I turned him upside down and noticed the base was loose.

“Oh, great, you’ve knocked the bottom askew,” I said. “Way to go, Poindexter.”

“It’s a piece of junk anyway. I heard Uncle Rick laughing with Dad. He said you were convinced it was worth a fortune and that everyone was after it because it was so valuable.”

“Oh, really? Well, your uncle’s idea of real art is some poor animal head stuffed and mounted on the wall and a molting wood duck filled with sawdust, sporting glass eyes, and perched on a piece of wood. Excuse me if I don’t give too much credence to his opinion.”

I surveyed the damaged base closer, surprised whenthe bottom twisted to the side revealing a hollow com-partment inside.

“What in the world?”

I examined the base more closely. Inside the three-by-four inch base appeared a small item, all rolled up. I pulled it out. It was a tiny scroll, held together by a small braided tie. My knees suddenly felt like they did after I finished walking in the Crazee Day parade, on stilts: all rubber bandy and Gumby-like. I dropped into the nearest seat, my hands shaking worse than my gammy’s when she wants to get out of washing dishes.

“What’s the matter? You look weird.”

I ignored the insulting little snot whose bad behav-ior may have just unlocked the key to the mystery at Oak Creek Canyon. I slowly untied the ribbon from around the off-white paper and unfolded the scroll. I stared at the words and drawings on the page. My mouth flew open in stunned amazement.

“Holy Native American Idol!” I shouted. “Dan Brown, eat your heart out!” I said.

“Who’s Dan Brown?” Nick asked.

I shook my head, keeping my attention focused on the tiny roll of paper in my hands.

“What’s that paper?” the kid asked. “Did that come out of the statue? What is it? What does it say?”

I quickly rolled it up and stashed it in my pocket.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a wad of paper. That’s all. It’s nothing.”

Nick peered at me. “My Uncle Rick says he can al-ways tell when you’re hiding something ’cause you start to talk real fast and babble a lot,” he said.

“Does your uncle have nothing better to do than talk about me?” I asked.

“I guess not. He talks about you a lot.”

I felt my heart go pitter-patter. “He does?”

“He bitches a lot.”

Terrific.

“So, are you going to tell me what was on that note you found in Kookamunga, or am I going to run to Uncle Rick and tell him all about it?” Nick black-mailed. I stared at him.

“You’re pure evil. You know that, don’t you?” I said.

He shrugged. “What’s it gonna be, Calamity?”

I removed the note and read it to him. “It says, ‘A bird’s-eye view awaits you here. It will take the eye of an eagle and the heart of a warrior to succeed where others have failed in this quest for truth. He whose eye misses nothing is aware of all that has gone on before and has made a record.’ There. Happy now?”

“That’s it? What does it mean? What quest? Whose eye? Is it a clue of some kind, do you think? What do you think it leads to? Where do we start looking?”

I caught the
we
part right away. Hey, I’m a trained journalist. Well, a journalist-in-training, at least.

“Uh, what do you mean ‘we’, paleface?” I said, the punch line from a joke I’m rather fond of.

“You and me,” he said.

I shook my head. “There is no you and me. No us. No we. Just me, myself, and I,” I told him. “
My
quest for truth.
My
eagle eye.
My
warrior’s heart.”

“My Uncle Rick who’s gonna know all about that note and who’ll blab it to that hot lady ranger before you can say Kookamunga,” Nick said, planting himself on the table in front of me. “So, am I in or what?”

I looked at him. “I’m not even sure I’m in,” I said. “But I know if I let you tag along, I’m in for it,” I added. “There are people after this note. Bad people. Dangerous people.”

I stopped. Ohmigawd! I was right! About the idol. About its value. About the bad guys wanting it back. Igulped. Somehow being able to say I told you so didn’t hold the same magic it had before I knew I was right—and I realized that being right meant I was, like, so screwed.

I looked at the note again.

Still, if this intrigue did pan out and I nailed down a newsworthy story with AP possibilities, I’d put the ki-bosh on any designs Shelby Lynn Sawyer had on my job back home—as well as on my new ergonomically designed chair. And prove once and for all to a certain reprimanding ranger that I was oh, so much more than a pretty face and nubile body.

Uh, just seeing if you were paying attention there, folks.

I studied the note, noticing a crude drawing in the bottom right-hand corner. I frowned and brought it up to my face.

“There’s a picture here,” I said, “but I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.” I squinted at the paper. “It looks like a snowman with a pig’s snout,” I said, and Nick got up to stand behind me and peer over my shoulder and breathe down my neck. Like uncle, like nephew.

“That’s not a pig’s snout,” Nick said. “It looks like a bowling ball. Why would someone draw a bowling ball for a snowman’s head?” Nick asked. “That’s whacked.”

I thought about it. “It’s a clue!” I said. “A clue to where we go next!”

Nick looked at me. “Where?”

“The Snowbowl!” I said. “We go to the Snowbowl!”

“Sweet!” Nick said. I heard a click behind me and turned to find Nick holding a camera phone. He turned it around and I caught an image of the back of my head and the clue in my hands. Geez. I really needed a deep conditioning treatment. And maybe Ishould have an inch or so trimmed off the bottom of my hair while I was at it.

“So, when do we go?” Nick said, and I stood.

I looked at him. “Oh, no. I said I’d show you the clue and I did. I can’t take you with me on this scav-enger hunt. It would be too risky. Too dangerous.”

He flipped his cell phone open. “Let’s see. Where’s Uncle Rick on the directory?”

I snatched the phone from him. “You can’t come!” I said. “You’re just a kid!”

“Exactly,” the kid said. “And no one would think anything about you taking a kid up the Snowbowl, right? You’d attract less attention than you would if you went alone. I’m thinking people would look at you a lot more if you were alone. Who goes to a place like that all by themselves? Only people without boyfriends who are lonely and miserable,” he said. He put a hand to his forehead and made a letter L. “You know. Losers.”

I shook my head. Genetics. “I suppose you might have a point,” I told him. “But you will do exactly what I tell you to when I tell you to do it. Understand? And just so you know, this is a one-time partnership, pal, and one time only. Agreed? Or I’ll spill the beans about your little shenanigans the other night—plus tell Taylor you have naughty little dreams about her. Got it? Pal?”

He blushed but nodded.

“Good. Now our first hurdle is how to convince your folks that I actually want to spend time with you,” I said, and I could swear the brat boy got a hurt look on his face. “Hey, I was kidding,” I said. “I do that.”

He raised a supercilious brow.

“What about Kelsey? She’ll want to go, too,” I added. “She thinks I’m cool.” I sighed. “It’s hard to be a role model,” I said, and Nick snorted.

“Kelsey went shopping again,” he relayed with some disgust. “Girls shop all the time. I don’t get it. All that walking just to try on stupid clothes. Booorrring.”

“Okay, you go up and get ready and meet me back down here in fifteen minutes. And bring something warm. It can get nippy up at the top. I need to arrange our transportation.”

Nick nodded. “Ten-four,” he said, and ran to the el-evators. “And you better be here when I come back down or I’ll tell everyone you slept with Grandpa Joe! And liked it!”

Darn that little perv. And I was so close.

I got up, looking down at Kookamunga. I really didn’t want to drag him up to the top of the Snowbowl and back down. “You’ve done well, my warrior,” I said, tapping him on the head. “You deserve a rest for your labors, my well-endowed friend.”

I hurried into the gift shop and came out with silver foil wrapping paper featuring adorable white bells and a roll of tape. I’d wrap Kooky up and stash him in the hotel room somewhere my gammy wouldn’t think to look, and he’d be ready for his unveiling come the wedding day!

I hurried to the hotel room. Time to rustle a set of wheels, and let the vision quest begin.

May the best spirit guide win!

I left a note on the bathroom mirror saying I’d taken Nick Townsend sightseeing and would be back soon, signing it with a big “T” and a happy face.

I met Nick in the parking lot.

“You did tell your folks you would be with me, right?” I asked.

“Sure. And they didn’t even freak out. All that much.”

“Good to hear,” I said, moving to Sophie’s car.

“Do you even know how to get to the Snowbowl?” Nick asked as we got in.

I shrugged. “I’m female and I’m blond. People ex-pect me to ask directions,” I said. “Frequently.”

He nodded. “I had a blond teacher once.”

“You did? Cool.”

“She was really pretty. The kids liked her, but I don’t think the parents did.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“My mom said she couldn’t add one and one and get two, and my dad said ‘Yeah, but with the two she does have, who cares?’ ”

Men.

This particular blonde—who eventually gets things to add up—only had to ask for directions three times before we found ourselves at the Snowbowl. I looked over at the kid beside me.

“You know, I really think the smartest thing would be for you to stay down here and guard the car so we can make a quick getaway if need be,” I said. “If any-one messes with you, you can call nine-one-one on the cell.”

He got a
Get real, blondie
look on his smug little kisser. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said, sounding old beyond his years. “We both know the minute you’re out of sight, I’m going to get my own ticket and follow you up any-way. So, think about it. A kid. On his own. In a strange state. A mysterious clue. Might be safer to take me.”

I eyeballed the Townsend troublemaker, knowing he had me. Even the blond teacher lacking math skills couldn’t argue with this logic.

“Fine,” I spat. “But remember, you do exactly what I say when I say to do it. No exceptions. And I’m seri-ous as a heart attack here,” I added. “Meaning deadly serious.”

He nodded.

We went to get our tickets. I paid for mine and stepped aside. The kid stared up at me.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.