Calamity Jayne Heads West (20 page)

“How could you?” I hissed at Raphael, cradling Nick against me. “He’s only a child!”

Raphael started shaking his head, his long hair fly-ing back and forth.

“I did not!” he yelled. “I did not touch the kid! I swear. Not like that!”

“He did! He did! He groped me!” Nick wailed. “And he squeezed!”

I blinked. Wow, the kid had the instincts for improv.

“Have you no decency?” I said, doing my part, back-ing Nick and myself toward the door. “A poor, de-fenseless boy!”

Raphael took another step in my direction but the big, burly guy we’d commented on earlier stepped up behind Raphael and grabbed him in a
you ain’t goin’
nowhere, bub
armlock.

Seeing our chance to scram, I drew Nick out the door and we ran to the loading platform for our own shuttle take-off. I shoved several other couples waiting in line aside and moved to the front.

“Please, my ex is after our son! He’s abusive and not allowed to see little Tobias, but he followed us here! Please, let us through!”

We bustled to the head of the line and planted our butts in the seats as the lift came by.

“Hey, aren’t you a little young to have a kid that old?” one patron observed, and I smiled back at him as we went airborne.

“And aren’t you a sweet man for noticing,” I said. “Mmmwaa!” I blew him a kiss.

“Tobias?” Nick said, with a look up at me.

I shrugged. “I’ve always thought if I had a son I’d name him Tobias and call him Toby for short,” I said, a bit choked up at the thought of having a child of my own—and not all due to sentimentality. “What do you think?”

“I think he’d get his butt kicked a lot,” Nick said.

“Good to know,” I replied. “Good to know.”

The twenty-five minute ride down the mountain seemed to go a darned sight slower than it did on the way up. I kept twisting around in the seat to check be-hind me.

“Who was that guy? Do you think he followed us? Is he dangerous? Do you think he’s good-looking? How come he has girl hair?” Nick’s questions flew like flam-ing arrows.

I shook my head. “He’s a bad man,” I said. “A very, very bad man.” Anyone who would spout poetic prose while pinching a designer purse was downright evil. Evil through and through. “But he does have a lovely head of hair,” I conceded.

We finally touched down and I was more than ready to get the heck out of Dodge and back to the relative safety of a large, historic hotel with security and those lovely little devices on the room doors that kept house-keeping from walking in on you when you were show-ering, sleeping, or dressing.

The lift operator at the bottom lifted the bar that kept us from falling out and thanked us.

“Let’s go!” I yelled as we jogged through the park-ing lot toward Sophie’s car. A short burst of accelera-tion from behind me was the only warning I had before a car pulled alongside me and a hand whipped out, wrenching my backpack from my shoulder and al-most pulling my arm out of its socket in the process.

The backpack strap caught on my wristwatch and I felt myself being dragged car-side along the parking lot, the toes of my new Skechers scuffing along the pavement and the legs of my jeans creating enough friction to burn at the contact with the cement.

“Let go!” I heard from inside the car. “Drop it!”

I looked frantically at the driver and was shocked and terrified when a frightening white kachina mask stared back at me.

I wanted to make some smart-mouthed remark, but found my breath taken up by a long series of terrified screams as I struggled to free myself from the bag be-fore I found myself towed out into Flagstaff traffic.

The car dragged me for another twenty feet before I managed to unclasp my watch and free my arm. I tum-bled to the pavement, the impact sending me rolling ass over appendages across the parking lot until I smacked into the bumper of a shiny new Prius.

I sat, stunned but relatively unhurt except for cuts and scrapes. Nick ran up and crouched beside me.

“Wow, that was awesome the way that guy dragged you along beside him. What did it feel like? Was it scary? Did you think you were gonna die? Wow! That was the schizz!”

The lengths one had to go to impress kids these days.

“We need to keep moving,” I said. “That goon could come back and his partner, Slick, is probably on his way down as we speak.” I took a deep breath and winced as I leaned on Nick to get to my feet.

“Are you all right, Tressa?” the squirt finally thought to ask. I nodded.

“The only thing hurt is my pride. And my Skechers will never be the same,” I said, looking at the scraped and battered toes. “And I just bought them. The bas-tards.” I retrieved the key from my pants pocket and un-locked the car and we got in.

“He got the clue, didn’t he?” Nick said. I nodded.

“The bastard,” Nick said and I winced. I hoped Nick wouldn’t tell anyone where he’d heard that little gem.

I started the car and burned an excessive amount of Sophie’s tire rubber exiting the parking lot. I shrugged. From what I could see, she could afford new tires.

I looked over and noticed the dejected look on Nick’s face at the realization that our little adventurehad come to an abrupt end. I wasn’t about to en-lighten him otherwise.

It seemed I’d landed smack dab in the middle of a southwestern amazing race where my competitors were playing for keeps. And me? I was stuck with a mouthy munchkin with way too much Townsend ’tude for my comfort.

Yep. This had all the earmarks of a notable event in American history.

Custer’s Last Stand.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I made good on the runt’s Happy Meal on the way back to the hotels. Neither of us appeared to have much of an appetite, but I didn’t want the tyke to dine by his lonesome, so I got a burger, fries and a shake to go. You know. Just to be a bud. We ate our meals in rel-ative silence.

I dropped the kid off at the hotel, making sure he got delivered safely into the hands of his mother.

I wasn’t looking forward to facing Sophie after tak-ing off with her car, but I decided after she heard the latest update on just what Kookamunga had really kept under wraps, she’d be as hooked as I was by the latest development. And as eager to solve this prickly pear of a puzzle.

More than anything I wanted to hunt down a certain ranger and flaunt my
I told you sos
in his skeptical face.

Of course, that probably meant admitting that I had inadvertently put his nephew at risk. I chewed a fin-gernail. Hmmm. Let’s see. Was lording my superiordetecting skills over Ranger Rick Townsend really worth the butt chewing I’d get in return?

You bet your tomahawk it was.

I made my way to the gift shop to pick up a back-pack to replace the one I’d lost. I shook my head when the only one they had was a youth-sized bag with a weird-looking, hairy midget pig on it that I learned was called a javelina. I made my purchase, voicing my concern with their limited selection of backpacks, and headed through the rustic lobby I’d moped around in just hours earlier, when I caught the sunlight reflect-ing off a familiar head of blue hair and spotted my grandma sitting on a red-cushioned couch in a corner of the expansive room. Seated next to her was none other than former stage and screen star and spiritual advisee, Gloria Grant.

Talk about being early for a wedding, I thought, amending my planned route and hurrying over to them. As I wandered closer, I recognized the balding head of Gram’s fiancé, Joe Townsend, occupying a nearby chair, one leg swung over the other as he fol-lowed the exchange between the two women. I plopped down in the seat next to him.

“Hey Joe, whatdya know?” I greeted my step-grandpappy-to-be with one of my usual salutations.

“Tressa Jayne! Where have you been?” my gammy scolded me. “Rick’s been looking all over for you.” She looked at the state of my attire. “Glad he didn’t find you,” she said, shaking her head. “You remember Glo-ria here, don’t you? She’s come for the wedding,” Gram added.

“Uh, isn’t that auspicious event still a day or so off?” I asked.

Gloria nodded and picked up a glass of what looked like white wine from a nearby table and took a sip. “I decided I needed a change of scenery,” she said. “Andafter I lunched with your entertaining group and Han-nah here extended an invitation, I said, why not get away for a few days? I dug out your card, saw The Titan and knew this was the place to get away from it all and attend the wedding of a new friend. I just love this ho-tel. It brings back memories of some very good times,” she said with a slight tilt of her eyebrow. “I love the sense of history here. And although I do love the amenities of a luxury hotel, there are times my soul yearns for a simpler existence.” She sighed and took another sip from her glass.

I fought the urge to grin. Somehow I couldn’t see Gloria Grant starring in
The Simple Life
. I looked over at Joltin’ Joe Townsend, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet since I sat down, to find the same rapt expression on his face as he stared at Gloria that I get when I pull out a bag of DoubleStuf Oreos from the pantry and a quart of fresh white milk from my fridge and set them on my kitchen table. Or when I watch my horses mix it up on a frosty fall morning, their flared nostrils emit-ting white puffs, tails raised in high-spirited fun.

I took a quick peek to see if Gram had noticed Joe was majorly in need of a drool bib, but she seemed oblivious to his thrall. I shook his arm.

“Earth to Joe. Earth to Joe,” I said in a low voice. “Please replace your peepers before a certain hellion we both know and love discovers yours have popped out and are rolling about on the floor at Gloria Grant’s feet.”

Joe pulled his attention away from the star and looked over at me. “Nice backpack,” he said. “Is that supposed to be a pig? When’d you get here?”

I shook my head. “It’s actually a peccary,” I said. “And aren’t we living a wee bit dangerously?” I asked.

“Whatdya mean?” he asked, and I reached over and removed his glasses and looked through the lenses.

“Just as I suspected,” I said. “Fogging up.”

He grabbed them back from me and put them on his nose. “Gee, guess we’ve got the wedding entertain-ment covered after all, since Ellen DeGeneres had to cancel on us,” he commented, staring at me. “What in Hades happened to you? You look like you went a few rounds with a prickly pear. Or was it a prickly person?”

“Actually I’m onto a story out here that could just win me some national exposure. Of the literary kind,” I elaborated.

“Oh, yeah? Let me guess. Extra, extra, read all about it. ‘
Granny gets more rolls in the hay than overly cautious
cowgirl granddaughter.
’ Some story. Bet that’ll get picked up by the wire for sure.”

“How about this headline? ‘Groom Gutted For Mak-ing Goo-goo Eyes at Guest.’ ” I tapped a cheek. “By the way, does your fiancée know you sometimes call her ‘Granny?’ ” I asked. “And does she know you have a thing for Ms. Grant there?” I added.

He shook his head and turned his attention to Gloria and my grandma. I smiled. I loved hassling Townsend men.

“So, Gloria, did Gram tell you about our sixty-second consultation with Cadence?” I asked. “I hate to break it to you, but the woman is a little screwy,” I added.

Gloria nodded. “Hannah described your appoint-ment. I am so sorry. I can’t think what got into Ca-dence. I’ve never had a disappointing session with her. I swear by her advice.”

“That’s nice. You and Gram have something in com-mon then,” I said. “ ’Cause she was doin’ some swearin’ of her own when we left The Spiritual Boutique,” I told Gloria.

“I just can’t understand what happened. Cadence is usually dead-on in her counseling. She says I need toget outside my comfort zone in my own journey for self-fulfillment and renewal. She insists I need a mis-sion. A cause. That’s what I’m trying to do. Find a cause. She thinks if I can prove to myself I can take a stand and find the power from within, I can achieve anything I set out to do. Even the rebirth of a career. I’m sorry your experience with Cadence was a nega-tive one. I hope she didn’t charge you.”

I shook my head. “No. In fact, I almost got the feel-ing she’d have paid us to leave the place,” I said. “Still, that’s not entirely without precedent,” I added. “She acted . . . I don’t know, scared. Definitely weirded me out.”

“She might have been receiving negative energy from one of you,” Gloria said. “Or saw something in your futures or lives disturbing to her. Sometimes when that happens, Cadence shuts down.”

“It was Tressa!” my gramma shouted. “She had hold of Tressa when she went all ‘woo-hooo’ on us. Said all kinds of gibberish, too. Stuff about secrets and truth and death and redemption. Oh, and she had one of them orgasmic experiences at the end, too, I’m pretty sure,” Gram said. “Don’t you think so, Tressa?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t touching that line with a ten-foot totem pole.

“That
is
strange,” Gloria said, assessing me with an odd look of her own. “Very strange.”

Remembering the necklace around my neck and a certain clue burning a hole in my pocket and waiting to be deciphered, I got to my feet.

“Well, it’s been real,” I said, “but I need to clean up. I’ll see you up in the room, Gram,” I said, bending down to give her a peck on an Oiled of Olay cheek. “Nice to see you again, Miss Grant,” I said and took the hand she raised.

“Gloria,” she said and smiled. “Call me Gloria.”

I nodded. “Gloria, it is.” I turned back to Joe. “Don’t you take it into your head to have one last fling, there, big boy,” I whispered in his ear, squeezing his shoul-der. “Remember, my gammy’s partial to pepper spray and has been known to pack heat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, girlie,” Joe said, and I headed for the showcase staircase that led to the rooms of the sprawling old lodge.

Meanwhile I had a heap big riddle to solve. Then it was on to the next leg of the race. And the clock—as in most good thrillers—was ticking.

I hurried to the hotel room and let myself in, stop-ping short when I saw Taylor stretched out on one of the beds, her laptop beside her.

“Oh hey, Taylor,” I said. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” I said, wondering how I was going to decode my latest clue with my critical little sis looking on.

“Where did you expect me to be?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Jogging. Hiking. Sightseeing. Babysit-ting our gramma. You know. Something that burns calories,” I told her.

She sat up. “I should be asking where you’ve been. You look like you’re ready for the last roundup.” She frowned. “What on earth happened to your shoes? Weren’t those brand-new?”

It was my turn to frown. “You’re damn right they were!” I said before I could stop myself. I have a serious, long-term attachment to my footwear. Could you tell?

Taylor got a suspicious look in her eyes. “So, why do they look like a Rottweiler took a fancy to them?” she asked. She bent over to take a closer look. “Are those rocks?” she said, pointing to the pebbles embedded into the toes of the sad little shoes.

“When I get tired, I drag my feet,” I said. “I know where Gram is, but where is Sophie?” I asked, chang-ing the subject.

“She said something about filing a police report on a stolen vehicle,” Taylor said, and I blinked.

“Sophie knew I had her car,” I said.

Taylor nodded. “No doubt accounting for the ner-vous tic accompanied by mild hysteria,” she said, and I made a face.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to answer a call of na-ture,” I said. “But we can bond more later.” I flashed her a half smile and hurried to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me, put the seat of the toilet down, and sat. I pulled out my digital camera and punched up the pictures of the scroll I’d hurriedly taken. I frowned. My photographic skills made Kelsey’s shots appear
Vogue
-quality in comparison. Of course, I wasn’t dealing with a subject who loved the camera like Kelsey.

I adjusted the view, zooming in on the written note. I brought the phone eye-level. I read it out loud.

“ ‘Sit back and prepare for a wild water ride. You won’t get wet but you’ll enjoy the thrill all the same. With plenty of company—up to 523 others can share the experience—snake eyes will hold the key to your next test.’ ”

I shook my head. Nothing. I read it again.

“Uh, who are you talking to, Tressa?” Taylor asked through the bathroom door.

“I’m reading the hotel literature,” I said. “Did you know that the eclectic architecture of The Titan is a combination of the Swiss Chalet and Norway Villa?” I asked, setting the camera down and removing the neck-lace from underneath my blouse. I stood and moved to the mirror. A shell with a turquoise inlaid pendant, the necklace was simple yet striking. I cocked my head.

The turquoise set off the blue in my eyes. And brought out the dirt smudges on my face and chaos of my coiffure. Trés chic.

“Nice,” I said. “Very nice.”

“Tressa, what is going on in there?” Taylor rattled the doorknob.

“Duh. The process of elimination,” I responded, flushing the toilet. “What do you think is going on?”

I admired myself for a few more minutes, washed away the facial reminders of my tug of war with a three-ton automobile, and wondered what signifi-cance the necklace held. I stared at it a few seconds longer.

What tale did it have to tell? What secrets was it meant to shed light on? I waited for a message to show up like on a Magic 8-Ball, but got nothing.

I sighed, tried to figure out a safe place to put it, and decided that place was still around my neck so I tucked it back underneath my shirt. I took several ad-ditional minutes to copy the clue down on a notepad and stick it back in my Harry Javelina bag.

I opened the door.

“If I told you I was going to take you on a wild water ride that you could share with five hundred and twenty-three other people but where you wouldn’t get one bit wet, could you guess where I wanted to take you?” I asked Taylor, deciding I needed to call upon her admittedly higher intelligence.

She gave me a long look. “You want to take
me
some-where?” she asked.

I nodded. “I told you I wanted some bonding time,” I reminded her.

“So why the guessing game?”

“To make it fun and entertaining.”

“I’m supposed to be entertained?”

“You will be if you go along. So what place in the area am I thinking of that takes you and five hundred twenty-three other people on the same wild ride with-out breaking a sweat?” I asked.

“You want to take me to the Grand Canyon IMAX Theater?” she asked.

I stared at her. “I do?” I asked.

Taylor blinked several times. Blink. Blink. In rapid succession.

“I mean, I do! I do!” I said, my brain taking some time to play catch up and realize that Taylor had cracked the clue without even knowing about it. Fig-ures. Miss Overachiever. “That is exactly what I want to do with my favorite sister,” I said.

“You mean only sister,” she muttered. She gave me one of those I-wish-I-had-X-ray-vision-so-I-could-see-right- through-you looks and tilted her head to one side. “And you actually want the two of us—you and me—to go sightseeing together?” she asked.

I shrugged. “What can I say? Native American cul-ture values and reveres familial connections and ties. And with all the talk about finding balance in one’s life, what better place to try and establish that kindling warmth of kinship?” I asked, hoping I sounded whim-sical and poetic.

From Taylor’s expression, I hadn’t succeeded.

Okay, so the competitive cowgirl in me mostly was looking for someone to ride shotgun just in case the bad guys figured out the clue and showed up at the visitors center to check out the same wild ride. But the big sis in me earnestly did want to reach out and connect with my sibling in some meaningful—and lasting—way. I bet you never realized what a complex individual I am. Did you?