Desert Exposure (5 page)

“And, Detective Delaney, I’ll even fill you in on the history of Almagro,” she said, matching his stride. “There’s not much I don’t know about these parts.”

“Call me Michael.”

She looked up at him. “Okay, sure, Michael. Oh, and can you lose the gun…and the holster? Put it in the glove compartment or something? I mean, it’s breakfast.”

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the number of the incoming caller. “Excuse me a moment. I need to give Manuel some work instructions.”

Michael heard her explain how she needed to put the truck in for service, a few other things about office work, and something about lemons, and peanuts. He walked too close to be able to block out the conversation entirely, but he tried to concentrate on other things and give her some privacy.

“Don’t expect me until late. Real late,” she said, and then she shut off the cell phone and put it in her backpack.

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. She was petite but matched his stride well. And her body size made him feel taller. He reminded himself to stay focused. He was off duty. It wasn’t a date; just following up, that’s all. After watching her get into the truck, he threw his jacket into the back seat of the Hummer, and then followed her to the auto repair shop.

“Sorry about the gun and holster,” he said when she climbed into his passenger seat. “They can’t be left in the glove compartment. That’s against the rules of the department.”

“Oh.” She shot him a quick glance. “You wear it even when you’re off duty?”

“If it’s with me…yes…the gun is my responsibility.”

****

Rachel took another bite of the bagel, and loaded up her fork with scrambled eggs. Okay, so no way this was a date or anything. Not if he wore the gun. She’d thought being an undercover cop he’d have kept it hidden.

She looked around the diner. Maybe when he was here in Indio, he had to be Detective Michael. Undercover, he could be somebody quite different.

They’d already talked about the Salton Sea while they’d ordered and waited for their meals, and she’d been acutely aware Michael had already done extensive research on the entire Coachella Valley. She watched him devour his breakfast. For a wiry guy he could sure pack in the calories.

Is he really looking for information on the sea, or on the Copelands?
He probably suspected her motives for being at the Salton Sea, and she was still being interrogated under the guise of friendship. She looked across the table and watched him slip a small piece of bacon to Ralph. The dog had even chosen to sit next to Michael’s chair. What a traitor.

“This is fabulous,” Michael said, catching her gaze. He lifted a fork full of hash browns to his mouth. “I like José’s diner.”

“Yeah, and they like us, don’t they Ralph?” She grinned at Ralph, and then realized she also liked watching Michael eat.

He ducked his head, and continued with his breakfast.

She liked
him
, which surprised her. With Grandpa missing, this was not the right time to become intrigued by a guy. But he had a beautiful mouth. He caught her in the act of staring again, and held her gaze for a second. His eyes were Siberian Husky’s eyes: clear, pale blue, and totally focused. She almost shivered.

“This place is packed,” he said, waving his fork around.

“It always is.”

He stabbed another piece of bacon. “Not a vacant booth anywhere inside.”

Rachel nodded. It had been an intense moment, looking so deeply into his eyes, and now they were back to small talk. Any moment now he’d say something about the weather. People always talked about the weather when they had nothing to say, or if they needed to fill an awkward pause in the conversation.

She sat back, and looked around Jose’s patio. The diner had become popular with the local workmen, crews like landscapers, exterminators, repairmen, and they’d all stop in early. When they left, the mothers would arrive after having dropped the kids at school. The sliding door opened, and a harried looking woman dragging one young whining kid, and one blubbering toddler propped on her hip, walked out and searched the patio for a table. Rachel looked at her watch. She hadn’t realized it was so late in the day.

“Henry was your maternal grandfather, right?” Michael asked.

“Is,” she said with emphasis and narrowed her eyes, knowing they must reflect anger, and fear.
What is it with everyone
? The entire PD acted like Grandpa’s disappearance had been a homicide. She put her silverware onto the plate making a bit of a racket, and then stiffened her shoulders. “There’s no proof he’s dead.”

“Sorry. Look,” Michael said, with what seemed like an apologetic shrug. “I heard about his case, but I haven’t had a chance to review the file, except for that quick glance this morning.”

She pressed her lips tight for a moment. “I know,” she mumbled. “It’s not your fault…I …I worry, and it seems I can’t find out anything.”

“I will, when I get back on duty. He only owned one vehicle, right?”

“Yes.” A few seconds ticked by and he seemed to be monitoring her every facial movement. She pushed the hair off her forehead. “He only believed in owning one of everything. I’ve been over this with the cops.”

“I understand. But, tell me about your grandfather. What kind of man is he? What does he do? Who could he have ticked off?”

“A lot of people,” Rachel said, with a half-hearted laugh.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Well, he’s always getting into someone’s face about something.”

“He’s, ah…an activist of sorts, isn’t he?”

Rachel almost sighed. How did one explain Grandpa Henry to a stranger? She took in a deep breath, then blew it out. She moved her plate to one side, folded her hands, and leaned forward. “Grandpa loves the Salton Sea. He’s been instrumental in getting government grants to revitalize some of the area. He’s a nature lover.”

Michael nodded, and took another bite of his food.

“He’s a well-known black-and-white photographer, and he’s been a large part of the community for—” she said, and then shrugged. “I suppose for more than fifty years.”

“So.” Michael tilted his head. “He spoke out against anyone who put down the place?”

“Yes. But he’s a bit of a hermit, and an independent soul. He attracts all kinds of characters.”

“Are you saying criminal element?”

“No.” She thought about that for a couple of moments. “No. But he would often take in drifters, mostly artists down on their luck.” She looked away for a second. “You know, for a day or two. He’d help them get back on their feet. Or let them use the shower, and then give them a good meal. He’s an excellent cook.”

She took a huge breath. Why be over-protective of Grandpa Henry? Everyone in these parts knew about him anyway. Michael could get this information anywhere, even the PD. They had a file on Henry as tall as her. Small stuff really: Disturbing the peace by organizing protests without a permit, or partying too hard, or for growing a marijuana plant, which he’d assured everyone he thought was a weed. But still, she loved Grandpa and didn’t want to seem disloyal.

“He called them lost souls, and…” She shrugged off her thoughts, not wanting to dwell on who might have linked up with him with the intention of hurting him. The noise level had gone up considerably in the last ten minutes, and her head pounded. She wanted to get the heck out, go home, and be alone with her thoughts and memories. She leaned forward again, not quite catching what Michael had said. “What?”

“Did he keep much cash in his cabin? Drugs?”

Rachel shook her head. “Not anymore. He used to photograph for the Audubon Society, and for
National Geographic
.”

“Interesting.”

“There’s the Sonny Bono Wildlife Preserve down at the far end of the Sea. It’s almost to the Mexican border. He’d often go down there for weeks at a time.”

A look of recognition, or interest, flashed across Michael’s face. Rachel stiffened.

“No, forget whatever you’re thinking,” she said, and raised both hands and shook her head again. “He never went on location without telling me. Besides, he no longer trusted the truck to get him there and back. Lately I’ve been driving him.”

“He’d never go alone?”

“Nope. He lived by the boy scouts’ rule. You know, you always notify someone of where you’re going. If you get lost you stay put until someone finds you. Besides, he hadn’t been getting a lot of assignments in the past few years. He did a lot of walking, usually a couple of miles in either direction of the cabin.”

“Did he have a cell phone?”

Rachel grimaced.
“
He couldn’t afford one. I offered one as a gift, but he refused it.”

“So how did he survive…financially, I mean?”

“He owns the truck, and the cabin. He lived off his social security, and a small annuity. His only real expenses were for his darkroom.”

“Darkroom?” Michael frowned. “Does he have a studio?”

“Nope.” Rachel laughed at the memory of the first time she’d gone to see his famous darkroom. “He turned the one bathroom in the cabin into a darkroom, and bought an outdoor shower. You know, the type rich people have at poolside—”

“Could you take me there?”

Rachel put down her coffee mug. “Why?”

He stroked Ralph’s fur, and eyed her from across the table. “An idea, that’s all.”

“You think there’s a connection between those guys wanting my camera, and Grandpa Henry’s darkroom, don’t you?” she asked, her voice rising.

Had the PD removed any film or photographs Grandpa had been working on since she was there last? Had Michael seen something in his file? She’d avoided going back to the cabin after that first investigation, not wanting to spend her days in tears again. But now she needed to get into the darkroom as soon as possible and find out.

Michael gave her the most heartwarming and sympathetic look. He shook his head. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I’m not sure there’s any connection at all. But this morning, you may have taken photos of something the guy didn’t want you to see.”

“And now you think maybe Grandpa had done something similar.” Rachel nodded, and bit at her lower lip. Her thoughts were racing and colliding into each other. “It’s highly likely—”

“I didn’t say that,” Michael said. He shook his head and raised both hands.

“I know.” She ignored his exasperated gaze. “But I can tell by the light in your eyes.”

Michael’s lips twitched, and she sensed the smile he repressed.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “But I photographed geese. They were close-ups too, because I wanted to capture the water droplets as the birds hit the surface of the sea.” A few seconds elapsed, and then she sat up taller as the realization hit home, and her heart did a leap. “At least, geese are what I shot on the stolen camera, on the Leica…”

“What are you saying?” Michael leaned across the table, his fingertips brushing hers.

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her breath came faster. She leaned forward and grabbed Michael’s hands with both of hers, but had to pull in a quick breath or two before she could find her voice. “My digital,” she said. “Before shooting the bird photos, I had started to feel a bit emotional about…well, about Grandpa Henry.”

He nodded and squeezed her hands. “Go on.”

She could see the confusion flooding his face, and then she looked down at where she gripped his hands, and slowly withdrew hers. She cleared her throat. “I thought about how everything around the sea is dilapidated…I took a few shots with my small digital.”

“Which is where?”

“I put it in my windbreaker pocket. Oh, hell, I left it in the truck.”

“Let’s go.” Michael jumped up, and then signaled the waitress. He peeled off way too many bills from a wad he took out of his wallet, scooped up Ralph, took her by the elbow, and propelled her toward the sliding door. Her heart pounded, but this time with excitement instead of fear. Finally she felt closer to discovering what had happened to Grandpa than ever before.
He is alive
. She felt it in every cell in her body.

“Gotta run,” Michael said to the waitress, and handed her the cash.

The waitress’s eyes strayed to the gun in his holster.

“Great breakfast. We’ll be back again.”

The woman nodded, grinned at Rachel and pocketed the tip. They wove through the small crowd of customers still waiting for an indoor booth to open up, and were at the glass front door before Rachel heard the waitress call out in her sing-song voice, “Have a great day.”

She turned and gave her a quick wave. By the grin on the woman’s face, he’d probably given her the best tip of the year. Then José called out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his white apron, as he ducked his head to peer through the pickup window, “Adios, my friends.”

Rachel flashed him a big grin. She felt Michael’s hand move from her elbow to the small of her back as he urged her through the door.

“
Hasta la vista
, baby,” she called over her shoulder, as she always did.

Chapter Three

“I need to get the Hummer back to the PD parking lot,” Michael said, still propelling Rachel forward and thinking out loud. He knew he was onto something; a clue to do with cameras and film, but what, exactly?