Desert Heat (15 page)

Mike
didn’t buy it for a minute.

He
didn’t know Mallory that well, but he couldn’t feature her lying about
anything. From the minute he’d met her, she’d been straightforward and honest.
If she hadn’t made up a story, and none of his friends had tried to get her out
of the lodge, then who had done it? No one else was here.

His
buddy up the river at River Adventures had his rafts slashed one night. Ryan
couldn’t prove it, but he suspected the SRPL. They had shut him down, too. A
little more aggressive than Mike, he had a fist fight with one of their more
vocal supporters. Later, his rafts had been ripped to shreds with knives and
hatchets.

The
incident had scared Mike’s other neighbors enough they kept their mouths shut
and their heads down. He wasn’t afraid, but he didn’t antagonize them either.
Had one of them snuck in at night and knocked on Mallory’s door, thinking it
was his? The possibility sent a shiver down his back. If so, the group had gone
beyond trouble. They were now endangering lives.

And maybe not for the first time.

Had
one of them found Wendell Wallace digging up the desert and hit him? The SRPL
was rabid in their desire to protect the river and the land surrounding it.
Wallace might not have known about them or that he wasn’t supposed to be on
that area of public land until the matter was solved. The possibility was a
long shot, but there might be enough merit to it that Mike made a mental note
to talk to Sheriff
Bodine
about it in the morning

Chapter
Fifteen

Mallory
rose
early and found Sandra Weeks in the phone book.
She dialed and waited for several rings before a woman with a light, sweet
voice answered. “Hello?”

 
“Uh, hi.”
Now that
she had the woman on the phone, Mallory couldn’t think of what to say.
“Sandra Weeks?”

 
“Yes, dear.
What can
I do for you?”

 
“My name is Mallory James and I was wondering
if I could ask you a few questions. Actually, I’m wondering if I could meet
your father. I think he may have known my father and I would like to meet him.”
Mallory twisted a pen in her hand.

 
“Oh, dear.
My papa
passed away last year. But I’ve been expecting to hear from you.”

 
“What? What did you say?” Mallory took the
phone from her ear and shook it, then placed it next to her ear again. “I think
I heard you wrong. You said you’ve been waiting to speak to me.”

 
“That’s right, dear. My papa told me you’d be
calling when Skeeter died. Oh, dear. This call means he died, doesn’t it?” Her
quiet voice sounded sad.

 
“Yes,” Mallory managed. “Skeeter died a few
days ago. How did you know? I don’t understand.”

 
“I prefer not to talk over the phone, dear,”
Sandra said. “Come to four-o-nine Cactus Court in Phoenix at promptly ten
a.m.
We’ll have brunch and I’ll answer
all your questions then.”

The
line went dead.

Mallory
pinched her leg to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “Ouch.”

She
looked at the clock8:00
A.M.
Not
a lot of time to get ready and find her way to Sandra’s house. She jumped up
and showered. A few minutes later she threw on a pair of jeans and a dark brown
silk top she liked and ran a brush through her hair. She ran down the hall and
knocked on Mike’s door.

He
opened in a flash. Like her, he had just showered. The ends of his blond hair
shimmered in the light and she had a sudden wish to touch them. “Can I borrow a
car? I have to meet someone in an hour.”

To
her surprise he shook his head. “Not covered by insurance. I had to cancel most
of the policies. But I can take you wherever it is you want to go.”

The
last thing she wanted was to go anywhere with him, but whatever Sandra had to
say outweighed her reservations. “I need to be in Phoenix in an hour and a half
for brunch.”

He
reached on the table near the door and grabbed his keys. “Let’s go.”

Mallory
told Mike where they were going and why as they drove into Phoenix. He didn’t
make much comment, only listened.

~*~

At
exactly 10:00
a.m.
they stood in
front of a Spanish-style bungalow. Palm and oleander trees shaded the red
gravel walk. Mallory rang the doorbell and waited.

Soon,
someone tiny with dark eyes peered through a window set within the door. “Miss
James?”

 
“Yes. And this is—”

 
“
Mikey
. Yes, I
know.” The peephole closed and a tiny, hunchbacked lady opened the main door.
“Come in.”

Mallory
glanced at Mike. He shook his head and lifted his hands palms up in
a who
knows gesture. Together, they stepped inside. For a
minute she thought she’d entered another realm.
Or at least
another country.
The house looked like something a Spanish aristocrat
might own with lots of red velvet and brocade everywhere.

 
“Miss Weeks?” Mallory asked. The woman wore a mid-calf
black lace dress and a mantilla folded over the back of her steel gray hair.
Her shoes were two-inch spike heels that brought her almost up to Mike’s chest.

 
“Yes, dear.
You don’t
look a thing like your father.” She tipped her head much like a small rodent
might and studied Mike. “And this is
Mikey
. I see you
don’t remember me. My dear papa was the head horse wrangler at The Jumping
Cholla when your parents first bought it. I used to go out and visit dear Papa.
You were always so sweet the way you’d go trekking off through the desert. You
were about ten or so.
Many years ago.”

He
smiled at her. “I remember now.”

 
“Yes, dear.”
She
waved a hand toward the back. “Let’s sit on the patio and catch up. I can tell
Miss James is anxious to hear about her father.” She turned and led the way
through an immaculate, but overdone, house to a fenced-in backyard. A fountain
bubbled in a corner near the wall. On a table there were cereal, bananas, and a
carton of milk. Alongside them
was
an expensive
looking silver tea set and china bowls, tea cups, and saucers. “I hope this
will do. I just don’t have company these days.”

 
“It’s perfect,” Mallory assured her.

Mike
waited until she and Sandra were seated, then pushed them in and sat. They
waited for Sandra to shake out a lace napkin and serve herself before they
helped themselves to cereal. She sliced a banana on top of hers with surgical
precession. Finally, she took a bite.

 
“How is your father?” Mike asked.

Sandra
set her spoon aside. “He passed last year, sweet old dear.”

 
“I’m sorry,” Mike said. “I didn’t know.”

 
“Yes, he lost touch with most of his old
friends.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor Papa didn’t have many friends. But
Skeeter stuck around.”

 
“My father stayed in touch with your papa when
he was in the nursing home?” Mallory toyed with her cereal. “They were that
good of friends?”

Sandra’s
eyes narrowed to slits.
“Oh no, dear.
They weren’t
close. Skeeter didn’t have friends. He had acquaintances that he might or might
not speak to. He liked to talk to Papa because he thought Papa might know
something about lost treasure. Skeeter never quit hounding my poor papa about
those damn myths until the day he died.”

Her
appetite gone, Mallory whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

 
“Of course you didn’t, dear. Your father
abandoned you when you were a little girl. You can’t be held responsible for
his obsession.” Sandra clicked her tongue against her teeth.

 
“How did you know that?” Mallory’s throat felt
like she’d swallowed something sharp, as if cut glass scraped across her
tonsils.

 
“Because your father talked
freely about you and your mother.
He dreamed of finding a big strike and
going home to the hero’s welcome.” Sandra took a bite of cereal and chewed.
“But if you’re here, that tells me that didn’t happen.”

 
“No. He died with nothing,” Mike said. “Well,
nothing but a burro and a map.”

 
“Then the map was worthless,” Sandra said. “My
papa told him so, but Skeeter wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Mallory
stared at her. “What map, Miss Weeks?”

Sandra
swallowed. “Many, many years ago my dear papa found a map in one of the
saddlebags of an old unused saddle at The Jumping Cholla. He thought it might
be a treasure map of sorts and he used to search a little on his free time. But
he never found a thing.”

 
“How did Skeeter know about it?” Mike sat on
the edge of his seat.

 
“I can’t say for sure,” Sandra said. “All I
know is when Papa finally gave in and handed it over, Skeeter never came back
again. Papa told me you’d be next to come when Skeeter died, asking questions
too.”

 
“I’m nothing like my father.” Mallory’s temper
flared a little. “Are you like yours?”

 
“Of course, dear.
The
fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, after all.” She waved her spoon and
cackled. “See this house? My dear papa didn’t find anything, but I did.”

 
“Are you saying you found the gold your own
father and Skeeter
couldn’t
?” Mallory gaped at her.

 
“Why do you look so surprised?” She smiled. “I
wasn’t always an old woman and I learned well.”

 
“Your father gave Skeeter a worthless piece of
paper because you’d already found the loot?” Mike sounded as skeptical as
Mallory felt.

She
chuckled again. “Why would my dear papa give away the only thing he ever had to
Skeeter? What was he to him?
Nothing but a pest who hung around
wanting something that wasn’t his.”

 
“Technically, the map wasn’t your father’s
either,” Mike reminded with a hint of a bite in his voice. “It was ranch
property.”

 
“Papa found the map long before your family ever
came to The Cholla,” Sandra said. “And I guess the previous owners can sue me
if they like.”

 
“Did your father ever talk about the map with
anyone else?” Mallory asked. “Did he promise it to any other person besides my
father?”

Sandra
frowned. “My dear papa had the heart of a king, but the pockets of a pauper. He
promised many things to many people.”

 
“So, in other words, he did tell others they
could have the map,” Mallory said. “Do you know who?”

 
“I couldn’t say,” Sandra said. “Papa talked a
lot when he was sick. But by that time it didn’t matter. I had
beat
them all.”

 
Sandra looked very satisfied with herself.
Maybe Skeeter deserved what he got, but all Mallory felt was an overwhelming
sadness. Her father had spent half of his life chasing a dream that someone
else found first. She pushed her chair back. “I think I’ve heard enough, Miss
Weeks. Thank you for your time.”

 
“Wait a minute.” Mike looked at Sandra. “I
would like to know where you found this treasure. And why didn’t you tell the
press? Half of Arizona has been tearing up the desert looking for the Lost
Dutchman. If you found it, as you say, why didn’t you take the glory?”

 
She smiled. “Who said I found the Lost
Dutchman? Did I say anything about that old fable? There is more than one lost
treasure in the desert. And where it was is for me to know and nobody else to
find out. I don’t need fame when I have the money.”

Mallory
stood. “Enjoy the money, Miss Weeks. Thank you for your time.”

 
“Any time, Miss, any time.
And
Mikey
.
Always a pleasure.”
She took another bite of cereal. “You don’t mind showing yourselves out, do
you?”

Mallory
waited until she was in the car until she said, “Do you believe one word of
that?”

Mike
started the Durango. “I don’t know. She lives well enough. Wranglers, even head
wranglers, don’t make that much money. I don’t think Gentleman Jim ever had
much more than a saddle and an old pickup.”

Fighting
tears, she asked, “Was Skeeter really like that? Willing to harass an old man
on his deathbed?”

Mike
didn’t answer for a minute. She watched him through misty eyes as he struggled
to answer her. “I didn’t see him that way. He was just an old man who had a
dream and he followed it.”

 
“At any cost.”
Mallory couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Home,
family, friends.
Nothing mattered but Skeeter.”

 
“You heard Sandra,” Mike said. “She said
Skeeter talked about you and your mother and how he wanted to find the big
strike to come home to you with something to show for his trouble. That’s not
someone who doesn’t care at all.”

Mallory
considered his words. Had Sandra said one thing true thing? Mallory had no way
to know. “I would have much rather had him that the stupid money. Why couldn’t
he see that?”

 
“I don’t know.” Mike shut off the engine.

She
sniffed. “Neither do
I
.”

 
“Does it matter that much?” Mike’s voice was
kind. “You’ve lived most of your life without Skeeter and you’ve made it. Why
are you tearing yourself up over a man who wasn’t there for you in your
childhood or your teens? Did he stop you from becoming a wonderful young woman?
He lost a lifetime with you. If he takes one minute more, then you lose, not
Skeeter.”

His
words, so simple, rang true. She swiped at a tear. “I know.”

With
a gentle touch, he turned her chin toward him. He looked into her eyes. “Don’t
let him matter anymore, Mallory.”

She
saw the compassion there and she gravitated toward it.

He
met her halfway, his lips brushing over hers in a light touch.

No
questions, no urging her for more. Her tears dried as he smoothed away the hurt
with soft, tender kisses. She lifted her hands and cupped the back of his neck.
His hair brushed her thumbs and she raised them, eager to feel the texture. She
massaged his knotted neck with her fingers. He moaned a little and she smiled
against his lips.

How
could a kiss do so much? Somewhere, she wished she knew, but she didn’t dwell
on the puzzle. Instead she let his mouth coax her to forget anything but him.
She inhaled his scent—natural and clean—like the desert he loved so much. Not
even the slight odor of soap or shampoo lingered on him. Mallory closed her
eyes and parted her lips a little.

He
touched her tongue with his and she angled her head so he could have better
access. Expecting him to take advantage of the moment, disappointment swelled in
her when he pulled away instead. Her eyes opened. He was so close she could see
the tiny spot he’d missed shaving.

 
“When I kiss you again I want you thinking
about me, not your father,” he said.