Desert Lost (9781615952229) (6 page)

Before I could stop her, Rosella sniped, “Sorry to cause you guys so much paperwork.”

Deputy Short narrowed his eyes. Did he resent her smart mouth, or was he a polygamist sympathizer, as were so many men in the area, even cops?

I gave Rosella a stern look. “Sorry if my friend sounded rude, officer. She's in shock.”

His eyes didn't soften. “She doesn't look shocky to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

After they'd asked more questions I declined to answer, the deputies finally gave up and headed for the door, but not before Deputy Short delivered his parting shot. “By the way, Miss Jones, you'd have more luck seeing
antrozous pallidus
in Arizona.
Southern
Arizona.”

With that, he followed his partner into the cold night air.

Once they were gone, I jumped off the examining table, which brought a tired-looking nurse scurrying my side.

“Miss Jones, the doctor doesn't want you to leave yet!”

“I am anyway. And in case you're wondering, yes, I have insurance, so you won't get stuck with the bill.”

“I'm an ER nurse, not an admitting clerk,” she snapped. Then she relented. “Look, you need to take it easy with that arm. You're lucky the wound didn't involve major tissue damage, but the doctor still wants you to stay overnight for observation. He doesn't like that bump on your friend's head, either. You said she lost consciousness for a while?”

“My head's as fine as it's gonna get,” Rosella said. “We need to drive back to Phoenix.”

“
Not
advisable!” The nurse's jaw jutted forward in an expression that probably cowed most of her patients. But not us.

“Advisable or not, we're leaving.” With that, I wrapped my blood-spattered vest around me in a tardy display of modesty, and headed out of the cubicle.

As we neared the exit, Rosella nudged me. “Is the Santa Fe still drivable?”

“As long as you don't mind a little breeze.”

“Shit, Lena, you're as crazy as I am. But we'd better take care of some business first.” Over the ER nurse's loud complaints, she veered toward the admitting desk, me behind her, waving an insurance card in my good hand.

***

It would have been foolish to take the same highway back, where Prophet Shupe's God Squad probably lay in wait, so Rosella plotted a different route. After brushing away most of the safety-glass-turned-powder, she slid into the driver's seat, and soon we were taking the long way back to Phoenix, detouring southwest on I-15 through Las Vegas, where, as everyone knows, nothing bad ever happens to anyone.

Just before noon, after making several stops to guzzle coffee and orange juice, and once, to buy me a new black tee shirt, we rolled into Phoenix. It was a good thing Rosella's bump hadn't turned out to be serious, because my arm had stiffened to the point it could hardly bend. Given the number of street lights in the city, I'd have a rough time driving the Jeep, with its standard transmission, back to Scottsdale.

As if reading my thoughts, Rosella asked, “You sure you're okay to drive?”

“Just creaky, that's all. A couple of hours with an ice pack and I'll be fine. Hey, didn't you just pass the house where KariAnn's staying?”

“I want to clean up the Santa Fe first.”

Given our situation, such finicky behavior seemed odd, but then I remembered that as KariAnn's loss of vision increased, her sense of touch became more acute. Rosella didn't want to alarm her daughter. “You'll never get all that powdered glass in the back seat. And the new air-conditioning system from the blown rear window? Better borrow my Jeep. I can take a cab home.”

She shook her head. “After you prove to me you're okay to drive, I'll pick her up in the Camaro. I finally got it runnin'.”

Like her house, Rosella's beloved '76 Camaro was in the process of restoration. She'd rescued it from a wrecking yard somewhere back in the Stone Age and with the help of a couple of mechanically-minded neighbors, was giving it new life.

But as we turned onto Rosella's street, we discovered that the Camero was now beyond saving. So was her house.

Both had burned to the ground.

Chapter Seven

Rosella stared at the smoking ruins of her house, her Camaro. “They found me.”

Why bother trying to convince her she was wrong? Beside the stench of burnt wood and scorched metal wafting to me on the cool morning air, I could smell gasoline.

Arson.

Incongruously, birds still sang and, in the playground at the end of the street, children still laughed. My Jeep, parked at the curb, although now several yards away from where I thought I'd left it, was untouched.

Rosella's neighbors stood in front of the one remaining fire truck. Upon seeing her step out of the Santa Fe, they rushed over to offer condolences, clothing, food, whatever she needed. One elderly Hispanic man, his hands trembling from Parkinson's, told her she could stay in the garage apartment behind his house. “For free, and for as long as you need it, you and KariAnn. My grandson, the one who normally lives there, he's interning at Chicago General.”

Before Rosella could answer, a thirty-something man in a dark blue fire department tee shirt and matching turnout pants approached her, clipboard in hand. A fire inspector. “Folks over there say you're the owner?”

Rosella nodded.

He stretched out his hand to shake hers, but the dullness in her eyes showed that she wasn't aware of the offer, so he lowered his hand. “I'm Fire Inspector Nelson Vickers. First, I'm sorry about your house. Your neighbors called in the alarm at 4:06 a.m. By the time the trucks arrived, they were out in front with garden hoses, but as you can see, the house was too far gone. At least they managed to push that Jeep away and keep it from blistering in the heat. Again, I'm sorry, but I need to ask you some questions and have you sign some forms.” Without pausing for breath, he began asking about enemies.

Rosella replied in a monotone.

After jotting down her answers, the inspector continued, “We've called Phoenix Restore. They're on their way over to board up what's left, but you'll need to contact a fencing company, too. The entire lot is a hazard.”

“Hazard.” Rosella's voice remained flat.

“You said you're insured, I believe?”

A flicker of spirit showed. “Maybe I take a risk or two but never with somethin' like that.”

Inspector Vickers raised his eyebrows.

Wrong answer, Rosella.

He started to say something else but thought better of it and merely held the clipboard out. Rosella signed. He handed her his card. “The Red Cross can be of assistance. They'll find you temporary lodging, some clothes.”

Rosella took the card, but shook her head. “I don't need help.”

Crinkles of worry appeared around Vickers' eyes. “Ms. Borden, are you sure you're all right?”

“Never better.”

Vickers cleared his throat. “Because of the nature of the fire and all, another inspector might come by. Several, actually. And the police. That's usual in situations like this. Do you have a number where you can be reached?”

After she gave him her cell number, he walked off, apologizing as he went.

I put my arm around her. “Why don't you and KariAnn stay with me?”

She managed a bleak smile. “Out of the fryin' pan and into another fire? The God Squad hates you almost as much as they do me. Thanks for the offer, but I have a half-sister in California. She got out of the compound a couple of years before I did, and she's been beggin' me and KariAnn to visit.”

“California might not be a bad idea.”

“Dip my toes in the ocean. Walk on the beach. Do the whole West Coast thing, maybe stay for a while. A long while.”

“You'd give up your…” I searched for the word. “…your work? With the runaways?”

“Them bastards won't run me off permanent, but for now I gotta get KariAnn somewhere safe. I haveta…I haveta…” She fell silent again.

She needed time to get her thoughts together. “Listen, Rosella. You don't need to make a decision right away. If you're uncomfortable about staying at my place, I'll put you two up at the DoubleTree. You can get matching mother/daughter herbal massages. Plan things out.”

She didn't answer, just took her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in a number. Whoever was on the other end must have picked up immediately. “Jo? Rosella. That offer still good?” Waited. Then, “KariAnn and me'll be there sometime tomorrow. But first I need to make me a few calls and get some glass replaced. Yeah. I'm drivin'. Right. I'll tell you about it when we get there. Thanks.” She rang off and turned to me, her eyes still dry. “You're a good friend, Lena, but I want my baby out of this whole fuckin' state.”

***

“I'm back,” I said to Jimmy, when I walked into Desert Investigations. I'd already gone upstairs to my apartment and showered off all the smoke fumes, blood, and powdered glass. Then I'd chewed a few aspirin.

Jimmy sat hunkered over his keyboard, searching for red flags on résumés. He didn't look around. “Took you long enough. How'd it go?”

“I've had better trips.” Turning around, he took in my swollen face and bandaged arm. “Got shot, but it's not much more than a scrape. Rosella has a bump on her head. And her house burned down, along with the Camaro. Other than that, we're fine.”

Jimmy rose toward me, his arms out. Stopped. Lowered his arms. Bit his lip. “You didn't call me because…?”

Unnerved by his rare show of emotion, I filled him in on everything, the ambush at the old mining camp, the pursuit on the highway, the destruction of Rosella's house and car. “So you can see that I was a little too busy to make a phone call. Especially since I was all right.”

“All right? Lena, you're a couple of shades whiter than the average Anglo right now, so you're not doing as well as you believe. I'm betting Rosella isn't, either. What the hell were you thinking, leaving her alone over there to clean up the mess?”

“Ever try to force Rosella to do anything? Anyway, she wasn't alone. When I left she sitting on a neighbor's porch, wrapped in a blanket, wolfing down doughnuts and coffee while talking on her cell with her insurance agent.”

He shook his head. Whether in sympathy or disapproval, I couldn't tell. “You'd better call Warren.”

“Why?”

“Don't you think he'll want to know you've been hurt?”

The thought of involving Warren made me queasy. Our relationship was strained enough already. “He's in L.A. visiting the twins. Even if he were here, he couldn't do anything, so why shake him up?”

Jimmy advanced toward me again, this time with a bullish look on his face. “Maybe I'm not the one who should be handing out relationship advice, but…”

He halted mid-stride as the office door opened and two Scottsdale PD detectives walked in. Back in the day, I'd worked with both. Neither commented on my scratched face, possibly out of professional courtesy.

“Sylvie. Bob. You guys here about the fire already? That was some fast paperwork by Phoenix Fire.”

They looked at each other.

“Fire?” asked Bob Grossman, not meeting my eyes. His body language was as stiff as my arm felt.

Sylvie Perrins, always the more aggressive of the two, said, “We're not here about any fire, Lena. We'd like you to come over to the station for questioning.”

“Questioning? On what matter?”

She gave me a phony smile. “Wouldn't it be more comfortable to talk about that at the station? Hey, it's Scottsdale. We have comfy chairs and a cappuccino machine. It can make espresso, too, if you'd rather.”

I didn't like the sound of that at all. “My own chairs are even comfier; real down, harvested by virgins from eider ducks who died natural, painless deaths on balmy summer nights. Nothing's too good for my clients. Or my friends. Have a seat, take a load off.” At Sylvie's head shake, I waved toward my own fancy Krups. “I'm all set up for brew, too. Want a cuppa? Any way you like it.”

The phony smile took on a plaintive droop. “Come on, Lena. Let's go down to the station. We'd like to get the conversation on videotape.”

And I'd rather star in a porno movie. “Maybe I'd better call my attorney.”

“Might be a good idea.” Bob, not meeting my eyes.

“In that case, what should I tell her that I'm being questioned about? That's
if
I consent to going down to the station? I don't have to, you know, unless you actually place me under arrest. How about a little hint before it comes down to that? For old times' sake.”

“Conspiracy to kidnap,” Bob blurted.

Jimmy, who had hurried back to his computer, looked up in alarm. But I indulged in the first laugh of the morning. “Who am I supposed to have kidnapped? The Easter Bunny?”

Bob waved his hand, as if the answer was of no consequence. “Two minors, names of Patience Goodwin and True Huffstedder.”

The girls Rosella had spirited away from the polygamy compound Tuesday night. If the cops suspected me of involvement in their escape, they'd soon be after her, too. I hoped she'd made it off her neighbor's porch and down I-10 to California.

“When were these girls supposed to have been ‘kidnapped'?” As if I didn't know.

Sylvie, whose face had turned deep red during this exchange, answered, “Somewhere between ten Tuesday night and four Wednesday morning.” She waited, standing straddle-legged, arms crossed, trying hard for the don't-mess-with-me cop look.

“Where was this crime supposed to have taken place?”

“Beehive County, up near Second Zion.”

“Which is something like three hundred miles from here, right, Sylvie?”

“Amazing things, cars. They go so fast.”

I took pity on her. “At the very time you say I was kidnapping two girls, Lieutenant Dagny Ulrich was questioning me about that dead woman found near the RV storage yard. I guess you didn't check the department log sheets before you came over here?”

Relief replaced Sylvie's embarrassment. “Ah, shit. Anyway, we got a tip and had to follow up.” She looked over at her partner. “Bob, you want to use our laptop to check out those log sheets or shall I?”

“On my way.” He headed out the door, toward the laptop all Scottsdale cops carried in their vehicles.

Sylvie finally eased herself down on one of the white armchairs. “You're right. These are fabulous. Must've cost you a bundle.”

“The joys of private enterprise. Now, how about some hazelnut cappuccino?”

With her butt sunk lower than her knees, the hard line of her body had softened. “Double-shot would do fine. Sure hope you're telling the truth, Lena. I've always dreaded the prospect of dragging your ass in.”

“You know I never lie.”

This time the smile was genuine.

By giving me a hard time the other night, Dagny had inadvertently done me a favor. She'd documented our entire conversation, time-tagged it, and within seconds of logging onto the laptop, Bob found it. Bemused, he announced that Dagny's report even described what I was wearing the night of Celeste's murder, right down to my black sox and black Reeboks.

“That Dagny, such a fashionista.”

Relieved at the opportunity to turn their visit into a social occasion, I walked over to the Krups and fiddled with the controls. Everything went fine until I had to hold the cup underneath the froth spout, or whatever that thing was called. The clumsy angle made me wince.

Behind me, Sylvie asked, “What's wrong with your arm? And your face? You really look like shit.”

So much for professional courtesy. “Banged into a door. You know me. Two left feet.” Finishing up the double-shot-cafs, I returned to my chair and sat back in my chair as if I didn't have a care in the world.

After a steely-eyed look at my arm, which showed she wasn't fooled, Sylvie said, “Seems to me that somebody's out to get you.
And
your pal Rosella. Is there anything you two are involved in that could get you in legal hot water?”

“Nothing.”

“Why don't I believe you?”

“Because you've been on the job too long. You wouldn't believe your mother if she said she'd given birth to you.”

A dry smile. “Yeah, I'm still searching for those adoption papers.”

***

As soon at the two ambled out with their hazelnut cappuccinos, I called Rosella's cell. When she picked up, I said, “Sure hope you're headed west on I-10.”

“Not yet. I'm reading an old copy of
Road and Track
at Gifford's Auto Glass, waiting for a new back window.”

“Is KariAnn with you?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

I relayed the information that the long, polygamous arm of Prophet Shupe was reaching out for her. “You need to get out of town immediately. As in yesterday. Is there a friend who could loan you a different vehicle, because the cops will be looking for the Santa Fe? I'd offer you my Jeep, but it's too noticeable.”

“She can borrow my Toyota!” Jimmy called out.

Rosella, who'd heard his generous offer, laughed. “Tell that handsome devil thanks, but I got me another source, one that won't lead straight to Desert Investigations. Hey, here comes the poor old Santa Fe, lookin' as good as new. Too bad I won't be usin' it.”

Before she could ring off, I told her one more thing. “Don't use your cell phone anymore. Burn it. Chop it up with an ax. Run over it with a steamroller. Do whatever you have to do, just get rid of it.”

“Gotcha. But I need a favor.”

I didn't have to think twice. “Anything, Rosella.”

“Don't leave it to Scottsdale PD to find Celeste's killer. Do it yourself.”

“Well, sure, but with Scottsdale PD on the case, anything I do will just be…”

She cut me off. “They don't know enough about polygamy to solve squat. But you do. You can get to the bottom of this whole thing, maybe save some other women from that Scottsdale compound before they get murdered, too. So please, Lena.
Promise me
!” A note of desperation, one I'd never heard from her before, entered her voice.