Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) (4 page)

“Evans. A longtime local family.”

The door closed behind Evans.

A well-established family who wouldn’t want Canyonlands’ borders expanded? “Does he have a ranch?”

The man at her elbow nodded and held out his hand. “I’m Darrell Burke.” He said it as though they were having a casual conversation at a cocktail party.

That’s when she realized she still held the box containing Lisa. Nora’s face burned even more. “I’m, uh, I’m Nora Abbott.”

His face opened into a warm smile. “That’s obvious. You’re not from Moab, and since Lisa’s family disowned her, you have to be her best friend, the famous Nora Abbott.”

She opened her mouth to say something but had no response. Even though he was a stranger, he made her feel comfortable.

He laughed quietly. “Lisa told me a lot about you.”

Had he said his name? Nora’s brain tilted on overload. Between losing Lisa, the voicemail, and the lunatic cowboy, she wasn’t at the top of her game.

Lisa’s box weighed heavy in her hands. She stepped over to the plastic-covered table littered with used plates and cups to set it down, hesitating. It seemed disrespectful to plop it down next to red Solo cups with dregs of lemonade and plates holding half-eaten ham sandwiches, but she didn’t know what else to do with it. The sun-drenched clearing by the creek felt more appropriate. Maybe she should have left Lisa there after all. She hugged the box harder, glad she hadn’t left Lisa for Lee Evans to find.

The nice guy didn’t comment on the box but kept his eyes on her. “So Lee ran you off the road?”

“Right into a ditch.” She set the box on the table.

“Lee has a temper. Most folks avoid provoking it. Lisa didn’t.” He looked pointedly at the box.

Nora asked the obvious. “If Lee didn’t like Lisa, what’s he doing at her funeral?”

He lifted his chin, indicating something behind Nora. “He and Rachel used to be close.”

Nora turned to see Rachel standing across the room. She was speaking to a blonde woman in a silk summer suit, her back to Nora. Rachel crumpled and fell into the woman’s arms. The sight brought Nora to tears.

Nora knew how Rachel felt and almost wished she could fall into comforting arms, too. In fact, if she couldn’t feel Cole’s arms around her, the woman holding Rachel might make a good substitute.

The handsome man followed Nora’s gaze. “This is going to be a hard time for Rachel.”

Nora nodded, not trusting her voice.

They watched the pair, and he spoke. “I thought I knew just about everyone in Moab, but I don’t recognize that woman.”

“She’s not from around here,” Nora said.

“You know her?”

“That,” Nora started across the room, “is my mother, Abigail Podanski.”

Six

Abigail stood a trim
five foot six with a soft blonde bob—the perfect shade and cut to make her appear fashionable and age appropriate. She wore a beige silk suit and scuff-free heels. She and the man talking to Nora—what was his name?—would fit right in at a luncheon on Capitol Hill but were too formal for Moab.

Nora’s natural inclination would be to take off in the opposite direction. But for one of the few times in her life, she actually felt happy to see her mother. After an uneasy relationship that often bordered on outright war, Nora and Abigail were forging a new bond. Well, working at it, anyway—a few ignored calls notwithstanding.

Rachel sobbed silently against Abigail’s shoulder.

Nora inched around to stand in front of Abigail. “Mother?”

Abigail made eye contact with Nora. She continued to pat Rachel’s back and murmur to her, “I know, dear. I’ve lost three husbands. I understand.” In between all of this, she managed a smile of acknowledgement to Nora.

Rachel pulled away from Abigail. “Lisa thought of you as her mother.”

Nora didn’t know whether to wait for Abigail to break from Rachel or wander away and give them space. She backed up and into a warm body. “Excuse me.”

The nice guy took hold of her elbow to steady her. “I can’t even imagine her loss.” His eyes filled with compassion.

Nora stepped away from him. “You must be a good friend of Rachel’s.”

He studied Rachel. “It’s hard to get to know someone as guarded and private as Rachel. I knew Lisa better. We worked together on some land-swap issues over the years and now on this film project.”

A light clicked on inside her brain. “Oh, Darrell Burke—congressman. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier.”

He brushed it aside. “I’m not here campaigning.”

“You were helping set up distribution of the film to the congressional committee. Lisa told me you made a lot of progress.”

His eyes rested on the box halfway across the room. “It was a passion Lisa and I shared. This land needs someone to protect it from over-grazing and mining, and even from too many tourists. I just wish I could have protected Lisa with the same effectiveness.”

What a strange thing to say. “Did Lisa say anything to you about needing or wanting protection?”

He laughed in that sad way people do at funerals. “As if she’d allow anyone to take care of her, except maybe Rachel. She was a real force for the environment. I don’t know that there’s anyone who can take her place around here.”

Lisa was irreplaceable, but they had to do something. “You’ve arranged for the committee to screen the film?”

He inhaled. “I hate the thought of cancelling it.”

“Don’t. We can make it. Lisa’s work shouldn’t be lost.”

Darrell sounded sad. “As I understand it, the film isn’t finished.”

Nora ignored the spike of panic in her heart. “The film can make the difference in the vote.”

“Still,” Darrell said. “There’s no one to finish it, edit it, and get it out in time.”

“Don’t cancel that screening.” Nora watched Rachel and Abigail, wondering how and when to ask Rachel for a copy.

Darrell continued. “Obviously, I’ll still lobby for the park expansion. I’ve got some favors to call in. We’re not out of fuel yet.” Nora liked the warm way his attention seemed totally focused on her, as if this problem were his only concern. She’d heard certain politicians had the ability to make everyone feel unique, and despite knowing that, she still felt a little special.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced up at Abigail, who was the one usually calling. But Abigail still had her arms around Rachel. Nora pulled out the phone and glanced at it. A little thrill raced through her, as it usually did. “Excuse me,” she said to Darrell. “I’ve got to take this.”

She spun away and headed for the door. She punched the answer button and stepped into the sunshine, letting the door close behind her. “Cole.” She exhaled his name with a mingle of sorrow, hope, and longing.

She felt his support through the phone. “You sound stressed.”

She found a spot of shade under the store awning and leaned against the stucco wall. “I wish you were here.”

“I’m sorry. I know this is tough. How are you?”

Nora watched an ant scurry along the sidewalk. “I’m okay. Abigail is here.”

“That’s good.” A long pause followed.

When Cole didn’t continue, she asked, “How’s your father?”

“He’s in the hospital in Sheridan. He’s not doing well.”

Another brick piled on their load. “How about your mother and brother and the ranch?”

Silence fell as the little ant darted on its erratic path. Finally Cole spoke. “When do you think you’ll be home?”

Nice nonanswer to her question. Things must not be going well. “That’s hard to say. I need to get Lisa’s film. I’m hoping to do that this afternoon and head out later. There’re no hotel rooms here so I’ll probably stay in Grand Junction overnight.”

“Isn’t the film digital—on the cloud or something?”

Nora nodded as though he could see her. “Probably. But I don’t know where. I need to talk to Rachel about it.” Nora sighed. “It’s bad timing to bug her today.”

“Then don’t. Come home. I can get away from here for a day or so and meet you there.”

She craved being next to him. “I’d love to. But I really need to get that film.”

“It can’t wait a few days?”

The ant wound back around. He didn’t seem to be making any progress. “Etta called and jumped all over me. This is a big deal.”

“That woman doesn’t have any compassion for people—just the environment.” Cole knew about Etta from Nora’s conversations.

Nora nodded again. “I pushed for this film. I guaranteed the board that spending a hundred thousand dollars would give Canyonlands its best shot at Congress. I’ve got to see it through.”

“Maybe you can do a scaled-back version. You ought to let Rachel have a day at least.” He sounded like Darrell.

“You’re right. But … ” She wanted to suck that last word back.

“But what?”

Might as well tell him. “I had a voicemail on my phone that I didn’t get until today. It was from Lisa.”

“When did she send it? Why didn’t you get it before now?”

Another ant joined the first. “Don’t know. Abigail’s probably right about the service I contracted.”

“What did Lisa say?”

“It wasn’t so much what she said, it was how she said it. She sounded scared. Then she hung up abruptly.”

He sounded concerned. “Scared? What about?”

One ant scurried away, leaving the other on its own. “She said she taped whatever she had to say, so I guess I can get the camera and find out.”

There was no smile in his voice. “If you think it seems fishy, take it to the cops and let them deal with it.”

Again, the pause felt uncomfortable. Good thing they didn’t have to carry on a long-distance relationship because they both were bad on the phone.

The door of the Read Rock opened, and a group of people came out and headed for the parking lot.

“I’d better go,” Nora said. “I’ll call you when I know more.”

“Right.”

“Well, bye.”

A slight pause. “Nora?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” He hung up.

Nora stood in the shade of the building. The ant must have dashed from her sight when she wasn’t looking. A chill ran across her skin. While it was always nice to hear those words, Cole didn’t use them often. Like, maybe once before.

This meant something.

But what?

Seven

The sun shone bright
on Central Park and streamed across the thick carpeting in the office, but Warren stuffed his arms into his cashmere cardigan and shuffled to the thermostat on the wall. He pictured healthy cells decked out like gladiators swinging their broadswords to cut down the pale cancer cells.

The image didn’t hold up. He hated to admit the warriors had dwindled to only a few holdouts backed onto the cliff face. The cancer army stood poised to run them through.
I only need a few more days.
Maybe God would listen to his plea.

His desk seemed miles away across the expanse of his office. The plush carpet felt like deep sand under his feet as he focused on the leather chair behind his desk. He loved this office. He’d chosen everything in it to fit his needs and desires. Christine and her platoons of decorators ruled over the rest of the penthouse, but no professional decorators had set foot inside his office. He allowed the cleaning lady in and, reluctantly, Christine.

He succeeded in making it to his desk. The beat-up oak monstrosity had belonged to his grandfather. It had sat in the corner of the sitting room for half a century until Granddad passed over. By then, Warren could have afforded any world-renowned artist to customize his desk. But he wanted this reminder of his roots in Utah. It helped him to remember that possessions were only vanity, and in the end, they didn’t matter. His grandfather was a righteous man, dedicated to both the church and his many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Warren had no doubt Granddad waited for him on the other side. But like everyone who had come before him, Granddad depended on Warren to complete the task God had set before him.

Warren dropped his head and leaned heavily on the desk. His focus strayed to the architectural drawings spread on the rough surface. He pictured the actual structures the lines represented with satisfaction.

No one else could have done what Warren had accomplished. Why would God call him home before he saw it through to completion?

The answer was obvious.

Humility. God fulfilled his promise through Warren. Together, they’d done the impossible. Warren would be rewarded, along with all his ancestors. He just wouldn’t lead the final exodus.

Who would?

Warren had it narrowed down to two of his nephews. Neither of them had Warren’s strength or his brain. Why hadn’t God provided a successor for such an important job?

“My goodness, it’s like an oven in here!” Christine swept into the room, pulling Warren from his plans.

The heels of her pumps left mini craters in the carpet as she swished across the room in her flowing black pants and jacket like a queen strutting around her chambers. She adjusted the thermostat.

Warren straightened and strode to the chair, costing himself too much in an effort to appear strong. “I thought you were having lunch with Amanda Reynolds.”

Christine folded her arms, her back to him as she studied a framed five-by-seven-foot artist’s rendering of the solar system. “That was hours ago.” She tilted her head one way, then the other. “I don’t understand why you have this here.”

Of course Christine wouldn’t appreciate Warren’s fascination. “Reminds me of our place in the universe.”

She spun toward him. Warren wished he could capture the energy she wasted on her quick movements. “It seems out of place here.”

“Can I help you with something?” On a good day he could indulge in chatter. This wasn’t a good day. Christine didn’t enter his sanctuary often, so she must have a reason.

She ignored his question and wandered over to an amateur’s painting of an old-fashioned white barn with red rocks in the background. “Has Bourne Financial weathered the recession?”

Money. She wanted to know if the giant financial conglomerate Warren had created would keep her in style. “Yes.”

She left the painting, crossed to the far side of the room, and stood in front of a slab of sandstone he’d had extracted from a Utah cliff. Unknown hands had etched designs into the rock more than a thousand years ago. “How much do you think this petroglyph panel is worth?”

Heat rose to his face and his heart beat faster. “It’s not worth much since I can’t sell it on the open market.”

She kept her back to him. Christine had a head for numbers. She had come to his office to appraise his treasures and see what she might expect in a payoff when the cancer finally won. “It came from your family’s ranch, didn’t it?”

He wanted to rise from his chair and pull her away from the panel. Her calculating eyes felt sacrilegious—especially as she focused on the figure of a person in what appeared to be a boat. “Doesn’t matter if it was private land. You can’t cut into a petroglyph panel and remove it from the rock. It’s a violation of the Antiquities Act.”

“So you having this here is illegal?”

He didn’t answer her. She knew this. Maybe she wanted to drive home the point that she knew his secrets. That brought a smirk to his face.

“So why did you want this petroglyph? It just looks like a bunch of stick people with big heads. It’s not nearly as remarkable as the drawings of horses or deer.”

An electric shock of pain made a circuit up Warren’s spine to the base of his skull. He closed his eyes against it and waited for the worst to pass. “What’s on your mind, Christine?”

With practiced nonchalance, she started toward him. Her voice sounded young and lilting. “My goodness. You have such an interesting mix in here. I don’t know much about decorating”—he scowled at her blatant lie—“but I think they would tell you to pick a theme. You have this barn picture that looks like a first-year art student with little talent painted it, then kachina dolls and pottery on shelves and the strange mix of astronomy and rock art.”

“I’m not interested in what a decorator thinks.” It came out as a short-tempered growl. “What is it you want?”

Her lower lip protruded. “I haven’t seen you much lately. I thought maybe we could catch up.”

Clouds brushed across the sun and the shafts of light on the carpet disappeared, as if God was toying with a dimmer switch. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here.” Her practiced grin made her face sparkle as if she delighted in this news, when Warren knew it was nothing more than the effort of a consummate actress. “We’re going to Moab Saturday.”

Her well-shaped eyebrows shot up. “I can’t make it. I’ve got two committee meetings.”

“You’ll have to reschedule. Darrell Burke is running a close race, and we need to throw our weight behind him.”

She shifted into a sympathetic tone. “It’s Utah, dear. Darrell is Mormon. I can’t see there’s a crisis.”

Bile rose in Warren’s throat, and he waited it out. “Darrell isn’t traditional and can’t count on the Mormon vote. He’s going to need our help.”

“You should concentrate on you now. The chemo’s made you weak, and you shouldn’t be running around the country.” She paused for effect. “Darrell needs your money, not your personal testimony.”

He didn’t have the strength or the will to parry with her. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Her lips tightened and her dark eyes lasered in on him. She lowered herself to a leather-covered client’s chair opposite his desk and stared at him. “I don’t know how to bring this up,” she began.

He watched her struggle for the right words that wouldn’t make her sound like a vulture. Maybe he held a modicum of responsibility for what she’d become. Thirty years ago she’d been a vibrant, loving young woman. She’d grown up in New York in wealth and privilege. She hadn’t even finished her undergraduate degree at Columbia, something she was certainly smart enough to complete, when they met at one of her father’s cocktail parties.

By that time, Warren had already accumulated his first million. But he’d divvied up those profits into investments and needed a cash flow so he wouldn’t miss out on the opportunities opening before him. More than that, he needed a wife. Back then he had considered a career in politics, and that required a bright, well-connected, impeccably raised woman by his side.

That was before he’d found his true aptitude lay in creating huge wealth. That kind of money could buy whatever politics he wanted without him having to suffer public scrutiny.

Warren had only loved one other woman. Puppy love, really. Christine, with her fine breeding, dark beauty, and social ambition was a completely different species than the naïve, simple blonde of his college days.

Christine and her trust fund entered his life at the right time. He gave her value for her money, though. She wanted an ambitious man, one who would provide for her, not only financially but give her the kind of notoriety and status even money couldn’t assure.

It sounded cold in retrospect, but he’d loved her. He thought she’d loved him. Through the years of toil, when he’d spent eighteen to twenty hours a day amassing a fortune whose dimensions only he knew, the disappointment of no children and the demands of great wealth had evaporated their affection, leaving only a functioning business arrangement.

Finally, Christine spoke. “What has the doctor told you?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got cancer.”

She tilted her head in annoyance. “Yes, I know that much. But you won’t allow me to accompany you to your appointments or consultations with your medical team. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“You mean, you don’t know how long you have to wait for me to die.”

Her shoulders slumped the tiniest bit. “I’ve upset you.”

“No. This disease upsets me.”

She pushed herself from the chair. “I’ll go.”

He waved her down. “You want to know how much money you’ll have when I’m gone. Is that it?”

A flush rose to her cheeks, but she remained where she was and nodded. “I don’t like talking about this, but I’m ignorant of our holdings. I’d hate for the estate to wither from neglect after you’ve gone.”

She made it sound as though her concern was for his legacy. “Don’t worry. I had Darrell draw up papers for a generous fund for you. The rest is not your concern.” He’d left her more than enough to last into her dotage.

Her face tightened. “That’s generous of you to take care of me, but what about your businesses and investments?”

“It’s all down to one holding. And the rest will go to the church.”

He didn’t need to wonder how this news struck her. The pale face and wide eyes revealed shock. “One holding? How is that possible?”

He smiled at her. “I’ve invested in an important project.” The most important since Noah’s nautical venture.

“What project?” Her voice sounded strangled.

He pushed his chair from his desk with shaky arms. “It’s time for my medication. Please excuse me.”

He envied her quick jump to her feet. Her flushed face indicated the panic that must be raging inside. “It’s not fair that you don’t share the details of the estate with me.”

“I’ve left you a hundred million dollars. If you live frugally, it should last. The houses, of course, are in both our names, as well as the yacht, art, plane, and cars.”

She nodded, cool as January snow. “And the bulk of the estate?”

“Invested in the family ranch.” He watched her, fascinated by her self-control.

She drew in a long breath. “Your entire fortune is invested in a cattle ranch?”

He grinned. “It’s a very nice ranch.”