The Juliet (37 page)

“Through there.”

She picked her way through a garden of hulking stones and fallen slabs with sand and razor weeds below, but there was light beyond. A fire.

It wasn’t long before she found the tent and the campfire and the man smiling at her. The Dexon look-alike was out of costume. He had big, amused eyes like Dexon, but nothing else resembled the cowboy actor. His hair was curly and his face was clean-shaven. He was wearing worn-out jeans and a Dave Matthews T-shirt. He wasn’t even in boots. Barefooted, he sat behind his modest fire on one of those low beach chairs old ladies like to use to sit in the surf at Myrtle Beach. A backpack lay in the shadows but there was a cooler up front where he could reach it easily.

“Welcome.” He’d prepared a low chair for her as well.

Willie sat down, and he gave her a can of Genesee from the small cooler beside him. “Thank you.” She wasn’t a beer person, but this stuff was sweet and cold, striking her soul, if she had such a thing.

The Dexon look-alike smiled a stoned smile as if the fates always delivered, and things like this happened to him all the time: lady folk coming out of nowhere.

Willie asked her question. “Why are you here?”

He leaned forward so he could open his legs and lean his arms on his knees. It must have been one of his specialty poses. He made a mistake though, when he casually brushed at the mustache that was no longer pasted to his upper lip. “You mean like in a metaphysical way?” He thought he was funny.

“No. I mean why.” She lifted her can to the beyond. “Why are you, why are any of those people,
here
. In Centenary.”

“To pay our respects.”

Willie tilted her head at him. One of
her
specialty poses. “And that takes how long?”

He laughed instead of breathed. “I guess it’s a hippie thing. Real celebration takes a few days.” He stretched his leg out so that it hovered over hers.

Willie pulled her legs in, but they didn’t fit under the chair. “I understand the drive-bys and the rubberneckers. Flowers can only hold your attention so long, but that doesn’t explain
you
. That doesn’t explain the idiots camped out in Centenary.”

“Hey sugar, be cool.”

Willie smiled because she knew her smile was sort of scary. “This isn’t Woodstock. It’s not even the China Grove Fig Festival. Nothing is going to happen. Why are you sticking around? Why are
they
sticking around?”

Fake Dexon drank deep and eyeballed her from over the can. Trying to decide about her. “This afternoon was interesting. You were especially interesting.” From nowhere it seemed, Fake Dexon produced a bong, tinted bamboo green. It was ready to go. “Here. Seriously. It’ll help the convo.”

“I don’t know how to use that.”

He blinked at her. He’d landed a virgin, a warrior nun. He took a deep hit, making a show of his steps for her edification, then offered it over with the lighter. Willie thought she couldn’t go through with sucking on the pipe, but she managed to fake it.

“You faked it,” he said. He was smiling. “If I was an Indian, and that was our calumet, you’d be dead.”

“I guess so.”

“Damn girl.”

“What?”

He took a deep inhale of the cosmos. “You get cute.”

A thousand times
. She’d heard that a thousand times. So she didn’t mind asking him again, “Why are you here?”

Romeo eased back, sure of the score by now. “I’m not playing with you, but maybe your curiosity is too exclusive. I mean, start with the old man. Why was he here do you think?”

Willie knew that answer. “He was looking for something.”

“And suddenly she goes all coy and secretive. C’mon babe, say it.”

“He was looking for The Juliet.”

“That’s exactly right. And he wasn’t the only one, either.” He reached back into his cooler and brought forth a bag with Asian lettering on it. “Wasabi peas, can’t get enough. Here.”

“No thanks. Are you saying you’re looking for The Juliet, too?”

He pulled out the peas, one at a time, crunching them thoughtfully. “There are parts to the whole thing, with the emerald at the center like a wheel hub. I’m a fan of Dexon, and he was connected to the The Juliet back in the day, plus it looks like he was trying to re-connect in his retirement. And then there’s your straight up treasure hunters, history nerds, and witchy types chasing the curse…it’s a whole thing.”

“Like a cult?”

“No need to be abusive. We’re just a bunch of people with interlocking interests.” He burped so softly it was almost attractive. “Did you ever hear of ‘The Question’?”

“Sounds religious,” she said.

“Hmm. So ‘The Question’ is pretty simple. It was a kind of tagline that journalists used a hundred years ago to whip up excitement. The Question, or The Great Question, as it is sometimes referred to, is
Where is The Juliet?”

“That’s it?”

“I said it was simple. Easy to remember, easy to translate. Like ‘Live long and prosper.’”

Willie was disappointed and the can in her hand was warm. She’d only managed to choke down half. “So Rigg Dexon dies, and you all come out here for some impromptu convention?”

Fake Dexon continued to smile. “You haven’t been watching the boards, have you? Death Valley Free Speech.”

“I don’t like the Internet.” Melanie, the waitress at Shorty’s, had mentioned DVFS. Was that really only a week ago?

“Well some people do. Anyway, a dude calling himself JTC got a lot of folks excited after the old man passed. JTC said he was from the Valley, and that he’d met Rigg Dexon. He also said that Dexon had found The Juliet. You can imagine how exciting that kind of news would be to a certain constituency.” He gestured to the rocks and the scrub as if they were proxies. “But the kicker was, JTC claimed that Dexon gave him The Juliet the day before he died.”

Willie was about to call bullshit, but then she worked it out: JTC stood for Joshua Tree Carter. “Why would he be telling everyone that?”

“Said he didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t even know what she was all about until he started poking around the Web. He struck me as a little jumpy-like in his notices.”

Damn. Willie felt a bolt of something hard form in her chest. Carter must have made an impression on Dexon, same as Willie. She got the house, but Carter got The Juliet. Why the hell couldn’t it have been the other way around?

“What did JTC say he was going to do with the stone?”

“Well, that’s the thing. Everybody pretty much dismisses the dude as a troll. You know, Dexon dies and all of a sudden someone’s claiming he has an answer to The Great Question. Smells of bullshit, you know?”

“Indeed.”

“Except then JTC goes dark. Stops posting. He chatters like a monkey for five solid days with no time off for sleep it seems, and then nothing. Boom.”

Willie sat back. Boom indeed.

Fake Dexon leaned so that the fire could illuminate his shoulders, his cheekbones, his jaw. He looked pretty sure about her. What he didn’t know was that he and Willie Judy had already shared one of the most intimate moments of her life with him back at The Mystery House. She wasn’t going to spoil that memory with a clumsy bout of tent sex.

“Anyways,” he continued, “Silence is almost worse than information. When JTC vaporized, everybody started taking him seriously. So that, I believe, is the answer to your question. The Juliet is somewhere nearby.”

“Nearby,” Willie said. “And you’re looking too.”

“In my fashion. I’m a lucky guy sometimes. Just need to be in the right place at the right time.” He showed the tip of his tongue. “Think of it. Piece of green rock about the size of your fist—I bet you throw a mean little punch—and more than 5,000 square miles of desert hidey-holes. Better chances than the lottery, though.”

He was saying that the world was full of bored people. Willie asked, “And then what happens if you find it?”

“Well, first I’d have to prove she was the genuine article. The other half’s in pieces in a museum in San Diego. There’s good provenance on that. Came from the lady who took care of the dude who killed his mother.” He drew his finger across his throat.

“Why is it in pieces?”

“She tried to get it cut so she could sell it. She went through a dozen cutters till she found one willing to take it on. And the emerald went kablooey, just like everyone said it would. It wasn’t the good half, anyway.”

So Dexon had found the good half. Willie said, “Do you think someone would kill for The Juliet?”

“People have,” he said. For the first time he looked away from her, like he was uncomfortable. “A lot of folks are saying
you
done just that. That you put the old man down.”

He expected Willie to be defensive on that point, but her mind was too far away, solving another puzzle entirely. Suddenly she stood up like she just remembered an appointment. Fake Dexon was disappointed. He thought they were just settling in for the evening.

Willie brushed off her jeans and fished out the card he’d left her earlier in the day. It read
Carl Palas, Entertainer.
“Carl. Of course that’s your name.”

“Excuse me?”

She jammed the card back into her jeans pocket. “Carl. I was a little rough on you today when we met. I appreciate your taking care of the place for me, I really do.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

“So why don’t you just continue to do that? Move your stuff in there and watch the place. Like a caretaker. While I’m gone.” She turned her back on him to stare down at the rocks that blocked her view of The Mystery House. It was just a house now, wasn’t it? With no prize inside.

“You going away?”

In her head she tried to tally the number of illegal moves she’d made over the past week. “It’s beginning to look like that. You know anything about the law?”

“I’m an actor.”

“What do you think the time is for tampering with evidence?”

Carl was now seriously stoned. He had the words, but his arms were making gestures that were less than graceful. “I’m assuming that’s one of those wide variables. Depends on whether you pissed off the judge.”

“Sounds about right. What about drug trafficking?”

“That’s more serious. Maybe you can leverage it if you can lead the cops up the supply chain.”

Willie thought that might be the case as well. However the chain, or what she knew of it, was broken. “How about negligent homicide?”

That one made Carl lean back in his cheap little beach chair. His mouth was open and the bong dangled from his slack grip. His answer was hoarse, both from the smoke and the surprise: “You saying you done it? You killed Dexon?”

Willie shrugged. She’d never be sure.

* * *

By the time she made it back, the Alkali was dark except for a few security lights in the lot. The last of the evening’s customers had long since stumbled off to bed and bunk. Willie imagined Scottie lying awake, wondering if she’d run off for good this time and enduring the discomfort of his wound. He’d told her that it itched and burned, cycling on and off. With fifteen months until Badwater 2006, there was just enough time to heal and train before runners and groupies from all over the world would come to see him compete. The resort would be fully booked and the pantry would be stocked with almonds and sweet potatoes and smoked salmon. He claimed to hate those things, but she knew better. Scottie craved them. He craved in general. It was his default mode.

Pretty soon she’d be out of his way so he could see that for himself. There were plenty of fish in the sea, but not that many in the desert. Scottie just needed a lover, any lover. It didn’t have to be Willie.

She parked in front of the grease barrels, and before she turned off the headlights she saw him staring out of the kitchen window at the space where his truck was usually parked.

Willie slipped out of the cab and crossed the lot to her old beat Camry. She leaned on it and stared up into the sky, waving at Scottie to come join her. In seconds he was outside, picking his way through the gravel lot with his cane, moving faster than a man in his condition should. The motel rooms were a dark, silent line behind him, but across the highway soft lights glowed in the campground. Lights over the toilet shed, lights in the occasional trailer window. The flicker of a miniature television.

When he was close, Willie tossed him his keys and said of the stars
, “Wild night up there.”

“Down here, too.” Scottie’s voice was low. He selected a spot on the Camry to lean against so he could be next to her. He didn’t look comfortable, though. “Dawn was just picked up at Carter’s.”

“Tony’s daughter?”

“I paid her too much for the autograph. A thousand. I thought she would put it toward tuition.” He sounded a little out of breath, both excited and sad. “She didn’t know Carter was dead.”

“Why’d she go to Carter’s?”

“Dawn’s an addict. Clean for about a year and a half now. The smell of cash is one of her triggers, apparently. She was trying to score, and the police intercepted her. They found Tony’s knife and tried to put two and two together. Tony’s out there now. It’s going to be a long night.”

Willie said, “I’m on my way to the Sherriff’s. Maybe I can help straighten a few things out.”

“That might be helpful,” Scottie said, every word coated with doubt.

Willie was going to miss him. They’d gotten to a point in their friendship where he did not believe a single thing she said, and that fact made things between them more stable somehow.

She said, “You know, Dexon found The Juliet.”

Scottie shrugged. “How does that change anything?”

“Well, I’m not so sure he committed suicide.”

“You read the note.”

“I did,” Willie said. “And it was pretty general, one-size-fits-all goodbye. I think he knew he was at risk, and he was right. Someone killed him because of The Juliet. And when Dexon gave the stone to Carter, he put a target on his back, as well.”

“Is that really what you want to tell the Sheriff?”

Willie laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “Exactly. All he has to do is find The Juliet if he wants to solve Carter’s murder.”