Trouble at the Red Pueblo (11 page)

“But you saved them?”

“We were too late to save the mother, but he gave Taffy to me. He made me promise I’d never breed her.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Spider said. “Unless you know what you’re looking for, you’d never know there was a problem with that hoof.”

“She throws out just a bit when she canters. Jack has a farrier—” Laurie paused to translate for Karam. “—a horse shoer— who really knows his stuff. He builds custom shoes for her, and I can see that it helps.”

They were coming into town, and Spider slowed. “Where to, Karam?”

“I have not been to the Little Hollywood place. Would you care to accompany me there?”

Spider shook his head. “Thanks, but I need to try to connect with Linda Russell.”

Laurie’s brows went up. “What about?”

“I need to find out about a man by the name of Austin Lee.”

Laurie looked like she had another question, but instead of asking it, she pointed out the window at a life-sized plastic horse. “There’s your Little Hollywood Museum, Karam. I hope you like cowboys.”

“I do,” Karam said. “Would you say that Jack is a cowboy?”

“Heck, Laurie’s a better cowboy than Jack.” Spider pulled into the museum driveway.

“Really?”

Laurie shook her head. “Not better, but I can hold my own.”

Karam opened the door. “Thank you so much for a very educational day. I am so glad to have met you.”

“We’ll see each other again,” Spider assured him. “You’ll be around a while waiting for your car parts, won’t you?”

“Yes.” Karam got out and spoke through the open door. “Tomorrow I am with Isaac.”

“I’m going to St. George tomorrow, but we’ll catch up with you.” Spider patted his pocket. “Did I get your cell phone number?”

“Yes, and I have yours. Thank you again.” Karam closed the door and waved as they pulled away.

“He’s a nice fellow,” Laurie said. “Where did you meet him?”

“At the hotel. His first car was a Yugo. It’s an instant bond.” During their ride back to the Best Western, Spider told her about Karam and how, as a student in England taking Middle Eastern History from a British professor, he decided he would study American History. “He’s a sponge,” Spider said. “I wish you could have seen him out there with Isaac. He just soaks it up.”

“Speaking of the museum, you must have found out something else while I was staying with Martin and Neva. Who is this Austin Lee?”

Spider pulled into a parking spot and turned off the ignition. “I don’t know for sure. He appeared about a month ago and started romancing Linda.”

“Is that why the engagement is off?”

“I don’t think so. I think they broke it off after Matt accused her of leaking word about the Lincoln letter.”

Laurie ran her fingers through her hair, lifting it away from her neck. “So, that would be how word got to the Goodman family that the cache was valuable. Did Linda do that?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping to talk to her, but she left before I got the chance.”

Laurie reached over, turned on the ignition, and rolled down her window. “Let me ask you a question. How many people do you know named Austin?”

Spider rolled his window down, too, and thought a moment. “I don’t think I know anyone named Austin. First real person I’ve heard with that name is the fellow that I want to talk to Linda about.”

“So, is it too much of a coincidence that Amy’s boyfriend’s name is Austin?”

Spider rubbed his jaw. “Maybe. Did she tell you a last name?”

“No.”

“But you said he had a nice car?”

She nodded. “I don’t know what kind of car it was, but it was a burgundy color. Nice and shiny.”

“SUV?”

“Yeah.”

Spider rubbed his jaw again, remembering the Range Rover coming down the wash while he and Karam were up on the mesa. “Huh.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Just coming up with more questions. No answers.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Tell me about Amy.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What’s she to Jack? Why’s she living there with him?”

“She’s a cousin. I haven’t worked out the connection yet, but she’s bipolar.”

Spider’s brows shot up.

“She’s on medication,” Laurie went on. “They haven’t found the optimum dosage yet, but I think, for the most part, she’s stable.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know for sure. Those are her words. She says she hopes the psychotic episodes are behind her.” Laurie grimaced. “The symphony thing is a symptom, though. In her mind she’s writing one, but she’s really not. She’s got notebooks full of strange marks, but it’s not music.”

Spider chewed on that for a moment. When he didn’t speak, Laurie continued. “She was twenty-one when she was diagnosed— almost through with college. That was four years ago.” She shifted in her seat and put an elbow out the window. “Amy’s parents are dead. She was living with an aunt and uncle and they thought she was going through a wild phase. Then during Western Legends she put on a long wig and rode in the parade as Lady Godiva.”

“Great suffering zot! How long was the wig?”

Laurie chuckled. “Apparently not long enough. I shouldn’t laugh because it’s really sad. But what a picture!”

“So, why is she at Jack’s?”

“She’s not well enough to work at a regular job, or even to finish college. Jack has her work for him keeping house and cooking.”

“Huh.”

“It’s hard to think of her having to deal with that.” Laurie sighed. “Everyone says she was such a bright, sparkling child, such a smart, outgoing student. And then to have this come upon her. It’s a tragedy.”

Spider turned on the ignition. “Watch your arm; I’m going to roll up the windows. Shall we go in?”

Laurie got out; he joined her on the sidewalk, and they walked to their room without speaking. Once inside, she took her guitar out of the case. Sitting on the edge of the extra bed by her saddle, she began to tune.

Spider put his hat and keys on the desk. Stuffing hands in his pockets, he leaned against the doorframe and watched the way her auburn hair hung down as she bent her head to listen to each plucked string. Unbidden, the image of her in Jack’s embrace came to his mind, and he said, “Don’t go out riding tomorrow.”

She looked up and blinked. “What?”

“Don’t go out riding tomorrow.”

She set her guitar on the bed beside her. “Do you have a reason for saying that?”

He spread his hands, palms up. Pushing away from the doorframe, he walked over to look out the sliding glass door, his back to her. “I’d like you to come to St. George with me instead.”

“When did you decide that? You’ve known for a full day that I was planning on going to Inchworm tomorrow.”

He turned to face her. “I just don’t feel good about you spending the day with Jack.”

She didn’t answer. She simply stared at Spider.

He recognized the flinty hardness that came into her brown eyes and looked away first.

She stood suddenly, wiped the palms of her hands on her pants, and then clenched them as they hung at her side. “I realize you’ve just buried your mother,” she said. “I’ve been trying to cut you some slack, but I’m a little tired of the snide comments about Jack.”

“There’s nothing snide about this. I’m asking you not to go out riding for a full day with another man.”

“With my cousin.”

“With your handsome, rich, fourth cousin.”

Laurie’s chin came up. Her mouth compressed in a straight line, and Spider was wishing the whole conversation unsaid.

She clasped her hands in front of her, and her voice had a studied calmness.
“You know, Spider, these last eight years have been tough. I didn’t mind selling the cattle. I didn’t mind when we had to sell my car. I hated selling Taffy, but I was willing because it was going to let us pay our taxes and hang on a little longer.”

“I hated it, too.” Spider reached out to Laurie, but she seemed not to notice.

“When I saw Taffy in Jack’s stable, it was like a tender mercy, as if the good Lord was saying, ‘Well done, Laurie. You finished the course.’” Her jaw tightened, and she looked away for a moment.

Turning back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Don’t get me wrong. I was glad to have your mother come live with us, even if it meant losing my freedom and spending every waking moment watching that dear woman spiral down into a black, bottomless pit.”

Spider opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand. “No, let me finish. Last week just about took the cake. Do you know what it’s like to have someone’s life depend on you, trying to judge the insulin for a body that‘s no longer taking nourishment? I live every day wondering if something I did may have killed her.”

“Oh, Laurie.” Again he reached out, and again she forestalled him.

“This ride tomorrow was to be a day of freedom offered to me after two years in Alzheimer’s Prison.” A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she dashed it impatiently away. “You’ve got your undies in a bundle because Jack has a nice house, a herd of Angus, and a stable full of horses, but by the Lord Harry, that’s
your
problem. I’m riding tomorrow.”

She opened a drawer and took out her pajamas. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

Spider watched as she went into the bathroom without another look at him. He stood for a moment and stared at the white decorative panels on the door, wondering if he should burst through, take her in his arms, and apologize. He wanted to, but what would he say? Forgive me for catching you in Jack’s arms? I’m sorry there’s something going on between you two?

He wanted to pound his fist into the wall or throw something across the room, anything to relieve the pressure inside his chest. The plastic-wrapped glasses and room service brochure on the counter warned him he wasn’t on home turf. No wall punching allowed.

His eye fell on the pillows stacked decoratively on the bed holding Laurie’s saddle and guitar. He snatched one of the pillows. Holding the open end of the pillowcase, he swung the puffy missile around in an arc and brought it down on the other bed.
Thwack
. He did it again.
Thwack
. That didn’t do anything to dissipate the coiled-spring tension inside. He needed to hit something hard.

He spied a wooden armchair in front of the desk and moved in to attack. Swinging the pillow around in a mighty blow, he struck the back of the chair with such force that both the case and the ticking ruptured. Feathers filled the air, and downy wisps floated on air currents, drifting to the far reaches of the room.

The white feather-storm only tightened the knot in his chest. Tossing the empty pillowcase on the chair, he strode to the door and wrenched it open. Slamming it behind him, he marched to the elevator and stabbed at the button until the lift arrived. When he reached the main floor, he ignored the stares of guests and headed to the Yugo, stiff-arming the swinging doors as he exited the lobby.

Finally in the car and ready to back out of the parking space, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw what people had been staring at as he had bulldozed his way through the lobby. Tiny white feathers nestled in his hair, hung on his eyebrows, and blanketed his shoulders. He stuck out his bottom lip and blew, dislodging a flurry of fluff that wafted around the interior of the Yugo. “There’s no way I’m going to get out of this with any dignity,” he muttered. He backed up, put the car in gear, and peeled out of the parking lot.

Turning north, Spider sped along the winding two-lane highway through a dramatic, wind-hewn canyon of red sandstone. The sun, low on the horizon, shadowed cracks and crevices in the towering walls. After ten miles of listening to the whine of the tightly-wound engine, Spider saw a sign pointing left to the Coral Pink Sand Dunes. At the last minute he decided to take the road and turned sharply. The back wheels broke away, and he felt the car skidding. For a moment, he had his hands full, keeping the Yugo on the road and upright.

When he finally had the car straight and heading west in the right lane of traffic, the corners of his mouth lifted a notch. “Better than punching a hole in the wall,” he muttered.

He drove to the state park, pulled into an empty parking lot beside an immense sand dune, and got out. The dune was perhaps a hundred feet high and had obviously been climbed by several people recently. Spider followed their tracks, his feet sinking in with each step as he ascended.

Breathing hard, he finally reached the top. The setting sun intensified the coral color of the dunes, and long shadows etched knife edges onto the tops, creating a crisp-lined black and orange landscape stretching as far as he could see. Spider sat on the ridge and dug his hands into the warm sand beside him.

“Okay,” he said aloud. “So what’s the problem?”

The problem was that he suspected his wife of teetering on the edge of an affair with Jack. The other side of that problem was that he knew it was impossible. Duplicity was hardly in Laurie’s vocabulary, much less in her nature. He picked up a handful of sand and let it drain between his fingers. Karam had likely been right, and he, Spider, should have paid more attention. The result was that Laurie was mad, and the hotel room looked like a herd of molting ducks had passed through.

Spider remembered what Laurie had said about his own feelings about Jack. Was he jealous? Did he covet Jack’s ranch and Angus and car? No, he did not. He just didn’t want Jack to have them to wave in front of Laurie. All right, maybe he was jealous. Maybe it did sting that he had lost his job when the mines closed, and they had been barely scraping by since then.

The sun had set, but the horizon still had a lavender band around it. Spider dusted off his hands and stood. Time to go face Laurie and apologize. Only this time it would be a real apology. To prove that he was in earnest, he would be kinder to Jack from here on out. He spit on the ground to seal the deal and turned to go.

At the bottom of the dune, he brushed off the remaining feathers before he got in the Yugo. Then he drove back to Kanab, stopping at Big Al’s Junction for take-out burgers, sweet potato fries and chocolate shakes. Laurie loved chocolate shakes. He hurried back to the hotel, his apology well-rehearsed.