Calamity Jayne Heads West (24 page)

I finally had to stop to catch my breath. Being irri-tating by running off at the mouth was harder work than I thought it would be. Even for a seasoned, trained, professional motormouth like me. There’s al-ways a first time for everything, huh, folks?

I continued to smile at the couple in the friendly, open way that I have when I realized their smiles re-sembled the one I got when I went to one of those home jewelry parties expecting your typical heartlandspread (meaning not particularly heart-healthy), only to find the hostess was on a low-fat, no carbs, organic kick. Her sales were disappointing that night, let me tell you.

I glanced down at the left hand of the Riordan Ranch Romeo and noticed a gold wedding band—its corresponding mate conspicuously absent on the ring finger of the young lady with whom he’d just been swapping spit.

I frowned. Whoo, doggy! It appeared we’d stumbled on a illicit little afternoon encounter of the cheatin’ kind. Hey, don’t get me wrong, folks, I’m no Pollyanna, but where I come from you leave the dance with the one who brung ya. Marriage vows are taken as seri-ously as the markets. The way I figure it, you don’t try out a new mount when you’ve got a perfectly good one waiting at home. And if said “stud” can’t resist fol-lowing through on those baser instincts, the honor-able thing to do is cut your former filly loose before you toss a lasso around another little mare.

Sometimes horse sense is all you need.

“Hey, I have an idea,” I told the misbehavin’ man and little Ms. Mistress. “I’m a journalist, and I’m doing one of your basic travel pieces. I thought of calling it ‘Arizona Ambience.’ ” I pulled my digital camera out of my javelina backpack. “You two southwestern sweet-hearts would add just the right romantic touch to the article. If you wouldn’t mind, that is?” I added.

“You want to take a picture of us and include it in an article?” the philandering fellow asked, taking off his glasses to wipe his brow with the back of his hand. He shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said, “but thanks for the offer.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Let’s ask the better half here. I bet she’d love to have an opportunity to see a picture of you two splashed across the pages of the
Ari-
zona Daily Sun
and posted on the Internet for family and friends to see and enjoy. What do you say? The ti-tle heading could read, ‘Lovebirds quench their thirst at historic fountain.’ Okay, so maybe the headline needs work, but you see where I’m going with the piece,” I added. “How about it?”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea, Donald dear,” the woman said. “You know. Get
us
out there. As a couple. You keep saying you’re just waiting for the right time and place to make it official. I say, that time and place is here and now.”

I stared. The sound of the gauntlet being dropped in this little drama was deafening.

Mr. Married but Acting Single shook his head.

“My god, Marti, you can’t be serious. The Daily Sun? The Internet? Trudy would have a field day with that. I’d never hear the end of it. She’d use it to pummel me for the next thirty years!”

Little Miss Lovebird took a step back.

“Thirty years? Thirty years! I thought you were go-ing to divorce her as soon as she finished her mas-ter’s,” she said. “You said it was only fair, considering she put you through med school.” The lady lovebird looked like she’d just happened onto a bad seed. “Why, you no good, lying bastard!” she hissed. “You never had any intention of divorcing your wife, did you? All that talk about us being together was all bull-shit, wasn’t it, Dr. Feelgood?” The distraught woman’s face was red and blotchy, her hands poised like talons, ready to rip into the closest object. I took a discreet step back.

“Marti, please be reasonable! Let me explain!” the hypocritical—or is that hippocratical—physician pleaded.

Marti shot him a look that left little hope that rea-son would figure into her next move. “Here’s a head-line for you, sweetie,” she said, turning to me. “ ‘Promi-nent plastic surgeon takes dip in historic fountain,’ ” she said, and suddenly planted both hands against the doc’s chest and shoved him backwards off his feet and into the water. He sputtered and floundered about in the fountain while his now ex-lover looked on and nodded. “Too bad you’re in print media. That would’ve made a hell of a YouTube video,” she said, clapping her hands together in a gesture signifying a job well done. “So long, Dr. Dick!” she said to the man trying to retrieve his floating spectacles from the pool and stalked off.

I watched as the medical professional pulled himself out of the fountain and shook like my pooches do when they’ve been in the farm pond.

“Wait! Marti!” Dr. Dumped raised a hand and hur-ried off after the woman scorned. “Marti! We drove your car!” he yelled. “Wait!”

I shook my head. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, I thought, moving quickly to the fountain. “Mission ac-complished, ladies!” I said with a tap of my heels and a salute.

Taylor shook her head. “Only you could take a ro-mantic interlude and turn it into a scene from
Ti-tanic
,” she said. “And I’m not talking the love scene,” she said. “I’m talking ‘we’re going down, we’re going down!’ ”

“You may find fault with my methods, but you can’t argue with results,” I told her.

“Shut up and hunt for the clue before someone else comes by and Tressa has to get rid of them, too,” So-phie urged. “Frankly, I don’t want to see any more ex-amples of Tressa securing the area. That one was brutal enough.”

“Wait! I found something!” Taylor yelled. “It’s here near the base of the fountain! It’s a box!”

“Hurry up! Grab it! Someone’s coming!” I warned, hearing voices on the path.

“I’m trying! The guy used duct tape! If I can just get a corner up . . .” Taylor said.

“Hurry!” I urged. “I’m not real thrilled with run-ning interference again. Even though I do appear to have a natural gift for it,” I added.

“Come on, Taylor, pull!” Sophie urged, and the next thing I knew Taylor was flat on her back, holding a small box about an inch thick and about the size of a single-serving pizza. Thick crust. “Let’s go!” Sophie cried, holding out a hand and hauling my sister to her feet. “But hide that box before anyone sees it!”

Taylor looked around wildly and tried to stick it un-der her tight-fitting hoodie. I shook my head. Being a twig had some limitations.

“Give it to me,” I ordered, taking it and shoving it in-side my hoodie and pulling the zipper up over it.

“Can we go now?” Sophie asked. I shook my head.

“First we need a photographic record of our mo-ment here at the Ponderosa,” I said, pulling my cam-era out. “Now smile pretty for the camera and say
Bonanza
!” I ordered. After snapping the picture of my very reluctant models, I reviewed the photo and shook my head. “Dr. Dick would’ve made a more enthusias-tic subject,” I said, “and he was all wet. You know, Tay-lor, you’re usually more photogenic,” I pointed out. “You look like you caught a whiff of butt stink in this picture.”

Taylor gave me a long, unpleasant look and set off on the path ahead of me with Sophie right behind. I followed in their wake.

Jeesh. Supermodels and pole dancers can be so touchy.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“So long, Hoss!” I performed the queen’s wave as we motored away from the Riordan ranch. “Keep an eye on Little Joe!” I carefully unwrapped the box Taylor had discovered. “It’s a basket,” I said. “Kind of. It’s re-ally pretty.” I handed it to Taylor and she showed it to Sophie.

“It looks like a basket tray,” Sophie said. “Made of grass and yucca leaves. I’m thinking Hopi. What does the clue say?”

“ ‘Divining much but seeing little. Foretelling fu-tures while raiding the past. A gift for gleaning cor-rupted. Sold to the highest bidder. Lost generations cry out. Defile us not!’ ” I shivered. “Talk about your somber turns,” I said. “Hello, how do you say creep me out?”

“Is that it?” Sophie asked.

“There’s more written at the bottom,” I said. ‘ “Your quest ends where it once began.’ ”

“That sure doesn’t give us much to go on.”

“It sounds like they’re talking about some kind ofspiritualist,” Taylor said. “That ‘divining much’ part along with the ‘foretelling futures’ and ‘gleaning’ bits. Could be we’re talking about a psychic or spiritual ad-viser here,” Taylor said.

“Oh, great. And we only have about one thousand and three of those in the greater northern Arizona area,” Sophie grumbled.

“Ah-ha. But only one I know about who has a basket tray thingy almost identical to this one,” I said, and So-phie reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror so she could make eye contact with me.

“You’re kidding,” she said. “Cadence of Spiritual Boutique fame?” she asked. I nodded.

“She had an item like this in her back room,” I said. “I saw it when Gram and I went in for her thirty-second consult.” I reread the clue. It gave me only slightly less chilly-willy chills than before. “Raiding the past. Raid-ing the past,” I repeated. “I think maybe you were on the right track earlier when you were talking about the artifact smuggling, Soph,” I said. “ ‘Lost generations crying out defile us not’? My take is that someone’s screwing with some serious karmic shinola here where paybacks could be of the metaphysical kind.”

“You know, a spiritual adviser’s business would make a pretty effective front for a smuggling ring,” Sophie said. “It would provide a place to traffic the stolen arti-facts. Buyers could actually be posing as clients and could transact business under the guise of a spiritual checkup.”

“And don’t forget online business. Many of these ad-visers have Web sites and probably provide long-distance advice to their clients, as well. They could easily box up artifacts and send them out as client products along with their crystals, potions, books, and tapes,” Taylor added.

“Potions?” I raised an eyebrow, and Taylor shrugged.

“Whatever,” she said.

“So our theory is that someone had the goods on a gang of artifact smugglers, and for some reason put information they had in different areas of northern Arizona, beginning with a rather unattractive fertility figurine? That figurine is left at a roadside stand for someone else to pick up, perhaps when the heat is off. However, yours truly gets there first and I buy the fig-urine out from under the nose of that guy. So, is the guy who hid the clues and the artifacts one of the good guys or one of the bad guys?” I asked. “And if a good guy, wouldn’t that also make the person who went to retrieve the figurine a good guy? And if that is the case, then, conceivably, couldn’t Raphael actually be gorgeous and be one of the good guys, too? Huh. What are the odds of that? If that’s what we’re saying.” I rubbed a throbbing temple. “Is that what we’re say-ing?” I asked.

“Beats me,” Sophie responded. “I’m still trying to figure out what the devil you just said.”

“Ditto,” said Taylor, who usually caught on much quicker.

“What I’m saying, ladies, is we need to pay a call on Cadence at The Spiritual Boutique,” I told Sophie and Taylor. “Maybe lean on her a little bit to see if she caves. Do some nosing around. See if we can find any-thing to confirm our suspicions. Plus, that would give me an opportunity to finally have that wedge of Chocolate Fantasy Delight cake I’ve been denied. How about it, women? Shall we take up the battle cry for those poor unfortunate lost souls who cry out, ‘de-file us not’?” I blinked. “By the way, what exactly does ‘defile’ entail?” I asked. “ ’Cause my ‘eeww-gross’ me-ter is registering some significant activity.”

“In this case? Something along the lines of dishon-oring something or someone. To desecrate, dishonor,despoil or debase,” Taylor said by way of edification, and I winced. Too many d-words, which so wouldn’t add up to your basic good time had by all.

“If we don’t agree, you’ll go anyway, won’t you?” Tay-lor said, and I nodded vigorously, all the while thinking no way in hell would I go off on this little southwestern scavenger hunt by my lonesome when people in scary death masks were tracking me like hunters on the trail of a prized rack. Uh, I’m talking antlers here, for those of you who had something else in your heads. But thanks for the compliment just the same.

“You bet your sweet patooties I’ll go on my own!” I claimed, lying my lily-white rear off. “We’re on to something huge here. Something meaningful and worthy and deserving of our continued resolve to get to the truth. Something bigger than the three of us,” I added.

“Another notch on your journalist coup stick?” Tay-lor asked, and I put a hand to my heart.

“You wound me, my sister,” I said. “The jab of your distrust pierces me like a lance to the heart. Tell me, what have I done to foster such painful suspicion?” I asked.

“Hmm. How have you deceived me? Let me count the ways,” Taylor said, putting up a finger to delineate point one.

I shook my head. “Good grief, can’t you recognize your classic hypothetical question when you hear it, Taylor?” I asked. “Don’t go all literal on me, for good-ness’ sake. Not when we’re dealing with vortices—-” I saw Sophie wince. “I mean ‘vortexes’ and auras and energy fields and spirit guides and afterlives and guys in scary masks. You need to suspend belief for the present.”

Taylor gave me a sour look. “Lord knows I’ve had a lot of practice doing that whenever I’m around you.”

I nodded. “Good deal. Then we’re set.” I said. “Old hat and all that.”

Taylor shook her head.

We returned to Bountiful Babes. Sophie drove arou-nd and around the establishment to make sure the coast was clear before we parked and switched cars again.

“You know, I’m getting a not-great feeling about this little trip,” Sophie said as we headed once more for Sedona.

“That’s good,” I said. “Most of the time when we ex-pect the worst, things turn out just fine. So, keep thinking those bad thoughts, Soph,” I told her.

And me? I’d been thinking how best to lord it over Ranger Rick Townsend and Officer Whitebreast when I—uh, I mean
we
cracked the case of the Kookamunga clues and stopped the unforgivable desecration, de-spoiling, debasing, and defiling of relics that belong to this land and its people, not in some rich, selfish, low-down, dirty rotten son of a polecat’s private collection.

I hear ya. That’s bull talk for a cockeyed cowgirl. Right? Oh ye of little faith.

On the way back down the switchbacks, Sophie very nearly scared my black hipsters off me, taking those twists and turns at a speed I personally felt was way too fast. Taylor must’ve held a similar opinion, because by the time we got to Sedona and parked, we had to mas-sage her fingers to loosen them from the upholstery.

“Sweet ride!” I told Sophie as we rubbed the circula-tion back into Taylor’s fingers.

“You should’ve ridden up front,” my sister said. “For the full effect,” she added.

“Next time,” I promised myself. “Next time.”

Dusk found us back at the door of The Spiritual Boutique. A sign in the window—highly-charged neon green hands that gripped a glowing hot-coals orangeorb meant to be the earth—added to the
we’re not in
Iowa anymore
ambience.

“I’d feel better if we had a plan set up going in,” Tay-lor said. “I’m not a big fan of winging it,” she added, giving me a grumpy look.

“I don’t know. Winging it worked out pretty well with the lovebirds,” I pointed out with a chuckle. “Pun, like,
so
intended.” Gotta love me. In the midst of strategizing, I’ve still got it. “I say we go in and con-front her with what we know.”

“You mean with what we suspect,” Sophie corrected. “It’s all still conjecture at this point. We can’t prove a thing.”

“That’s what we’re here to do. Prove I’m right. Uh, I mean
we’re
right,” I amended.

“Right. Right,” Sophie said with a raised brow. “Let’s just play it by ear, what do you say?”

I nodded. “You’re playing my song now, girlfriend. My improvisation is a real crowd pleaser,” I added with a wink.

“Great. You can be the opening act, then,” Sophie said, stepping aside and motioning to the boutique door. “After you, Magoo,” she said. I grimaced. I really needed to know when to muzzle myself.

“Roger that,” I said, reaching out to open the door. “Cadence? Hello? Miss Spiritual Adviser? Yoo-hoo! Anyone here?”

“Yoo hoo? Do people in Iowa still say ‘yoo-hoo’?” So-phie asked as we stepped into the boutique.

“Affirmative. We’re also partial to ‘yippee,’ ‘yahoo,’ ‘woo-hoo’ and ‘yee haw’ when the occasions call for it,” I said. “Helloo! Anybody here?”

“That’s strange,” Taylor said. “I wonder where she is. It’s not smart to go off and leave your business un-locked, especially with so many out-of-towners.”

“Cadence?” I said, and made my way over to thebeaded doorway Gram and I had gone through the last time we were here. “Hello? Anybody in there?” I said, sticking out a hand to pull the beads aside.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Sophie said, and I turned to give her a dark look and she shrugged.

“The occasion called for it,” she said.

I moved through the beaded door and toward the room where Gram never got her spiritual checkup. Thank God.

“Cadence, are you in here?” I said, pushing the door open. I could feel warm breath on the back of my neck and could only pray it was Sophie’s or Taylor’s. “Hello?”

The room was illuminated by the tiny flames of more than a dozen candles, creating an eerie glow like a hundred tiny fireflies.

“Cadence?” I said, squinting in the dark to see. I took a step and my foot slipped out from under me, and I found myself sliding across the floor like a Dis-ney Goofy on Ice move. I attempted to gain traction and frowned. What the devil?

The light suddenly came on.

“The better to see with, my dear,” Sophie said, and I could sense skittishness in her voice.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the opportunity to look down to see what I’d stepped in.

“Oh my god, would you look at that!” I heard So-phie’s strangled cry before I could focus my line of sight downwards.

“It . . . it . . . it looks like . . . blood!” Taylor said, and I forced myself to look down at my defiled Skechers. The tan leather shoes were surrounded by a dark red pool. I began to shake.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Sophie said. “Do you think itcould be from a nosebleed?” she asked, wishful think-ing pathetically evident in her voice.

“Only if she had a schnozz the size of a pachyderm,” I said.

“Maybe she cut herself. You know. Accidentally,” Taylor said, “and she had to leave in a hurry to get stitched up.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“How come?” Taylor and Sophie asked.

“Well, for one thing, because of the crystal ball on the floor over there. The one that looks like it might have bits of hair, scalp, and, if I’m not mistaken, some brain matter stuck to it,” I said. “That’s kind of how come.”

Dead silence followed for several long, heavy heart-beats.

“Oh,” Taylor and Sophie said.

“Oh, holy-let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-here, you mean,” I said, backing out of the room, leaving footprints in blood that could lead a blind tracker to my door. Tay-lor and Sophie slowly backed out behind me. Down the hallway and back toward the beaded curtain and the storefront we trekked bass-ackwards. I’d just pushed my butt through the beads when I heard a sound at the back door of the boutique. I looked up, startled, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I was lucky it didn’t impale itself on a rib. A face stared at me though the glass of the door. The face of death.

“Aaaagh!” I screamed, and pivoted and barreled toward the front door with the force of a stampede of spooked beef sensing a slaughterhouse ahead. “Run!” I yelled. “Run!”

That was all the prompting required. My comrades hit the front door like Hannibal Lecter had just an-nounced dinner was served. A short struggle in thedoorway ensued when Taylor and Sophie tried to ne-gotiate who would exit first, resulting in a temporary logjam—for only as long as it took me to get to the door and break it (the logjam, not the door) with a red rover move I’m notorious for. I shoved Taylor and Sophie aside and barreled through the exit and down the steps. After a few frenzied, frustrating, terror-filled seconds waiting for Sophie to beep the blankety-blank car doors open, we piled in and locked the doors. So-phie started the car, slammed the vehicle in reverse, hit the accelerator and drove away.

We sat inside the dark interior listening to the sounds of our labored breathing.

Taylor, the two-year psych student, finally broke the silence: “Okay, let’s assess the situation, make some observations about what just happened and where we stand,” she said, sounding way too calm, cool, and col-lected for what we’d just experienced.

“Well, I learned one thing for sure,” I said. “Ca-dence the spiritual seer is piss-poor at predicting the future.”

“How do you know that?” Sophie asked, finding her voice.

“She never saw that crystal ball coming,” I said, “or she sure as hell would’ve ducked.”

We discussed several options for how to proceed, and decided we had no choice but to call 911 and re-port the missing spiritualist and the evidence of foul play.

“You can use a pay phone, Tressa,” Sophie said, and I stared at her.

“
I
can use a pay phone? Me? Why me? Why should I be the one to call?” I asked.

“You’ve already left bloody footprints all over the scene,” Sophie pointed out, “so you’re already impli-cated. Besides, you were the only one to see the dudein the mask at the door,” she added. “And don’t forget, I have to—”