Calamity Jayne Heads West (25 page)

“Live here,” I finished. “I know.”

We drove to a restaurant and I made the call from the lobby, reporting a prowler in a Hopi death mask behind The Spiritual Boutique and a possible bur-glary at that location; then I ran back to Sophie’s car.

“We’ll have to wait for the police, you know,” I told my two deputies. “And give them the information we have. The artifacts and the clues. We might as well go back to The Boutique and get it over with.” In a way I was glad to be able to hand over the quest to the pro-fessionals. Besides, it looked like we were at the end of the trail, anyway, as far as clues went.

Sophie’s cell phone began to ring and she answered.

“Hello? No. No, he’s not with us. No. I haven’t seen him. Just a minute.” Sophie put the phone down and turned to Taylor and me. “Did either of you happen to speak to Nick Townsend at the IMAX earlier? Did he say anything about his plans for later in the day? What he might be doing?” she asked. We both shook our heads.

“No, but I generally try to avoid the varmint,” I said. “Why?”

“Apparently, they can’t find the little guy. They thought maybe he’d tricked his way into coming along with us.” She put the phone back to her ear. “No. No one here has had contact with him since the IMAX. How long has he been missing?” Sophie asked. “That long, huh? You know kids, maybe he’s out on the grounds or exploring some of the hiking trails and lost track of time. Okay. Sure. We’ll be right there. Yep. Bye.” Sophie hung up the phone. “Mom wants us back at The Titan ASAP to help search for Nick.”

“How long has he been missing?” I asked, thinking there was a chance the little buzzard had pulled this disappearing act to gain attention.

“They saw him at dinner, and afterwards he said he was going to check out the visitors center, but he hadn’t returned to the hotel. They’ve alerted the hotel security to assist in locating him. So far, nothing,” So-phie said with a worried wrinkle creasing her brow.

“I think, under the circumstances, we’d better get back to The Titan,” I said. “I can always turn myself in once we find the kid,” I added. Comforting thought.

I found myself praying that Nick Townsend
had
pulled one of his asinine, adolescent, attention-seeking stunts, and that he was sitting somewhere eating a candy bar and star-gazing. But like it or not, there was a possibility that, as a result of our Snowbowl partner-ship, I’d placed the boy in the middle of a high-stakes survivor scavenger hunt where to outlast, outplay, and outthink your competitor might be the only thing be-tween you and the Happy Hunting Grounds.

We made it back to the park and The Titan in less than two hours thanks to Sophie’s NASCAR predilec-tions. She and Taylor hurried up to the rooms to see if anyone was about, and I hurried to the registration desk.

“Has there been any word on Nick Townsend, the ten-year-old who is missing?” I asked. The clerk shook his head.

“I don’t think there’s been any change,” he said. “Are you with that party?” he asked. I nodded.

“I’m registered at your hotel,” I said.

“Would your name be Tressa?” he asked.

“It would be,” I said. “Why?”

“I have a message for you,” he said. “Someone dropped it off several hours ago and asked me to hand-deliver it to you and you alone.”

“Was it a guy or a gal?” I asked.

“That I can’t tell you,” he answered. “I wasn’t onduty when they left it. I only arrived at four.” He handed me the note. I walked over to the fireplace and opened and read it. My legs went all linguine with clam sauce on me. I dropped onto a bright red leather sofa and read the note once more, wondering what the hell I was going to do next. I read the note again.

But most of all I’d need the mother of all spirit guides, the one, the only, the alpha and omega spirit in the sky watching my back.

I sat a moment longer collecting my thoughts and locating my backbone. I wondered what sage words of advice Duke would have for me now. I suddenly re-membered a favorite quote of Wayne’s that appeared on a collectible coffee mug I’d gotten several Christ-mases back.

“Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway,” he had supposedly observed.

That just about said it all.

I stood, strapped on my make-believe holster anddrew my pretend six-shooters and twirled them several times.

Do you know a gal by the name of Calamity Jayne here-abouts?
I hear she’s got grit.

I holstered my finger revolvers with a flourish. Showdown time.

I managed to evade Taylor, Sophie and Gram, figur-ing the Big Guy above the clouds was working over-time to assist me in my quest to bring Nick home safe and sound. I’d visited the gift shop again and pur-chased candy and water, a flashlight—a glow-in-the-dark number the clerk swore any child would have hours of fun with—a Grand Canyon Park canvas bag to place the clues and artifacts in. I also picked up park information on the various south rim trails. I slipped up to the room and changed into boots and black jeans and sweatshirt, and gathered the rest of the items I needed.

I checked my watch again, noted it was nearing nine, and I hurried out of the room, taking care to avoid the lobby area as I made my way out of the hotel and in the direction of the Grandview Trail.

My hand shook as I double-checked the location of the trail. I pulled the new glow-in-the-dark flashlight out and turned it on. Then turned it back off. The damned thing didn’t glow at all. When this was over, I was so gonna get my money back.

I made my way along the steep trail, using the flash-light to illuminate my way. The literature put the trail end at 3.2 miles, at which time you reached a plateau of sorts. I picked my way along, wishing I had thought to buy one of those geeky pedometer thingies you wear to measure how much you walk—or, I suppose, run, if you have the inclination. That way I’d know how far I’d come and how far it was back to the hotel.

I huffed and puffed and wondered how Rick Town-send was going to react when he found out his nephew had been kidnapped because I’d caved to the mini-manipulator’s coercion and taken him with me to re-trieve that first clue. Or how Townsend would feel when he learned I’d kept my discoveries from him to give my credibility another shot in the arm. Or if he’d ever speak to me again if something happened to his nephew.

My eyes got blurry at this point, my nose a little drippy, my steps a little loopy, so I stopped to snuffle the snot back up and dab at my eyes with my sleeve. It was then I caught the sound of rustling in the under-brush ahead. I flipped off my light to cloak myself in the night until I noticed my hands were glowing green. For a moment, stories of little green men, alien abductions and top-secret military experiments flashed through my head like a bad B-movie reel, until I traced the source of the unearthly glow to the damned glow-in-the-dark flashlight that had decided to start glowing for all it was worth.

“Son of a sagebrush!” I said, sticking the flashlight in the waistband of my pants. “Figures. Piece of crap’d start working now,” I muttered.

I took a few steps forward, stopped and listened. More steps. Stop and listen. Step. Listen. Step. Listen. Talk about she’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes. At this rate, I’d be lucky if I made it round the next bend before dawn. Inspiring display of true grit.

I ventured forward a good fifty steps, slow and steady, the darkness of the June night settling around me like a heavy velvet curtain.

“That’s good right there.”

I heard the command up ahead and off to my right, and I grabbed my glow light, switched it on, andturned it in that direction, the beam shooting straight into the frightening yet oddly compelling features of the kachina mask. My knees began to knock together. Give me a set of spoons, stick a harmonica in my mouth, strap a couple cymbals to my knees and you’d have a freakin’ one-woman Ms. Bojangles band.

“Do you have the items?” the masked man asked, and I finally found the neurological function to nod.

“Do you have the kid?” I said, amazed that my voice hadn’t permanently amscrayed.

The figure shined a bright spotlight up and to my left. I tracked the beam with nervous dread. The beam stopped, resting on two figures on a steep, rocky cliff. My blood cooled in my veins and my body began to shake. Nick Townsend stood on the narrow edge of rock. Beside him, with an arm tucked around Nick’s chest, the other covering his mouth, was a second masked figure, his face eerily similar to his partner’s.

“How do I know the kid’s all right?” I asked. “I can hardly see him from here.”

The masked man calling the shots nodded at his as-sociate. “Let him speak,” he instructed, and Maniac Mask number two removed his hand from Nick’s mouth.

“Nick! Are you all right?” I shouted to him. He hesi-tated for a second and then nodded.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I want to go home now, though,” he added, and I felt my control begin to slip. I bit my lip.

“I’ll get you there,” I said. “I promise.”

“Enough talk!” Maniac Mask number one inter-jected. “Now let’s get down to business so the boy can return to hearth and home healthy and unharmed.”

“How is this going to work?” I said. “How do I know I can trust you?” I added.

“You don’t,” he said.

“Doesn’t that pose a particular problem then?” I asked. “Because I’m not going to hand over the goods until you let the kid go and he’s safely on his way,” I said.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re outnumbered,” the Masked Menace pointed out. “So, I think I’ll call the shots if you don’t mind.”

“Would it matter if I did?” I asked.

“Here’s how it’s going to go down,” Mr. Death Mask said. “There’s a dead tree about fifty feet directly in front of you. On the ground in front of that tree is a bag. You’re going to place the artifacts and those ridiculous clues into the bag and zip it up. Then you’re going to start walking backwards. You’ll keep walking backwards until the boy joins you on the trail. Then you turn around and keep walking toward the hotel and you don’t look back. Not ever. Got it?”

I went over the instructions in my head.

“Why do I have to walk backwards?” I asked. “How am I supposed to see where I’m going? What if I trip over something and fall? What if—”

“Just do it!” Mr. Mask yelled. I nodded.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” I said, “but I’ll warn you right now the pace will be slower than a javelina on stilts because I’m wearing my Dingo slouch boots and while they’re great for a spirited two-step, they aren’t the best for backing up. You see, they’re just a tad too large—they didn’t have a half size smaller and I so didn’t want to squeeze the tootsies in where they wasn’t room and end up with bunions like my gammy, and, as a result, they slip off from time to time and my heels get caught up—”

“Silence!” the Masked One said, and I cursed the nervous blathering babble that tends to erupt from my oral cavity during stressful situations. Or when I’ve had one too many beers.

“Shutting up,” I said, and walked in the direction the masked man’s light pointed.

I stopped at the base of the dead tree, located the tan canvas zipper bag, and pulled my javelina back-pack off my shoulders, unzipped it and drew out the smaller bag with the fruits of my treasure hunt inside. I placed the small bag in the larger one and zipped it up, and began to take baby steps backwards.

“That’s it. Nice and easy. No tricks now.”

I’d just come abreast of the rock formation where Nick and the second bad guy waited when I heard Nick yell.

“Let me go! Let me go! Stop!” I turned to see him scuffling with the figure beside him, attempting to kick him.

“Nick! No!” I screamed. “Don’t!”

Nick suddenly broke free and disappeared, and the masked figure disappeared after him.

“Nick!” I screamed, and grabbed my flashlight and turned it on, running in the direction Nick had taken. “Nick! Hide!” I yelled. “Run and hide!”

I remembered the bag and turned in time to see the first masked man grab it and take off. I didn’t consider going after the man with the bag. Nick was my only concern. I took off in the direction I’d last seen him, climbing up and over rocks and bushes. I stopped. It was so quiet. Too quiet.

I turned my glow light off and pocketed it.

“Nick?” I whispered. “Nick?”

A millisecond later, out of the underbrush I saw Nick run past, just below me. A tenth of a second after that I saw the masked man appear right behind him.

Taking no time to consider the consequences, I leaped down on top of the masked man, clinging to his neck with a death grip, gripping his midsection with thighs that were saddle-tested and bareback tough. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the glow light and started smacking him on his head,hard, squeezing his innards with my legs like a Siamese python.

“Dammit! Shit! Stop! Son of a bitch! Ow!”

The masked man tripped and we both hit the rocks hard, Mr. Mask II getting the worse end of the deal since I was on top. I didn’t miss a drumbeat as I con-tinued whacking the dude with my light. His mask came off. Long, black, shiny hair—that also smelled heavenly, by the way, but that’s beside the point—spilled out of a ponytail holder and over his shoulders.

“Raphael!” I hissed. “I knew it!”

Boom! I whacked him one for scaring the flip-flops off Kelsey.

Boom! I whacked him one for stealing Sophie’s de-signer bag.