Dark Moon Crossing (18 page)

He shook his head slowly, but I could see the wheels
turning behind his unfocused gaze. “Tell you what I can do. I’ll stop by a
colleague’s office on the way back here tomorrow and pick you up a bottle of
the liquid. Will that help out?‌”

What a nice guy. I flashed him an appreciative grin.
“More than you know.”

“Well, all right then.”

“I can’t thank you and Payton enough. Did he happen
to tell you how this whole thing happened?‌” The kitten buried her face against
my chest and I held her tighter.

His
face darkened. “Yeah. Said Jason was showing off again in his new truck. Man,
that kid’s got a wild streak that needs taming. But every time Champ comes
down hard on him Twyla comes running to rescue his skinny hide. I’ve told my
sister time and again that she’s too easy on him. That boy needs to be reined
in before he gets involved in something really serious.”

I
longed to tell him about the incident with Lupe and that his nephew’s cruel
behavior went beyond someone having a good time, but I knew that most people
weren’t too keen about receiving criticism from a stranger. “On the flip side,
Payton seems like a real standup guy.”

“That’s
for sure. And considering the string of bad luck the poor guy’s had in his
life, not to mention the raft of crap my spoiled ass rotten niece has dished
out, well, it’s amazing he even comes around anymore.”

His
statement tweaked my curiosity, but the thud of footsteps outside in the
hallway put my growing list of questions about this affable young man on hold.

“So,
does she own you yet?‌” Payton asked with a merry twinkle in his eye as he
ducked under the low doorway with Brett still in his arms. I cocked my head in
question and he grinned. “When you get to know cats better you’ll soon find out
which one of you is really calling the shots.”

Chuckling, Dean concurred as I gently placed Marmalade
back in her cage. I still couldn’t believe it. I was now a pet owner and the
new responsibility weighed on me. My mind spun ahead to all the things I would
need to acquire for my new roommate—a litter box, food, and cat toys. Lots of
cat toys.

A hazy gold and orchid twilight accented by smudges of
dark, thin clouds was settling into the valley, throwing dark pockets of
shadows into the deep clefts and canyons of the surrounding mountain ranges
when we finally climbed into the truck. The chill wind made me wish I’d
thought to bring my jacket along. Dean had declined my offer to pay for his
veterinary services and as we headed back, it dawned on me that even though I’d
worked out details for tomorrow, I still didn’t know where I’d be spending the
night. Dog-tired didn’t even begin to describe how weary I felt. The
hour-long drive to Green Valley was growing less appealing by the minute, so
perhaps I’d best consider Twyla’s offer to bunk with the lady from New Jersey.
On top of that, even though the cookies kindly offered to me by Inez had taken
the edge off, hunger pangs bounced around my belly, making the quest for dinner
uppermost on my mind.

Brett fell asleep almost immediately and, except for
exchanging a few phrases of small talk, Payton seemed preoccupied in his own
thoughts, making for a quiet trip back to the main house. In the fading light,
set snugly against the dark backdrop of the hills, warm light spilling from
every window, the Beaumont house emitted a message of cheerful welcome. When I
stole a look at Payton’s rigid jaw line, I could guess what he was thinking.
Total strangers were now welcome here, but that invitation no longer extended
to him. The twinge of sympathy had me thanking my lucky stars that I’d stood
firm against having a child early in my marriage or I’d be facing the same
heartache of being a part-time parent.

Gently, he shook Brett awake and I walked beside him
as he carried the still-sleepy child up the steps and rang the doorbell as any
other outsider would. “This is the hardest part,” he murmured to me, tightening
his hold on the boy.

The door flew open to reveal a diminutive Chinese
woman wearing a sour expression on her sallow, wrinkled face. “You bring boy
late for dinner,” she admonished Payton, reaching high to pull Brett from his arms.
“Everybody eat already. Watch out. Missy Bethany not happy.”

Facial muscles quivering, he relinquished his hold and
then glanced at his watch. “Nice to see you too, Lin Su,” he replied mildly,
ignoring her criticism. “She said to have him back by…”

“Five,” said Bethany stepping into the glow of the
yellow porch light. “I distinctly told you dinner was at five.” Eyes aglitter,
obviously spoiling for a fight, she looked like a fierce lion with her golden
tresses tumbling around her face. As always, injustice of any kind heightened
my blood pressure and I was close to jumping to his defense when Payton
insisted, “You said six.” He was breathing hard through his nostrils.

“Oh, I think not,” she said with playful spite, “but I
guess we’ll forgive you. Please try to be more considerate of other people next
time.”

Payton opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again and
then, apparently thinking better of it, turned to me. “Kendall, I’ll see you
for lunch tomorrow.” With that, he wheeled around and hurried away into the
darkness. What a thoroughly obnoxious family. I couldn’t begin to imagine
what it was about these people Tally found so appealing that he’d go out of his
way to come here and spend any amount of time. I made an instant decision not to
stay the night. If I had time perhaps I’d stop by tomorrow, in hopes of
speaking with Champ Beaumont about the location of the butchered animals found
on his property. “Would it be possible for me to use a telephone?‌”

Her inquisitive gaze darted toward Payton’s retreating
taillights and then back to me. I knew she was still under the impression that
we were together, but I didn’t feel compelled to confirm or deny her
suspicions. Let her wonder.

“In the kitchen,” she said, waving carelessly towards
an open archway to my left. I felt like one of the hired help as she dismissed
me with an imperious nod and vanished through another doorway before I could
even thank her. Annoyed, tired and hungry, I stepped into an enormous,
high-ceilinged room bustling with activity and smelling deliciously of garlic,
onions and other spices. Twyla stood in front of a side-by-side refrigerator
barking orders in Spanish as she pulled out pie wedges and handed them to two
young Hispanic girls. Another bronze-skinned woman whose blunt features
identified her as Native American scoured pots at the sink. I fished my phone
card from my purse and glanced longingly at the kitchen table strewn with empty
plates, the remains of a salad, half-eaten dinner rolls and the well-picked
bones of a barbecued-pork roast. Yum. Bet that had been scrumptious. At the
far end, a burly man with a sun-crinkled face capped by a thick shock of gray
hair sat reading a newspaper, his boots propped up on another chair, seemingly
oblivious to all the commotion.

Her hands filled with four pie plates, Twyla’s long
skirt billowed behind her as she rushed by heading towards an open doorway
where I caught a glimpse of gaily- chattering people seated at tables covered
with red-checkered cloths adorned with kerosene lamps. “I’m sorry,
Miss…ah…Miss ah….”

“O’Dell.”

“Right after you left with Payton this afternoon I
filled that vacant bed with another guest.” She smiled a fleeting apology and
hurried to feed the waiting diners, now being serenaded by someone playing a
guitar and crooning a popular western tune.

Fine. I hadn’t planned to stay under any
circumstances. “Excuse me,” I called to the man at the end of the long table,
“is there a phone book I can use?‌”

The newspaper lowered enough for me to make out two
eyes the same periwinkle blue as Bethany’s. “Bottom shelf on that cart right
behind you.” The paper rose again, dismissing me. I shrugged. He probably
assumed that I was one of the guests.

I tried several places before I found a vacancy, which
I secured with my credit card. Then I called Lupe to see if she’d arrived home
safely. She sounded miserable, so I didn’t try to share the news of the
missing
coyote
with her, just told her to rest and I’d talk to her
tomorrow. I was dialing Tally’s number just as Twyla returned and collapsed in
a chair beside the man I assumed was her husband, Champ Beaumont. She leaned
over and began speaking to him in low undertones. While I waited for someone
to answer, I caught bits and pieces of her conversation that included Payton’s
name and my own. He lowered the newspaper long enough to gaze at me
reflectively for a few seconds before returning his attention to his reading
material.

When I heard Ruth’s lackluster ‘hullo’ immediate
irritation flooded my chest. What, I wondered, were the odds that Tally would
get this message either?‌ As expected, Ronda wasn’t around, so I had no choice
but to deal with her again. Perhaps I’d try diplomacy. “Ruth, do you have
something handy to jot down a note?‌”

“I don’t need to write anything down,” she snapped.
“Just say what you have to say and I’ll tell him when he gets in.”

I burned to say, ‘Oh, yeah?‌ Like the silly little
game you played yesterday?‌’ but I bit it back. “I’m calling from the Sundog
Ranch. Tell Tally I’ll be out and about all day tomorrow, but I’ll be home in
the evening around seven as planned.”

“Anything else?‌”

“He can try my cell phone if he wants to.”

“Okay.” Click.

Nonplussed by her insolent behavior as always, I
cradled the receiver and exhaled a long, calming breath before turning to thank
my hosts. A little thrill of surprise rippled through me at Champ’s
questioning stare. He tossed the newspaper aside, jumped to his feet and
advanced on me. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but overhear part of your
conversation,” he said, still wearing a bemused expression. “Did I hear
correctly that your name is O’Dell?‌”

“Yes.”

“You’re not by any chance from up Castle Valley way,
are you?‌”

“Yes, I am.”

His eyes blazed with anticipation. “And you wouldn’t
happen to be acquainted with a fine young fellow by the name of Bradley
Talverson?‌”

I grinned. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

He slapped his thigh and bellowed with laughter.
“Well, why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place?‌” He slid a beefy arm
around my shoulders and turned to his wife. “Do you know who this pretty
little gal is?‌”

Her delicate features gathered in a frown. “Well, I
assumed she was with Payton….”

He tightened his hold on me, announcing in an elated
tone, “Don’t you recognize her name?‌ This is Kendall
O’Dell
. You know,
Tally’s girl!”

Twyla’s face flushed with confusion. “Well, my
goodness, why didn’t you say something earlier?‌”

“The opportunity didn’t present itself until now.”

“We wouldn’t hear of you driving all the way over to
Green Valley, would we?‌” Champ insisted, continuing eye contact with his wife.
“I’m sure we can make room someplace for her to stay the night.”

Twyla’s gaze turned inward for a few seconds before
she said vaguely, “Well…all the guest rooms are filled…but I guess I could have
some of the girls clean out the sewing room….”

“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account,” I
interjected, sensing that he’d put her on the spot. “I’ll be fine with….”

“Problem’s solved then. You can cancel those motel
reservations,” Champ said with a tone of firm conviction, squeezing my shoulder
once more. “You had supper yet?‌”

“Well, no, but….”

“Say no more. I’m sure we can rustle you up some grub
too.”

“Of course we can,” Twyla agreed, beaming me a
gracious smile.

After two days of meeting people who hadn’t exactly
rolled out the welcome wagon, it felt really good to bask in the glow of their
concern and genuine acceptance. But the pleasant fuzzy feeling diminished when
my glance strayed to Bethany standing still as a stone in the kitchen doorway.
There was not the slightest hint of warmth on her face. None. In fact, her
eyes, frosty as two blue glaciers, were locked on me with an expression of
unadulterated resentment.

Hours
later, after being peppered with a multitude of questions about my purpose for
being in the area, and plied with liquor and more food than one person could
possibly eat, I was comfortably ensconced on the second floor in the family
wing of the spacious ranch house. Under Twyla’s direction, the two young
Hispanic women had swiftly cleared out the ironing board, baskets of freshly
laundered clothing, assorted boxes and the sewing machine to make room for my
arrival. After such an excruciatingly long day, I could hardly wait to snuggle
under the covers in the sofa bed for a well-earned night’s sleep. But a hot
bath sounded awfully good, so I grabbed up my cosmetic bag and headed back down
the long L-shaped hallway where Twyla had conducted a brief tour just minutes
earlier, proudly showing off the recently remodeled master bedroom suite with
its enormous bath and walk-in closets. Bethany’s ultra-cute pink and white
room was located further along the hall adjacent to Brett’s bedroom that
boasted one bright red wall and was decorated with cheerful blue and yellow
furniture.

I heard water running behind the closed bathroom door,
so I killed time by wandering along the wood-paneled corridor admiring original
oil paintings depicting Native American culture and western scenes filled with
cowboys herding cattle and chasing down wild horses. There were several
extraordinary, and I’m certain very expensive, pieces of bronze cowboy
sculpture near the wide staircase. At the far end of the hall, I glanced into
a partially open doorway and stopped in my tracks when the message emblazoned
on a large poster hanging near the door caught my eye. DIE SCUM-SUCKING
WETBACKS! Below it was a photograph of Congressman Lyle Stanley and his
attractive but gaunt-looking Mexican wife. I leaned in, squinting at the small
print that indicated they were entering a hospital in Tucson. The rest of the
caption had been torn off and someone had stuck a hunting knife through the
paper in the exact region of her heart. The protruding handle cast a menacing
shadow on the wall. Whoa, mama. What, I wondered, did the Hispanic staff
members think of such a blatant portrait of hatred?‌ I cast a quick look around
to see if anyone was near before edging the door open a little further. The
entire room, dimly lit by the wavering greenish-blue glow of a 70’s style lava
lamp and a creepy skull-faced screen saver on a computer monitor, was papered
with an array of disturbing posters. ARYAN BROTHERS AWAKE! SUPPORT THE
AMERICAN NAZI PARTY! RACIAL PURITY IS AMERICAN SECURITY! WHITE IS RIGHT!

My initial suspicion that this was Jason’s room was
confirmed when I spotted a framed photo of him posing with several other
skinheads in camouflage gear, smiling wickedly while proudly brandishing AK-47
rifles. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t resist a closer look. After a
cursory glance at the empty hallway, I hurried to the junk-littered dresser and
angled the photo towards the light. One of the brawny skinheads standing next
to Jason was the evil-looking guy I’d seen in the restaurant and then
afterwards in the white truck outside the Shirleys’ house. Interesting. I put
the photo back, taking note of the .45 caliber handgun and hunting knife
resting alongside a pair of binoculars.

I looked around the room. To say it was unkempt would
be charitable. The bed was unmade, piles of dirty laundry lay everywhere, but
it was the mountain of books and pamphlets that lured me to the computer desk.
Using the yellowish light pulsing from the skull, I sifted through some of the
mounds of files containing newspaper clippings. Most were examples of border
catastrophes befalling the Arizona ranch community, while some focused on the
thousands of illegals apprehended by Border Patrol agents just in the past
several weeks. Other clippings contained stories of a major drug bust, and the
disturbing fact that the leaders of Mexico’s most notoriously brutal drug
cartel were considering moving their operations from Tijuana to the border with
Arizona. I was shocked to read of recent incidents involving Mexican troops
firing on American citizens inside our own borders. Whoa. No wonder Walter
and his wife had called it quits.

There was also a troubling article regarding the
reconquista
movement. This well-funded Mexican activist group advocated overturning the
Guadalupe-Hidalgo Treaty with Mexico and reclaiming the southwestern United
States. “Unreal,” I whispered, shuffling through additional articles that told
horror stories of American women being raped and several local families being
robbed and terrorized by Mexican gangs. There were reams of hate literature
filled with crude drawings depicting the systematic execution of Jews, Blacks,
Arabs and Mexicans, inflammatory anti-government material and scores of gun
brochures. But when I came to information he’d downloaded from the Internet
that gave detailed instructions for producing various types of explosives, and
accompanying articles on how to carry out assassinations in foreign countries,
my insides shrank in horror. This kid was one sick puppy.

Deep in thought, I absent-mindedly set the file back
on the uneven pile, only to have the whole thing shift and begin to slide off
the desk. I made a hasty grab to keep it from hitting the floor and, in the process,
bumped the mouse, which removed the screen saver. Suddenly, I was staring at
one of Jason Beaumont’s e-mail messages.
“Merrily the feast I’ll make.
Today I’ll brew, tomorrow bake; merrily I’ll dance and sing, in four days will
some strangers bring.”

How weird. Frowning, I glanced at the top of the
screen for the sender’s address but froze when the thump of footsteps on the
stairs closed off the breath in my throat. Cautiously, I tiptoed to the door
and peeked around the corner. Oh, my God. It was Jason Beaumont. Yeah, I was
just the person he’d want to find snooping around in his room. I searched
frantically for a hiding place. With no more than seconds to spare, I chose
the age-old standby, and dove under the bed as he tromped into the room and
snapped on the light. To my utter dismay, he flopped onto the bed, which
caused the springs above my head to sag down until they pressed my chin into
the floor. With a loud grunt, he pulled off his rough leather boots and threw
them down only inches from my face. Phew! The rank smell practically made me
gag, but I dared not move a muscle. I shut my eyes, breathing shallowly
through my mouth until the wave of nausea subsided.

Holy crap. How was I going to get out of this one?‌
Would I have to stay here all night?‌ Visions of the luxurious bath, and then
crawling into a cozy bed, evaporated. I could have happily kicked my own ass.

Thankfully, only seconds later, he rose and moved to
the desk. I tensed. Would he notice that the screensaver was gone?‌ I heard
tap, tap, tapping at the computer keyboard and then the familiar melodic hiss
as he connected to the Internet. Oh, Lord. This could be a very long night.
The realization that there was nothing I could do brought tears of frustration
to my eyes. I’d just decided things could not possibly get any worse when I
heard claws clicking on the hardwood floor and the distinct sound of panting.
The dog! Four black paws appeared in the doorway, stopped and then headed
right for me. I stiffened with dread when the dog dropped to its belly and
stuck its nose under the bed. Loud snuffling of the makeup bag clutched in my
right hand and then silence as the dog flattened his chin on the floor and
surveyed me with puzzled brown eyes. I cringed, fully expecting furious barks
to reveal my hiding place, but instead his tail thumped and he let out a joyous
whimper, followed by an expectant yelp. Good gravy. He wanted to play!

“Shut up, Rascal!” Jason roared.

The dog’s tail swished back and forth so hard his
entire rear end swayed. He scooted a little closer until his snout was against
my face and then he began to enthusiastically lick my cheeks and nose. When he
moved around to my left ear, it tickled so much I could hardly keep from
giggling. In fact, the whole ridiculous situation made me want to scream with
laughter. But the idea of being discovered by Jason was sobering enough to
squelch the sensation.

“What the hell are you up to?‌” came Jason’s gruff
inquiry.

If I didn’t do something fast, it would all be over.
Craning my neck, I looked to my right. There were more piles of paper,
shoeboxes and several huge batteries nestled among dust bunnies the size of
golf balls. I reached my left hand down beside me and felt around, finally
grabbing hold of something made of cloth. I pulled it forward, rolling it into
a ball before shoving it towards the dog’s mouth. Gross. It was underwear.
Jason’s grubby underwear.

But Rascal seemed thrilled to get it. He grabbed it
up. Shook it. Threw it into the air, pounced, then brought it back to me.
Obligingly, I rolled it up again and he whined with anticipation before
scampering around the room shaking it violently in his teeth.

As expected, his noisy antics finally captured Jason’s
attention. I heard the squeak of the chair rolling away from the desk and the
pad of stocking feet. He lunged at the dog growling, “What’s this?‌ Hey, you
like my shitty boxers, boy?‌ Well, there are lots more where these came from.
Have at ‘em.” Laughing, he threw the shorts back to the dog and left the
room.

I listened to his muffled footsteps and when a door
slammed, no doubt to the bathroom where the empty tub still awaited me, I
scrambled out from under the bed and made a beeline for the other end of the
house. Rascal was right beside me. Once we got past the bathroom door, I
slowed my pace to avoid suspicion. Before entering the little room once more,
my quick backward glance confirmed that no one else was around. With a groan
of relief, I collapsed onto the bed and stayed there until my hammering
heartbeat subsided. Oh, boy. That had been way too close.

The end result of my foolhardy predicament left me so
lightheaded that I could hardly force myself to a sitting position. Rascal sat
at the foot of the bed, tongue lolling to one side of his mouth, patiently
waiting for me to resume our playtime. “I don’t think we’ve been formally
introduced,” I said, reaching out to pet his silky black fur. “O’Dell’s the
name, trouble’s my game.”

He scooted a little closer and laid his chin on my
knee. I smiled, deciding that so far Rascal was my favorite member of the
Beaumont household. I waited another fifteen minutes before venturing to the bathroom
again and this time I was successful. Even as I was submerged in the glorious
rose-scented bubbles, I could not stop thinking about what I had seen in
Jason’s room and no amount of soap seemed sufficient to wash away the appalling
sensation of hostility that had permeated his room. I wished I’d had time to
stay and see what site he’d visited on the Internet.

A half hour later, I returned to my room. Rascal was
gone. It was barely nine o’clock but the house was quiet. Just like Tally and
his family, it appeared that most ranchers retired early and rose at first
light. If I’d been at the motel in Green Valley as planned, I’d be using this
down time to make phone calls and go online to research the White power
movement in this area. On my hands and knees, I searched the room for a phone
jack but came up empty. Nothing on this trip seemed to be going as planned.
When I stood up, the sensation of total weariness rolling over me was so strong
it felt like my bones were melting. I could hardly get into bed fast enough.

In the pitch-black room, I lay there staring out the
window at the legion of stars, a veritable celestial banquet interrupted only
now and then by an occasional gauzy cloud. The ceaseless wind rattled the
windows, and tree branches scratched out a soothing lullaby on the glass as I
waited for sleep. But even though I tried to banish all thoughts of the past
forty-eight hours, my mind continued to churn like a washer on permanent spin
cycle. I thought about Lupe and Javier, Sister Goldenrod and Froggy. Mazzie
La Casse’s descriptions of the extraterrestrials whirled in my mind along with
the disquieting conversations with Jennifer and Loydeen Shirley. I could
picture the smirking face of Border Agent Hank Breslow and the malevolent
warning glare from the muscular skinhead. Warning about what?‌ And what about
the perplexing e-mail on Jason’s computer?‌ The words struck a familiar chord,
but I could not for the life of me remember where I’d heard them before. Its
riddle-like quality seemed strangely reminiscent of Froggy’s distorted nursery
rhyme from last night and made me suspect that it was some sort of code. Had
Jason been the recipient of his call?‌ And if so, did that mean that he was
involved somehow in smuggling illegals into the country?‌ But what reason would
he have to do that?‌ Considering his standpoint, it seemed more logical that it
would serve his interests better to make sure they stayed out.

The more I chewed on all the possibilities, the more
they became a muddled mass of unconnected clues, none of which made any sense,
separately or together. Payton, Brett and the rescued kitten were small bright
spots, but overlaid across the top of all that was the one subject I didn’t
want to approach. I had deliberately avoided it all day, but at that moment I
relaxed just enough for the back door of my mind to crack open and it slithered
in, dragging with it a sliver of doubt that seemed to seep from the deepest,
darkest regions of my heart.

If pushed to interpret the contemptuous stare Bethany
Beaumont had bestowed upon me from the doorway of the kitchen a few hours ago,
and combining it with the eerie premonition that had enveloped me when I first
laid eyes on her, I would have to admit in my heart of hearts that I was
suffering from an acute case of jealousy. Oh, I knew myself well enough to
know that I sometimes tended to react impulsively, but no matter how I tried to
deny it, there remained the very good possibility that her reaction to my true
identity stemmed not from her father’s obvious affinity for me, but instead
from the fact that she may well have her sights set on Tally. And, of course,
that led to the second part of my supposition. What were his feelings towards
her?‌ Was it possible that
she
was the overriding reason he’d been
making so many trips down here and not, as Champ Beaumont had told me earlier,
that Tally was helping them out of a financial bind by purchasing, at top
dollar, several hundred head of cattle that he could no longer afford to feed?‌
But, what proof, other than relying solely on my instincts, did I have for
entertaining such a discomfiting hypothesis?‌ Suddenly, his brooding demeanor
and testy behavior with me these past few weeks took on new and disturbing
significance. And what of Ginger’s secretive reference to another woman, and
her somber warning that I was in danger of somehow spoiling our relationship?‌