High Desert Barbecue (2 page)

T
he phone rang.

S
cott retrieved headphones from under the piles of paper on his desk, all held in place by a Colt Mark IV Series 80 .45-caliber pistol used as a paper weight, and plugged them into the laptop, cutting Toby off in mid-proposition. He donned the headphones under his hat, leaving his right ear uncovered, and then answered the phone.

“
Scott here.”

“
Hey Scott, it’s Brian here in the office, with Jennifer, Kathy, Todd and Justin.”

“
Hey guys!”

H
e was answered by a round of “heys.”

“
How’s Arizona treating you?”

“
Oh, you know how it is. Another lousy day in paradise.” Scott danced slowly around the room, more or less in rhythm with the music in his headphones.

“
See any moose recently?”

“
Elk, Todd. We have elk here. I almost got mugged by one the other day.”

S
cott shot a glance toward the fax machine, which was slowly digesting the last page in the tray.

“
Hey, did you guys get my Web-traffic report?”

“
No,” Brian answered. “I was going to ask you about that. Did you send it through?”

T
he fax machine emitted a low buzz as it sent the last bits of data streaming off to New York.

“
Yep. If it’s not in your hands, it should be sitting on your fax machine. The news is good, by the way. Traffic is up and the new small-business section seems to be a big draw.”

“
Wait a minute.”

S
cott recognized Todd’s voice.

“
Are we really still emailing the data off to Scott, to print out and fax back to us?”

T
he telephone speaker remained silent for a long moment as Scott promenaded across his office to the opening strains of a 1980s-era Pogues song.

“
Uh oh,” he mouthed to himself.

“
Well … yeah,” Brian answered. “The networking site is his baby. Scott is responsible for submitting all the reports for his area of responsibility.”

“
But that raises another issue,” Kathy said.

Y
ou bitch, Scott thought. I’m being ambushed.

“
What exactly is Scott’s area of responsibility?”

“
I’m editor of the networking and development site,” Scott answered, slowing his fancy footwork so exertion wouldn’t show in his voice.

“
But what do you edit?” Kathy asked. “Didn’t we out-source all of our content something like two years ago?”

“
Well … he does write a column,” Brian chimed in. “You write a column, don’t you, Scott?”

“
Every week!”

“
And what about the newsletter?” Brian asked, grasping at a slender straw. Brian was Scott’s manager and had signed off on his continued employment through repeated reviews.

“
The newsletters are all automated,” Todd said. “They even send themselves.”

A
long pause ensued. Scott resigned himself to the inevitable

“
What about managing staff?” The voice sounded like Justin.

“
I’ll take this one,” Scott said, hoping to get the painful process done with. “Nope, we let go of the last of my staff sometime last year. That was Cathleen. Nice girl. We ran out of stuff for her to do.”

“
Then what is it we’re paying you for?”

S
cott thought long and hard, keeping his feet in motion to the music as he did so. He banged his shin against a fully loaded backpack perched atop a pile of camping gear that occupied the corner of his office, winced, and then turned his attention back to the conversation.

“
Well, aside from the column, you’re pretty much paying me to print out e-mails you send me and fax ‘em back to you.”

A
nother long pause ensued.

“
So, Todd, out of curiosity … What is it that
you
do?”

Chapter 4

F
ortunately for Lani’s peace of mind, she had no idea that her boyfriend had taken in a lodger. A woman of passionately held beliefs wrapped up in a petite blonde package, Lani passionately believed that Rollo was a lazy bum and at least a low-grade menace to the public good. The fact that the subject of her disdain wouldn’t necessarily dispute her description didn’t improve her outlook one bit.

S
he also passionately loved Scott, so she tolerated his itinerant friend—barely.

And she also liked kids. Which was good, since she spent a lot of time with them as a teacher.

“
Hey Miss Roche!”

L
ani peeled her eyes from the box of feminine pads in her hand. Regular or slender, she pondered. There were so many choices. She looked around for the source of the greeting. Nobody was visible up the aisle of the supermarket, and the large, dark-skinned woman in the other direction was facing away.

“
Miss Roche!”

S
he looked down.

“
How’s it goin’, Miss Roche?”

“
Oh, Ozzie. How are you?” She tossed the box—regular it was—over her shoulder into the shopping cart.

“
He’s in summer school, Miss Roche.” The large woman she’d noticed before wheeled a cart that groaned under its load. “He don’t do so well in all his classes like he does in yours.” She shrugged. “He don’t do so well in summer school either.”

L
ani grimaced sympathetically.

“
I’m sorry about that Mrs. Begay. I wish I could help, but there’s not much I can do about summer school.”

O
zzie tugged at Lani’s shirt.

“
They don’t let me cut class like you do.”

“
Ummm … Let’s call it independent study, Ozzie. Not cutting class.”

“
Yeah. They just make me sit there. It’s boring. I wish I could cut like I did in your class—”

“
Independent study, Ozzie.”

“
Yeah, but Mom says she’ll whup me if I do.”

“
I don’t care what you call it,” Mrs. Begay said. “You let him go in the forest and he reads books about the outdoors.”

“
Call of the Wild
!” Ozzie shouted.

“
Yeah. And you finished it. But the other teachers, they make him sit at a desk and he doesn’t read anything. I know what works. But I don’t want him held back.”

L
ani smiled.

“
I don’t blame you. He won’t get through school doing his own thing, I’m sorry to say. The schools want everybody learning the same way, even if it doesn’t work for all the kids. I try to give my own students a little more space.”

“
Yeah. I wish there was more like you.”

“
Thanks.”

N
ot wanting to spend the entire day chatting with a former student’s mother, Lani dropped her eyes to her shopping list. She hoped she wasn’t being too rude, but she had chores to do.

“
Hey.”

L
ani’s eyes rose—and froze. The box of feminine pads she’d tossed in her cart was being roughly examined from between Mrs. Begay’s large, calloused hands.

“
You use these? Don’t they hurt?”

L
ani bent her lips into a weak smile.

Chapter 5

W
hen Lani arrived at Scott’s house, Champ, as usual, surged ahead, straining at the leash.

“
Take it easy, boy. You’ll see Scott in a minute.”

S
he hauled back on Champ’s leash, pitting her 120 pound against Champ’s 65 pounds of slobbering enthusiasm, to allow herself enough reach to wriggle her hands into her purse for her keys to Scott’s house. With the maneuver accomplished, she allowed the black-and-white mutt to lead the way to Scott’s back door. Champ promptly nosed the door open, snatched the leash from Lani’s hand, and disappeared into the house.

L
ani glanced at the splintered rear door frame, then at the keys in her hand.

“
Scott!”

S
he passed through the kitchen, glancing at the polished wooden cabinets on the wall. The kitchen had been a sore spot when she and Scott began dating—actually, it was how they began dating.

D
ragged from bed early one morning by the sound of a power saw screaming its way through lumber, she’d quickly dressed in the previous day’s clothes, left scattered on her bedroom floor. The narrow hallway of her cluttered cottage was lined with shelves crowded mostly with children’s books. Gaps showed where books had been loaned to students.

T
rotting behind her, Champ whimpered with concern. Recently acquired from a shelter where he’d landed after being found wandering the street dirty and emaciated, the dog had quickly attached himself to Lani. He’d also demonstrated his appreciation for his new home and good treatment by taking a proprietary interest in the woman’s well-being. One of Lani’s more-aggressive dates learned the extent of Champ’s devotion when he talked his way through the door and tried to force the evening past her comfort zone. Lani sincerely hoped Champ’s teeth left permanent scars.

N
ow she rarely went anyplace without him. She grabbed the dog’s leash from a peg by the front door.

F
ive-feet, two-inches of blonde fury, she’d stalked across the driveway to the newly purchased neighboring house with Champ by her side. She’d marched to the back door, from behind which the cacophony seemed to originate. She’d put her full body weight into pounding on the door. A tall, muscular, balding man wearing dirty cut-off shorts and protective goggles pushed to the top of his head, with raccoon eyes of clean skin surrounded by an even layer of sawdust, answered her knock.

“
What can I do for you?”

“
I live next door. Right next door. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

T
he man shifted his gaze to a wall clock mounted above the arch leading to the living room. It’s …
whoops
! It’s just 6. Sorry if I woke you up. I couldn’t sleep and I thought it was later.”

L
ani glanced around the construction zone that had replaced the house’s kitchen. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Champ easing forward and sniffing curiously at the stranger. The dog grinned. She tugged back on the leash.

“
You’re renovating?”
“Yep.”

“
I don’t see a permit posted.”

“
I don’t have one.”

“
You may not know, but the city requires—”

T
he man shook his head and interrupted.

“
I know, but I don’t care. The city doesn’t own this house. I do. The mayor doesn’t have to ask my permission to make city hall even uglier than it already is, and I’m not gonna ask his permission to install some cabinets and an electric oven that won’t burn my dinner.”

L
ani stood at the doorstep with her mouth open. Then she smiled.

“
You don’t like being told what to do, do you?”

T
he half-dressed man smiled back.

“
Nope. But I also don’t like bugging people. I’m really sorry about that.”

H
e reached out of Lani’s sight and grabbed a t-shirt as ratty as his shorts. As he slipped the shirt over his head, Champ pushed forward and nuzzled the man’s bare knee.