Love Is in the Air (88 page)

“Shit,” Quinton said as he joined the search. “You mean the one with my damn name embroidered on the pocket?”

“That’s the one.”

Both men jerked upright at the same moment. Sirens blared in the near distance.

“You’ve got to tell them, Quinton. To hell with chivalry, man. Regina has got to back you up.”

Quinton knew that Regina would not even talk to him, let alone ruin her life to provide him with an alibi. “I can’t.”

Ralph grabbed Quinton’s arm and pulled him around. “Hello. You are going to jail in a few short minutes. We don’t have time for another plan.”

Maneuvering Ralph back into the hotel room before they caused too much of a commotion, Quinton headed to the bathroom.

“This is not time for a potty break, Quinton. Come on. Call Regina or I will.”

Quinton spoke to his assistant as he pried the bathroom window from its frame. “You will not. Go back to your room and tell them you have no idea where I went.”

“Where in the hell are you going to go? This is a damn small town. They’ll find you, then charge you with resisting arrest.”

Quinton punched out the aluminum screen. “Not unless they see me leave. Otherwise I was just out when they came by. Now get back to your room.”

“Quinton, this is insane. Where are you going?”

For a moment, Quinton wondered whether he could trust his assistant as he climbed out the window. “The reservation. They don’t have jurisdiction there. Hopefully, by the time they round up a federal officer, we’ll be able to sort this mess out and figure out who’s framing me.”

Ralph’s face was etched with concern; then the young man’s face transformed into pure excitement. “You are the man! Damn, I can hardly wait to get back to the office and tell the others. You rule!”

Even Quinton felt a bit of adrenaline as he checked the back alley. He hadn’t ducked out of a hotel in years. While he was truly concerned and even a bit intimidated by the trouble with the police here, Quinton could still feel the thrill of the chase. Yet another skill he had not lost in the intervening years. “Just take care of Hurricane.”

Quinton immediately regretted saying anything because the Labrador took his words as a command and vaulted out the window. He tried to get the dog to go back in, but the sirens were right down the street. “I’ll take him. Now get over to your room before they get here.”

Waiting until Ralph turned on his heel, Quinton sprinted down the alleyway with Hurricane nipping at his pant legs. Pushing the dog away, Quinton struck to the northeast. The reservation lands came down to a point only a few miles from town. If he could stick to the woods and keep Hurricane quiet, he might just make it. That is, of course, if his tribe agreed to harbor him. Quinton knew that he was leaning heavily on strained ties there. The last thing he wanted to do was bring trouble upon his family, but he knew equally well that he could not allow himself to be jailed. Indians did not fare well with the law around here.

* * *

Regina sat in her front room and wished she could cry, but no tears would come. She felt spent and ready to crack. Thank goodness the kids weren’t home. Regina had called Evan’s just to be sure that Michael really had made it there. Luckily, her son was still sleeping in with several other boys. Meryl was off to Portland on a spur-of-the-moment Beanie Baby trip. It seemed there was a huge expo there, and Sabrina’s mother had gotten roped into taking half a dozen giggling prepubescent girls to the show. Regina did not envy that woman. Right now, if Regina had to listen to a single whine from a single child, she was certain she would implode. They would find nothing but a lump of burnt-out tissue on the floor where she used to be.

The phone rang, and Regina reluctantly picked up the phone. Wayne still hadn’t checked in yet, despite it being late afternoon, and she did not want him to have any ammunition. His secretary had called earlier in the day to let Regina know that her husband was going to be staying the weekend in Bend. Normally that news would have sent Regina into a hysterical fit. She would have complained, whined, or seethed with passive rage. Now Regina felt mainly numb and was vaguely glad that Wayne was not around to goad her.

It was not her husband on the phone, though. It was Natalie. Regina did not even hear the younger woman’s words. She just wanted to hang up and go back to her comfortable haze, but Natalie was insistent.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

“No, not really. Look, I’m not in the mood—”

“Quinton is on the lam, Regina!” Natalie’s voice nearly ruptured Regina’s eardrums. Whether it was the volume or the news, Natalie had Regina’s full attention.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you. They just released Ralph from interrogation. They didn’t charge him with anything, but they’ve got evidence on Quinton.”

Regina could not believe what she heard. It was one thing for the sheriff to harangue the out-of-towners. It was quite another to arrest them. And what was Quinton doing running off, anyway? He was innocent, or was he? Now that her faith had been shaken, Regina was certain of nothing.

“What kind of evidence?”

“Some stupid shirt. Ralph says it’s bullshit. That it’s a setup.”

Regina mumbled something into the phone and let Natalie prattle on about Ralph’s ordeal at the police station. The wringing pain in her stomach started again as Regina tried to figure out what was going on. She had been so very sure that Quinton had nothing to do with the sabotage. Was she just blinded by lust, or was he truly innocent? Suddenly, Regina had an overwhelming desire to know. She was tired of having so many questions with no answers.

“Where did he go?” Regina asked.

“Ralph says he doesn’t know, but I know he’s lying. So does the sheriff, but they couldn’t pry it out of him all day. Finally, Ralph’s company’s lawyer got him sprung since they didn’t have any evidence against him.”

There was no doubt in Regina’s mind where Quinton had gone. A part of her wished that he had trusted her and come to her, but she knew that was just the old fantasy, for she was sure that Quinton had gone home.

“Natalie, I have to call you later.”

“But I’m not done! You don’t know the lewd things that Dooley said to Ralph! We think the sheriff’s a closet homo!”

Regina had no desire to hear that story, and she had already grabbed the keys off the counter. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I’ve gotta go.”

Before her friend could respond, Regina hung up the phone and rushed out the door. She was out so quickly that not even Fury could beat her to the door. The dog whined inside the house, but Regina ignored the dog’s pleas. She had to do this on her own. Pulling out her map, Regina drove out of the driveway and headed straight to the reservation.

* * *

Quinton’s feet were sore, but he had made it to the small settlement. Thank God the homes were not as far out as the potlatch. Quinton did not think he could have made it that far. Even Hurricane was panting up a storm after their daylong hike. Reluctantly, he climbed up the porch steps to his great-aunt’s house. Before he could even knock, the door opened.

Whispering Flower was already back in the kitchen as Quinton entered her home. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need…”

The old woman just waved her hand in acknowledgment and went back to kneading the dough she was working on. “The sheriff asked if he could search the reservation. The elders have already declined. I’ve been making supper for you.”

Why was he not surprised that word had already spread? Sometimes news travels too quickly in a small town. Sitting down at the small kitchen table, the same old one Whispering Flower had before he left, Quinton assessed the damage to his feet. Several blisters were already springing up and throbbing with complaint.

“Nothing like a vision quest to hone your perspective,” the old woman said as she threw some flatbread into the oil.

“It wasn’t quite a vision quest.”

“No, then what was it?” Before Quinton could retort, the old woman spoke with authority. “Tell me. What did you dwell on more during the walk. This silly problem with the sheriff—”

“It’s not silly, Whispering Flower. This is serious.”

His great-aunt just scoffed and continued her statement. “Or Regina? Hmmm? Which is it?”

Quinton stared down as he massaged his feet. He knew that if the old woman saw his eyes, she would know the truth in his heart. The whole way here, he had agonized over Regina. The Sheriff was but a thorn in his side. The pain over Regina festered in his soul. But he did not want to discuss all of that right now. He did have a few worldly concerns that needed to be tended to. “Auntie, you know that I didn’t commit the sabotage.”

“You are many things, Quinn. A petty vandal is not one of them. If you had really wanted to hurt Blue Mountain, you could have just vetoed their permits.”

Quinton sat down at the table with its checked covering. The air smelled good with the scent of flatbread drifting from the stovetop. It reminded him so strongly of his childhood that it was hard to imagine all the grief that had intervened. “That’s what I was in the process of doing when we got the call that the sheriff was on his way over. Do you think they know I was betraying our deal? Is that why they are setting me up?”

“Troubles such as that come and go like the tide, Quinton. It’s your heart you should be worrying over.”

He did not need his aunt to remind him of this fact. “It’s kind of out of my hands.”

Whispering Flower threw another piece of dough into the sizzling hot oil. The pan crackled and popped as the old woman scolded Quinton. “Do not play the victim with me, young man. How can Regina reconcile who you are when you do not know yourself?”

Quinton was momentarily upset with Black Feather for telling their aunt about his private life, but he knew this was the way on the reservation. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. It was a source of great comfort and annoyance. “It’s a little more involved than that.”

“When is the last time you performed a cleansing ritual? When is the last time you viewed your own soul? It gets no more involved than that.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Quinton knew that Whispering Flower was right. He had been ping-ponging his way through the last few days. He needed some time to just be with himself and try to sort out all the crap that was welling up inside him. “Do I have time before dinner to swing by the longhouse?”

“Yes. Just be sure to be back here by eight. The elders would like to meet with you at eight thirty. Until then, your time is your own.”

Rising up, Quinton patted Hurricane’s head. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The old woman nodded toward the counter. “Take the truck. And don’t come back until you’ve sweat that white-man smell out of you.”

Grinning at his aunt, Quinton headed for the door barefoot. Hurricane was at his side. The dog must have been exhausted, but Quinton knew that it would be futile to convince Hurricane to stay with Whispering Flower. The dog always knew when something was up and was loath to leave Quinton’s side.

The old truck of Whispering Flower’s took four turns of the key to start. The thing was dilapidated and looked like it was about to come apart at any moment, but Quinton knew that his aunt would not get a new one until the engine rusted out of this one. It had been her husband’s, an uncle Quinton had never known. Uncle Fourthrows died before he was born. Quinton only knew of the man through this car. Whispering Flower had so many stories about this truck. She could trace her whole life in the dents to the metal and rips of the fabric. It was nostalgic for Quinton just to sit in the cab. There were new dings and a few scratches on the dashboard, and as he drove down the dirt road toward the longhouse, Quinton wondered what tales she could tell about those.

Arriving at the squat log building, Quinton reached for the door handle, forgetting that there was not one on the driver’s side. His uncle had broken it off in his excitement when he drove his pregnant wife to the hospital in labor. Fourthrows had never had a chance to replace the handle before he was killed in a “hunting” accident. Whispering Flower had refused to replace the lever. So, for near forty years, everyone had to roll down the window and reach out to open the door from the outside. Hurricane gave him a sloppy kiss for his efforts, as Quinton opened the door.

The dog shot out of the truck and raced across the field, where a young boy was throwing a ball for his dog. Hurricane slammed into the smaller mutt and snatched the toy in midair. The other dog gave chase, but the Labrador was quicker and brought the ball to the boy.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leash him up,” Quinton said as he crossed the field.

“It’s okay. Scamper likes the company.”

“You sure? I’m going to be in the longhouse for a while.”

The boy was already taunting Hurricane with the ball. “Sure! This’ll be fun!”

The black-haired youth ran around the field with both dogs jumping after him for the ball. Quinton knew there was only one thing in the entire world that meant more to Hurricane than he himself did. And that was a good game of fetch. Satisfied that the Labrador was behaving himself, Quinton headed back to the longhouse. You could feel the waves of heat hitting you long before you opened the door. Still, Quinton hesitated in the doorway. There were a million other things he could be doing with his time, like rounding up a lawyer for his legal defense or trying to figure out who was framing him. But Quinton knew that Whispering Flower was correct. None of that could work itself out until he untangled his warring emotions. Only when his heart was quiet would Quinton know which path to take.

* * *

Regina had realized too late that she had no idea what part of the reservation Quinton might be hiding in. Since she was not driving the night before, she could not even find her way back to the site of the potlatch. So Regina had just followed the signs to the town proper and hoped someone could point her in the right direction.

There weren’t many houses along the main drag. There were no street numbers nor did any of the houses have their names on the mailboxes. Regina assumed that everyone just knew where everyone else lived so they did not bother. Which was fine, only it made her task of finding Whispering Flower a bit harder. Out of all the homes, Regina headed toward the squat, traditional-looking house. Taking a deep breath, Regina got out of the car and headed toward the front door.