Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) (2 page)

Three

Warren Evans pushed himself
to sit up. His weak fingers clasped the protein drink, and he raised it. The can’s metal cooled his lips. The vanilla-flavored concoction touched his tongue, and he lowered his shaky hand to set the can in a shaft of sunlight on the desk. A drop of white splashed against the oak.

Nausea overwhelmed him, and he waited for it to pass.

He concentrated on the blueprints spread across his desk that detailed the masterpiece he’d created. With God’s help, of course.

His calculations satisfied him that he’d provided perfectly. Three more groups planned to arrive in Moab today. He needed to contact his nephew to make sure everything was in place.

He paused and fought his stomach for control. And won. At least he’d already lost his hair and it wasn’t coming out in handfuls everywhere. His new toupee pleased him. It had cost him more than his first house, but it looked natural. He assumed the housekeeper or one of her workers had vacuumed up the evidence of his weakness. He knew for certain Christine wouldn’t. She barely spoke to him these days.

Trying not to think about his wife of nearly thirty years, he sighed and reached for his phone.

Christine only wanted him for what he gave her in this life. She loved his wealth. She’d smiled and kissed him at every charity ball and political fundraiser from here to Hollywood, but she hadn’t shared his bed for a decade. And when she’d learned of his illness, she’d only grown more distant.

She was a great public and business asset, but she’d provided him with no heir and gave him little comfort as he neared his end. Still, with the trust fund she’d handed over for his use after they were married, she’d been a fortuitous initial down payment on his fortune.

Now, with time dwindling, he needed to make sure nothing was left undone. Warren pushed speed dial and waited.

“Uncle Warren. How’s New York?”

Warren lied, “I only have a moment. We’re about to hit the back nine.” Warren lowered his head and closed his eyes, willing himself not to vomit. His heirs didn’t need to know about his illness.

“Weather must be good there.” His nephew’s voice held the slightest edge of resentment.

Warren forced a good-natured chuckle. “I know you’re working hard. It’s the curse of the young.”

“Enjoy your rest. You’ve earned it.”

Warren said, “I just learned another group will join the other two today. You need to meet them for initiation rites and instructions.”

“I’ve already been in touch with them, and it’s all arranged.”

Warren liked the way his nephew took charge. Did he have the faith to lead the chosen? “And the film?”

His nephew paused. “I’m making some progress.”

Warren clenched his teeth. “What about Rachel?”

More uncomfortable silence. “She’s planning the funeral.”

Acting as if she were a widow. When did homosexuality become so respectable? “She’s vulnerable. Now is the time to approach her.”

“I’ll see her tomorrow at the service. I’ll talk to her then.”

Warren sat back. The chair used to fit like a power suit, with the soft leather caressing him like a lover. Now he felt dwarfed in its massive expanse and the leather chafed his skin. “Find the camera, too. Her last images could be damaging.”

“I’ll find them. What’s going on in Washington?”

He couldn’t blame his nephew for asking. Warren hadn’t told anyone the timeline, and they didn’t know the end would come sooner than they expected. “The debate is close. Stanley insists expanding Canyonlands will devastate the local economy. Ruben waves the letter from the Outdoor Industry Association defending expansion. Right now the congressmen on the energy corporation’s payroll probably hold a slight lead.”

His nephew sounded worried. “They can’t see the propaganda on that film or we’ll lose the homestead.”

Warren’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth. “I’m glad you see the importance of getting that film.”

“You know you can count on me.”

Four

Nora pulled up in
front of the Days Inn in Moab. She’d risen before dawn to drive the six hours from Boulder to arrive in plenty of time for Lisa’s funeral. She climbed from the Jeep into the bright sunshine and let Abbey, her aging Golden Retriever, hobble out and water a tire.

The sun lit the red rocks around her, chasing off the morning chill. Light air tickled Nora’s senses, tingling with new-day freshness. Moab hadn’t awakened yet, so voices and bustles didn’t disturb the town as it stretched and yawned and readied itself for another day.

Lisa loved mornings like this. A thousand phone conversations had started with Lisa’s breathless account of a sunrise bursting over the jagged purple La Sals or of the play of light on the red canyon walls. Lisa couldn’t wait to be out in the majestic beauty of the towering red rocks.

Only three days ago—maybe a warm day, just like this—Lisa had gone for another shot of petroglyphs at the Moonflower campground. At dusk, the light faded, and she’d have put her camera away. Why had she climbed the ancient log scaffolding deep in the crevice? The prehistoric site was restricted, and Lisa respected that kind of protection, especially the antiquities she cherished. It made no sense for her to cross the barrier and wedge herself in the incredibly narrow space where the Anasazi had set logs zig-zagging up the straight walls. They’d cut slices out of the logs, worn smooth by countless feet and centuries of weather, to create a ladder to the top of the deep canyon.

It seemed unbelievable that Lisa, mountain goat that she was, would lose her footing and fall. Even more unlikely was that the fall would snap her neck so cleanly, killing her instantly.

A stone stuck in Nora’s throat. Instantly killed, like Scott. Only her husband’s death hadn’t been an accident. Nora pushed the thought away.

So many hikes, so many miles they’d covered together—Nora couldn’t believe they’d never share another adventure again. Her throat tightened. How could Lisa be gone?

Nora stretched the kinks from her back and walked into the hotel. She approached the front desk and the young man behind it.

“I need a room for tonight.”

He shook his head slowly. Any quick movement of his body might have caused his khaki chinos to slide the last half inch off his narrow hips and puddle on the floor at his feet. The company tie didn’t quite cover a dark stain on his wrinkled Oxford shirt. “I’m really sorry, ma’am,” he said. “This bike race’s eaten up all the rooms. There’s nothin’ left anywhere around Moab.”

Nora leaned on the chest-high counter in the cool, tastefully decorated hotel lobby. A teenaged girl clanked dishes while she straightened up what was left of the breakfast buffet in an alcove off the lobby.

Just one more problem. But one that would have to wait. She had a half-hour to get to Lisa’s funeral, and though she’d hiked the trail with Lisa before, she didn’t remember the exact location of the trailhead and how far up the creek the mourners would gather.

She left the air-conditioned lobby and walked into the hotel parking lot, the summer sun blazing overhead. Memory stalled her—her last conversation with Lisa, just days ago. She’d been updating her on all of the Trust’s projects.

Nora had munched on her deli turkey sandwich and caught up with Lisa via Skype.

Lisa’s eyes twinkled, even through the blur of the screen. She sat in front of her laptop in her renovated cabin in Castle Valley. She’d chosen Castle Valley because it was an enclave of like-minded liberals twenty miles outside of Moab. “This is an unbelievable experience. I’m learning so much! Not only about the land but about the history and about making a film.”

Nora couldn’t fault Lisa for lack of passion and energy. She swallowed the chipotle-laced turkey. “What about results? Is the film ready?”

Lisa laughed with the carefree delight Nora always envied. “You’re so you—always cutting away the bullshit and going for the kill.”

Nora slurped her coffee. “What about it? You’re at deadline and thirty grand over budget.”

Lisa looked startled. “That much? Wow. This is so worth it, Nor. This place—god, this place is gorgeous. You’ve got the funding, right?”

“Not millions, but enough for the proposed budget you just exceeded. That’s not the point. I need something to show the board. Even more important, are you ready to take it to Washington?” The hard knot of worry balled in her belly, and she wadded up the remainder of her sandwich in the paper wrapper.

“I know the goal, Nor.” Lisa ran a hand through her long mass of dark waves. She licked her full lips, chapped by days in the sun. “And I’ll get it done. I sent you some footage.”

“And it’s as amazing as you’ve said. But you’re spending a ton of money, and I haven’t seen the whole thing.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “You’ll be impressed by the dawn images, Fat Bottom-Line Girl. It’s probably the shot that will seal the whole deal. How could anybody deny the park expansion after seeing it?”

“I know you’re going all George Lucas out there, but you’ve got to wrap it up. Time is running out.”

“Da, da, da … ” Lisa sang the doomsday notes and grinned at Nora, the sunlight streaming in through her home office windows and highlighting her own glow. “Lighten up, chica.”

Nora shoved the coffee away, suspecting it contributed to the sour burn in her belly. “Maybe I’ll get Cole and we’ll come to Moab next week. You can show it to me then.”

“Speaking of Cole and gorgeous, how’s that hunk o’ burning love of yours?”

The air surrounding Nora brightened, and an irresistible smile replaced her responsible executive director face. “Cole is great.”

“And he’s still treating you like a queen?”

Movement behind Lisa captured Nora’s attention. Rachel bent over a table and shuffled through a pile of papers. “Hey, Rachel,” Nora teased. “Would you keep Lisa on task and get me that film?”

Lisa hunched her shoulders as if taking cover.

Rachel whipped her head toward the computer screen. She glared at Nora across the miles. “You’re the boss. You do it.”

Rachel spared one scathing look for Lisa and whirled around. Footsteps stomped and a door squeaked open, then slammed closed.

Nora raised her eyebrows and waited for Lisa.

Lisa shrugged and showed a toothy grin tinged with discomfort. “She’s cycling. You know how emotional women get.”

Rachel and Lisa had been together for three years. Last year, Nora had met them in Minnesota for their wedding. Same-sex marriage hadn’t been legal in Utah at the time, but Minnesota had seemed like such a random pick. As far as Nora could tell, they were the perfect couple. “What’s going on?”

Lisa’s false cheer slipped. “She’s had enough of the film, I guess.”

Lisa glanced toward the door, then leaned closer to the screen and lowered her voice. “You gotta understand. Rachel’s family has been out here forever. She’s, like, fourth-generation Mormon. Obviously she’s evolved, but it’s not easy for her.” Lisa’s eyes twinkled as she teased. “Out here, everyone is on one side or the other. The hip, smart folks, like me, are for expansion, and the Neanderthals are on the other side.”

“So Rachel doesn’t believe in park expansion?”

Lisa was quick to respond. “Oh, she’s on board. But it’s causing her some grief, okay?”

“Her family is harassing her?”

Lisa shrugged again. “A little more than that.”

Alarms jangled Nora’s nerves. She tried to squelch the reaction—okay, overreaction. “Explain.”

“The brakes went out of my old Toyota pickup last week. Rachel thinks someone tampered with them. But they were shot and needed to be replaced.”

“Lisa!”

Lisa tossed her hair. “See? You and Rachel are more alike than you know. In fact, if you didn’t have that strange preference for men, you and I might be married now.”

Maybe for people with normal lives, no one tampered with brakes or plotted murder. But in Nora’s world, these bizarre and dangerous things happened. “Be careful.” But what she wanted to say was “Run!”

Lisa looked over her shoulder again. “Listen. I probably shouldn’t say anything, and I promised myself I wouldn’t until I get more information. But you know me, I can’t keep a secret.”

That wasn’t entirely true. She’d kept her gayness from her family for over twenty years.

“But this is important. I was out at Fiery Furnace and I found this petroglyph—”

The door squeaked in the background.

Lisa jerked her head around. She turned back to the screen and the conspiratorial tone vanished. “Okay. Have a great week.”

“Lisa, wait.”

Lisa blew a kiss at the computer screen. “Love you, babe.”

She severed the connection.

Nora climbed into her dilapidated Jeep. Abbey wagged his tail and slapped his tongue in Nora’s direction. She scratched behind his ears. “You’re a good boy,” Nora said, more to practice a solid voice than anything else.

Nora drove east out of town for several miles. The road ran along the Colorado River, which was usually wide and smooth here, a serene glide. Today, though, red silt raged, probably the result of a heavy rain upstream, swelling the banks. At least the water had a channel to travel here. In the open desert, it would cascade down any indentation and create dangerous flash floods.

She needn’t have worried about locating the Moonflower trailhead. Cars and pickups and bikes spilled from the dirt parking lot to line the road.

Lisa had taken Nora on this trail before. It was one of her favorites. It wound next to a creek, along a valley of willows and cottonwoods. Then the trail climbed out on top of slick rock and, after a couple miles, dipped back into a box canyon with the sweetest swimming hole, complete with a rock slide. Nora and Lisa had spent a few lazy afternoons sunning on the rocks, swimming and talking about life.

They’d discovered the spot together on their first backpacking trip to Canyonlands. They later learned it was a favorite spot for locals. Nora remembered one sunny day when she’d had an epiphany about her life.

Nora had sat up on the warm rock. “I know what I’m going to be when I grow up,” she said to a dozing Lisa.

“The first woman president of the New York Stock Exchange?”

“That,” Nora agreed, “and an advocate for the environment. I want to do business
and
conservation.”

Lisa rolled over and propped her head on her elbow. “You’re not as confused as you think you are.”

Nora would miss Lisa’s way of clarifying her life.

Nora and Abbey climbed out and followed a group of three down the road, into the lot, and onto the one-track dirt trail. Watching the group ahead stung her. They were dressed in what Lisa referred to with rolled eyes as “Moab chic.” One woman wore a short black skirt and leggings with Chacos on her feet. Another woman wore a green broomstick skirt and covered her head with a battered straw cowboy hat. The guy with them sported dreds that hung down to the middle of his back and were gathered in a tie-dyed bandana. He wore baggy shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt.

Deep drifts of fine, red sand covered the grass, burying smaller shrubs and piling around the willows. The destruction of a flash flood showed in the narrow canyon. It must have been a wild hour or so as the water screamed through, drowning anything unfortunate enough to be trapped on the canyon floor. Now the sand piled in drifts, still damp from yesterday’s afternoon shower, and the clump grass and white flowers of the bindweed and evening primrose poked through the surface.

Vertical walls of sandstone rose high on either side, creating a slot canyon. Their variegated layers blended from yellows to reds with blackened surfaces near the top. The leaves of the cottonwoods rattled in the soft breeze with sweeping arms creating cover from the sun.

Nora and Abbey plodded after the others. She longed to feel the strength of Cole beside her, but he had his own problems to deal with in Wyoming. He’d been tight-lipped about that on the phone the last couple of days.

The day warmed enough that Nora removed her light jacket and tied it around her hips. It slapped against the back of her shorts as she trudged up the trail. Sand squeaked under her hiking boots with every step. She’d briefly considered dressing more formally but rejected the idea, knowing Lisa would think it pretentious. The burbling creek felt too cheerful for Nora’s heavy heart. Even the air betrayed Nora’s mood, smelling green and moist and full of summer’s growth.

The three people ahead of Nora slowed behind an elderly couple making their way up the trail. Behind her, hushed voices of more people broke the silence. Bushes closed in on the hikers, and trees shaded the path. In a few moments Nora and the others entered a large clearing created by several slick red rocks. The creek, now back to normal after the flash flood some time ago, bubbled happily as it wound around the rocks and bumped against the cliff wall.

About fifty people crowded together under the willows and elms.

Rachel stood next to the creek. Her blond hair hung straight down her back. Her pale skin only highlighted her red-rimmed eyes and nose. Nora wanted to hug her, to tell her that it would be all right—but it wasn’t all right. Rachel might love again. She might build a life full of exciting and fun challenges, might go on to be successful, and each day might radiate with happiness. But as Nora knew from her own experience after her husband’s death two years ago, the pain would strike at odd moments. It would rush in like a black tide and wipe out the carefully constructed levy around her heart.

Not overly dramatic, huh, Nora?
Okay, well, maybe that was all flowery and nostalgic. Nora and Scott had been headed for divorce, and it’s likely that after they split, Nora would have felt a measure of the loss she felt now when she thought of Scott. But he hadn’t had the chance to divorce Nora. He’d been murdered.