Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) (7 page)

Eleven

Nora admired the beauty
of massive red and black cliffs as they rose on either side of the highway that wound along the Colorado River east out of Moab. She inhaled the heated afternoon air that blew in the open window. Willows, Russian olives, and tamarisk lined the banks and whipped in the afternoon wind. At this point in its journey, the Colorado hadn’t gained the power and wildness that was its trademark as it made its way through the Grand Canyon. But it ran high enough to accommodate adventurers in their colorful rafts bouncing in the waves.

Rain clouds built in the distance to fuel the over-active monsoon rains of this season.

“That’s a big sigh,” Darrell said.

Nora dug for a smile. “I was thinking about all the river trips Lisa and I took together.”

Darrell laughed. “I joined her on a trip last year. We were having trouble getting funding for the Canyonlands film, and she decided to invite a few potential donors for a river trip.”

“Since she ended up coming to the Trust for money, I’m assuming the trip didn’t go well,” Nora commented.

He gave her an irresistible grin that promised whatever adventure he cooked up was sure to be fun. “It started off great. We had sunshine and a light breeze to keep the bugs at bay. But things went downhill pretty fast when one of the older gentlemen kept ordering Lisa around like she was a waitress.”

“Uh-oh.”

“You know how everyone takes turns with chores on a river trip? This guy didn’t do anything. Two nights before we pulled out of the river, we were sitting around the campfire after dinner. Lisa and I had just finished cleaning up the dishes and settled in with the group when this old duffer raised his empty glass and nodded at Lisa to get him a refill of wine.”

“Did she toss him into the river or just his sleeping bag?”

“Actually, Lisa smiled as sweetly as I’ve ever seen and took his cup. I thought maybe she would sacrifice her pride for the good of the film.”

Nora laughed.

“Yeah, I didn’t know her very well then.”

“So what did she do?”

“She walked back with the last two bottles of expensive cab he’d brought along. When I saw the look on her face I jumped up, but I was too late. She lifted the bottles and poured them on the rocks of the fire ring.”

Nora could envision Lisa’s fiery eyes. “He was lucky.”

“Classic Lisa.” Darrell laughed. “It took all of my people skills to keep him from decking her. I’m not sure he ever understood what he’d done wrong.”

“Lisa was okay with you defending her?”

The twinkle in his eyes showed his shrewdness. “She didn’t know about it and I wasn’t going to tell her. As far as she knew, he realized his error and donated much less than she’d hoped.”

“I see why you’re a successful politician.”

“Ouch.” He grew serious. “I didn’t do it for a vote. I’m pretty sure I lost that one. I did it because we needed the cash for the film. It’s important work.”

“Yes. But politicians tend to do what’s expedient for their careers, not necessarily what’s right.”

Red cliffs blackened by unrelenting sun rose in majestic splendor on Nora’s right. Rows of tourist cabins nestled in a grassy meadow that led to the river on the left.

Darrell glanced at her, then back to the road. “You’re right, of course. And I’ll admit to a little hedging here and there. Quid pro quo. But not on something this serious.”

“A sincere politician?” The resignation in his eyes made her regret she’d teased him.

“People never trust my integrity. But I was raised to do what I believe is right. We lived on a ranch and worked hard. I learned that if you ever want to gain a person’s trust, you’ve got to do what you say. There’s no faking true belief.”

“You’ve never taken a stand you didn’t believe in just to get the votes?”

His dark eyes, full of good humor, flicked to her again. “Not on the big issues. And Canyonlands is huge. If we destroy the land, it can’t be replaced. And the cultural sites, the rock art, and archaeological treasures are beyond value. I can’t compromise on that.”

“What makes you so committed to this place?”

“It’s in my blood,” he said. “My family is from around here. I believe in my legacy as a son of Utah.”

She tried to gauge his sincerity.

One eyebrow cocked up in humor. “You’re doubting me.”

“How could I question you?” she teased. “You’re our voice of Canyonlands. Single-handedly, you’re carrying our message to Congress.”

He waved his hand in a come-on motion. “And I’m ruggedly handsome and completely irresistible.”

No denying Darrell was attractive, but he couldn’t compete with Cole for her heart.

He grew serious. “I was born here. But what most people don’t know is that my mother was one of three wives.”

“Polygamists?” She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

He nodded with a sad smile. “It’s not in my official bio, so this is between you and me. When I was fourteen, my father kicked me off the ranch. He’d picked my half-brother as successor and didn’t want any other men around the place.”

“Fourteen?”

“It’s pretty young. But I got some help to get to Salt Lake City and I managed to finish school. That’s when I met Warren Evans.”

“THE Warren Evans? Bourne Enterprises Warren Evans?”

Darrell grinned.

“With a friend like that, I’ll bet you don’t have to set up many campaign fundraisers.”

A slight frown creased Darrell’s face, then disappeared. “Warren may be wealthy, but he’s frugal. Probably has to do with his Mormon upbringing. He didn’t give me cash outright, but he buried my embarrassing past so deep no one will find it. Now my bio simply says I was raised by a single mother.” He eyed her. “Again, this is not for public consumption.”

“Why are you trusting me with this? We just met.”

He chuckled. “I’m an amazing judge of character. That, and you’re Lisa’s best friend. That’s good enough for me.”

She frowned at him.

“Okay. I feel like maybe you understand what it’s like to not always fit in.”

How did he know this? She squirmed, not comfortable with confessions. “Maybe I’ve never really felt like I belong, but my upbringing wasn’t nearly as traumatic as yours. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He shrugged. “Makes me stronger. Why did you feel like an outsider?”

He had a way of making her want to talk, which was unusual for her. “Sounds cliché, but I didn’t have a father. I didn’t fit with the geeks, even though I got good grades. I didn’t fit with the druggies, and I wasn’t an athlete.”

“What happened to your father?”

Her father. Now that was a mystery. What was he like? If he’d had the chance, would he have loved Nora, nurtured and raised her? “My mother manufactured a tale about a young man who fell out of love and left. She wanted me to dislike him so I’d never search out my roots.”

“Why would she do that? Is he a celebrity?”

Nora shook her head. “I’ve never been able to decipher Abigail’s thought process.” The truth turned out to be more complicated than the fiction. “My father was a Hopi. Don’t ask me where my red hair comes from; that might be a mystery I never solve.”

He considered the news. “Did it bother you to find out you’re Hopi?”

“No. It’s strange, though. In the last couple of months I’ve been able to spend a few weeks on the mesas in northern Arizona. My new cousin, Benny, has been trying to teach me the responsibility of being Hopi.”

“As I understand it, Hopi are pretty secretive.”

“They’ve been really nice to me on the rez, but they won’t tell me about their secret ceremonies.” She watched the clouds building for an afternoon monsoon storm. “I try not to worry about it too much. I have a job that fits me and a boyfriend I love.”

Darrell lifted an eyebrow. “What inspired you to be an environmentalist, and what brought you to the Trust?”

“It certainly wasn’t the way I was raised.”

Darrell nodded. “Abigail? She seems lovely.”

“She’s not the fire-breathing harpy I saw her as while I was growing up. And I could do a lot worse. But we’ve had our difficulties. Right now, I’m trying to be a grown-up and appreciate all the good things about her.”

“That’s enlightened.”

Nora couldn’t claim success. “It’s progress.”

He laughed. “So Abigail isn’t a conservationist. What happened to you?”

“I grew up in Boulder, so me being an environmentalist is sort of like a baby beluga knowing how to swim.”

He accepted that and kept probing. “But you’re more on the business side than the science side.”

“I owned a ski resort in Flagstaff and decided the best way to turn a profit was to make snow.” She didn’t see any reason to address the whole Hopi-kachina-visiting-her-and-choosing-her-to-protect-the-sacred-mountain issue.

“After realizing my misguided ways could have led to disaster, I decided to work for an environmental protection organization.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “You wanted to use your powers for good.”

“Exactly.” She paused. “Or to be honest, to make reparations for the damage I almost did.”

“Guilt.”

She hesitated. “Maybe. But I’m proud of the work we do at the Trust. We’re making strides on the pine beetle problem in the mountains and we’ve done a lot of research on cattle grazing impacting the way ranchers are using their lands.”

“And Canyonlands,” he prompted.

“Yes, Canyonlands. This is my first big program for the Trust. All the other projects were in place when I became executive director. But Lisa’s film and the campaign to enlarge the park is on me.”

He kept grilling her. “So you need to make it succeed or your career is toast.”

“No. I need to make it succeed because it’s important.”

“And your career has nothing to do with it?”

She realized the trap she’d fallen in and laughed. “You’re good.”

That charming twinkle hit his eyes. “I know.”

He flipped on the signal and turned right, skirting along a rock ridge. The black face of the rock absorbed the afternoon sun.

“So now you’re back to guilt,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

His eyebrow shot up again as if he questioned her declaration of innocence. “You facilitated Lisa in her dream of creating this film and saving Canyonlands. She died trying to fulfill the quest, and now you feel you need to complete it for her to make her death meaningful.”

Maybe Darrell was a politician because he was so insightful or maybe he was insightful because he was a politician. Whatever chicken-
or-egg scenario, he dug too deep inside Nora for her comfort.

His mentioning Lisa dying in association with the film brought back Marlene’s hint that Lisa’s death wasn’t an accident. The message Lisa left on her phone seemed ominous, too.

He glanced at her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She felt her scowl and lightened her expression. “I was thinking about a voicemail Lisa left me that I didn’t get until this morning.”

He turned off the highway onto a steep one-lane road into Castle Valley. “That must be bittersweet to hear her.”

The massive hoodoos called Preacher and Nuns that marked the edge of Castle Valley glowered down on them. “She said some things that don’t make sense.”

Darrell slowed in anticipation of turning off the highway. “Can I hear Lisa’s voicemail?”

Nora cued it up, and he listened while they wound through the sleepy enclave of Castle Valley.

Castle Rock, the reason for the settlement’s name, towered above them on the left. It looked like a fortress built to defend the community from the outside. Castle Valley, a small community of houses, filled the grassy valley. The original settlement snuggled in a green expanse shaded by old growth elms, cottonwoods, and willows. The rest of the houses were scattered along the scrubby valley floor between towering canyon walls.

Large tracks of undeveloped high desert terrain separated the houses, isolating them with scrub oak and juniper shrubs. The residents ranged from the very wealthy—retired or living on trust funds—to aging hippies who had accumulated enough to afford a modest home to the young people keeping close to the land with little more than a sleeping bag and camp stove. But the people who lived in Castle Valley were Moab’s outsiders. They didn’t own cattle or raise crops. They didn’t run the gas stations or the hometown grocery store.

Darrell handed the phone back to her. “She sounds upset. She said she’d hide the camera. Do you know where?”

“I don’t have a clue. Lisa could be so dramatic.”

Darrell agreed. “She could overreact. That’s for sure.”

“If I had any insight to Lisa’s brain, I could find the film and camera myself. I hate asking Rachel to get me the film.”

They turned onto a gravel lane and continued for a mile.

“Give her a little time. If there are copies, she’ll come around eventually.”

Eventually. The word dropped like lead in Nora’s stomach.

Darrell pulled into Lisa’s winding driveway. The cabin hid behind trees and shrubs, not fully visible from the top of the dirt driveway with its deep ruts. After several yards, they rounded a slight curve. Abigail’s champagne-colored Buick sat close to the front porch. Lisa’s rusting black Toyota pickup was parked in the weeds next to the cabin, and Rachel’s Passat snugged behind it.

Several other vehicles lined the side of the dirt driveway heading to the road. Didn’t this funeral ever end?

Nora’s phone rang, and she answered. The garage mechanic explained the damage was a minor problem with her starter, but they needed a part that couldn’t be delivered until late that afternoon. She hung up. “Damn.”

Darrell raised an eyebrow. “Trouble with your Jeep?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I’ll have to stay overnight, though.”

“You need a ride back to town?”

No crisis, just annoying. “No, I’ll get my mother to take me.”

“Okay.” Darrell eyed the vehicles parked on the road. He pulled the key from the ignition. “At least Rachel didn’t have to come home to an empty house.”

No one stood on the front porch so they all must be inside. “I suppose they’re Rachel’s family.”