Tainted Mountain
A Nora Abbott Mystery
Tainted Mountain Shannon Baker
Midnight Ink
woodbury, minnesota
Tainted Mountain: A Nora Abbott Mystery © 2013 by Shannon Baker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Edition First Printing, 2013 Book format by Bob Gaul Cover design by Adrienne Zimiga Cover illustration © Robert Rodriguez/Lindgren & Smith, Inc. Cover images: Mountain sunset © iStockphoto.com/amygdala imagery River © Don Paulson Photography/Purestock/SuperStock Editing by Nicole Nugent Midnight Ink, an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover model(s) used for illustrative purposes only and may not endorse or represent the book’s subject. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Baker, Shannon, 1960– Tainted mountain: a Nora Abbott mystery/Shannon Baker. p. cm ISBN 978-0-7387-3422-4 1. Businesswomen—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 3. Environmentalists—Fiction. 4. Native Americans—Fiction. 5. Ski resorts—Fiction. 6. Arizona—Fiction. I. Title. PS3602.A5877T35 2013 813'.6—dc23 2012032917 Midnight Ink Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd. 2143 Wooddale Drive Woodbury, MN 55125-2989 www.midnightinkbooks.com Printed in the United States of America
To Dave: may the adventures keep coming.
author’s note In the interest of accuracy, and to keep people from blowing a gasket, let me lay out a few disclaimers: Nora’s ski resort, Kachina Ski, is a one-lift, one-run, dinky operation on Kachina Peak north of Flagstaff, Arizona. While there is a Flagstaff and a small mountain range north of it, there is no Kachina Peak and, therefore, no Kachina Ski. The beautiful San Francisco range—called Nuvatukya’ovi in Hopi and a host of other names by the thirteen tribes that consider them sacred— looks down on Flagstaff. The Arizona Snowbowl, the ski resort on Humphrey’s Peak (tallest of the San Francisco range), is a much bigger, much nicer place than Nora could have hoped for. Founded in 1938, it now boasts 777 skiable acres with 40 runs and 6 lifts. There are 2 lodges on the mountain. Unlike Kachina Ski, there are no plans to pump water from the aquifer onto Snowbowl’s slopes, probably because there is no water source on the Peak. However, approval through the courts was granted and pipes were laid starting in 2011 to pump treated wastewater from Flagstaff for snow making. Several tribes and coalitions have battled this decision and fought the approval for Snowbowl’s planned expansion. In multiple cases that teetered on the brink of a Supreme Court appearance, the tribes were defeated again and again. Just in case you were wondering, the lava tubes are real. How extensive they are and where they lead is a mystery to me; I only went a few feet into one and started imagining Stephen King’s It and made a hasty retreat before becoming spider fodder. ix
I took a few liberties in the layout of Flagstaff ’s downtown and courthouse plaza, though I stopped short of rezoning it. If you haven’t visited Flagstaff, I recommend you do. There is a charming downtown surrounding Heritage Square, which is an excellent people-watching venue. Trust me on this, you’ll love Flagstaff. I rearranged Flagstaff and moved Heritage Square to the courthouse. I also made up Benny’s village in Hopiland. While I was welcomed at a public dance in Shipolovi on Second Mesa, the Hopi generally don’t appreciate strangers wandering around their private villages. Can you blame them? How would you like people peeping in your windows because you live in an historic building? I’ve endeavored to respect Hopi culture and their privacy and, to that end, deleted certain references and specifics as requested by my Hopi friend. Although I was happy to do this out of respect, I also don’t need an angry kachina giving me grief.
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Frigid air ripped down her throat, searing both lungs as her heart threatened to burst through her rib cage. Heavy panting announced the pursuer, one step from overtaking her. A final leap put her safely on the ledge. He blew past her, not seeing the sheer drop-off beyond the ledge. “Abbey!” Skidding on his butt, two legs dangled over a 300-foot drop to rocky ground. Nails scrabbled on the cold stone. Fear and adrenaline shot through Nora Abbott’s body. She dove toward the edge, her fingers frantic to find purchase. Using all the weight in her lithe frame, Nora flung herself backward to jerk him to safety. Then she closed her eyes. “Stupid dog,” she whispered, as she released his collar and hugged the aging golden retriever. Why couldn’t he stay home, snuggled into his warm bed, as Scott had? Holding Abbey’s panting body close in the muted light, Nora turned to the east. She’d nearly missed it. Fearing that failure to be 1
here on time would jinx the day, she’d half ran the entire threemile uphill hike, something she wasn’t really in shape to do. With just minutes to spare, she knelt on the rough volcanic stone, recovering her pulse and breathing. Wait for it. Wait for it. Bam! Sunrays burst over the silhouetted ridge of Kachina Mountain, warm and welcoming, like a mother greeting her child. Joy filled Nora’s mind and heart. This was the mountain’s gift to her. “Thank you.” Her whispered words drifted over the treetops and the ski lodge below. The sun and the mountain took care of her spirit, and she’d do her best to take care of them. Maybe the run up the trail hadn’t brought her as close to death as she felt at the moment, but her heart and lungs still complained, so she decided to sit a bit longer. Abbey, however, stood and shook, moving away from Nora to sniff and pee. Nora rolled her eyes. “Sacred moment terminated.” But the gratitude lingered, throwing a soft blanket over her anxiety. She drew in a deep breath and tilted up her face, letting the sun soak in as fortification for today’s battle. How could she not triumph? She was right, and right always won. Didn’t it? Nora blew out a last breath, then stepped back from the ledge and along the precarious footing that would lead her back to the main path. If she slipped, she’d crash six feet onto the trail. Probably not enough to kill her, but with her luck, she’d strike her head. They’d find her broken and in a coma, and her mother and Scott would fight over her brain-dead body for the next twenty years. Or until Scott gave up. Sheesh, Nora. Over-dramatize much? She steadied herself against a chilly rock.
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Woft, woft, woft. Above her head, wings beat the air. Nora looked up and spied an enormous raven sailing over her. Despite the natural glory of her mountain, ravens always seemed sinister. Circling in a wide arc, the black bird came at her like an alpine kamikaze. Nora started to scramble down to the trail, heart racing once again. Halfway there, her foot slipped and she smashed her tailbone against a rock, sending a shower of knives up her spine, then she slid the rest of the way to the dirt trail, back scraping on a stone. Nora groaned in pain. Abbey meanwhile barked like a terrier on meth. His outburst added to Nora’s jitters, and she started to quiet him. But he wasn’t looking at the vanishing raven. Abbey focused on a point farther into the pine trees and closer to ground level. Abbey’s hackles rose as he bared teeth. Nora turned her head from where she lay, her hackle-less neck raising hairs of its own. A man stood in distant flittering light. Even from far away the bright blue that accented the stranger’s clothes flared in the forest. Nora jumped to her feet, ready to bolt down the trail for the safety of home. She blinked. The figure was gone. Nora squinted and drew in her brows. “How in the … ?” Abbey stopped barking and serenely picked his way down the steep ledge to the trail. He trotted past her, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Nora shook her head. That wasn’t a person. Couldn’t be. She glanced around again. Her heart still galloped, even though she told herself her imagination and the spotty light had turned a really big blue jay into a threatening image. A cloud covered the newly risen sun, blotting out the warmth, just as the stupid raven and huge jay had blotted out the peace in her spirit. Didn’t the Navajo believe ravens were a bad omen? Maybe that’s why she didn’t like the things.
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She let out a disgusted breath. Prophecy, bad luck from a broken mirror, and omens existed only in people’s imaginations. She really needed to be more practical than that, especially today. But if she didn’t believe in omens, why did she race to within an inch of her life this morning just to greet the sunrise?
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The judge, in his polyester robe, slammed the gavel onto the podium. “Court dismissed.” Wordless prattle erupted in the back half of the room. Nora’s attorney, Raymond, jumped from his chair and slapped her back hard enough to knock her into next week. “Congratulations!” His arm reared back for another celebratory smack, but Nora sidestepped out of his reach. Not sure she trusted the verdict, she asked, “No more appeals?” Raymond’s guffaw drowned out the excited chatter of the people exiting the room. “Next stop is the Supreme Court, and that’s as likely as snow in July.” A cheesy grin spread across his face as he looked sideways at her. “No pun intended.” He burst into exhilarated laughter. Snow in July. The future opened before her, ripe with possibilities, rotten with pitfalls. Focus on the possibilities, Nora. Snow. Wet, life-giving. Not only to her ski business but to the drought-stricken mountain as well. 5
“That’s a good one,” Raymond said. “Now that we won, you can have snow in July, if that’s what you want.” He stepped close again, and his heavy paw landed so hard on her back that her children— if she ever had any—would be born dizzy. “It’s okay to whoop a bit. You just won a landmark case, missy.” Raymond had worked tirelessly for almost four years, through appeals and setbacks and the same threats and harassments she’d borne from activists and hell-bent enviros on a mission. This landmark win would skyrocket his career. That made her smile. She raised onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You’re brilliant. Thank you.” Raymond beamed at her. “Coming from a sweet young thing like you, that makes it all worthwhile.” All worthwhile. So why didn’t she feel the victory with as much enthusiasm? Because Scott wasn’t here to share it with her. Being too tired to catch the sunrise with her hadn’t stopped him from leaving the apartment before she and Abbey returned from the mountaintop. He said he’d be here. She glanced at her watch. He was late, surely that was all. Raymond directed her toward the courtroom doors. “The press is gonna set up outside. We gotta get you out there for a sound bite. This will make it all the way to Katie Couric, I guarantee it.” He whisked her through a jumble of bodies clustered in the hallway, muttering, “Excuse me, excuse me.” More thumps on the back—thankfully less heartfelt than Raymond’s—and congratulatory exclamations followed her. Not watching where he walked, Raymond pulled her directly into the path of a man striding down the hallway. Her shoulder accordianed into him.
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Raymond released her arm and continued toward the media frenzy, not noticing the lost contact. A tall, athletic man with sandy blond hair and a serious face reached out to steady her. Her eyes rolled down his plaid shirt, fitted jeans, and worn hiking boots. Not normal dress for the courthouse. Great, she thought, an enviro, here to berate me for unnatural acts against the world. She tensed, ready for a fight. People like him didn’t understand that conservation and business didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. She’d prove it to them. “Sorry, ma’am.” He hurried past her and down the hall. Nora grimaced and glanced over her shoulder at his receding back. She didn’t believe the contact was an accident. Still, she’d endured worse than an ignorant shove. Others of his ilk no doubt waited to hurl insults, but hopefully not sharp objects, at her. Tire-slashers, window-smashers, activists who protested each court appearance and sent her death threats lay in wait somewhere outside the courthouse. She scanned the faces in the lobby as she moved to rejoin Raymond. Mostly white, well-dressed. Flagstaff ’s mayor and business leaders clustered together. The court decision to allow manmade snow on Kachina Mountain outside of town ensured the success of Nora’s skiing business, but it would bolster all of Flagstaff ’s winter income too. To some, Nora was a hero. Knots of supporters dotted the courthouse lobby. Raymond waved and shouted comments to several. He leaned close to Nora. “Why don’t you slip into the powder room there? The cameras wash you out and you’ll want to put on lipstick and spruce up a bit.” Cameras? Sound bites? Slick sweat appeared on her upper lip. She was a business person, not one of FOX’s foxes. “Can’t you do the talking?”
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“I could, but you’re much prettier.” He nodded and grinned at a rotund man crossing the tiled floor. “Get going. You don’t want Big Elk to get all the attention.” She lost her breath as an anvil dropped from the sky and pounded her into a nervous mush. Of course Big Elk, the Al Sharpton of Native Americans, would be around for the decision. He’d be rousing the rabble outside, wooing the media, and working someone into a froth so fiery they might not stop at threats this time. Raymond gave her a shove. “Off you go.” Nora pushed open the bathroom door and let it bump shut behind her. She peered under the cream painted doors, making sure the space was her own. For added privacy, she stepped into a stall and slid the lock closed. If I spontaneously combust, I won’t have to do any of this. No speaking to news crews. No facing Big Elk. No fighting to come up with money to fund an expensive snow-making operation. And no finding out why Scott didn’t show up today. She braced her arm against the door and dropped her chin to her chest, letting coppery hair curtain her face. The court’s decision was a victory. She deserved to relish the achievement, damn it. Go ahead, Nora. Relish. A hand shot under the stall door, driving at her ankle. A glint of metal flashed. Nora leapt back instinctively, slammed her calf into the stool, lost her footing, and fell against the toilet seat. Good God, was that a knife? Rage fueled her scream. “Hey! Stop!” She heard the door thump closed. She fumbled with the stupid metal lock on the stall. This weapon-wielding psychopath was getting away and her fingers felt as useful as water balloons. Finally released, she lunged toward the bathroom door and burst into the lobby panting.
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People in the lobby closest to her stared at her abrupt entrance. Raymond boomed midway across the space. “And here she is.” Her eyes darted to dark corners and the busy hallway. The guy couldn’t disappear, not in this crowd. Blank expressions met her glance. A hand rested on her arm. “Miss.” Nora jumped to the ceiling. “Missus.” Ready to waylay an attacker, she turned to find a withered slip of a Native American gazing up at her with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Come to think of it, his soft voice sounded more tentative than deadly. Deep wrinkles lined his face like wadded parchment and skin sagged around his eyes. He must be a hundred years old. This had to be an elder, still embracing the traditional ways. He probably lived in a pueblo with no modern conveniences and spurred younger people to protest snow making. He looked too frail to be the bathroom knife sniper, but he could have encouraged someone else to attack. The threats and insults of the past months had taken their toll, and trust wasn’t something in Nora’s backpack anymore. She pulled her arm away. “Missus. I brought you my kachinas.” Though it barely reached her ears, his voice held a strange combination of sadness and strength. He pulled a dusty canvas bag off his shoulder and reached inside. A kachina salesman? He wore a long, threadbare tunic and what appeared to be ancient leggings and moccasins that reached to his knees. He could easily fade into the desert with his beiges, browns, and deeply tanned skin, except he wore a bright blue sash around his tunic. The old guy must be poor and desperate. Her heart thawed a bit. Nora understood desperate. Her checking account
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contained fourteen dollars, and Kachina Ski was so far in the hole she’d need carabineers and ropes to get to the surface. She slid her hand into her side pocket for her last twenty. The one her mother had tucked into personally embossed stationery with the admonition to take herself for a nice cup of coffee after the hearing. Nora had hoped to use it for lunch with Scott, to celebrate their court victory and new beginnings. She sighed. Bravo for the court victory. Too bad Scott wasn’t really on board with the new beginnings part. “I don’t want a kachina, but take this.” The little man avoided her money and shoved a small wooden doll into her hand. In an accented voice shaky with age, he said, “Not for sale. For you. For the moun-ain.” She looked down. With its slit eyes and plug nose, the masked face of the doll looked creepy. The doll wore a tunic of the same blue fabric as the old man’s sash. He held a hatchet in one hand, feathers in another. Raymond startled her with a whack on her back. “It’s showtime.” Nora looked up to return the kachina doll, but the little man was gone. She searched the crowd for sign of his thick, black hair like a bowl he tied to his head with a weathered red strip of fabric. He’d disappeared. First the apparition in the woods, then the phantom bathroom stabber, and now a harmless kachina salesman? No doubt she was headed for the loony bin. “Big Elk’s got the crowd all fired up. You gotta get out there and have your say or the media will take his side.” Ben-Hur’s chariot race couldn’t thunder louder than the thoughts in her head. Where the hell was Scott? Kachina Ski was his business, too. Her slick dress shoes offered no traction to fight Raymond as he propelled her toward certain doom.
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Raymond inspected her. “You didn’t put on lipstick. And what happened to your ankle?” Nora followed his gaze and was surprised by the thin line of blood oozing from the slash just above her ankle bone. She felt the sting for the first time. “Ms. Abbott,” a voice spoke with unquestioning authority, drawing her attention. With the confident air of success and an impeccable Western suit and ostrich-skin cowboy boots, Barrett McCreary looked every bit the part he played as an international icon in the energy business. Raymond clucked like a hen, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and bent to dab at the sliver of blood on her ankle. Already breathless, Nora was now tongue-tied. In business school she’d written a paper on McCreary Energy and its owner. Barrett McCreary was her ideal role model: a tycoon with environmental conscience. He held out his hand. Raymond elbowed Nora. She transferred the kachina and crumpled twenty to her left hand, wiped her sweaty palm on her dress, and grasped Barrett’s hand. “I’m Barrett McCreary. Congratulations on your victory.” Through the rush of blood in her head, she managed not to stammer or choke. “Thank you.” The sandy-haired man she’d bumped into earlier advanced on Barrett as he moved away from her. She’d read in the paper that Barrett intended to resurrect uranium mining in the area, and she was somewhat grateful for the diversion. Now the enviros would have their pick of causes to attack. Raymond tugged Nora toward the door as she tried to invoke Barrett’s spirit of confidence. She stepped through the courthouse door …
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And the confidence evaporated. Nora fought the urge to dive back into the courtroom and slide under a table. The blast of high altitude sunshine didn’t blind her to the crowd gathered in the courthouse plaza. Sure, this was Flagstaff, so it didn’t take a lot of people to fill the small plaza, but a hundred angry protesters increased the churning in Nora’s gut by two hundred percent. She felt sure the tire-slasher, the rock thrower, and probably the ankleslitter were looming somewhere in the crowd. A voice issued from a bullhorn with nauseating familiarity. Big Elk. He stood on the steps, his back to her, screeching to the angry mob. “Kachina Ski will pump 1.5 million gallons of water per day during the ski season. That’s the blood of our Mother splattered on the ground.” The crowd was mostly young Natives, eager for Big Elk’s speech. A few gray heads dotted the bunch. Nora called them the Guilty White People. They followed Big Elk around the country, living off their trust funds and trying to make up for their ancestors’ exploitation of the indigenous peoples of the world. She needed her husband now; she shouldn’t have to do this alone. Where is Scott? A trickle of sweat rounded the small of her back. Big Elk’s beak-like nose rubbed on the horn as he spewed vitriol. “It’s regrettable that the courts place the profitability of a playground over the deeply held religious and cultural convictions of hundreds of thousands of indigenous peoples.” Where was that spontaneous combustion when you needed it? Since she couldn’t achieve incendiary suicide, Nora took a deep breath. It didn’t calm her. She squeezed sweaty palms around the crude doll and twenty dollars. Raymond gave her a gentle shove. “You’ve done tougher stints than this. Go get ’em, Tiger.”
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Nora’s blood pressure spiked another ten points as she readied to thwart Big Elk. With his skin looking more sunburned than Native red, Big Elk squawked like an injured chicken. “Why is there global warming? Why 9/11 and the hurricanes, tsunamis, floods, earthquakes? Because we are allowing our sacred mountain to be desecrated. The mountain is home to the kachinas. We must protect their sacred place!” His limp gray ponytail whipped side to side when he raised a fist and started a chant. Many of the people shouted their agreement. I can’t listen to another plea to keep Mother Earth cloaked in her burqa and hidden from the modern world. Nora loved her mountain as much as any Native, and she would never do anything to harm it. Spraying water meant an end to its suffering from drought and a return to biodiversity. The runoff would eventually filter back into the underground aquifer, so there would be very little net loss to the water table. She’d vowed to fight for her mountain when Kachina Ski became hers. She couldn’t back down now. Like the Leonard Bernstein of activist rallies, Big Elk conducted the crowd to a crescendo. “The courts gave her permission to destroy the home of the kachinas, but there is a higher judge. We must fight for the kachinas of the mountain!” Raymond nudged her. “You need to make a move here.” Now that Big Elk whetted the crowd’s bloodlust, she was supposed to speak reason? Right. Nora couldn’t present an argument to Native Americans and enviros who thought today’s decision was akin to granting her legal right to blow up the Washington Monument. She’d be lucky if they didn’t shoot her full of arrows. She needed a savior, but Scott riding in on his white stallion to save her seemed about as likely as the sky opening up and ending the drought. Nora took a deep breath. Be Barrett. 13
She marched straight to Big Elk. If her legs trembled, she didn’t acknowledge it; if her heart hammered, she ignored that too. No one needed to know her fear loomed so large she barely kept from peeing her pants. With her head erect, she called forth the dignity and poise of her mother, Abigail. Ignoring Big Elk’s murderous glare, she stepped in front of him and noticed for the first time that he stood several inches shorter than her five seven. No wonder he had the vicious bark of a little dog. She shouted, “Thank you, Mr. Big Elk.” She had testified in the courts, given interviews for the media, put her money and life on the line for this. She could certainly overcome fear of public speaking. “I’m Nora Abbott, owner and manager of Kachina Ski.” Boos and hisses. “How would you like it if I pissed in your church?” someone yelled at her. Nothing new. Tainted water on a holy site. The analogy made sense to them. People shouted in a jumble of heat and temper. “Go back to your white world and leave us alone!” Two cops in uniform stood at the back of the crowd. They looked alert and focused on the steps. More people joined in the insults, and soon distinct words disintegrated into swelling outrage. Was it her imagination or did the crowd inch up on her? They’d settle down and act civilized any minute now. Sun penetrated her skin, singeing her insides. Up on her mountain it would be cool with a slight breeze, the pines letting off their summer tang. Just then Scott rounded the corner of the courthouse plaza, his dark curls as reassuring as a troop flag. Her cavalry of one. Nora nearly collapsed with relief. 14
A tall Native American with blue-black hair down to his waist stepped forward, his blazing eyes scorching her. “Get the hell out of our sacred places!” The cops waded through the knot of protesters in slow motion. Others jeered and shouted in a confusion of voices. Scott wasn’t even looking her way now. Nora’s courage dissolved like a tiny levy in a big flood. Instead of cutting through the crowd like a knight on his charger, Scott hurried in the wrong direction toward someone else. Barrett McCreary? The older man strode away from the courthouse. Scott bee-lined for him, an uncharacteristic frown marring his mischievous face. The scene around her deteriorated as her eyes came back to the people in front of her. The livid young man climbed a step, his face angry as the fires of hell. “You can pack up and leave on your own or not, but you will leave.” Others stepped up, and Nora’s fear shot from her heart and climbed up her throat. What had she planned to say? The man climbed again, and a pretty girl followed. His teeth looked like the fangs of a wolf, ready to shred her flesh. “You don’t belong on the mountain.” The cries from the crowd grew even louder now. “Save our Peaks!” “Don’t desecrate the sacred Mother!” “You don’t belong here!” Eyes full of vengeance, mouths opened in escalating rage, they shouted at her. And Scott was off on his own mission. Cops only halfway to the steps. No help in sight. The young girl’s pretty eyes shone with excitement and she placed her hand on the angry young man’s muscled shoulder. He looked ready to tear out her jugular with his hands. Nora backed up, panicked and frozen in place.
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The guy leapt up the last step and advanced on her. “This mountain was given to us to keep sacred for the whole world.” The girl jumped up on the step, close behind him. Nora took another step back and bumped into the courthouse wall. The cops couldn’t get to her in time. More people pushed toward her, forming a wall of bodies that blocked her from sight. Scott wouldn’t see her now even if he looked. Malevolence shooting from his eyes, the tall Native American pulled something from his pocket. Impossible against the riotous clatter of the surging crowd, Nora heard the swisht of a blade jumping from a handle.
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Three
Barrett McCreary III slid his Serengeti sunglasses over his nose, cutting the glare from the plaza. Too damn bad the glasses couldn’t hide the sight of Big Elk and his rant. “Barrett.” Shit. Another idiot holding him up. Cole Huntsman. For a smart man, an expert on uranium mining, he sure dressed like an illiterate granola. Cole pushed his shaggy pale hair from his forehead. “I found that study on in situ mining in Canada you asked me about.” “It hasn’t been five minutes since we spoke.” Cole held up one of those fancy phones that could contact the moon and download an encyclopedia, if anyone knew how to use an encyclopedia anymore. “I e-mailed it to you.” Even if he looked like a tree-hugger, this guy impressed Barrett. He was smart, efficient, and not one to waste Barrett’s time. “Nice work.”
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A woman’s voice sounded from the courthouse steps, startling Barrett with its clarity. Across the courtyard, Nora Abbott stood on the steps, looking remarkably cool for the mess she’d put herself in. Both Barrett and Cole focused on her addressing the hostile crowd. That coppery hair and bright eyes made her cute as a penny, but she had to be smart too, to keep that ski area running through this drought. She should know better than to throw herself in front of that mob. But that was not his problem. He hurried across the plaza while Cole was distracted. Barrett wanted nothing more than to get home, shed this stupid suit and tie, and get down to business. With the congressional hearings on uranium mining set for next week, there were palms to grease, weight to sling around, and dirt to dig. He hadn’t been quick enough. Around the corner popped Scott Abbott. Just who he didn’t want to see. And certainly not in public. “I need to talk to you,” Scott said. “Not here.” Crowd clatter rose from the platform. “Tomorrow, then. On the mountain,” Scott said. “Six a.m. There shouldn’t be anyone on the trail that early.” Scott squinted toward the noisy courthouse. His eyes widened when he saw his wife and, without another word to Barrett, he elbowed his way into the crowd. Barrett didn’t want to wait around for the finale. Big Elk had succeeded in his typical mischief. The brothers and sisters to the moon and sun were storming the steps. Par for Big Elk’s course. He took a last look at the crowd and turned to leave. Wait. He spun back toward the steps. It was her.
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How could she be standing there? A train wreck of memory slammed into his gut in an explosion of pain followed by paralysis. His mind spun back forty years. He saw the woman he loved smiling at him, her shining black hair and turquoise necklace catching the sun and tossing it back for everyone’s delight. Ester. He sucked in air, fighting for reality. Ester, in her velvet skirt, silver earrings, Concho belt … But this girl on the steps wore jeans. No turquoise and silver glinted. And Ester would never set foot in this plaza or anywhere else again. Slowly it started to make sense. The girl amid the mob advancing on Nora Abbott was his Heather. Not Ester. Heather. He didn’t know the black-haired delinquent she followed, but he would find out. No Native American jerk-off, angry at the world and looking for a handout, was going to get near his Heather. The boy would disappear from her life. And that damned Scott Abbott needed to disappear too. All in a day’s work for Barrett. He was a virtual magician when it came to vanishing people.
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Four
A hand shot out, the blade aimed for Nora’s belly. She lost her balance. One foot slid and she crashed to her knees. She was saved from that thrust, but she had no hope of avoiding the next. She squeezed her eyes closed, expecting the burn of flesh as the knife sliced between her ribs into her lungs. Instead of the pain of the blade stabbing through her skin, a hand closed around her wrist and jerked her to her feet. She opened her eyes and looked into the face of the enviro who’d knocked against her in the hall and accosted Barrett McCreary. Probably some Earth Firster who would turn her over to Big Elk and his henchmen. He shoved her behind his back and faced outward. “Back off!” he yelled at the crowd. The cops finally infiltrated the mob and shouted orders to move back. Nora focused her frightened eyes on the crowd, but the slasher was nowhere in sight. He’d vanished from the courthouse steps as
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completely as he had from the bathroom. Other hate-filled faces glared at her, still thirsty for blood. The enviro pulled her through a break in the crowd and down the steps. As they ran across the street, she stumbled on the curb, reaching for his arm. The kachina doll splashed into the gutter and her twenty dollar bill fluttered away on a breeze. Nora’s fingers clutched at the sudden emptiness in her hand. Losing her last twenty stung, but seeing the kachina, its mask broken and floating in the filth of the gutter, punched a hole in her heart. Even if she didn’t believe in its supernatural powers, the old man probably carved his heart into the doll, and it felt wrong to abandon it. She tugged away from the enviro, determined to save the kachina. He closed his hand around hers and dragged her down the sidewalk into a parking lot. He gently pushed her into the shade next to a building and stood in front of her. “Are you okay?” If okay meant terrified, shaken, and mad enough to spit bullets, then yes, she felt okay. She nodded, trying to catch her breath. He studied her and bent down to wipe the line of blood from her ankle with the cuff of his sleeve. He stood. “I’m Cole Huntsman.” From murder attempt to garden party introductions in a matter of seconds. The day went from weird to bizarre. Still, the impeccable manners she was raised with surfaced. “Nora.” “Hey!” a voice shouted. Cole swung around, stepping in front of Nora. Scott strode up to him. “Who are you?” Of course Scott would be protective against a stranger. Nora hurried to explain. “He helped me get away.” Scott didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t start swinging. “Well, thanks. But I was on my way.” “Cole, this is my husband, Scott Abbott.” 21
Cole squinted as if assessing. “Scott Abbott.” He stood in awkward silence for a moment, then said, “Well, you don’t need me hanging around here so … ” Cole started to walk away. Nora jumped forward. “Wait.” A smile, more in his eyes than on his lips, lit Cole’s face. “I just wanted to say thanks.” He put a finger to his forehead as if tipping his hat, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Good to meet you, Nora.” He strode out of the parking lot and around the corner. Nora switched her attention to Scott, eager to feel the safety of his arms around her. He’d come for her. Late, sure, but he was here now. “Have you had enough, yet?” Scott’s eyes flashed with anger. She’d expected support, and his reaction smacked her upside the head. Once again, her struggle to please him had backfired. She masked her hurt. “As a matter of fact, I have. Enough of struggling to make Kachina Ski earn a living in a drought. Enough of religious freaks and rabid environmentalists and Crazy Horse wannabees sticking their nose in my business. And I’ve really had enough of you acting like I’m the devil.” His face didn’t soften. “Then walk away from it.” Scott might as well suggest they buy a ranch on Mars. “I didn’t even want to run a ski area! But we’re in it now. We can’t just give up.” He shrugged and looked away from her. “I thought it would be fun.” When she’d been offered Kachina Ski from her late stepfather, she wanted to turn it down. But Scott had practically begged her, promising they’d do it together. But the picture he painted of growing a fruitful business together and raising children free to roam the mountain had faded with the drought. “When we have reliable snow, it will be fun,” she said.
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He frowned. “We have no right to alter the natural environment for profit.” What? Mutiny now they’d just won their victory? He had been on board with the fight for snow making in the beginning. She opened her mouth to remind him of the drought-relief snow making would bring to the mountain. But she simply closed her mouth again. It didn’t matter what the issue, he rarely agreed with her anymore. Never laughed with her. She couldn’t remember the last time he even kissed her. The stress of the ski business killed their hope. The drought not only sucked the land dry, but her energy and resources as well. If she could get a good year or two, pay down the debt, ease up the pressure on them both, they’d be okay together, she had felt sure of it. Maybe they’d slow down enough to have a baby. Making snow meant making money, and to Nora, that meant saving their marriage as well. “Scott, when we started this fight you were all for doing whatever it took to keep Kachina Ski alive. What’s changed?” His eyes darted away from hers. “Things.” Controlling her impatience was like trying to keep a tree upright after the lumberjack had yelled “Timber!” “You said you thought snow making was a good idea.” Scott shook his head. “That was before.” “Before what?” He shifted from one foot to another. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Sudden tears burned. More secrets, when he used to tell her everything. She remembered sitting in a mountain meadow, their packs discarded under a tree. They held hands and Scott told her how he never loved anyone as he loved her. When he laid her down with her back against their mountain and the sun in her eyes, it felt
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to her that their souls joined in their lovemaking. Now she struggled to get him to talk about his day. “When have I ever not believed you?” she said. “Since you stopped believing in anything except cash flows and lines of credit.” A nice one-two to the heart. “Kachina Ski won’t run itself, so someone has to think about the business.” He glared at her. “See what I mean?” Idiot. She always said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. What changed your mind about snow making?” “You won’t get it.” “I want to get it. Tell me.” He leaned against the building. “Okay. Up on the mountain yesterday when I ran the Ponderosa trail, about four miles into it, near the summit … ” He paused as if reluctant to go on. She and Scott used to run the trails together. Other than this morning, she couldn’t recall how long it had been since she’d had time for such outdoor exercise. Now, walking Abbey from the lodge down to Mountain Village constituted a big outing. Scott started again. “I saw something blue in the trees and I stopped to get a better look.” Nora froze, suddenly alert. “It was a guy. I mean, he had arms and legs. He was all decked out in some kind of costume and had a mask. He had a blue sash and held feathers and a hatchet.” Like her kachina, the one broken and abandon in the gutter or the guy she didn’t see in the forest. A hard pit formed in her stomach. “Maybe you caught a Native American in the middle of a ceremony.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But I got the feeling he was expecting me.” She ignored the hairs that stood on her neck. 24
A thin sheen of perspiration formed above his lip. “It was like the whole forest stopped moving and held its breath.” “What happened?” “I started walking toward him and he raised his hatchet.” Scott’s eyes lost focus. “He didn’t say anything. But it felt like he was warning me.” “Warning you?” “He was telling me not to make snow.” Her belief lost its suspension and crashed to the ground. “What happened then?” “I took another step toward him and he ran away. I chased him and he darted behind a tree and then … he was gone.” “Gone?” “Yeah. Vanished. Like he was never there. I searched all over but never found a trace of him.” “Let me understand this. Some guy dressed in a kachina outfit met you on the trail and you got the feeling he was giving you a message from Native American mythical gods to sabotage your means of livelihood.” His face closed up. “And you believe this?” She cringed at the incredulous tone of her own voice. “See? That’s why I didn’t tell you.” “Why, because I have a firm grip on reality? Because I have some perspective?” His eyebrows drew together. “Because for you everything is black and white.” “The only reason you can give me for ruining our chance at success is a phantom visit from a mythological spirit. How can you expect me to believe that?”
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His ears turned red, a sure sign he was losing his temper. “If you insist on snow making, something bad is going to happen.” “Why are you suddenly so against snow making?” He bristled. “I told you why.” He stared at her a moment. “And … never mind. Forget it.” Her teeth clenched so tight against a retort her jaws hurt. “What?” “If you don’t believe the kachina, why should I bother you with anything else?” “What else?” “It’s best if you don’t know.” He was dismissing her from his life yet again. “Or what? You’ll have to kill me?” He looked worried. “Just don’t make snow, okay?” Nora ached to give Scott everything he wanted and she would, as soon as they started making money. “Scott. This is our only chance at survival.” She wasn’t talking about the business. “Then I’m outta here.” Scott spun around and took off. She agreed to take over Kachina Ski because he wanted it, and she fought for four years to make it work. She worked seven days a week, filed lawsuits, sat through court hearings. All for Scott, to somehow make him happy so he wouldn’t leave her. Hell, she’d even forgiven him for what he did two years ago. She couldn’t let her marriage end in a side alley to a parking lot. “Wait!” When she burst around the corner onto the sidewalk, Big Elk and his usual knot of devotees stared at her from across the street. Cole stood between her and Big Elk’s contingent with his arms crossed. Great. She and Scott were afternoon street entertainment like the noon shoot-out reenactment in Tombstone. She couldn’t worry about that now. “Scott! What did you mean?” He turned around. “I mean I’m done. Finished. Through with Kachina and through with you.” 26
She negotiated and worked deals in business, fought daunting court battles, and created business plans to make Donald Trump weep. A modern businesswoman to be sure. Yet Scott always managed to have the upper hand with her. She wouldn’t beg. Couldn’t let herself. “Please, Scott.” Damn it, have some pride. “Don’t go.” She could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, sense their interest in her private affairs. Thank goodness her mother, Abigail, was still alive. If not, there would be major grave-rolling-over at this little episode of the Jerry Springer Road Show. Scott’s gaze made her feel like a hairy spider crawling across the kitchen floor. “You’re strong, Nora. You don’t need me.” No more shouting and red ears, just a disgusted shake of his head as he turned. She watched her husband’s back moving away down the sidewalk, dragging her heart on the pavement behind him.
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