Desert Heat (14 page)

Alan
gave her a probing look, and she tried her best to look innocent. A shiver
skittered down her spine but she met his eyes evenly.

Shelby
sat beside her and picked up her hand. “Let me see. Yep, you’ve got some jammed
fingers here. I’ll tape them. That should help.”

Mallory
winced as Shelby wrapped her middle and index fingers with gauze, then white
adhesive tape. They did feel better when she was done. “Thank you.”

 
“My pleasure.”
She
gathered her scissors and tape. “I got the pain killers. Here, take one.”

Mallory
took the little white pill from her, but placed it in her pocket. “I’ll take
this just before bed. As tired as I am, I’ll fall asleep right here if I
swallow it now. If I go to bed now I’ll be up at four in the morning, unable to
go back to sleep.”

 
“You’re probably a little worked up.” Mike
turned his attention to Alan. “I’m sure Shelby told you, but we found a body.”

Alan
moved to the chair and he sat in it. “She did. Any idea on what happened? Shell
said someone did the guy in?”

 
“Yeah,” Mike said. “He was obviously killed
and buried in a shallow grave.”

 
“Who would do that?” Alan crossed his ankles
and leaned back.

“Apparently
I did.” Dianna stalked into the room, Brent behind her. “At least that’s what
the sheriff suggested when he questioned me for the last hour.”

 
“He found you?” Mike asked.

 
“It wasn’t hard. I drove in and went to my
cabin. The sheriff knocked and I answered the door.” She looked as if she
couldn’t believe her own words.

 
“What did he say?” Mike took her in his arms
and kissed the top of her head. “Whatever it was, we don’t believe him.”
    

She
snuggled against him for a minute, and Mallory had to force herself from
rolling her eyes.

Still
in his arms, she looked up at him with an adoring expression. “I knew you
wouldn’t think I killed somebody. Why would I?”

Mike
pulled her close again. “You wouldn’t.”

This
time she removed herself from his embrace. “Damn straight.” She looked at each
of them in turn. “I did not hurt that man.”

 
“Hey, we believe you,” Shelby said. She
frowned. “There’s not one of us here who thinks that for a second.”

Mallory
held her tongue. Maybe they all thought Dianna was a nice person, but she held
her own counsel on the subject.

 
“For the record,” Dianna continued, “I never
met Wendell Wallace. I have no idea what he was doing digging around on The
Cholla. And I darn sure don’t know who did him in, or why. The sheriff has some
half-baked idea I know about some treasure map and I’m going around knocking
people off for it. Where he’d come up with that idea, I don’t know.”

 
“Di, she knows.” Mike shot a glance between
Dianna and Mallory.

She
opened her eyes wide. “Knows what?”

 
“I’ll tell you.” Mallory sat forward. “I know
you snuck into my room today and replaced the map you took. Mike’s tried to
cover for you. But look, you’re wearing the same outfit.” She had on a light
blue T-shirt and jeans. “You didn’t even change.”

Dianna
looked at Mike with her big, innocent eyes that made Mallory want to claw them
out. “What’s she talking about?”

 
“I’m talking about the night before last, when
you knocked on my door and lured me into the desert. I know all about how you
and Mike cooked up your little plan to get me out of my room to take the map my
father left me.” Mallory stood on trembling legs. She was tired of this whole
mess. It was past time the truth came out. “Don’t deny it.”

 
“You’re partly right,” Dianna said. “And some
of what you’re saying is so far off it’s not even funny.

Mallory
snorted. “Which part?”

 
“For starters, I didn’t lure you anywhere,”
Dianna said. “I had nothing to do with you going into the desert. I went to bed
after I saw you in the hallway outside Mike’s room, and I stayed there until
morning.”

 
“Tell it to someone who believes it,” Mallory said.
Mike and the others might buy this dribble, but she didn’t. Not for one second.

Mike
looked as dubious as she did. “I told you I saw Mallory’s map and that I
thought it might be the answer to our prayers.”

 
“Yeah, so?”
She
shrugged.

 
“You said you’d help me get a look.” Mike
stared at his feet.

 
“I meant I’d find a way to ask her to see it,
not that I’d steal it.” She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“And I didn’t mean I’d get her to chase me off into the night.”

“Then
who did it, if not you?” Mike squirmed and looked up with guilt-filled eyes. “I
thought—”

 
“Not very highly of me.”
She looked at each of them in turn. “Do you think I did this?”

Brent
didn’t answer. Before she could press him, Shelby spoke.

 
“Heck no,” she said. Tears formed in her eyes.
“I knew you wouldn’t do anything so rotten.”

 
Alan uncrossed his legs and placed his hands
on his thighs. “I know you didn’t do it. I checked the horses and none of them
had even been out of the corral. I think if anyone’s making things up, it’s not
you.”

Mallory
gasped at his unspoken accusation. “Why would I go into the desert at night,
stumble around and fall into cactus?
For what purpose?”

 
“I don’t know. But I think you invented the
whole story,” he declared. “Maybe you took a late night walk, fell down, felt
stupid and thought up the whole loose horse story to cover.”

 
“I assure you I didn’t.” Mallory looked at
each of them. Shelby studied her manicure. Dianna smirked at her. Brent focused
on something on the wall behind her. Only Mike looked her in the eye.

 
“I’m not buying that.” He held eye contact.
“If Mallory says someone knocked on her door, then someone did.”

“And
someone did take the map.” Mallory wasn’t going to back down. She hadn’t
imagined the horse and they weren’t going to make her think she did.

 
“I did,” he said. “I told you the truth about
that.”

 
“But Dianna’s not telling the truth. I know
it.” Mallory’s voice rose in desperation. “I saw her in my room today.”

 
“Earlier you thought it was me,” he reminded
her gently. “And your glasses were knocked off out in the desert so you can’t
be sure of what you saw.”

Mallory
bit her lip in frustration. For a minute there she thought Mike was on her
side. But he simply wasn’t going to believe her over Dianna and all his
friends.

 
“I’m going to bed.” She stood and marched with
as much dignity as she could muster out of the room. Once in her quarters she
gave into the frustration and anger and chucked her pillows cross the room. She
didn’t give a damn what the others thought, but the look in Mike’s eyes had
nearly undone her. She thought he believed her.
Apparently
not.

He
had more faith in his old friend than the woman he’d kissed only once.

Her
hand throbbed.

Holding
it, she remembered the little pill Shelby had given her. It was probably
Tylenol 3, a heavy-duty pain
killer,
although it
didn’t say so on the capsule. Shelby was a
nurse,
surely she wouldn’t hand over anything that was too strong. With her hand
feeling like it was about to fall off, Mallory filled a glass from the tap and
swallowed it along with the pill. Too tired to undress, she fell into bed. If a
whole herd of horses came through here tonight she wouldn’t even care.

Chapter
Fourteen

Visions
of maps came and went through Mallory’s dreams.
An Arizona state
guide, the United States Atlas.
All the roads led to The Jumping Cholla.
No matter how hard she tried to go the opposite direction, the roads would
twist and turn until she stood under the arch looking for Skeeter.

She
woke with a start.

Her
mouth felt so dry that she wondered if she’d swallowed half of Arizona. She
glanced at the clock. She’d gone to bed so early it felt late, but actually, it
was only a little after eleven. What woke her?
The dreams.

She
stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light. She drew a drink and sipped
it. Feeling a little more human, she rinsed her face and ran a comb through her
tangled hair. Her fingers felt better, thanks to Shelby’s pill. Laying the
brush on the sink, Mallory looked in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed her eyes.
Although she needed more sleep, she was wide awake.

Walking
back into the bedroom, she decided to pack. If she went ahead and put her
things in her suitcase she could get out of here that much earlier. There
wasn’t that much, but locating, folding, and storing would give her something
to do for at least a while.

She
picked up her jeans and smoothed them. Had she really only been here a few
days? It seemed so much longer since Mike had called her and told her about
Skeeter. She’d learned virtually nothing about the man who fathered her. She’d
come here hoping to know him, and all she had were more questions and half of a
map people were willing to lie and steal to get their hands on. Were they also
willing to murder for it? There had to be more to it than appeared. She tossed
the jeans aside.

Flipping
on the light next to her bed, she reached for her purse half expecting the map
to be gone again. But she found it. Drawing it out, she laid it on the desk and
pulled up a chair.
 
After putting on her
glasses, she studied the creased yellow paper. Once again, she noted the same
landmarks that now were familiar.
Tortilla Flat and Goldfield
among others.
The ranch marked with the little X.

 
But there were no other clues to lead her to
the Lost Dutchman or any other treasure. Turning it to and fro, she looked to
see if anything jumped out from a different angle, but nothing struck her. If
the paper was so worthless, why had Skeeter carried it around sewn into his
pant leg? He was eccentric, but was he that nutty?

There
was a big map in the library. Maybe there was something on it that would give
her an idea. Not relishing the idea of running into anyone, Mallory bit her
fingernail. Surely they would all be in bed. She folded the paper along the
crease and slipped out into the hall. The lights were dim and nothing showed
under Mike’s door. Creeping by, she almost jumped into the library to hide.

The
map hanging on the wall was obviously old. About two feet high and four feet
wide, it had been professionally framed. Showing no modern landmarks, the
drawings depicted the mountains and the desert. There was no Apache Junction or
Jumping Cholla resort. But Tortilla Flat and Goldfield were clearly marked.
Taking
Skeeter’s
creased,
yellowed paper from her pocket, Mallory rested it on the wall next to the
bigger drawing. The landmarks were identical—with the exception of the ranch’s
location.

Looking
so close her nose almost touched the glass, Mallory studied the empty spot on
the big map. What had drawn the original homesteaders here? Had there been a
mine or an Apache burial ground here at one time? Did the river attract them
there? She didn’t think it had run this way a hundred or more years ago. If it
were like most water in the desert, it had been diverted that way by modern
engineers. But she didn’t know for sure.

She
took a step back. What had she expected? To find the Lost Dutchman marked with
a big red checkmark in the middle of the page?
Right on the
ranch?
She smiled, thinking of it. Wouldn’t it be funny if they had the
gold right here under their noses the whole time?
Unlikely,
but funny.

Maybe not that funny, actually.
Something had drawn Wendell
Wallace to the ranch. What? Did he have a map of the area with something on it,
too?
If so, what?
Her mining facts were a little
cloudy, but maybe what had drawn the original ranch owners to the river, if it
were here, was the river itself. Didn’t gold miners need water for sluice
boxes?

Excited,
she looked around. Surely somewhere in this library there would be a book about
Arizona gold mining. Maybe one of them could tell her if there’d ever been a
mine on this location. With a racing heart and damp palms, she began to search.

~*~

Mallory
looked up from her research. She’d hunted through every book in Mike’s library,
but hadn’t found anything about a mine being in same location as The Cholla.
She rolled her head from side to side and lifted her arms over her head. The
grandfather clock showed it to be after one in the morning.

If
she was going to keep this up much longer, she needed caffeine.

Slipping
into the hall, she glanced both ways. Nobody was about. She headed for the
kitchen, remembering too late it was locked. Maybe a Coke would do the trick.
There was a machine near the front doors. She turned that way when she noticed
the kitchen door standing open and the light on.

She
peered around the corner.

Brent
stood with his back to her, the fridge door wide open. So she wasn’t the only
one with an urge for a late-night snack. Moving in, she spoke. “Looks like I’m
not the only one up.”

He
spun around, his shirt hanging open, the top button of his jeans undone. And in
his right hand he held a hypodermic needle. “Get away from me.”

She
backed up as fast as she could. “I’m sorry.”

He
advanced, holding the needle aloft. “Quit slinking around here spying on
people.”

 
“Hey, I wasn’t spying. I came down for a drink
and I noticed the light on. I looked in to see who was here. That’s all.”
Mallory began to wonder what he was high on. “I’m not the one who’s in the
kitchen in the middle of the night shooting up.”

He
laughed. “If only. This is insulin. I need it two times a day, plus when my
blood sugar spikes. Like now.”

 
“Insulin?
You’re
diabetic?” She knew some diabetics didn’t appear sick. Brent, on the other
hand, looked like he had a terminal illness. She’d never expected this.

 
“Type 1 since childhood.”
He waved the needle again. “Meet my old friend.
Keeps me
alive.”

 
“That’s what they meant at breakfast when they
asked you if you had taken care of things.” Mallory almost laughed now,
remembering how her thoughts had run wild.

 
“Yeah.”
He looked at
his bare stomach. “I don’t like people feeling sorry for me or babying me.”

 
“So that’s why they were worried about you
being out all night without your insulin. That’s why you dared the flood. If
you stayed there you could’ve gone into insulin shock.”

 
“You got it,” he said. “Face death by drowning
or shock and coma.”

 
“I’m sorry.”

He
shrugged. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

She
didn’t think he was, but she didn’t want to argue about it. Leaning a hip
against the stainless steel counter, she asked, “You said you chatted with
Skeeter sometimes, right?”

 
“Yeah.”
He took on a
guarded look. “So?”

 
“I was just wondering if he ever talked about
the resort before it was a resort.” She reached around him and took a pop out
of the fridge then backed up again.

He
frowned as he discarded his used syringe. “I guess.”

 
“Can you remember what he said?” She tried for
subtle so as not to scare him off.

 
“Not offhand.” He buttoned his shirt.

Darn.
She was going to have to be direct. “Like, for instance, did he ever say
anything about gold being buried on this ranch or the surrounding area?”

Brent
sniffed. “You’re buying into that theory, too?”

 
“What do you mean?”

 
“I mean your old man wasted his life on this
wild goose chase. So, apparently, did the guy who was whacked over the head.
Now you’re asking about it. It stands to reason gold fever’s biting your butt,
too.” He grinned but it wasn’t a friendly look.

 
“I’m just curious,” she denied. “I’m not my
father and I have no interest in gold other than the fillings in my teeth.”

 
“Everyone has an interest in gold,” Brent
corrected. “Ever heard of the La Paz gold rush in 1862? Every miner in the
country went there looking for gold, but all they found was sand and cactus.”

 
“No, I’m not familiar with it,” she said.

 
“Funny,” he said, not looking amused, “Skeeter
was. He told me all about it.”

 
“Did he talk about any other strikes closer to
here?” Mallory knew enough Arizona geography to know where Brent spoke of. It
was on the other side of Phoenix, near Wickenburg.

 
“Not that I recall. But he wasn’t really
interested in mines. He was more interested in lost treasure.” Brent leaned his
elbows on the counter across from her.

 
“They go hand in hand, don’t they? People
believe the Lost Dutchman gold was hauled out from a mine in the area,” she
told him.

 
“Yes, but we’re not strictly talking about the
same thing, are we?” He made patterns in the mirror-like surface of the
counter.

 
“Not strictly,” she said. “But close enough.”

 
“Skeeter played his cards close to his chest.
If he knew anything about the treasure, he never breathed a word to me.”

 
“Was he
close
to
anyone on the ranch?” she asked. “Was there anyone who he might’ve confided
in?”

 
“I was probably the most likely,” Brent said.
“But when we met up we didn’t talk about treasure hunting. We discussed the
weather, the desert.
Just chit-chat.
Once in awhile,
when I had some time, he’d tell me stories about the area. But, no, before you
ask, nothing important.”

She
wanted to groan with frustration.

 
“You might look up an old dude named Gentleman
Jim Weeks. He was the head wrangler out here for a long time. Now he lives at
one of the old folks’ homes in Mesa. I don’t know which one, but his daughter
would. Her name is Sandra Weeks and she lives in Phoenix. She’ll be in the
phone book. If Gentleman Jim is still coherent, he’ll know about any gold
around this ranch. Maybe Skeeter told him something. I don’t know.”

 
“Thanks. I’ll call Sandra tomorrow.” She
waited a beat. “Why are you helping me?”

He
looked up. “I guess I feel bad because you got the short end of the stick where
your old man was concerned. If following his trail and asking questions makes
you feel better, then go to it.” Before she could ask him why he had changed
his mind, he walked to the door.
“Got to get some rest.”

She
watched his shadow move down the hall and out of sight. Had he told her the
truth? Or was everything that came out of his mouth a lie? No way to know. In
the morning she’d call Sandra and see if her father felt like company.

~*~

Mike
lay on his couch, watching the late news, trying to keep from hurling something
at the screen. The local TV reporters had somehow found out about Wendell
Wallace. No matter which local channel he flipped to, they all showed the
shallow grave, the ambulance pulling out with the body and The
Cholla’s
front gates. Just as he feared, every single
channel brought up the SRPL. More than one perky reporter hinted at a
connection between the body and the injunction. The name hadn’t been released,
so the fact that he was a treasure hunter wasn’t mentioned in any piece.

It
would take a miracle to get the ranch back on its feet again.

He
rubbed his aching neck.

Today
had been rotten in so many ways. He kept thinking he’d go to bed, wake up, and
the nightmare would be over. The ranch would be full of happy guests, his staff
would be busy and earning their wages, and he would be doing what he loved.

If
all that were the case he wouldn’t have met Mallory.

Like it mattered.
He’d convinced her to stay for dinner only
to have his friends accuse her of making up the whole loose horse incident. He
didn’t know what to think. She was so sincere. But on the other hand, his
friends wouldn’t lie to him. Dianna had been genuinely shocked that he thought
she had lured Mallory away so he could rifle her room. But if she hadn’t done
it, who had?

One
by one, he listed them.

Shelby.

Wouldn’t hurt a flea.

Alan.

Kind of gruff, but harmless.

Brent.

Too ill to be conniving
.

Dianna.

Motive
and . . . what did the cops say?
Motive and opportunity.

She
had both.

Was
she a good enough actress to feign so much surprise and hurt? He didn’t think
so. He’d never seen her be anything but straight up. In fact, she was too much
in your face with her opinions sometimes.

Alan
suggested Mallory had made a dumb choice, gone outside for a walk, and wound up
lost. And then, too ashamed to admit it, had fabricated the whole horse story.