Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1) (8 page)

“Sure.”

Snowflake stood in front of me, staring. It gave me stage fright. I closed my eyes. Better.

When I was done, I ended mute and said, “I’m back. I was telling you about going to talk to witnesses. If you’d like to come with me, to any or all of them, you’re welcome to. Strength in numbers.”

“Would I ever. Who’s driving?”

I washed my hands at the creamy tan marble sink. I wasn’t sure when Rich would have my car delivered.

“I don’t have a car here. Yet.” Yeah, that made me sound like a loser. “I’m getting mine shipped to me soon,” I added quickly.

I turned to look for a blower. None. I eyed the towel dispenser. Empty. Okay. I fanned my hands, which basically did nothing. I wiped them on my navy pants.

“How about I pick you up at nine thirty? If we have time, I can take you to lunch at the GoldenLight Café. Great burgers and,
Lord
, the Frito pie! You’ll probably go into cardiac arrest after your first bite, but it’ll be worth it.”

I pulled the door open to Williams & Associates, unclipping Snowflake to let her run free. She sprinted back to Jack’s office like white lightning. I decided not to tell Wallace that I was a vegetarian—yet. I lowered myself into my chair and leaned my head back.

“Perfect,” I said, before giving him the address.

I ended the call smiling. Not that I wasn’t going to worry about that little girl—whether she was real or not—but at least Wallace was on the case.

The door swung inward, and my boss followed. My heart did a little acrobatic number in my chest, which annoyed the pee-waddlin’-squat out of me. He had a longer list of bad qualities than Rich, and I went through them in my mind: eccentric, annoying, cryptic, and pushy. Snowflake careened down the hall and launched herself at him full speed. He crouched and caught her in one arm, mid-flight. She set upon him with kisses and yips.

“Well? Did you break Sofia’s case wide open yet?” Jack asked. He set the dog down and she ran circles around the office, jumping on and off the couch during each loop.

“I keep learning less instead of more,” I said. “But the police and CPS think she’s dreaming up the daughter. They’re still looking, but—”

“What?”

He put one arm over his head and one at his waist and did a little mariachi dance. Snowflake stood on her hind legs in front of him then started hopping and spinning.

“We’ll plead insanity,” he said. “And the APD and CPS will testify on our behalf. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day!”

I raised my brows as my mouth fell open. I didn’t know about
Sofia’s
mental health, but I was pretty sure my boss was nuts.

When Jack told me we were going to New Mexico on Saturday, I assumed he meant on Southwest Airlines. I knew things were amiss when he directed me to meet him at the Tradewind Airport. I hadn’t ever heard of it, and I was pretty sure that Southwest hadn’t either. It turned out that the little airport was only ten minutes south of downtown. Emphasis on the
little
part. It had a convenient location going for it, but nothing else that I could see. Mother drove me, and she pulled into the tree-lined lot, right up behind Jack’s car. He emerged from the driver’s seat, and I waved at him. He waved back.

I got out and pulled my luggage from the backseat.

Jack, with Snowflake on a pink leash at his heels, came around to stand beside me, facing my mother and her open window.

“Agatha, I hope you’re having a blessed Saturday,” he said.

I heard the teasing note in his voice, but it didn’t seem she did.

“You too, Jack.”

Then she bit her lip and my heart sank to my stomach.
Here we go
.

“This trip doesn’t have anything to do with that illegal alien client of yours, does it?” my mother asked.

I cringed. I could only thank God that she hadn’t added “or her little brown girl” like she had with me last night, as she explained how messed up it was that not only were we paying for that woman’s defense but for the girl’s schooling and health care. Maybe she’d forgotten I’d married a brown man (notwithstanding that it didn’t end well)? My God, if she was that upset about Valentina, I’d hate to see how she’d act if she learned I was pro-choice.

Jack ignored the implications of her comment. I realized I didn’t know how he felt about these issues himself.

“No, nothing at all,” he said. “We’re on a different case entirely.”

Which I wished we weren’t. I had ended yesterday energized, engaged, and determined. I would have rather visited the witnesses in Sofia’s case today, and maybe I could have turned up some leads on Valentina’s whereabouts. A cloudy vision of the little girl I’d never seen had haunted my dreams again last night. In them, we were at a rodeo. I had on my bright red-and-yellow clown uniform and was in the ring, protecting the cowboys when she ran in, a tiny wisp of girl in pink Barbie pajamas. A bull charged toward her and, before I could distract it, I woke up. I wasn’t sure it was Valentina, but who else would it be after a day of researching her mother and her?

“Oh good. Well, take good care of Emily. She’s been through a lot lately, what with—”

I stepped up to her window, blocking her access to Jack. I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She took the hint and rolled up her window. When I was sure I’d seen the last of her taillights, I turned and started wheeling my suitcase toward a pint-sized terminal. My little bag bounced and hopped across the pockmarked parking lot. It appeared it had last been resurfaced after the Second World War. Jack—and the ever-jingly Snowflake—caught up to me.

He tugged on the sleeve of my turquoise tunic and said, “This way.”

He pointed toward a large sheet-metal hangar—not unlike the county jail where we’d met with Sofia—then took off at breakneck speed. Snowflake’s legs churned to keep up with him. All she needed was a little buggy behind her and she’d look just like a thimble-sized harness racing horse.

After a few minutes, I’d fallen a hundred feet behind them. A white-hot feeling rose up in my insides and I thought about chucking a rock at him to remind him I was back here. Dear God, what was it with me and all of these felonious urges lately? I scowled, at myself and at my boss.

“’Scuse me, Jack, hold up.”

Jack turned back. The morning sun made him look like a young John Wayne on the big screen. “Sorry.”

He waited for me, then slowed down enough that I could trot beside him. That worked for about fifteen seconds. The weather was crisp and football-ready, but I was sweaty and lightheaded. I fell behind again, so I reached out to grasp his arm.

“Stop, please.”

He did, turning quite abruptly, and my forward momentum plowed me (and my suitcase) into him. He caught me by an elbow on one side and my waist on the other. Even in his grasp I kept going until my face landed against his chest. Somehow, Jack managed to keep us both upright. The impact sent shockwaves of sex-starved pregnancy hormones rushing through my body. With only my knit tunic and leggings separating me from him and his cowboy wear, he felt good. Darn good. Snowflake yelped at our feet, but I tried to block her out and linger in the unexpectedly nice moment.

“Whoa, Bessie,” Jack said in my ear.

I bristled. That solved my hormonal problem. “Are you calling me a bovine?”

I wrenched my arm away and stood back on my own two feet.

He squinted at me, looking a little spooked. Then his mouth made an O.

“Uh,” he said, “just an expression.”

Pausing for emphasis between the words, I said, “Jack. Ass.”

His jaw fell. “What?”

“Just an expression.”

I raked a murderous glare across his face, daring him to cross me, but instead he grinned ear to ear.

“Jack. Ass.” He said it just like I had. “I like it.”

“Argh!”

I didn’t care that I was yelling as I started marching toward the hangar again, dragging my bag, which by now had a rock caught in one of its wheels, which stopped spinning. I hated that he’d driven me to cursing, and hated it even more that he liked it. He caught up easily and fell in stride with me.

Well, the horse was out of the barn, so I might as well ride it. “Do you mind telling me what the travel arrangements are, Mr. Ass?”

Was it my imagination, or was that a twinkle in the eyes that didn’t meet mine? “Sure. I have a Cessna 172—er, Skyhawk. It’s very comfortable. Snowflake rides shotgun, so you’ll be in back. You can even nap. It’ll take about three and a half hours to get there.”

This didn’t sound right. This sounded really quite wrong, in fact. I swallowed, hard.

“A Skyhawk? Is that a jet?”

He laughed, too loud. “No, it’s, um, a single engine, and, uh, it has high wings and a propeller.”

Suddenly I saw spots. I didn’t look at him, just tried to breathe evenly and get through this spell of lightheadedness. As my vision cleared, I spied a totem-pole-like sign ahead. White arrows pointed from it in all directions. Big blue letters on each arrow identified different destinations and mileage to them from here. Albuquerque was about halfway down: 285.

I gulped a big breath and spoke in a rush: “You didn’t think it might be worth mentioning to me that we’re flying in a toy-sized airplane? And where’s the pilot of this thing anyway?” My voice wobbled like I was singing opera.

He turned to me, and his whole body radiated his grin. “Emily, you aren’t scared of small planes, are you?”

***

Four hours and three barf bags later, Jack hollered back to me that we were making our final descent. Snowflake peered out the side of her kennel from where it was buckled into the seatbelt in the front passenger seat.

I shot a feeble bird toward the front seat and muttered, “Not you, Snowflake.”

I kept my head in bag number four, my body slumped against the side of the plane, and my head vibrating along with the frame. The engine, prop, and wind noises were unbelievably loud, and I was now attuned to every change in the sounds—and even more so to every bounce and wobble. I already knew we were going down. The only question was whether it was by design or not; I was past caring much.

I decided to sit back up. I loved Albuquerque, and if we were going to die, I wanted the last thing I saw to be the city and the Sandia Mountains, not the inside of the airplane. All I had left was the dry heaves, anyway. I couldn’t believe how sick I’d been. I’d never gotten airsick before. It was probably my little bean. I kept the bag right where it was, just in case, and peered out the window.

What I saw cleared my head and dried my mouth instantly. No city. No mountains. Just desert right below, coming at us, fast.

“Jack, we’re going to crash!” I screamed, lurching forward and dropping my barf bag to the floor.

I put my head between my knees and my hands over the back of my head. The barf bag had fallen on its side between my feet and the last of my stomach bile trickled out and pooled in a foamy mess that managed to reach both of my soles. At least I hadn’t worn sandals.

No answer from Jack. Just then the plane hit the ground with a wrenching jolt. I tensed, ready for us to cartwheel into broken bits and flames. The plane roared, then slowed so fast it was like the wheels had hit a sandbar. My body weight strained forward against my seat belt, and my head bounced on my knees as we careened over rough earth.

And then the pressure eased and we slowed, almost to a stop, and made a tight left turn. The plane rolled forward almost casually, jostling me again, but more gently this time. Slowly, I sat up. No carnage. No inferno. We had landed, and I wasn’t dead.

The plane was taxiing down what looked like a little dirt road to a tan metal barn with a silver roof. Beside it was a pole with an orange flag—no, an orange bag or sock of some kind—blowing horizontally in the strong wind. Next to it was some kind of big white tank on thin metal legs. I could now see mountains behind us to my left, which I was very glad I hadn’t seen before landing. They were way too close. Where were we?

A vintage blue Suburban was parked near the barn. As I watched, a woman of medium height with long, dark gray hair got out of the driver’s side. She was clad in blue jeans and a boxy shirt that, even from a distance, had a New Mexican vibe to it. Earthen colors. Something long hanging in the neck area. As we got closer, I could see that she wore moccasins on her feet, and that she had dark skin, sharp features, and broad cheekbones. She walked to the barn and raised its door. Jack pulled the plane to the entrance, turned it around facing back where we’d come from, then shut it off.

The instant quiet was deafening.

He opened his door and hopped out, then leaned back in, saying, “Welcome to New Mexico.”

I thought very seriously for a moment about punching him in the throat. But he was the only criminal attorney I knew, and it was pretty clear I was going to need him to represent me sooner rather than later at the rate my hormones were going. I kept silent and gritted my teeth.

Jack moved his seat forward and stepped out of my line of vision. Outside, I heard the woman greeting him and his friendly reply. I had to pull myself together. I unbuckled my seat belt and carefully gathered up my three full puke bags. Stepping gingerly over the mess in the floorboard, I followed him out, then reached back in for bag four on the floor. I held them up to show Jack, cocked my head, and lifted my shoulders.

He pointed to a barrel inside the barn. “You okay? Need a bottle of water?”

I tilted my chin higher and nodded.

“There’s a case of bottled water just on the other side of the hangar from the barrel.”

“Thank you.”

I disposed of my mess and grabbed a water, sucking saliva like mouthwash through the insides of my mouth to try to make it a little less vile. I uncapped the bottle, took a slug, swished and spit away from Jack and the woman, then greedily sucked down half the contents. Only then did I walk back toward them, smoothing my hair into place.

Jack put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Judith, this is Emily. Emily, Judith.”

His secretary. The one I’d talked to on the phone. I dipped my head. “Hello, Judith. Very nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but it was a rough flight and I’m . . .”

She nodded as I trailed off, but didn’t say a word to me. To Jack she said, “I had Mickey drop me off, Boss. I thought I’d make sure everything here was all right and ride back to the office with you.”

I wondered how much there really was to take care of here, in the middle of a pasture, but she went on.

“I mowed the runway and ran off some pronghorns,” she said. “We’ve got some prairie dogs that have set up down near the end. I don’t think they’ll be a problem, but you might want to take a look.”

Wow. If that was the kind of work his secretary did, I was really glad I was the paralegal.

Jack treated it like her mowing the runway was no big deal. “Thanks. Sounds good.”

He got Snowflake out and grabbed our bags while I retrieved my purse. We took our things to the Suburban, and Snowflake and I got in, but Jack walked back to the plane with Judith. They positioned themselves on either side of the fuselage, leaning over at the waist and placing their hands on the struts. Together they rolled the plane a few feet to the tank I’d seen earlier. Jack lifted a nozzle and stuck it into the wing of the plane. Fuel, I surmised. While this was going on, Jack went into the barn and came out with a spray can of Lysol. He leaned into the backseat and appeared to spray it, for a very long time, then brought the bottle back and tossed it in the trash barrel. I burned with mortification. A few minutes later, he and Judith pushed the Skyhawk backwards into the barn. Then they came back out, Jack pulling the door down shut behind him. He fastened a padlock, then followed Judith to the Suburban. He clambered into the driver’s seat and she went to the front passenger side.

“Next stop, the office,” Jack said, starting the Suburban down a dirt road leading away from the barn and the runway.

The land was dotted with clusters of green yucca (with tall stalks of dried blossoms) and other high desert plants, like tufts of cascading bear grass. There were some whitish-pink and some bright yellow flowered shrubs, neither of which I recognized. The nearby foothills were treed, although we were too far away for me to tell with what. There were no trees out here on the desert plain. It looked so desolate, with no people or buildings in sight—save the hangar behind us. More desolate even than the Panhandle.

The Panhandle might not have trees, but it had grassland—not desert—and there weren’t many spots that were as devoid of civilization as this. Heck, as devoid of all forms of life. I felt like I was on the surface of the moon, a million miles away from my own life. Not just from my life in Dallas, but from my reestablished life in Amarillo. From Sofia, who was doing God knew what in a prison, and from Valentina, the little girl I’d never seen but couldn’t get out of my mind. I hoped they were all right. There was nothing I could do from here.