Tattered Legacy (A Nora Abbott Mystery) Read online

  The coffee tasted a little like heaven, though not a big chunk of heaven because Abigail had made her usual anemic brew. Still, it was good enough that Nora felt a pang for enjoying it, knowing Lisa would never drink another cup.

  That kind of maudlin attitude wouldn’t help anyone and certainly didn’t honor the spirit of her friend. “It was really nice of you to loan her the money for this place.”

  “I was happy to do it.”

  That wasn’t exactly how Nora remembered it. To Lisa’s face, Abigail was all generosity and graciousness, but to Nora, Abigail complained about the foolishness of buying a dilapidated shack and fixing it up herself. She argued that the house sat on a flood plain, although no one living could remember a flash flood so violent it would rush though this wide valley. Abigail had told Nora one reason she lent Lisa the money was to distract her from the ridiculous notion of being a lesbian. If she focused on something else, she’d get over it and find a man, her mother reasoned. Abigail had progressed a long way since then.

  Nora closed her eyes to the sun’s warmth. “She loved it here.”

  “I’ve never liked Moab.”

  Nora watched Abigail’s tense face. “I didn’t know that. Why?”

  “Bad juju.” Abigail twisted her mouth in distaste.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The vibes. I just don’t like it.”

  It surprised Nora that Abigail noticed anything beyond the retail experience of a place. “I didn’t know you spent any time here.”

  “A little.”

  “When?”

  “What is this? Twenty questions?” Abigail snapped.

  Nora sat back, puzzled at Abigail’s reaction. “Sorry.”

  After a pause, Abigail said, “Your father and I visited once.”

  Nora sat up. Abigail didn’t offer up much about Nora’s father. “When?”

  Abigail gazed at the mountains. “Not long after we met. He loved it here and wanted to show it to me. We backpacked in Arches and spent some time in Canyonlands.”

  Nora nearly choked on the coffee. “You … ” She couldn’t picture it. “You backpacked?”

  Abigail frowned at her. “I wasn’t born being your mother. I was young once, too.”

  In principle, that made sense. Nora could see Abigail as a high school girl in Nebraska, being head cheerleader and dating the football captain. She could imagine her in college giggling with the girls on her dorm floor. What she couldn’t fit into her brain was her mother sweating under a pack and sleeping on the ground, covered in the red dust of the Southwest.

  “So you and my father came up here? What did he show you?” Nora grabbed hold of any knowledge about her father. She longed to know more about him, and these rare snippets from her mother were all she had.

  Abigail waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t know. We hiked around and it all looked pretty much the same to me. I was young and just happy to be with him.”

  “Did he tell you anything about the landscapes or traditions? This isn’t typical Hopi land, so I wonder why he brought you here and not the mesas.”

  Abigail clucked her teeth. “You’ve been to the mesas. They aren’t much to look at. I suspect your father felt reluctant to introduce me to his family. They weren’t likely to approve of me.”

  Nora waited. There had to be more.

  “He did what you just did, though. Every morning he would get up ridiculously early and say prayers to the sunrise and throw corn dust into the air.” Abigail shook her head. “I’m glad you don’t grunt and moan like he did.”

  “Singing, Mother. They call that singing.”

  Abigail waved it away. “Yes, I know what they call it. What I call singing is the Beatles or Neil Diamond. And throwing corn is odd.”

  “You and Berle used to go to church every Sunday. What’s the difference?” Berle was Abigail’s second husband, the man she’d been married to the longest—unless she and Charlie stayed together for another twenty years.

  Abigail gave her an incredulous look. “How can you even compare the two? Sunday services at Boulder Presbyterian were conducted at reasonable times on the day of rest. Not at sunrise, except for one day of the year, of course.”

  Maybe Abigail wasn’t as progressive as Nora hoped. Nora reached across to Abigail’s chair and took her hand. “Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you and Charlie.”

  Abigail looked startled by Nora’s affection. She eyed Nora closer, as if checking for fever. “Lisa was special to me.”

  They sat, silent for a moment, probably as long as Abigail could stand. “But this whole thing she was doing, this film. I don’t understand what it’s about.”

  Nora sipped her cooling coffee. “She was making a film to screen for the people at the Department of the Interior and to Congress to show them how important and fragile Canyonlands Park is and how desperately we need to enlarge the park boundaries.”

  Abigail sat up, as if spoiling for a fight. “That’s silly. You’ve got Arches Park,” she pointed behind them, toward Moab. “There’s Escalante and then Canyonlands. The whole darned state of Utah is practically a giant park.”

  Who knew Abigail harbored such resentment for conservationists? “Actually, Mother, there’s one point four million acres of public lands surrounding Canyonlands National Park that need protection.” Nora heard the edge in her own voice. It was the defensive hue that colored her words since she’d first berated her mother for crimes against the rainforest when Nora was in fourth grade.

  Now, Nora and Abigail were grown women. They could be friends. The kind of people who respected each other and could engage in civil discussions.

  Nora started again. “The original proposal for Canyonlands, way back in 1936, was for one million acres.”

  Abigail’s mouth set in disapproval.

  “But it was whittled down to 338,000 acres before Congress voted. That’s about a third of its original size.”

  “Even if it’s desert wasteland, you can’t restrict such huge portions of land.”

  “So many cultural resources and relics lay just outside the park with no protection.”

  Abigail waved her hand in the air again and made a dismissive noise with her lips. “Do you really believe there aren’t enough petroglyphs and pot shards protected already?”

  With clenched teeth, Nora said, “Do you really believe we need to preserve Romeo and Juliet since we already have Henry the VIII?”

  “That’s not at all the same thing.” Abigail stood up and reached for Nora’s empty coffee cup. She retreated into the house.

  Nora watched the light play on the mountain range, the shadows deep on Castle Rock. She leaned her head back on the chair and closed her eyes. The bird chorus erupted in full sunrise crescendo. Even the flies and other insects buzzed in their morning busyness.

  The screen opened again and Nora smelled coffee. Abigail must be back with a second cup. “I’m going to stay,” Nora said, more to herself than to Abigail.

  “Good idea. Enjoy the sunrise and have another cup of coffee. I’ll start breakfast.” Abigail set the coffee cup on the wide arm of the chair.

  Nora sat up, eyes on the changing light of the mountains. “No, I mean I’m going to stay here in Moab.”

  “Now what’s the point in that? As I understand it, there are no copies of Lisa’s film so there’s no reason for you to be here.”

  “I have to do something about this,” Nora replied.

  “About what, the film?”

  “Find it, yes. But … ”

  “What?”

  Nora wanted to take back the “but” she’d uttered. Abigail didn’t need to know Nora suspected Lisa’s death wasn’t an accident. If the local police wouldn’t help, she’d have to do it on her own.

  Abigail frowned, “This isn’t … ”

  Nora jumped up
, letting the blanket fall to the porch. “Where is Lisa’s camera? She said I’d know. They might have destroyed the film but not the camera.”

  “They who?”

  Nora grabbed Abigail and coffee splashed from the mug. She pulled her mother close and squeezed. “I’m going to finish this for Lisa.”

  She jumped toward the door, ready to get started.

  Rachel stood just inside the screen, coffee cup suspended halfway to her mouth. She glared at Nora for half a second, and then whirled around.

  Fourteen

  Fueled by determination, Nora hurried from the porch. The screen banged closed behind her, then opened and tapped closed to let Abigail in.

  Nora rushed into the office and stood in the middle of the room, the wool of the Navajo rug warm under her feet. She placed a hand on the cool wood of Lisa’s box. “What were you trying to tell me?”

  If Lisa were murdered, the logical suspect was a local landowner with a grudge against environmentalists. While Nora didn’t know many people who fit that description, one face popped to mind.

  Lee Evans. Those hate-filled dark eyes focused on her at the funeral. He ran her off the road and pretended it was an accident. Was he trying to scare her and make her go home? Had he done the same to Lisa? When she wouldn’t back down, had he created an accident?

  He’d been out at the cabin yesterday having a serious conversation with Rachel. Rachel wanted Nora to drop the film project and go home. Was she protecting Lee? If so, why?

  A cold wind blew across Nora’s brain—an affair! Both Marlene and Lisa mentioned Rachel’s upbringing and how hard it was for her to give up her old life. Maybe she was trying to go back to it.

  Lisa’s message said she’d recorded something on film. Her voice had sounded terrified. Whatever she wanted to tell Nora was on that camera, and Nora needed to find it soon.

  She glanced quickly around the office, but didn’t see a camera sitting anywhere. She hadn’t expected it to be in plain sight. She shook her head at the pile of papers on the desk and lowered herself to sit. The bottom left-hand drawer squeaked as Nora tugged on it. Inside, a mass of file folders, envelopes, and odd bits of articles torn from newspapers and magazines tumbled in an orgy of clutter. She shoved it closed and tried for the drawer on the other side.

  The stairs creaked and seconds later Abigail appeared in the doorway. She’d traded her velour running suit for beige slacks, a T-shirt with all sorts of shiny bling attached, and flats. For Abigail, even a few days away from home required an extensive wardrobe. Even if Nora had expected to stay longer than overnight, she wouldn’t have packed much more than a change of clothes. As it was, she was reduced to wearing the same shorts but had donned a clean T-shirt and underwear. “Would you like more coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” She looked around for her cup, couldn’t remember where she’d left it, and shrugged at Abigail. She returned her attention to the desk and started arranging the piles of papers. None of them had to do with household expenses. Rachel must handle all that. Lisa’s papers mostly dealt with environmental issues. Articles about climate change and the benefits and challenges of sustainable energy tangled with maps of Utah in various iterations. Topo maps, park boundary maps, historic renderings. Black Sharpie circles pointed out various locations. Next to many of these, Lisa had scribbled dates and times.

  A few articles about Mormon history and beliefs were scattered amid the environmental information clutter, although it really didn’t fit Lisa’s MO. Maybe she was studying the local culture to better deal with the opposition. Or maybe she wanted to understand Rachel better.

  A raven squawked in Nora’s pocket. It startled her and she reached for her phone, checking the ID and hoping it was Cole. Disappointed, she answered. “Hi, Fay. You’re up early.”

  Fay directed the open space programs for the Trust. “Weed Warriors. We were going to do this on Saturday, but a few people couldn’t make it so we bumped it back a day. I’ve got a ten-person crew to pull Russian thistle along the road, and we wanted to get it done before it gets hot.”

  Nora knew that but had forgotten.

  “Sorry to bother you. But I checked the Trust voicemail, and Etta Jackson left a long message about being here at eight on Monday morning and bringing a couple other board members.”

  A giant sour ball burned in Nora’s stomach. She’d known about Etta’s trip but not about her bringing a brigade. “Thanks for letting me know.” After hanging up, Nora clenched her fists and stared at the La Sals. That left her three days.

  Abigail walked into the office and placed a steaming cup of coffee on a spot Nora had just cleared.

  Nora picked up her cup. “Thanks.” She took a sip and, with effort, kept from making a face.

  “I used that hazelnut creamer you like,” Abigail said.

  “When did I tell you I like flavored creamer?”

  Abigail walked over to a bookcase and gazed at an owl’s wing. She must not have realized it was a real wing and not an artist’s rendition. “Oh, maybe that wasn’t you. It wouldn’t make sense that you’d like flavoring. You only want that whole grain, tasteless stuff, vegetarian and quinoa.”

  “Pronounced keen-wa, Mother. Not like the city in Portugal. And I’m not a vegetarian. I just prefer food that wasn’t manufactured in a lab.” Nora eyed the coffee, gauging whether she could stomach the sweet to get at the caffeine. She decided not to risk it.

  Abigail spun around and sashayed to the French doors. “How long do you think you’ll stay in Utah?”

  Nora eyed the mess on the desk. “Not sure.”

  Lisa might not be the most organized person, but she would have at least stashed a copy off-site. The work had consumed her for years. And the camera—where would she have hidden that?

  “Can’t you work from Boulder? Load up Lisa’s files and take them with you.” Abigail swayed as if listening to calming music. Her air of casualness was entirely too practiced.

  “When are you going home?” Nora stacked the maps on one corner of the desk, the random articles on another, the Mormon stuff, unrelated pictures, and ads in yet another pile behind Lisa’s box.

  “This morning. As soon as Charles gets back from his walkabout. We’ll drop you off to pick up your Jeep.” Abigail sipped her coffee and hugged herself with the arm not holding the cup.

  Nora studied a photo of a rock art panel. It showed the typical snake squiggles, running antelope, and big-headed people with spears. An ancient hand had carved the weird sunburst image into the corner of the panel. Nora tossed the photo into a pile with several other pictures of rock art panels.

  Abigail rocked on her heels. “What about Cole? Doesn’t he miss you? You shouldn’t leave him alone too long.”

  Nora sat back in her chair. “Have you talked to him lately?” Abigail and Cole had a whole relationship separate from Nora. They’d conspired last year to get Nora together with Cole.

  Abigail frowned. “No. Why? Is something wrong?”

  Nora shook her head. “He’s in Wyoming. His father’s health is failing and there’s something going on with his family.”

  “There’s something else, isn’t there? What is it?” Abigail advanced on her.

  “Nothing.” Nora picked up a map of northern Arizona and dropp-ed it on the map pile. “It’s just … ”

  “Just what?”

  Nora sipped her coffee and nearly gagged. She’d forgotten about the creamer. “He sounded funny on the phone. And he said … ” Nora trailed off, knowing it was going to sound silly.

  “He said what?” Abigail’s impatience surfaced.

  Nora pushed her hair back. “He said he loved me.”

  Abigail stared at her.

  “I know, you think that’s good, but it’s not like him. It’s weird. To me, it sounded like one of those things like, ‘I’ll always love you, but it’s over.’”


  Abigail brightened. “Don’t be stupid. Cole telling you he loves you obviously means he’s going to ask you to marry him.”

  Wait. What? Marry him? Nora shook her head. “No. He’s probably upset about his father.”

  “Nora.” Abigail sounded exasperated. “It means a proposal. I have experience with these things and I just know.”

  It isn’t as if she hadn’t thought about it. “No. It’s too soon. Besides, if he wanted to marry me, he’d discuss it with me.” Nora went back to sorting Lisa’s papers.

  Abigail might be all giddy and excited about a wedding, but not Nora. Something was up with Cole, and Nora braced for the worst. When it hit, having her mother around wouldn’t be a bad thing. “What’s the big rush to go to back to Flagstaff?” Nora said without looking up. “I haven’t seen you for a while.”

  Abigail spoke into the French doors. “Don’t you need to get back to work? Charles and I can come up to Boulder in a few weeks, after things settle down.”

  This jumble of papers seemed daunting. Nora’s battered emotions clenched again when she thought of all the note-taking systems she’d offered Lisa over the years. She’d sent her day planners, lovely little notebooks, custom-made sticky notes, yellow legal pads, anything to help Lisa organize her life. As far as she knew, Lisa burned it all at summer solstice and danced around the bonfire naked.

  Rachel wouldn’t help her with this mess. Maybe Marlene could give her some insight. Nora glanced at the clock. She calculated. If she left here in fifteen minutes, she could get to town when the Read Rock opened.

  “I’d think you’d work much better at your own office instead of this foreign environment.”

  Nora noticed the tension in Abigail’s voice. “Why do you want me to leave?”

  Abigail whirled around, a too-bright smile on her face. “Oh, it’s not that. Not that at all.”

  This behavior seemed odd, even for Abigail, who often baffled Nora. “You’re itching to get out of here and are trying to get me to leave, too. Why?”

  Abigail kept her false cheer and opened her mouth as if to deny it.