The Nora Abbott Mystery series Box Set Read online

  “Cole, this is my husband, Scott Abbott.”

  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 spread 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, but he was here now.

  Scott’s eyes flashed with anger. “Have you had enough, yet?”

  She’d expected support and his reaction smacked her upside the head. Scott’s anger burned against her again. And once again, her struggle to please him 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 wannabes 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 want to run a ski area. But we’re in it now. We can’t just give up.”

  He shrugged. “I thought it would be a fun.”

  When she’d been offered Kachina Ski she wanted to turn it down. But he practically begged her, promising they’d do it together. 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.

  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 snowmaking in the beginning. She opened her mouth to remind him of the drought relief snowmaking would bring to the mountain. She closed it. It didn’t matter what the issue, he never agreed with her anymore. He 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. Maybe they’d slow down enough to have a baby. Making snow meant making money and that meant saving their marriage.

  “When we started this fight you were all for doing whatever it took to keep Kachina alive. What’s changed?”

  His eyes darted away from hers. “Things.”

  Controlling her impatience was like trying to keep a tree upright after they’d 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. 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 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.”

  He glared at her. “See what I mean?”

  Idiot. She always said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. What changed your mind about snowmaking?”

  “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. 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.”

  Chills vibrated down her spine.

  “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 abandoned 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.

  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 I felt that he was warning me.”

  “Warning you?”

  “He was telling me not to make snow.”

  Her willing 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 everything for you 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?”

  His ears turned red, a sure sign he was losing his temper. “If you insist on snowmaking something bad is going to happen.”

  “Why are you suddenly so against snowmaking?”

  He bristled. “I told you why.” He stared at her a moment. "But there is something else.”

  Her teeth clenched so tight against a retort her jaws hurt. “What else?”

  “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.”

  Gut wrenching dismissal. “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. “It’s our only chance at survival.” She wasn’t talking about the business.

  “Then I’m outta here.” He spun around and took off.

  She agreed to Kachina because he wanted it and fought four years to make it work. All for Scott, to somehow make him happy enough he wouldn’t leave her. She even forgave him for what he did two years ago. She couldn’t let her marriage end in a parking lot. “Wait!”

  When she burst around the corner onto the sidewalk Big Elk and his usual knot of devoted stared at her from across the street. Cole stood between her and Big Elk’s contingent with his arms crossed. 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.”

  She negotiated and worked deals in business, fought daunting court battles and created business plans to make Donald Trump weep. But 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.”

  Thank goodness her mother, Abigail, still lived. If not, there would be major grave-rolling-over at this Jerry Springer Road Show.

  His gaze made her feel like a hairy spider crawling across the kitchen floor. “You’re strong. You don’t need me.” No more shouting and red ears, just a disgusted shake of his head as he turned.

  She watched his back retreating down the sidewalk, her heart dragging on the pavement behind him.

  5

  Barrett McCreary III did not like mountain hikes. But he’d learned early to do whatever it took to keep his family and McCreary Energy safe. If that meant meeting this earth muffin in secret on a mountain, then he’d do it.

  While they climbed he let Scott yammer about protecting the environment and people’s health, as if the bonehead knew anything about saving people. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness probably came next on Scott’s list of talking points.

  Barrett was beyond happiness and pursuing it for himself would be a waste of time.

  Scott strode along the trail ahead of Barrett. “I appreciate you meeting me.”

  Barrett thought about swattting the back of Scott’s head. “You said you wanted to talk about ground water on the Hopi reservation.”

  Scott stopped and waited for Barrett. “Did you know this mountain is sacred to fourteen tribes?”

  I even know why. Barrett stepped around Scott and kept walking.

  Past sixty and overweight, Barrett’s main exercise consisted of riding his champion quarter horses on his ranch. His monthly hiking meetings with Scott over-stretched his patience as well as his stamina.

  Scott followed closely on Barrett’s heels. “You read the last report, right?”

  The trail rounded a curve and Barrett saw what he looked for, a sheer drop on the side away from the cliff. A boulder field bottomed on jagged lava rock 100 feet down.

  Barrett struggled to get his air. Flagstaff sat at 7,000 feet above sea level. They must be a good 10,000 feet on this mountain. That left little oxygen. He hated the sweat dripping down his jowls and couldn’t wait to get back to a shower and wash the slick film covering his body.

  Scott’s breath sounded soft as a sigh. “We need to go public with this information right away.”

  Barrett saved his limited air.

  “I know something this big will impact McCreary Energy.”

  Impact it? You cretin, it would destroy it.

  Scott fidgeted, as if unsure what to do next.

  Barrett leaned against the cliff wall.

  Scott stared at him, voice incredulous. “You aren’t going to do anything about it?”

  “Why yes. You’re lovely wife is going to make snow on Kachina Mountain.”

  Scott shook his head. “That’s not cool.

  Barrett pushed away from the cliff wall and took a step forward. “Making snow is good for business. Making snow will eliminate our little problem. Everyone is happy.”

  Scott looked wounded and stumbled back a step. “I thought….”

  Barrett narrowed his eyes. “What evidence do you have about this?”

  Scott gazed toward the distant meadow hundreds of feet down. “I submitted the well logs to you. You wouldn’t hide that, would you?”

  “Did you make copies?”

  “You can’t cover this up.” A spark of panic lit Scott’s eyes. As Barrett suspected, Scott was too much of a dolt to keep copies.

  Barrett took another step toward Scott. “The problem is being taken care of.”

  About now Scott probably regretted trusting Barrett and not making copies. He glanced down the trail, no doubt searching for escape. “Pumping water on the peaks is no solution.”

  Barrett hadn’t wanted it to come to this but the moron left him no choice. He might be old and out of shape but his extra weight wouldn’t hinder him now. Without another word, Barrett lurched toward Scott and slammed into the fool, launching him over the edge. Barrett walked to the edge of the cliff.

  The granola cruncher had been paid well to keep his mouth shut and up until now, hadn’t had any temptation to open it and spoil his good deal. The only person who might know about this was his wife and if she spoke up, the whole snowmaking deal would be off. She struck Barrett as too smart to let that happen.

  Barrett glanced over the side of the cliff.

  Not much blood, but the angle of the neck proved just how dangerous it was to cross Barrett McCreary III.

  6

  Nora stood on the wide lodge porch and gazed across the empty expanse of the ski run. So few summer mornings to savor on her mountain, and this one withered away in worry, meetings, balance sheets and business plans.

  Abbey trotted up the lodge steps, tongue lolling.

  Nora scratched his ears. “You don’t care if the bank is skeptical about snowmaking and Scott walked out. As long as there is a rabbit on this mountain and food in your dish, you’re content.”

  He slopped in his tongue, wagged his tail and sat to survey his mountain.

  Her restless night alone pounded in fatigue behind her eyes. With her closest neighbors in Mountain Village, nestled three miles down the winding road at the base of the mountain, Nora felt isolated at the lodge. She’d jumped at every noise, afraid Big Elk or Knife Guy would come back to finish her off. Hoping maybe Scott would return.

  The nip of pine wafted in the air and the sun filtered through the branches creating a camouflage of cheer on the grass. Normally, the fiery penstemon, the violet flax and sunny cinquefoil made her heart light. Today, she forced appreciation for the beauty of her mountain.

  She stared at the rocky, red dirt parking lot about 200 feet down a path from the lodge. She imagined snow piled on the periphery and happy people shrugging into ski togs. She loved those days. Everyone excited and busy, laughter chasing around the mountain. Unfortunately, too many days the parking lot sat dry and empty.

  Nora allowed herself memories of early morning skiing with Scott. They often checked the slopes before allowing skiers on the runs. Sharing the thrill of their mountain, the morning run felt as intimate as lovemaking.

  Enough emotional torture, business beckoned. This morning’s meeting in town with her banker yielded mixed results. Despite her impressive charts and projections and armed with the court’s decision, her banker considered her already sizeable operating loan and the refinanced business loan. Kachina Ski’s lifeline showed minimal activity. But making snow would not only speed recovery, it would guarantee robust health far into the future. At least, that’s what Nora told the banker.

  In the end, the banker offered enough to pay for initial construction of the snowmaking equipment, providing she came up with investors to furnish the remaining capital.

  Set my hair on fire, pull my toenails out with pliers, bury me to my neck in hot sand, but don’t make me call Abigail for money.

  For the thousandth time since dawn, Nora scanned the forest behind the lodge. Scott might traipse back after camping in the forest. It wouldn’t be the first time he appeared after a night away and they went along as usual with no mention of the argument.

  A ridiculous notion. Failure of their marriage had threatened for months, maybe years. Despite all their efforts, they’d never really recovered from… her mind automatically shifted away.

  A flash of bright blue drew her attention deep into the forest. Scott? But then, it might be Knife Guy, back to finish her off. Isolated out here, he wouldn’t have to wait for the cover of darkness. A fat, mean blue jay flew from the forest

  Logic did nothing to stop the electric flash of nerves.

  A crash behind her sent another zing of fire through her chest. Abb
ey barked. Nora spun, and fell against the railing, arms up, ready to defend against Knife Guy.

  She drew in a breath, probably her last. A figure lurched from the gloomy lodge.

  Oh. She slowly exhaled, allowing the panic to dissolve. This heart fibrillation needed to stop or she’d keel over dead.

  Charlie, gray-haired hippy, survivor of the summer of love and whatever Jesus freak, earth-loving, peacenik movements surged in the old days, stood in front of the screen door he’d let bang closed. His rusty voice brought his usual good cheer. “You are beauty and grace and give me reason to live.”

  Viva normalcy—at least Charlie’s version. “I’m here just for you,” she said.

  Pabst Blue Ribbon beer can clutched in his hand, Charlie made his way to her, Abbey dancing at his feet. His grizzled face wore his usual grin and his faded eyes crinkled with affection. “I heard what happened in town yesterday. You ought to keep the back door of the lodge locked.”

  “I thought it was locked.” Her inadvertent vulnerability shocked her.

  Though they called the rambling building a lodge, it resembled an insulated barn with a few dividing walls to separate the small snack bar, rental and locker area, and her office. On snow days crowds packed the small place, making it hot and stuffy. The rest of the time it echoed and a constant chill filled the air. With a dependable snow supply, they could expand. Why not build a restaurant and get a liquor license? Possibilities and plans sprinted against her worry.

  “Might think about getting a gun, too.” Charlie lived in Mountain Village, edged up to the forest, probably born of the pine needles and cinders after the last volcano erupted. He stopped in with his beer to visit Nora a couple of times a week then headed up one trail or another to perpetrate his brand of eco-terrorism.

  “What’s the good news today, Ranger?” Nora asked her usual question.

  Charlie gulped his beer and gave his expected response. “Looks like rain.” Charlie hung teapots, kettles, coffee cups and water buckets in a tree in front of his house to encouraged rain.

  “A gully washer.”