Arizona Homecoming (15 page)

Emily collected his now-empty plate. “Garrett’s going to get him this afternoon.”

“When will Eva come home?”

“Tomorrow. Jesse’s bringing her, and Grandpa’s been ordered to stay home.”

Timmy fetched a plate of eggs, sausage and ketchup. “Good man.” Together Timmy and Donovan high-fived.

While Timmy ate, Donovan spread out the blueprint and discussed his ideas. “When we sat with your grandpa, we decided not just houses.”

“I remember.”

“So, this morning while I walked from my cabin to here, I detoured and looked at the area where we might build this.”

“Not by the schoolhouse where we do crafts,” Timmy advised.

“Why not?”

“Because then when it’s time to do crafts,” Timmy said in a loud whisper, “whoever the teacher is can just call us. We need to be farther away.”

“I was thinking next to the pool.”

Timmy frowned. “That would be better than the tennis court. I wouldn’t want to get hit by any balls.”

“Anyone use the tennis court?” Donovan thought it looked fairly run-down.

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“If we put it by the pool, parents can watch their children.” Quickly Donovan showed were he’d put the fire station, store and hospital.

“The hospital should have two beds,” Timmy advised. “One for sick people and one for mommies who are having babies.”

Donovan wasn’t about to touch that topic. “And, we’ll put the movie theater here, but we’ll make it a drive-in. I think you can talk your grandpa into finding a bunch of old pedal cars. We’ll restore them, and then you can sit in them and watch movies at night.”

“Awesome.”

“Houses will be here and there.” He pointed to the spots.

Before Donovan could react, Timmy removed a red crayon from his pocket and added a house to the left of the movie theater.

“Good.”

Emily came back, scooted Timmy out the door, and then before Donovan had a chance to make small talk, she’d cleaned the last table and headed back to the main house.

He’d never been inside. Didn’t know what their living space looked like. All he knew was Elise was getting ready to marry Cooper and move a few miles down the road. Eva’s house was close by, still on Lost Dutchman Ranch property, and only Jacob and Emily still really called the place home.

Home.

Donovan rolled the blueprint up and headed for the door. He had something to do, something he should have done long ago.

It was time to strengthen the bond that was home. He’d ignored the pull of his family’s love, intent on proving himself. Now he realized that proving himself was empty if his parents weren’t part of the plan.

His mom picked up on the second ring. Her first words, after hearing his voice, were “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mom. I just wanted to call.”

Silence.

He tried to imagine Emily calling Jacob and having nothing to talk about. Wouldn’t happen. For one thing, they texted each other about six times a day—twenty right now, but that had to do with the new baby.

“I just thought I’d catch you up on my life and find out what you’re doing. I miss you.”

Silence again, only this time he heard her sniffling and realized she was crying, silently.

“Son.” His dad took the phone. “What’s wrong?”

Great, his parents both thought that the only reason he’d be calling them out of the blue was if something was wrong.

“Dad, I’ve met a girl.”

To Donovan’s amazement, his dad stayed on the line while his mother got on the other line. At the end, after Donovan had shared everything from the petitions, to the skeleton, to the fact that he was now renting a cabin from the family, and even Emily’s invitation to church tonight, his dad said, “Maybe this one you could bring
home
to meet us?”

“I have to win her first,” Donovan said. “Right now we’re just friends.”

But he didn’t want to be, and he didn’t want to wait until their date on Friday night to wow her.

Chapter Fifteen

T
he museum had had ten visitors this morning. All at once. They’d oohed and aahed and walked around. One was a movie buff, and Emily had taken him to see what she had left from the Majestic.

Funny, she didn’t see the Majestic as history, not like the Native American artifacts that her family had donated, but it was part of the personal history for many visitors.

“I stayed there in 1963,” the man shared. “I remember meeting a movie star in the dining room. I was so thrilled. I remember telling him he was my favorite.”

“Who was it?”

“Wish I remembered.” After they exited the barn, the man left a hundred-dollar bill in the donation box.

At noon, the last visitor cleared out. Emily checked her emails and fetched the lunch Cook had packed for her. Another perk of living at home.

She’d just taken her first bite when the door opened. She brushed away crumbs that might not be there and hurried to the front desk. Donovan entered the room.

“I,” he announced, “just had the best idea.”

Without waiting for her response, he looked around the front foyer and then went behind the counter and into her office. She followed, protesting, “It’s a mess in here.”

She’d not met a curator who kept a neat office. She had boxes waiting to be filled, inventory waiting to be restocked, as well as a dozen huge books turned to various pages all with vital information about the artifacts in her museum.

He carefully scooted some of the boxes on her worktable aside and laid down a blueprint. It wasn’t like any blueprint she’d seen.

“I worked on this all morning. It was in my mind, and then because Cook asked me to watch the dining room while he took a break—”

“Where’s Elise?” Emily interrupted.

“She went into Phoenix to visit Eva.”

“Oh, she’s getting to see Naomi more than me.” Emily checked her watch. She had six hours to go before she could head for the hospital.

Donovan continued, “I wound up watching Timmy, too. I guess your dad’s on the internet ordering a few things that the baby might need.”

Time to pull dad’s credit card.

“So, now that I know the Hubrecht clan better, I revised my plans a bit.”

He spread the blueprint out, using a giant book to hold one end and an old hammer for the other. He’d added a whole section to the Tinytown she remembered from his first attempt. He won points, too, because some of the drawings were done by Timmy’s hand.

“You’re getting more excited,” she mentioned. She’d seen him this way before, talking about Karl having an underground home and then, too, when he described the tree houses he’d designed.

“I thought I was done,” Donovan said, “when I designed the drive-in movie theater complete with cars, but then... I mentioned this to your father, but wanted to run it by you. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he had misgivings.”

“What about?” She started getting excited, too.

“Instead of just making this small-town America, why don’t we also do a Native American section, the Hopi section, in honor of your family?”

“You’d do that?” she queried. “For me?”

* * *

She looked up, her eyes big, and Donovan realized he’d do just about anything she asked, just to keep those eyes so focused. Yup, he was in trouble.

Take the job. Stay.

“That’s an awesome idea,” she said, oblivious to his thoughts, “but it doesn’t belong at the Lost Dutchman Ranch.”

“Where does it belong?”

“Here, at my museum. And if you were going to do it, it would take money and time. But, just think of what you could create. The Hopis lived in pueblos made of dried clay and stone. You ever work with that?” While she spoke, she thought about the cost. Then, she thought about the museum in Albuquerque.

He managed not to roll his eyes. He’d built a home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, year before last. Now, if ever there was a city that demanded authenticity, it was Santa Fe.

Her eyes crinkled. He might not have rolled his eyes, but she already—apparently—knew him well enough to know he wanted to.

“Don’t think you’re so smart,” she warned. “It’s not just a single structure. My ancestors occupied what you might consider an apartment building with multiple living areas so that whole families lived together.”

“Not tepees?” This was more than he’d expected, and he fervently wished he’d researched what he was offering before he offered it. Now, he wouldn’t be able to step away from the sight of those big eyes looking at him while her voice complimented him on his awesome idea.

“We don’t have to build to scale,” he cautioned.

She wrinkled her nose. “For the ranch, maybe I have another idea. And I know we don’t have to build to scale.” She hesitated. “Maybe instead of a Hopi section, maybe you could build a hotel.”

“What?”

“You could build me a child-size replica of the Majestic.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, and it would be just the type of cross advertising that could save the museum. Along with the dinosaurs.”

Okay, she was expecting too much. “I don’t do dinosaurs.”

She laughed, standing next to him, leaning in to him, so close he could smell her perfume. It was too much. He touched her shoulder, and she stopped talking about some museum in New Mexico that had a traveling dinosaur museum and looked at him.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t wait until Friday night,” he said.

“Me, either. We’ll have a good time.”

“No,” he said, “I mean, I can’t wait until Friday night.”

Then, he kissed her.

* * *

Donovan left the blueprints with Emily. She’d helped with building plans before. Good thing he might be here for five years. Tinytown would soon be anything but tiny. Heading back to the Lost Dutchman, he grabbed a boxed lunch and said goodbye to Jacob, who was on his way to the hospital. Then he settled on the porch of his cabin in his favorite rocking chair, called Randall Tucker but got his voice mail and then spent the rest of the day putting together a cost analysis for the first phase of Tinytown.

Jacob came home a little while later.

No matter what Emily wanted, he’d start with the easy buildings first.

Elise drove up, parked right in front of the entrance to the ranch, ran around the car and helped Karl inside. Donovan would have helped, but the woman was fast. She had him inside before Donovan could even make it to the bottom of his cabin’s stairs.

He went back to planning. By building one new section or building each year, children could be playing and looking forward to the new additions next time.

Cooper drove up, parked by the barn and walked to the house. A moment later, Jilly arrived carrying a casserole dish. It made Donovan smile. That’s what church people did when someone got out of the hospital. They brought food. Of course, most people didn’t recuperate at a dude ranch with its own dining room.

He went back to planning, but the next vehicle got his full attention.

The squad car pulling in and parking by the barn pulled Donovan from his work. Police officer Sam Miller got out and walked toward the main house.

Quickly, Donovan texted Emily.
Cop just came. Whole family here. What’s happening?

Really? Sam’s there?

How she knew it was Sam, he didn’t know.

Sam’s here in uniform.

Why?

Not sure. I was hoping you’d tell me.

I just closed. B right there.

He glanced at his watch. It was after four. He’d worked steadily for over three hours. After pushing himself up, he walked to the main house. It was quiet. Cook wasn’t in the dining room’s kitchen. A note on the door said it would reopen for dinner on Friday. The front desk was empty. It, too, had a sign directing him to ring a bell.

He rang. A minute later, Jacob came to the front and said, “I should have called you. Come on back. You’ll want to hear this, too. It’s about Billy.”

Jacob didn’t seem too worried. Donovan had no business interfering in what might be a private family matter—not that he believed for a moment that Jacob had done anything wrong—but Donovan had been involved since the moment he’d unearthed the yellowish-brown shards that had turned out to be Billy Wilcox.

Jacob led him into the living room. It was clearly a man’s room, and Donovan wouldn’t have changed one thing about it—not the lines, not the view, not the atmosphere. A couch was against one wall with two big leather recliners flanking it. A large plaque was on the wall stating As For Me and My House, We Shall Serve the Lord. Sam was in one of the chairs. Elise and Jilly were on the couch.

When did they all get here?

An oversize coffee table was in front of the couch. The television was huge, taking up half of one wall; the other half belonged to a fireplace. On the mantel were two wooden, obviously Native American, dolls. A grandfather clock as well as shelves of trophies and books occupied the third wall. The final wall had a
Star Wars
poster with Darth Vader looking down at a kid’s train table and boxes of Legos scattered around. Obviously Timmy’s domain.

“I texted Emily when I saw Sam get here,” Donovan said, taking the other chair since it didn’t look as though Jacob wanted to sit.

Jacob nodded. “Good thinking.”

“I’m here.” Emily all but skidded into the room. “What’s happening?”

“News about Billy,” Elise said before turning to Sam and saying, “Go on.”

“We had over a dozen calls about the photos of Billy Wilcox. Three turned out viable.”

“What happened to my son?” Karl asked.

Emily again sat on the armrest of the chair Donovan occupied. He reached over to pat her hand to let her know he cared, but instead she took his hand, curling her fingers between his, not letting go.

Sam leaned forward. “It’s both good and bad, Karl. I’m not going to lie. We had a call from a woman who lives in Kearny, Arizona.”

“I know the place,” Karl said.

The front door opened and a moment later someone rang the bell. Elise said, “I’ll get it.”

Sam waited a moment before going on. “Billy worked for her from the time he was twenty up until he was about twenty-two.”

“Doing what?”

Donovan admired that the others—all powerful personalities—let Karl do the asking.

“It was a small farm. Apparently he worked mostly for room and board. She says he never gave her any trouble, but he disappeared after about two years without saying goodbye.”

“You sure it was Billy?”

“She faxed us a photo. I’ll make sure you get a copy.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Here’s where it gets a little sketchy. The other call that we believe accurate was from Irving Taylor.”

“Never heard of him,” Karl said.

“I have.” Jacob looked out the big picture window at the panoramic view of cacti, desert and sand hills. “He has a ramshackle house, falling apart, just a few miles north of Ancient Trails Road.”

“The one that’s wood, stone and mud?” Cooper asked. “I didn’t realize anyone lived there.”

“Me, either,” Elise said returning. To her dad, she said, “I just rented out the cabin next to Donovan’s.”

“Good.”

“Irving won’t answer the door to most people,” Sam continued. “He probably hasn’t spoken to anyone, really, in decades. I went out there today.”

“He doesn’t have electricity or plumbing. It’s like going back in time a hundred years.”

“You’ve been there, Dad?” Emily asked.

“Church has helped him out once or twice.”

“I thought there was a law about plumbing?” Elise said.

“He contacted me,” Sam said, bringing the conversation back on topic. “He was listening to a police scanner, of all things, and heard Billy Wilcox’s name.”

Karl sat up.

“He says Billy showed up about thirty years ago, skin and bones. Irving said he fed the boy and pointed him toward town. He said the kid acted lost.”

The front door opened again. This time the bell didn’t sound. Donovan figured it must be Jesse or someone who worked at the Lost Dutchman.

“How could he remember that long ago?” Donovan said.

Jacob answered, “When you don’t get many visitors, you remember the ones you have.”

Karl shook his head. “Billy knew that area. He wouldn’t be lost.”

“But,” Emily reminded Karl, “the medical examiner said the bones showed signs of arthritis. There could be a wealth of struggles Billy dealt with.”

Cooper put in, “The inability to walk, fatigue, muscle aches.”

“His mother had arthritis,” Emily told Donovan.

“In ’83, when he would have been twenty-four, we didn’t have cell phones or such to call for help. Back then, Ancient Trails Road wasn’t a road. It was miles from a road. Naomi and I got turned around on our horses once. Rode for hours. I remember thanking God that we had water.”

“You’re not closing the case, are you?” Karl asked. “Because there is that knife, and it wasn’t Billy’s.”

“No,” Sam said. “We’ll keep the file open for a while longer. But, thanks to the third phone call, we know who the knife belonged to.”

“Who?”

Donovan couldn’t say who asked the question first or if everyone asked at the same time. Didn’t matter, because what mattered was who answered.

Patti de la Rosa stood in the doorway.

“It was mine.”