Desert Heat (7 page)

A
closed sign was on the door. Turning, she looked for another establishment that
might have someone inside whom she could talk to. Her gaze roamed from the rock
shop to the coffee shop. The latter seemed the most likely, and she headed that
way, Mike beside her. He held the door open and she entered.

A
few tables covered with red-and-white tablecloths sat in the middle of the
room. A lone waitress, her hair teased up in a fifties bouffant, stood behind
the counter, her attention fixed on a soap opera playing on a black-and-white
TV hanging from the ceiling.

Mallory
chose a seat by the window. Mike sat across from her. Mallory looked around,
curious about the small café. Business cards covered every available space.
The walls, under the glass on the tables, the bar.
For
several minutes, the waitress kept her attention glued to the screen. Finally,
she looked their way and stood. Shuffling toward them she said, “I waited two
whole months to find out how Luke was going to get out of this jam. Wish he’d
get Laura out of that institution, but it ain’t
lookin
’
good.”

Unsure
how to reply, Mallory didn’t.

Mike
smiled. “We hate to interrupt.”

 
“Hey, no problem.
It’s over for another day now. What can I get you folks?” The woman, whose
faded nametag said Faye, cocked her hip in that way all waitresses seem to
know.
“Coffee?
Chili’s a mite old. Stew’s good
though.”

 
“Coffee is all I want,” Mallory said. Her
breakfast hadn’t been all that long ago. Besides, her jumpy stomach made the
idea of food impossible.

 
“Make it two.” He held up two fingers.

 
“You
betcha
.”
Faye stuffed her pen behind her ear and shuffled away. She seemed relieved they
didn’t want to eat.

After
she turned away, Mike winked and Mallory had to stifle a giggle that bubbled up
her throat. She forced herself to look serious when Faye returned carrying two
cups and a carafe. Placing her load on the table in front of them, Faye put a hand
on her hip. “What brings you two out in the rain?”

 
“I’m in Arizona to bury my father.” Mallory’s
throat unexpectedly tightened. “And I wanted to visit some of the places he
lived.”

 
“That’s rough.” Faye’s wrinkled face creased a
fraction more. “He lived here in Goldfield? It’s a mighty small place. Maybe I
knew him?”

 
“Skeeter,” Mike said. “The old prospector with
the little burro named
Nobody
.”

“Why
didn’t you say so? Sure I know Skeeter.” Faye blinked a few times. “You’re his
kid? Why, I didn’t know he had any babies. He died?
When?”

Mallory
tried not to let it hurt that Skeeter hadn’t mentioned her, but the old pain
lay on her heart like an anchor. “Yes, Skeeter was my father. I hadn’t seen him
in years and I’m trying to understand him a little better.”

 
Faye clicked her tongue. “Honey, there wasn’t
a lot to old Skeeter. He didn’t talk much. What he did say was about the
desert.”

 
“Anything in particular?”
Mike lifted his cup and drank.

Faye
frowned and her wrinkled face scrunched up like a used piece of tissue. “Not
that I can recall.
Just casual stuff about the weather, the
snakes, that kind of thing.”

 
“Did you see him often?” Mallory rolled her
cup between her hands. Had Skeeter and the waitress had a romantic
relationship? She almost smiled at the idea.

 
“Nope.
Just once in
awhile when he’d come in for a few supplies. He’d drop in and have a cup of
joe
and rest his bones.” Faye gave
her head a little shake. “I can’t believe it.”

 
“Did he ever mention gold or the Lost
Dutchman?” Mallory tried to keep her voice calm. She didn’t want to scare Faye
off by appearing over eager.

 
A loud laugh erupted from Faye. “Honey, you
aren’t from around here, are you?” At Mallory’s puzzled look, she grinned. “Not
one person doesn’t come through
these doors that doesn’t
ask about that old story. Skeeter wasn’t any different.”

 
“What did he say, exactly?” Mike pressed.

Both
women looked at him, Mallory a little longer. Why was he so interested?
For her sake?
Or some other reason?

 
“I mean, did he have a lead on the old mine?”
Mike sounded a little too disinterested.
  

Faye
laughed again. “Sure he did, son. Just like every other gold
huntin
’ fool that comes out here
lookin
’
for that old ghost. They all think they’re the one who’s going to find the
trail and uncover the gold.”

Mallory
swallowed her disappointment. She hoped her father would somehow be different.
That he might have been the one who could bring the gold home. “Didn’t someone
actually find something a few years ago?” Something had been nagging her since
all this talk about lost mines. She snapped her fingers. “Yes. I remember now.
The Peralta stone tablets.”

Faye’s
face took on a guarded look.
“I don’t know
nothin
’ about that.”

 
“A man vacationing in the desert found them.
They were a series of stone tablets written in Spanish with clues on them. Many
believe they are the map to the Lost Dutchman, among others.” Feeling Mike’s
curious gaze on her, Mallory looked at him. “All this talk about the mine
triggered my memory. There was a big write-up about the Peralta Stones in an
academic magazine last year. Since my father was an archeologist, I was
naturally interested . . .”

He
nodded and she hated the flash of pity in his blue eyes. So what if she’d wanted
to feel close to her father by showing an interest in some of the same things
he liked? It wasn’t like she was some desperate little girl trying to hold on
to her father’s love by pretending to be something she wasn’t. She had a
genuine admiration for archeology.

 
“Are you ready then?” she asked.

 
“Sure.” He drained his coffee in one gulp and
dropped a bill on the table.
“Whenever you are.”

 
“Now, I guess.” Mallory smiled at Faye. “Thank
you.”

 
“You’re more than welcome, hon. Hope you find
what you’re
lookin
’ for.” She snatched the five off
the table and stuffed it deep in her pocket.

 
“Looks like the rain has picked up,” Mike
commented at the door.

 
“You best head back.” Faye swung the coffee
pot the way they had come. “There’s likely to be a flash flood between here and
Tortilla Flat.”

 
“We’ll take our chances.” Mike shrugged on his
jacket. “I have a four-wheel drive and I know the desert.”

 
“That’s what they all say, son.” Her cackle
followed them outside and up the street.

 
“Is she right? Do we need to turn back? My
time here is so limited that I hate to miss this opportunity.” Mallory glanced
up at the rain filled sky.

 
“Tell you what. We’ll drive up the road and if
it looks bad we’ll turn around. If it looks safe we’ll go on. She’s right that
we don’t want to get stuck in a gully in the rain.”

 
“
There’s flash floods
in Nevada, too,” Mallory said a bit impatiently.

 
“You understand the dangers then,” Mike said.

 
“I do,” Mallory said. “And I’m willing to
chance it as long as we turn back if it looks scary.”

 
“Let’s go then.” He moved toward the door with
a determined stride.

Chapter
Seven

Mallory
climbed into the SUV and waited for Mike to join her. She looked down the
street and caught a glimpse of someone darting between two buildings.

It
couldn’t be who she thought it was—Brent.

She
knew it was him. Why was he in Goldfield? There wasn’t any reason she could
think of for him to be here. He had said he was going to do maintenance on the
rafts. Surely there weren’t any raft supply stores in an almost–ghost town.
Mesa, a good sized city, was only a few miles from The Cholla, with several
Wal
-Marts and Targets within easy access. The city also had
an army surplus outlet and a lot of outdoor supply stores. The purpose for him
being in the nearly deserted town was bound to be a sneaky one.

Mike
got in and Mallory opened her mouth to say something,
then
closed it. He already thought she’d imagined the loose horse and her room door
being left open by someone other than her. She wasn’t going to give him more reason
to think she was losing it. “How far is Tortilla Flat?”

 
“About twenty miles.”
He started the engine.

 
“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that far,” she
said.

He
put his foot on the brake. “Do you want to go back?”

 
“Not if you don’t. I’d really like to see the
places Skeeter loved so much.”

 
“I have all day.” Mike turned the Durango
toward the misty mountains and drove down the main street of Goldfield. “I’m
all yours. I’m at your command.”

Mallory
blushed
a little. Although completely innocent, the
words conjured up an image of her giving him directions of a personal nature.
She’d been out of the dating scene too long if she was getting warm by harmless
comments from this man. “Thank you for doing this.”

 
“My pleasure.”
His
smile made her stomach do funny moves.

To
change the direction of her errant thoughts, she again took in the view. She
glimpsed a modern building in the rain. “What’s that?”

 
“The Lost Dutchman State
Park headquarters.”
He began to slow. “Before you ask, there’s no ranger
there. Do you want to stop?”

 
“Not really. I’d rather look at the desert and
the next town.” If she were merely a tourist, she’d love to take her time and
explore. But since she was on a quest of sorts, she had to pick what was more
important.

He
pressed the accelerator and they zipped past.

 
“Where’s Needle Point?” She remembered a
landmark from
Skeeter’s
map.

He
shot her a glance.
“Weaver’s Needle?
Why?”

She
shrugged. “I just remembered the name from the article I read in the college
magazine.”

 
“It’s over there.” He pointed to his left.
“You can’t see it from here. It’s famous for supposedly being the landmark
Jacob Waltz used to orient himself to find his gold. Several treasure hunters
have connected him to it.”

 
“I wonder if Skeeter made that connection,
too.” Mallory crossed her arms over her chest and tried to ward off a shiver.
She’d been in the barren land around Vegas many times, and through Colorado’s
high desert a few times, but something about this strange, eerie land with all
its secrets drew her in, yet made her nervous too.

 
“I’m sure he did,” Mike said. “Anyone who has
heard the legend knows about the landmarks.”

 
“Do you?” Mallory turned her head and studied
his profile.
Strong forehead, nose, and jaw.
Male
beauty in all
it’s
glory. Smart, too. Her breath
caught and she had to draw her thoughts back to his words.

 
“Sure. I’ve lived in Phoenix or Mesa all my
life. The first time I heard about the Lost Dutchman I was a kid and a newscast
said someone had found it. The whole thing turned out to be a hoax.”

 
“Have you ever been tempted to look for it?”

Mike
could feel her piercing gaze on the side of his face. “I guess.
Once or twice.
But reality always prevailed. I don’t have
time now to go traipsing around the desert, looking for a ghost’s stash of
gold.”

 
“But if it were real . . .”

 
“Trust me, it’s not.” Mike spoke harsher than
he meant to. Did she know he took her map? Nausea churned in his stomach and he
hoped she couldn’t read him. He couldn’t feel worse if he had a big Guilty sign
on his forehead. He’d never done anything wrong in his life. Well, nothing
worse than cheat on a math
test
in high school anyway.
Desperation had driven him to the edge.

As
they passed Canyon Lake, he slowed so she could look at the view. Everyone else
he’d ever brought here had
oohed
and
aahed
over the abundance of water in the desert, but she
didn’t comment, so he drove on. A little disappointed, he didn’t say anything
either. He wanted her to like it here, to see the desert’s raw beauty, and
appreciate it. Though he couldn’t say why it mattered. She’d be gone in a few
days.

Loneliness
he hadn’t felt in over a year swept over him. He didn’t want Elisha back, but
he missed the companionship of a woman. He’d dated a few times, but no one
interested him enough to want to go out again.
Until now.

A
movement among the saguaros caught his eye and he looked hard until he spotted
something.
A wild horse.
He pulled to the side of the
road and stopped. “Look.”

Mallory
leaned across the console and he caught a whiff of her clean, light scent.
“What?”

 
“There’s a wild horse.” He pointed. “Actually
there’s several. Look closely and you’ll see them moving.”

Pushing
her glasses up on her nose, she peered through the rainy windshield. “Oh, I see
one.
There’s
two. Oh, I can count them all now.
Five mares, a foal and a stallion.
They’re beautiful. Are
they truly wild?”

 
“Yes, they’re part of a herd that roams the
Tonto National Forest.” He watched a sorrel mare and her matching foal dart
between the tall saguaros. A minute later, a pinto stallion followed. No matter
how many times he saw the mustangs, he was awed by them.

 
“There’s a large herd in the foothills outside
Vegas.” She watched them with a rapt look. “I love to get out and watch them
when I can.”

 
“If we’re going to see Tortilla Flat we’d
better go.” He hated breaking the mood.

 
“Yes, we should go.” She straightened.

The
only sound in the Durango was the sound of the windshield wipers sloshing back
and forth across the glass and the rumble of the tires as they sped down the
dirt road. He slowed to cross a low spot in the two-lane highway. Although
water ran in a fast stream it was low enough he could easily see the yellow
lines and he flipped on the four-wheel drive and crossed with no trouble.

 
“Will it get higher?” Mallory pressed her nose
to the glass and watched as they forded the stream.

 
“Possibly.”
She
seemed nervous and he strove to calm her. “But the Durango is high enough it
shouldn’t be a problem.”

True
to his word, he guided the SUV through the water with no problem.

A
few minutes later he drove into Tortilla Flat and slowed to a crawl. Only six
people lived here, in what had been a stop on a stage route. He parked in front
of a building with a carved Indian chief in front. Together, they got out and
walked inside.

At
the bar, there were a row of saddles made into bar stools. Mike waited until
Mallory seated herself, then he took the next saddle over. He’d been here
before with other guests, but he wanted Mallory to like it. The scent of hamburgers
and green chili teased his nose, and Mike realized how hungry he was. A radio
played an old Waylon Jennings song and he hummed along with the tune about
good-hearted women and the men who loved them.

A
short, bald man with a well-groomed stark white mustache and beard came out of
the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Well, hello. I didn’t hear you
come in. What can I get you?”

 
“Are you hungry?” Mike asked Mallory.

 
“Starving.”

 
“We’ll take two hamburgers with the works.”
Mike waited until the waiter-cook left. “Hamburgers are the only thing they
serve out here.”

 
“Oh, I see,” she said.

In
a few minutes the scent of grilling meat reached them and the man came back,
carrying a plate of tortilla chips and salsa. “I almost forgot
,
what can I get you to drink?”

Mike
glanced at Mallory. “Two cokes, please.”

 
“Done,” the man said. He handed them two
old-fashioned coke bottles. “I’m Pete Bernard.
Chief cook and
bottle washer.
Owner, too.”

Mike
shook his hand. “Mike Malone. And this is Mallory James.”

Pete’s
bright blue eyes sharpened. “James?
Any relation to Skeeter?”

 
“He was my dad,” Mallory said. “He died a few
days ago.”

Pete
shook his head sadly. “I sure am sorry to hear that. Skeeter was quite the
character. He lent an air of authenticity to this old place.
That
cute little burro, too.
They were the pair. Tourists loved them.
Always taking his picture . . . asking questions about the desert.
Skeeter was a walking encyclopedia. There wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about
the area.”

 
“You said he allowed people to take his
picture? You wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?” Mallory’s voice shook
with excitement.

Pete
rubbed his chin. “You know, I just might. Hold on.” He disappeared in the
kitchen and the sound of sizzling meat reached their ears. He came back in a
few minutes carrying a few pictures. “I found these in my desk. You’re welcome
to them.”

Mike
looked over Mallory’s shoulder as she studied the images. Someone had taken pictures
of Skeeter outside the building in which they sat. He looked the same as the
last time Mike had seen him alive—wearing a dusty fedora, checked shirt, and
faded jeans, holding a lead rope attached to
Nobody
.
He didn’t smile; his eyes were creased at the corners.

Mallory’s
fingers shook as she traced his face.

 
“Do you recognize him?” Mike asked. “I bet
he’s changed a bit.”

She
nodded. “Yes.”

Waiting
for her to get her emotions under control, Mike asked Pete, “How long ago were
these taken?”

 
“Oh, let’s see.” He tugged on his beard. “I’d
say about six months.”

 
“You’re sure it’s okay if I keep these?”
Mallory’s voice trembled.

 
“Oh, sure.”
Pete
smiled at her. “I don’t need them.” He backed into the kitchen and returned in
a flash with their meals. Placing the food in front of them, he sat behind the
bar. “So, did old Skeeter leave you a mint in gold?”

Mike
jerked his head up from his food, waiting for her answer.

 
“No. Not unless you consider one small vial of
gold dust a mint.” She toyed with her napkin. “I guess he died an indigent.”

Pete
shook his head again. “That’s hard to believe. He didn’t make a habit of eating
here, but when he did come in, he paid in cash.
Never left a
tip though.
Tight old geezer.”

 
“Where do you think he got the money?” Mallory
asked.

He
shrugged. “I wouldn’t wager a guess. I always thought he found an old mine or
filed a claim on a new one. As long as I’ve known him, he didn’t do much but
drag that little burro around.”

 
“Did he say anything about where he might have
a claim?” Mike picked up a chip and dipped into fragrant salsa. He bit down on
the spicy combination and almost forgot his question.

 
“No way.”
Pete
chuckled. “Skeeter was a wily one. He wouldn’t have let a soul know where he
had a claim, if he did.”

 
“Then why do you think he had a mine?” Mike
pressed.

 
“Because no one can live on
nothing
.”
Pete smiled. “And because he mailed something from the post office once a
month.”

Mallory
spoke. “Do you know what?”

He
shook his head. “Not a clue.”

 
“But you think it was something valuable?”
Mallory hadn’t touched her burger.

 
“Maybe.
He didn’t
say.” Pete rubbed his beard. “I only know he mailed a brown business sized
envelope once a month. I figured it was something important.”

 
“Did he get mail?” Mallory leaned forward, her
voice intent.

Pete
shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”

 
“Who is the postmaster?” She moved as if to
stand.

 
“Well, me,” he said.

 
“Then why can’t you tell me if my father got
mail?” Her body sagged back onto the saddle.

 
“’Cause that’s privileged information,” he
said. “I’d be breaking the law if I told you that.”

 
“You didn’t mind telling us he mailed
something out,” Mike reminded him.

 
“That’s different.” Pete picked up a rag and
wiped the bar. “I don’t know where it went or to who. But I do know if
something came in and who it was from. Not that I’m saying there was anything,
mind you.”