Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (8 page)

“No. I was just …” Claire paused, biting her lip. Gramps
didn’t know about Jess’s Cleveland plans, and Claire didn’t want to be the one
who let that rattlesnake out of its tank.

“She’s thinking about leaving Mac.”

Gramps lowered the book, his pale blue eyes frosty. “Damn
it, Claire. I knew this would happen. What’s wrong with Mac? He has a good job,
a nice house, and a savings account.”

Claire snatched the book from his hands. “It’s not—”

“I told her the same thing last night.” Kate lifted her chin
like she was a good little girl who deserved a chocolate-chip cookie and a pat
on the head.

Claire would give her a pat all right. A solid whack with
the library book should ring her bell. “Listen, I never—”

“I know.” Gramps said. “You never stay with one man for more
than a couple of months. What did Mac do? Ask you to take your coat off, unpack
your bags, and stay awhile?”

She slammed the book on the counter. “He said he loves me.”

“Oh, well then.” Gramps crossed his arms, a smirk on his
face. “By all means, you’d better start running, Chicken Little, because the sky
is surely about to fall.”

Kate giggled.

“Would you two shut up! I’m not leaving Mac.” At least she
didn’t think she was, not yet anyway.

“Then what’s with the book on Ohio?” Kate asked.

“It’s Jess’s.” Damn them both for needling her.

Gramps stared at Claire for several seconds, then he sighed
and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not that again.”

“Yeah, that again.”

“What?” Kate’s gaze darted back and forth between them.

The phone shrilled on the wall next to Claire. She picked up
the receiver. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you supposed to say the name of the store when you
answer the phone?”

“What do you want, Chester?”

“I need to speak to Harley, Miss Crabby-Ass.”

She held the phone out to Gramps.

“I’ll take it in the rec room.” He pushed through the
curtain.

Claire waited to hear his voice on the line and then hung
up. Kate flipped through the book on Ohio, whistling.

Claire had been waiting for this opportunity all morning. “Kate,
I need you to watch the store for a bit.”

“Why? Can’t Mom do it?”

“None of your business why, and Mom’s taking a nap.”

“Claire, I’m in the middle of a good tan. I just stopped in
for more lotion.”

“Too bad. You said you’d help out if I stayed, remember?”

Kate cursed. “Fine.” She rounded the counter as Claire
headed for the curtain. “But don’t take forever.”

Claire tiptoed past Gramps, who had his back to her while he
grunted out Yes’s and No’s into the phone. She crept down the steps and closed
the door to the basement office behind her.

Ten minutes later, she had the bookcase partially emptied and
light enough to move without hemorrhaging a kidney. As she grabbed the side to
lift it, Kate slammed into the room. “What are you doing, Claire?”

Claire stood, wiping her damp hands on her shorts. “Nothing.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Kate edged around Claire. “What’s that?” She
pointed at the door in the wall.

“A door. Who’s watching the store?”

“Ruby’s back.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “And
don’t patronize me, Claire. I know you’re up to something. Your eye is ticcing.”

Claire touched her eyelid. She couldn’t feel it ticcing.

“Ha! Gotcha. Are you trying to sneak into Ruby’s safe?”

“It’s not Ruby’s.”

Claire lifted the bookcase out of the way. There was no use
trying to sidetrack Kate now. She was like a badger—once she’d sunk her teeth
in and locked her jaws, short of cutting off a limb, there’d be no getting rid
of her.

“I don’t think Ruby even knows it exists,” Claire told Kate.
“And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll play barbershop again while you’re
sleeping.”

Kate shot her a dirty glare. “Touch my hair and die.”

“Nobody needs to know about this door, especially Jess.”
Claire emphasized her point with a finger poke to Kate’s shoulder. Jess tended
to follow in Paul Revere’s footsteps when it came to spreading news. “Got it?”

“Sure, whatever.” Kate waved off Claire’s warning. “It’s Joe’s,
isn’t it?” Kate’s knowledge of Ruby’s dead husband came from Claire, so she
knew all of the dirt and none of the gems.

“Yep.” Claire squatted in front of the door. She frowned at
the keypad in the bottom left corner. “Shit. We need a code.” At least they
didn’t need a thumbprint. Claire hadn’t exhumed a body before, but she was all
for learning new trades.

Where in the hell was she going to find the code? Joe wasn’t
exactly a chatterbox these days, and Johnny Cash, whose profile had been
painted on black velvet and hung on the wall next to the door, didn’t share
secrets.

“Well, that sucks.” Kate echoed Claire’s thoughts.

“What sucks?” Jess asked.

Claire looked up to see Jess peeking over Kate’s shoulder.

“Hey, I bet that’s where Mom’s keeping that money you found
last spring.” Jess nudged Kate aside and squatted next to Claire. “Cool, it
even has a keypad.”

Claire closed her eyes and groaned.

* * *

“I don’t know why you have to drive me to the Franklin’s
place,” Jess said to Kate as they drove under the Dancing Winnebagos R.V. Park
sign and sped toward Jackrabbit Junction.

The tires hummed along the asphalt, not quite drowning out
the whir of the air conditioning blowing lukewarm air from the vents. Kate
swiped at the sweat beading on her upper lip. The back of her legs stuck to the
leather seat.

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.” Jess popped her
bubblegum, polluting Kate’s Volvo with the grape scent.

Kate gritted her teeth, not exactly thrilled to be driving
Jess anywhere. The girl didn’t stop talking long enough to breathe. But with
Ruby minding the store, Gramps nowhere to be found, Mac heading to Yuccaville
to “take care of something,” and Claire trying to fix one of the campground
toilets that had overflowed again, Kate had drawn the short straw.

Jess channel surfed on the radio with the same fingers she’d
just used to pull and twirl her gum. “Claire says you’re a teacher.”

Not anymore. Kate fished a napkin from her glove box and
offered it to Jess, who stuffed it in her pocket.

“You don’t look like a teacher.”

Kate wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “Really?”
She let off the gas pedal as the STOP sign came into view.

“No. You’re too young looking.”

A compliment, how sweet. She might get along with her soon-to-be
aunt yet. “Thank you.”

“And you don’t have as many gray hairs as Claire.”

That was because she didn’t land ass-deep in trouble as
often as Claire. Besides the occasional rotten boyfriend, Kate’s life was
relatively stress-free.

“But you really should wax those sideburns.”

Kate gasped as if she’d been pinched. Sideburns? She tipped
the rearview mirror down and turned her face from side to side. What sideburns?

“Stop! Pull in here!” Jess yelled, pointing at the hardware
store’s gravel drive they were about to blow by.

Kate swerved into the drive and stomped on the brake pedal.
Her anti-lock brakes thumped, while the gravel crunched under her tires.

From out of nowhere, a pickup appeared in front of her.

Jess screamed and covered her face.

Kate tromped harder on the brakes. She winced as the
passenger side of the truck filled her front windshield right before she
crashed into it.

The impact slammed her forward.

The airbags exploded with a deafening bang.

Then there was silence.

“I’d like to talk to the president, please, Edith,” Mac told
the gray-haired receptionist, a name plaque and tall counter separating her
from the reception area. He added a wide smile to his request in an attempt to
sprinkle on some charm.

Edith was new since March, the last time Mac had stormed
into this office. Her perfume reminded him of the rose-shaped soaps his grandma
had kept in a basket on the back of her toilet.

On the green wall behind Edith, the words Copper Snake
Mining Company hung in thick letters, made of the very metal the company had
mined daily for the past one hundred and twenty years.

Edith looked up at him, her rhinestone-rimmed reading
glasses resting on the tip of her pinched nose. “Do you have an appointment, Mr.
…?” She had a raspy, two-pack-a-day voice.

“Garner. And no, I don’t.” He hadn’t wanted to alert the big
tuna until he’d baited his hook and cast his line.

The wrinkles above her upper lip deepened. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Garner, but you need an appointment to see Mr. Johnson.” She flipped open a
small leather book and trailed her finger down one page and then another. “He
has an opening next Wednesday at three. Would that work for you?”

“No. I’d like you to call him right now and tell him Mac
Garner is here to see him.”

“Well.” She sniffed. “I can try, but he may still be at
lunch. Even if he’s not, I doubt he’ll be available. He’s a very busy man,
especially on Friday afternoons.” She picked up the phone and punched in three
numbers.

Mac glanced around the empty reception room. Things hadn’t
changed much in five months. The plush burgundy carpet still smelled new and
the cherry-wood chairs and coffee table still gleamed under the florescent
lights. Sepia-toned pictures of huge, land-moving mining trucks and excavators—machines
that made engineers shiver and environmentalists shudder—dotted the walls,
along with before-and-after pictures of Roadrunner Mountain and Paloverde Hill,
now both vast open pits.

“Mr. Johnson,” Edith said. “There’s a Mac Garner here to see
you.”

Mac stared down at Edith, waiting to see if Johnson was
going to grant him five minutes of his time or play hard-to-get.

“No, he doesn’t have an appointment.” Edith lifted her chin,
challenging Mac with a glare. “I explained that to him, but he’s insisting on
meeting with you right now.” She listened for several seconds, nodding, smiling
in victory. “All right, I’ll see what you have available next week.”

Hard-to-get it was.

Leaning over the counter, Mac snatched the phone receiver
from Edith.

“Hey!” Her face contorted, mottling with a purplish-red hue.

“Listen, Chuck,” Mac spoke into the receiver. “I’m here to
discuss selling Ruby Martino’s mines. This is a one-time deal. If you won’t see
me now, I’m sure Nick Black down at the Copper Star in Sierra Sol will.”

Silence hissed through the receiver for several heartbeats.

Edith, now standing, held her hand out for the receiver, her
eyes narrowed.

“Okay, Mac.” Chuck Johnson’s nasally voice sounded amiable,
yet wary. “Come on back. The door is open.”

Mac handed the receiver back to Edith with a victory smile
of his own and didn’t wait around to receive any more glares.

Johnson stood and extended his hand as Mac approached his
desk. “Nice to see you again, Mac.” His gray eyes contrasted with his white
bushy eyebrows and thinning hair.

Mac shook Johnson’s hand. “Always a pleasure,” he lied.

Following Johnson’s lead, he dropped into one of the cushy
chairs across from the mining company president.

Johnson’s office smelled of well-oiled leather and spoke of
a century of wealth built on the sweaty, broken backs of many past and present
Cholla County residents. A plate glass window looked out over the town of
Yuccaville, mud-brick houses and white-roofed buildings littering the narrow
valley below. The black frame on Johnson’s desk displayed a picture of a
smiling blonde, her arms clutching two miniature poodles.

“So.” Johnson steepled his fingers. “Ruby is thinking again
about selling?”

Mac nodded.

“Why the sudden change of heart? Last April, she fought
tooth and nail to keep those mines.”

“Last April, she was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy,
about to lose her house and the campground to the bank. The mines were her only
lien-free assets.”

Not to mention that the mining company’s low-ball offer on
those mines only added insult to injury after Mac had figured out the estimated
value of just two of Ruby’s four mines.

“Which mines are we talking about?”

“Rattlesnake Ridge and Socrates Pit.” Mac dangled the bait.

“What’s her price?”

“That’s still up in the air.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To test the waters, see if the fish are still biting.”

Johnson sat back, his leather chair creaking. He stared at
Mac for several seconds. “They’re still hungry.”

Mac smiled, his chest loosening, relieved Johnson hadn’t
called his bluff. “I’ll let her know.” Here was where he might lose his catch. “If
you’ll give me the names and phone numbers of your attorneys, we’ll deal
through them from here on and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

Johnson reached in his desk drawer, pulled out a couple of
business cards, and handed them to Mac. “How soon will Ruby be making a
decision?”

“I’m not sure, but she seems anxious to get moving on this.”
Mac glanced down at the names; neither card belonged to Leo M. Scott, the
lawyer from Tucson who’d sent the letter to Ruby.

Okay, one more lie. “She’s already contacted an attorney out
of Tucson by the name of Leo Scott.” He studied Johnson’s face, waiting for
some telltale sign that the mining company had done business with Leo Scott
before.

Johnson just nodded and rose with his hand extended. “Great.
I look forward to working out a deal this time.”

“She does, too.” Mac stood, knowing he’d be playing ice
hockey in hell first. He shook Johnson’s hand. “Thanks for your time.”

Mac could have sworn he heard Edith hiss at him as he walked
by her desk.

The sight of Richard Rensberg, vice-president of the Cactus
Creek Bank, in the reception area stopped him just short of the double glass
doors. He was reading some paper from an open folder, his forehead furrowed.
Two cardboard mapping tubes leaned against the seat next to him.