The Graves of Plague Canyon (The Downwinders Book 3) (5 page)

“Well,” Winn said, “I guess that means I just lay back and
wait until you work some magic on him, huh? Either that or we try again. I
could park farther back, not leave the road. We’d have to hike more. Or we
could try in the middle of the night.”

“There’s nowhere on that road your Jeep wouldn’t be noticed,”
Deem said. “Day or night.”

“That’s true,” Winn replied. “Maybe if we came at it from the
south?”

“Let me study the maps,” Deem said. “Coming in from the
southwest might be an option. Depends on how far out Hinton’s land goes. I need
to get that pinned down on the map.”

“Alright,” Winn replied. “What now, then? Back to Carma’s?”

“I guess so,” Deem answered. “We’ll see if she has any ideas.
And I need to get the scanning done.”

“I know going through Claude’s documents is important to you,
but it seems like treading water at the moment. We should explore more ways
into the canyon.”

“Well, I don’t know what else to do,” Deem replied. “At least
until Warren calls.”

“He gave you his number?” Winn asked.

“Yes,” Deem replied.

“Well, you call him then,” Winn said. “Get the ball rolling.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Deem said. “Waaaay too forward.”

“Deem Hinton too forward?” Winn asked. “Did you just hear
yourself?”

Deem paused and thought. Winn was right — nothing much
stopped her from getting what she wanted. She’d always been asked out enough
that she never felt compelled to do the asking herself. But in this case, she
had a good reason to keep things moving along.

“You’re right,” Deem replied. “I’ll call him.”

Deem sat in front of her laptop later that evening, the
bright light of it illuminating her face. She’d been at it for a while, as the
sun had set, and she hadn’t bothered to turn on a light in the room. She kept
placing a document on the glass, scanning, turning it over, scanning, and
replacing it with another document. She was becoming numb.

She jumped a good inch when her phone rang.

“Hello?” she said, the phone at her ear. She pulled a paper
off the glass with one hand and put another on.

“Deem?” came the voice at the other end. “It’s Warren.”

She felt a small rush, something in her chest that made her
think that her heart was beating a little faster.
Hmm,
she thought.
I’ll
analyze that after the call.

“Hi, Warren,” she said with her most neutral voice.

“Hey, I know we just talked this morning, but I was wondering
if you were free for lunch sometime. I’m usually off work at one.”

“Uh, sure, let me check my calendar,” Deem said, grabbing the
paper she was holding on the scanner and rustling it to make it sound as if she
was checking a day planner. “Umm… I can do lunch tomorrow. The rest of the week
is booked.”

“Tomorrow it is,” Warren said. “Are you still living in
Mesquite?”

“Yes,” Deem replied. “How about you?”

“My parents are still out there, but since I took the job
with Willie, I’ve been living in Hurricane. Makes it a lot easier to get to and
from work.”

“I’ll bet,” Deem replied. “What did you have in mind for
lunch?”

“Do you know the Bear Paw? In St. George?”

“Sure I do. I love it.”

“Well, I was thinking of there,” Warren said. “I could pick
you up around two, and we’d be there by three. If that’s not too late of a
lunch.”

“No, it’s not too late,” she replied. “But listen, I spend a
lot of time in St. George these days. You don’t have to drive all the way out
to Mesquite. I could meet you there, save you the trip.”

“Oh,” Warren said, surprised. “Well, sure, if you’re OK with
that.”

“Yup, I’m sure,” she said, knowing it would eat into his
macho expectations a little to not pick her up.

“OK,” Warren replied. “Two o’clock then? At the Bear Paw?”

“See you then!” Deem said, and hung up, feeling a slight
sense of elation. She hadn’t been on a date in several months; not because she
didn’t want to, or because she wasn’t asked, but because she’d been so busy
dealing with the skinrunner and her father’s journals. And even though she had
ulterior motives in meeting with Warren, there was a part of her that was happy
to have the social engagement set up, to have a date hanging on the calendar.
It made her feel normal.

This is the last scan of the night,
she thought, her eyes feeling tired.
Carma had told her she could stay as long as she wanted while she finished the
scanning, and she’d spent several nights there already, but she knew she
wouldn’t be driving back out to her mother’s house in Mesquite tonight. It was
an hour there and back, and with the date with Warren now scheduled for tomorrow,
it didn’t make sense. Her mother wasn’t at home anyway — she was in Arizona,
visiting her sister.
Why drive all the way out there to an empty house?
she thought.

She checked the clock on her laptop as the last scan finished
— 9:30. She was done for the night. The image slowly appeared on the screen and
she waited for it to complete and to save. She grabbed the laptop’s lid and was
about to close it when her tired eyes caught a picture on the screen. She
paused.

It’s the circle
, she thought.
The circle with the arrow.

She grabbed the paper from the glass and tried to read it,
but the room was too dark. She rose from the chair and turned on the overhead
light.

That’s it!
she thought.
The same mark! A round circle with an arrow
through it!

She scanned the rest of the page, reading Claude’s
hand-written notes surrounding the drawn image. Then she sat the paper back on
the scanner and picked up her phone to call Winn. It went to voice mail.

“Call me,” Deem said. “I’ve just discovered something
interesting.”

She wandered into the hallway and found herself drifting
toward the back room that overlooked the yard, her favorite room in the house.
Carma was there, curled up on couch, reading a book. She glanced up as Deem
walked into the room.

“You poor dear, what’s wrong with your eyes?” Carma asked.

“I’ve been staring at that screen for too long,” Deem
replied.

“Well, you must stop immediately. Come sit for a while and
relax. Would you like something to drink? A diet Coke, maybe?”

“I think I’ll be turning in soon, so I should probably lay
off the caffeine.”

“My dear,” Carma said, “there’s so much caffeine in your
body, I doubt it would matter. You’ve built up a tolerance. How about a cordial
instead?”

“What’s a cordial?”

“It’s what normal people — and by normal I mean non-Mormon —
drink in the evening after dinner but before bed. Something you sip while you
have a leisurely chat with friends.”

“Sounds perfect,” Deem said. “Is it alcoholic?”

“It most certainly is!” Carma said, setting her book down and
rising from the couch. She walked into the next room and soon returned with two
small glasses, a milky-white inch of liquid in the bottom of both. She handed
one to Deem and then resumed her spot on the couch.

“Is this like when people drink brandy in the evening?” Deem
asked. “Like on TV?”

“Yes, but we’re not leaping to brandy just yet,” Carma
replied. “Take a small sip and tell me what you think.”

Deem brought the glass to her lips, and she could smell the
alcohol. She took a sip, and then lowered the glass.

“Oh!” she said. “That’s really good.”

“It’s Irish cream, dear,” Carma replied, sipping her own. “A
perfect next drink as we continue your debauchery!”

“I just ran across something interesting, in my scanning,”
Deem said. “It was a symbol of a circle with an arrow through it. The arrow is
pointing left. Ever heard of such a thing?”

“How intriguing!” Carma said, her eyes widening. “A
mysterious symbol! No, I don’t think I’ve ever run across it. What do you think
it means?”

“Well, I saw the same mark on a warning sign at the mouth of Plague
Canyon this morning,” Deem replied. “Very small, in the right upper corner.
Didn’t think much of it, until I noticed it on a page I was just scanning.”

“Did Claude’s writings explain it?” Carma asked.

“Kind of,” Deem replied. “It said it was used many years ago
by a group of local archeologists who were also spiritualists and supposedly had
‘unusual powers’. I take that last part to mean gifted.”

“Fascinating!” Carma said, her glass of Baileys waving though
the air as she spoke. Deem was afraid the liquid would fly out of the glass,
but it always seemed to slosh to the top of the rim and then settle back down.
“Like a secret code between artisans!”

“I guess,” Deem replied. “It makes me wonder if there was
more to that sign than I thought.”

“What did the sign say?”

“It was old, and there was a board missing at the bottom,”
Deem replied. “It read: ‘Private property. Dangerous Canyon. Stay…’ and then
the rest of it was cut off by the missing board.”

“Stay out, no doubt,” Carma said.

“That’s what we thought.”

“And the mark was on the sign?”

“Upper right corner. Not big, but easy enough to make out.”

“And the sign looked old?” Carma asked. “Like it could have
been made by an archeologist many years ago?”

“I suppose,” Deem answered. “It looked like it had been
baking in the sun there for years. The letters were etched and burned into the
wood.”

“Did you inspect the sign in the River?” Carma asked, raising
an eyebrow.

“No, I didn’t think to,” Deem answered.

She pointed a long, boney finger at Deem. “Then you must go
back out there, my dear, and see if there’s a secret message on it, intended
only for gifteds. Archaeologist gifteds, presumably.”

“Like a sign within a sign?” Deem asked.

“Yes,” Carma replied, taking another sip of her cordial. “One
sign for normal folk, but within it a sign for someone with the gift.”

“Getting back in there is going to be tricky,” Deem said.
“They patrol the area pretty tightly.”

“Oh,” Carma replied, waving her hand dismissively, “you’ll
figure that out.”

Easy for her to say,
Deem thought. She watched Carma sip at her drink again and
thought she looked different than normal — tired.

“You going to stay here tonight?” Carma asked.

“If it’s still alright with you?” Deem replied.

“Of course it is; I’ve said so.”

“I think I’ve got another full day of scanning, and I’ll be
done. My mom probably wonders what I’m up to.”

“You’re calling her, I hope.”

“She’s in Arizona,” Deem replied. “I call every other day.”

“What’s she doing in Arizona?” Carma asked.

“She went down with my aunt, her sister,” Deem answered.
“Probably doing a ton of shopping and dining out. That’s what they usually do.”

“Everyone’s busy!” Carma replied. “We’re all industrious
little bees.”

“You seem tired, yourself,” Deem observed. “This project with
Lyman, I’m guessing?”

“Yes, dear,” Carma said. “It’s been a lot of work. But I
think it will be worthwhile.”

Carma didn’t seem to want to provide details, and Deem didn’t
feel like prying, so she changed the subject.

“I called Ester with an update. Lizzy’s still the same —
unresponsive.”

“Poor thing, I’m sure Ester’s a puddle of worry,” Carma
replied.

“I have a date tomorrow, with the guy I met at Plague
Canyon,” she said. “The one who stopped us from going in.”

Carma turned to her, her face lighting up more than usual.

“A date?!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how terribly exciting! Is he
handsome? Is he a charmer?”

Deem thought for a moment. Warren didn’t have model good
looks, he was more of a rugged guy. She couldn’t help but notice, though, that
as he rode the horse, his legs looked plenty thick and muscular through his
jeans, and his chest had filled in from the thin, teenaged chest she knew in
high school. His shoulders were broad, his voice was low and masculine, and his
face looked manlier than it had the last time she saw him, covered in a day’s
stubble. His eyes were the real standout — endlessly blue.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Deem said. “I knew him in high school but
haven’t seen him since. He’s changed; he’s grown up. We’re going to the Bear
Paw for lunch tomorrow.”

“So you can manipulate him into letting you into the canyon?”
Carma asked. “Or because you like him?”

“A little of both,” Deem answered.

“Mixing business with pleasure can be deliciously exciting,
my dear,” Carma said. “Just make sure no one gets hurt, if you can help it.
Hurt people do stupid things.”

▪ ▪ ▪

Thank god he’s dressed casually,
Deem thought as she saw Warren
sitting at a table at the Bear Paw. When he saw her approaching, he hopped up
from the table and pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you!” Deem said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I do,” Warren said, sitting down across from her.
He wasn’t shy, and he wasn’t awkward like the boys she remembered from high
school. He was staring her right in the eyes.

“A man always gets the chair for a woman,” he said, then
glanced down at the menu.

“I often like to get chairs for myself,” Deem replied. “I
hope that won’t destroy any macho illusions you may have.”

Warren looked back up and placed a hand over his heart. “You
think I have macho illusions?” he asked with a smile.

“Most guys do. That stuff just never matters to me.”

“I think that’s one of the things I always liked about you,”
he replied. “You always spoke your mind. I remember an American History class
where you did that a lot.”

“You had Mr. Olsen?” she asked, then thought about what she’d
said: it meant she’d forgotten Warren was in that class with her. She instantly
felt awful, and tried not to let it show on her face, but was unsuccessful.

“Yeah,” Warren replied. “I know… I wasn’t exactly memorable
in high school. Don’t feel bad.”

“I remember that you lettered in track,” Deem said, trying to
redeem herself. “And you were a Sterling Scholar in math.”

“Oh, so you
do
remember me?” Warren said, smiling.