Calamity Jayne Heads West (26 page)

Boom! Boom! I whacked him twice for making off with my chocolate cake.

“Stop! Tressa, stop! Stop!”

The high-pitched, boyish screams finally penetrated the haze of battle and I looked up.

“Nick?” I said, keeping my leglock and headlock in place.

“You’ve got to stop!” Nick said, and I noticed tears glistening in his eyes.

“Nick? Nick, what is it?” I asked, hoping to God he hadn’t been standing there injured while I was whoop-ing the tar out of Raphael. He shook his head and tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Stop! You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said, and I stared up at him.

“Huh?” I asked.

“You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said, wiping the tears from his face. “He’s one of the good guys,” he said, and pointed to the man I had in a death squeeze un-der me. “You let the bad guy get away.”

Several seconds passed while I replayed Nick’s wordsin a head that badly needed a strawberry daiquiri with lots of rum and a long, lazy afternoon in a hammock on the beach. I turned the glow light on and illumi-nated the chiseled features (okay, some new chisel marks, thanks to me) of the man beneath me.

“Damn. You really wanted that chocolate badly, didn’t you?” he said with a crooked—and bloody—grin. “Raphael Calderas, Special Agent, Law Enforce-ment and Investigations, National Forest Service,” he said. “At your service. Or maybe I should say, ‘at your mercy.’ ”

I shook my head. I betcha a bunch of shiny beads Little Hiawatha never had a day like this.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It took at least twenty questions and answers before I felt comfortable loosening up my hold on Special Agent Calderas. Admittedly it was hard for him to re-spond with my arm around his neck, but he managed to get his story across just the same.

And his story was as hard to swallow as most of mine.

Raphael, a.k.a. Special Agent Calderas, had been working undercover infiltrating a smuggling ring deal-ing in the theft and sale of Native American artifacts for more than a year. His informant, the man who had left the trail of breadcrumb clues, had been about to hand over conclusive evidence to S. A. Calderas that would expose the key players in the international traf-ficking of the historic artifacts but suspected the traf-fickers had become suspicious of him. To convince himself Agent Calderas was also on the up-and-up, he had devised his own vision quest to not only test the agent but safeguard the evidence as best he could with time running out.

“Arturo loved history,” Raphael said. “He felt a deepconnection to this land and its people, and it physi-cally hurt him to see it stripped of its riches and trea-sures and sold to the highest bidder. At the end, I could see him losing his grip on reality and I tried to pull him out, but he wouldn’t listen. It was then he went off the deep end and decided to turn his obses-sion into a mixed-up scavenger hunt.”

“What happened to Arturo?” I asked, wondering about the man who’d taken the time to write the clues and leave them behind.

Raphael looked over at Nick and then shook his head at me. I winced, getting the grim message.

“Arturo . . . disappeared,” Raphael said. “But not before they found out he’d placed that first clue in the figurine you purchased. I was supposed to pick it up the day before you got to it, but I was working on the inside then and I couldn’t break away until it was too late. By that time, they were also on the trail of the clues. Since I was working with them, I had to attempt to retrieve the item from you, as well. Which turned out to be harder than I expected.”

“If you’d been successful, would this have been over way before now?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Either that or I’d be dead, too,” he said. I winced again.

“Whitehead thinks you’re one of the bad guys,” I told him, and it was his turn to wince.

“The only way I could protect her was to lie to her. These people play for keeps,” he said.

“And The Spiritual Boutique?”

“Most likely a front.”

I told him about our visit to the boutique and our grisly discovery.

“Who are these people?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“We’ve identified a few but not the major players. Tonight was the first time they’ve let me into the inner circle. When I learned they wanted to snatch the kid here to use as leverage, I volunteered to do it, figuring I could make certain the boy would not come to any harm. There wasn’t a long line of other volunteers stepping forward to put their heads on the block for a kidnapping charge, so I was given the job. Communi-cation is done by an untraceable cell phone. I am told where to go and what to do when I get there. Up until now I have been pretty much an errand boy. Arturo was the one in the thick of the business. Names, dates, places, artifacts, amounts—he had access to it all. I had hoped his little quest would lead us to the indis-putable evidence he promised before more treasures disappear, but it has been a wash so far. And without those artifacts and clues, we’re back to square one,” he said. “At least my cover is still solid, thanks to the young one’s great acting and the protective instincts of a mother grizzly you demonstrated on my skull a few moments ago,” Raphael said, rubbing his head. “I had to find a way to let the boy escape without attracting suspicion, so I coached him on how to get the better of me.” Raphael winced. “He was an apt pupil. I am hoping my battle scars will gain me an insider’s role now. I can go back all bruised and battered and that should solidify my bona fides with my compatriots.”

“Bone of what?” Nick said, and I caught him rub-bing at his eyes.

“Oh my gosh! I need to get the kid back!” I jumped to my feet. “His parents are probably apoplectic. His uncle has probably secured one of those sightseeing choppers by now to search for him. Dude, we’ve got to go,” I told Nick, hauling him to his feet.

“Now remember, you two. Not a word about whathappened out here or what you have just heard, all right? We’ll have you covered until you leave the area, so no need to worry about further problems,” Raphael said, and bent down to shake Nick’s hand. “I am really proud of you. You followed my instructions to the let-ter and you did an awesome job of kicking my ass,” he said. “Well, you and your friend, here.”

“But we lost the clues and artifacts for you,” Nick said.

“It will be okay. We will still build a case,” he prom-ised and stood.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” I said. “Don’t let what happened to Arturo happen to you. Okay?”

He nodded. “I shall be careful. You two better go.”

I nodded. “Whitehead still loves you,” I told him.

“I know,” he said.

I reached down to take Nick’s hand and turned to say one final goodbye to Raphael, but he was gone. I shook my head.

“People come and go so quickly here,” I said, pulling Nick down the trail.

He giggled. “Oh, really, Dorothy?” he said. “I hadn’t noticed.”

A few seconds passed and his grip on my hand tight-ened. “I was really, really scared there for a while,” he said, and I looked down at him.

“I thought you felt safe with Agent Calderas,” I told him.

“It wasn’t that. When the guy called Raphael and told him that they wanted
you
to make the trade, that’s when I got scared.”

I felt a tug at the old heartstrings. “Oh, Nick, that’s so sweet!” I said, squeezing his hand back. “But you didn’t need to worry about me. I’m pretty good at tak-ing care of myself,” I said, “despite what you may hear from your Uncle Rick.”

Nick shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean,” he said. “What I mean is when I found out they wanted
you
to do the trade, I was scared because I didn’t think you would come,” he said. I stopped.

“You what?” I said.

“I didn’t think you would give up those artifacts to get me back,” he said, looking at his feet. I stared down at him.

“Why would you even think such a thing?” I asked.

“Because you don’t like me!” he said, looking back up. “You can’t stand to be around me. You think I’m a hairy little troll with Frodo feet and an Orc personal-ity,” he accused.

“Hey, don’t flatter yourself, munchkin. I think all kids are little trolls with hairy feet and nasty tempers,” I said. “Not just you.”

“You don’t think Kelsey’s a troll,” he said. “Kelsey wouldn’t have had to worry that you’d come for her.”

I hesitated, and then knelt down and took both of Nick’s hands in my own. “I came for you, Nick,” I told him. “Nobody else. Just you.”

His eyes began to fill with tears and I felt the sting of a similar emotion in my own peepers. I stood and cleared my throat in an
it’s-cool
way. He did the same.

“So, are you going to have any trouble keeping Raphael’s secret from your folks?” I asked Nick. He grinned.

“Are you kidding? I’m a kid. That’s what I do,” he said. “What about you?” he asked.

“I may need your help,” I admitted. “I’ve got a gene-tic predisposition that results in the stretching of cer-tain mouth ligaments, resulting in loose-lip syndrome,” I told him.

“Huh?”

“I’m a big blabbermouth. I get it from my gammy. As a result, I may require some help keeping my lips zipped. At least until we’re safely on a plane. Then I’m bound for the high seas, matey!”

“I wish I could go on the cruise, too,” Nick said. “But Kelsey and I have to stay with my Grandma and Grandpa Corbett. Mom and Dad said they needed a second honeymoon. They started kissing and hug-ging. Ugh. Gross.”

I nodded. “I hear you,” I said.

“What are we going to tell my folks about where I’ve been?” he asked.

“We’ll just say you lost track of time and got tired and fell asleep along one of the trails, and you woke up and were making your way back to the hotel when I met you on the path,” I said.

“Do you think they’ll yell at me?”

I shook my head. “Probably not for a day or two, and by that time, they’ll know the real story. They’ll just be glad to have you back safe and sound, Nick,” I told him. “But be prepared for a lot of hugging and kissing and slobbering all over you, okay? It’ll be gross, I know, but bear with them. They’ve been scared, too.”

He nodded. “Will Uncle Rick be happy you found me? Will he hug you and kiss you and slobber all over you, too?”

I looked down at the runt. Hmmm. I hadn’t thought of that. Would he?

I reached in my bag and pulled out my Binaca and gave my mouth a couple blasts, and handed it to the kid.

“First rule of Indian scouting. Be prepared, kid,” I told him. “Be prepared.”

My predictions regarding Nick’s reception when we returned had been, for the most part, accurate. The entire lobby exploded into cries of joy, howls of happi-ness, and hugs of hallelujah resulting in buckets of tears and a short, but stern, lecture on not going off half-cocked all by oneself.

Okay, so this lecture happened to be delivered to me by Ranger Rick Townsend with a lot of head rub-bing, jaw-jumping, finger-pointing and very little of the hugging, kissing and slobbering Nick had sug-gested might await me, as well. Uh, except from his parents and my parents and my gammy and Joe and Taylor and Sophie. Even Gloria Grant, still around for the next morning’s nuptials, joined in the upbeat mood of our party, giving me a tight hug and tipping a glass of bubbly in celebration. Both Nick and I had called it a night way before the party wound down.

I climbed out of bed, realized Taylor, Sophie and Gram had already gone down to breakfast, and went to shower, then realized I still had nothing to wear to the wedding and the ceremony was in three hours.

I padded to the bathroom and stopped. On the door was a simple but exquisite turquoise and white dress with nary a bow or ruffle to be found. There was a note attached.

As always,

Rick.

I patted the package.

“You deserve a rest, Kooky, ol’ chap,” I said, finding myself suddenly sentimentally attached to the dubious work of art. Or ‘work of fart’ as Nick Townsend re-ferred to it.

At precisely ten we gathered in front of the impres-sive fireplace in the lobby of The Titan Hotel where Hellion Hannah and Joltin’ Joe Townsend exchanged their written vows. There was an added sense of cele-bration and joy over the festivities due to Nick’s safe re-turn. Following the brief ceremony, champagne flowed and giddy laughter rang out as we gathered together in the private dining hall. My new step-grandpappy winked at me as I found my dinner spot and discovered Rick Townsend already seated to my left.

“Nice dress,” Rick said. “Someone has excellent taste. Fits like a dream, too,” he added, lifting a glass of champagne to me in a toast.

I raised my own glass. “To a man who isn’t afraid to venture into the ladies’ department on his own,” I said. “Cheers!”

“Hear hear!” Townsend said, and we sipped our bubbly.

“They look happy, don’t they?” he said, tipping his glass at our grandparents.

“They do,” I agreed. “It’s funny how after all this time and after each of them went down their own paths, they ended up back where they started. Back at the beginning,” I said. “Where it once began.” I sat fora moment, pondering my words. They seemed vaguely familiar.

Where it once began
.
Your quest ends where it once began
.

“Your quest ends where it once began,” I repeated.

The meaning of this final piece of the puzzle fell into place like the final section of a wigwam.

“Oh . . . my . . . spirit . . . guide! Kookamunga!” I screamed and jumped from my seat, the tablecloth catching in my belt and shifting everyone’s dinner set-ting one place over.

“Tressa, what on earth are you doing? You’re wear-ing the tablecloth!” my gammy yelled. “Stop!”

I yanked the cloth out of my belt and ran to the gift table at the other end of the room. I rummaged through the packages.

“He’s gone!” I yelled. “Kookamunga’s gone!”

“Oh, shit.”

I attributed that observation to Rick Townsend.

“Okay? Where is he?” I said, checking behind the cake and on the floor and under the table. “He was here before the wedding, I saw him!”

“What are you looking for, Tressa?” my mother asked, coming to stand beside me.

“My wedding gift for Gram and Joe,” I said. “It’s gone!”

A sudden suspicion came over me, and I turned to confront Nick Townsend but Rick beat me to it.

“You didn’t do something with Tressa’s gift, did you, Nick?” he asked, joining me. “Because I remember you didn’t particularly care for Kookamunga,” Rick added. “So, how about it, Nick? Care to own up to anything?”

But Nick shook his head. “I didn’t take it. I swear,” he said. He looked over at me. “I wouldn’t do that. Not after . . .” he stopped. “Well, you know.”

I looked at him for a moment and nodded. “I know you didn’t take it, runt,” I said. “But who else besidesinvited guests and hotel staff were in here, and why would they take that particular item? Unless . . .” I stopped. “Unless they knew Kookamunga was more than just another phallic-friendly fellow,” I said. “Which would mean one wedding guest had more on their mind than felicitations,” I said.