Tortoise Soup (6 page)

I opened envelope after envelope, only to discover that what I had stumbled on were old love letters. They had been sent by a man who at one time had been her fiancé. Posted from Nevada, each letter told of a fortune in gold just around the bend, screaming out to be discovered. He would come home to her then. I wondered how long Annie had waited before giving up hope. And what had finally caused her to head for Nevada. I was beginning to discover that everyone has their own reason for deciding to live in the desert. It’s a place where you can find yourself if you’re looking or lose yourself if you choose. Then there are those who are running from something as fast as they can. Annie fell into one of those categories. So did I. I was still trying to figure out which was the perfect fit.

Visions of Annie in her tub flitted across my mind and I shivered, sliding further down into my blanket of bubbles as I poured another drink. Gut instinct told me that she had been murdered. I also knew I’d never convince Brady to keep the case open. My one hope was Lanahan and what he might find.

I concede that it’s time to get out of the tub when my fingers reach the consistency of prunes. I opened my medicine cabinet and poked around for any remnants of lotion to slather on my skin, and was confronted by a bottle of Mylanta and memories of Santou. He practically lived on the stuff. In my twisted state of mind, I kept it in order to feel close to him. A pang of homesickness squeezed at my heart in a surprise attack.

To hell with pride. Picking up the phone, I dialed Santou’s number. I had asked him for space and time. I guess I should also have asked for more frequent phone calls. I listened to the phone ring for a while and finally hung up. It was one in the morning, New Orleans time. I didn’t even want to think about where he could be. I thought about him enough as it was. Every morning, noon, and night, not counting my dreams.

Terri had warned me that I would be lonely. His advice had been to get a bird. “You don’t have to walk them, and they’ll never break your heart.”

He was wrong about that. I’d had a parakeet as a kid. It had escaped one day through an open window to perch on a tree. I had begged the bird to come back inside. Instead it had flown away. I should have taken that as a sign then and there that either birds weren’t meant to be caged or I had about as much luck with them as I would in my future relationships with men.

That night, though I left the lights blazing bright, my demons hit in full force. A mass of maggots swam into my dreams. Emerging from a Pepto-pink milk shake, they crawled up into my bed to swarm on my body, covering me from head to toe. It wasn’t until hours later, as my demons were finally leaving and deep sleep had begun to set in, that I wondered about Annie’s closest neighbors.

Dawn was just creeping
up as I started out the next morning. The sunrise, a crimson streak against the sky, stretched like an animal come to life. I barreled down the road serenaded by the demented yammer of coyotes ending their partying for the night. A kit fox loped over a rocky outcrop on his way home.

I stopped at the Mosey On Inn and stumbled inside for my morning transfusion of coffee along with directions as to where the group of wacko scientists were holed up. I also gave Ruby the news about Annie. Ruby took it in stride.

“These things happen,” she casually informed me.

“Being shot in a bathtub?” I asked, surprised by her response.

Ruby adjusted her chest as she put on a new pot to brew. “Darlin’, there are lots of bodies buried in holes out in the desert. The trick is to make sure you don’t trip and fall in with them.”

The words sounded like good advice through my tequila haze. I grabbed another cup of coffee and a bag of Doritos to go, but Ruby pulled the chips out of my hands, foisting a bran muffin on me in its place.

“You gotta eat healthy!” she called as I headed out the door.

The heat was already a sweltering ninety-eight degrees by seven in the morning and about as dry as a sponge held under a running faucet. I turned onto a dirt road and headed toward the mountains, passing sun-bleached bones along the way. I only hoped they weren’t human. The wind had begun to pick up, singing a mournful dirge through the needles of large barrel cactus as shadows of clouds tripped across the mountain face. I’d heard that with time you can learn to take the desert’s pulse. This morning it was vibrating with life, even though none could be seen.

Shifting into four-wheel drive, I worked my way up and down switchbacks and over rocks, following Ruby’s directions. After about twenty minutes of this, I began to think that she’d been wrong. It seemed inconceivable that anyone would want to live out here.

Then I heard the sound of gunshots. I turned off what Ruby had called a road and blindly followed the sound, but nothing came into view. Not wanting to risk losing my way, I was about to turn back when sunlight reflected off an object in the distance. I headed in its direction.

The closer I got, the less I trusted my eyes. There appeared to be a large wooden ark sitting in the middle of the desert. Unless I had just solved a biblical mystery, this was the home of the group of scientists I had been told about.

Then I caught sight of my welcoming committee. Ensconced in a beach chair was a bare-chested, middle-aged man with stringy blond hair. His sunburned beer belly hung like a worn-out tire over cutoff denim shorts. Cowboy boots covered his feet. He was bleary-eyed, with a fifth of Jack Daniel’s stuck between his legs. He looked like he should have been on a beach, waiting for a wave to roll in, instead of working on his skin cancer in the middle of the Mojave Desert.

He waited for me to get out of the Blazer. “How ya doin’?”

“Hi. I’m Rachel Porter, with Fish and Wildlife,” I said.

“So you’re the new oinker, huh?” he commented, squinting up at me.

Somehow it didn’t sound like scientific jargon to me. He gave a wide grin as he brought the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to his lips and took a swig.

“Name’s Noah Gorfine. Welcome to my ark.” Noah motioned behind him without bothering to get out of his chair.

After Cammo Dude I thought I’d met all the loony tunes around, but Noah was coming up number one on my hit parade. If there was one thing I hadn’t expected to find, it was an ark sitting out in the middle of the desert. But then again, I should have known better. In Nevada, nothing is what you expect it to be.

“Why the ark?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“In case it rains,” Noah deadpanned.

“So where are all the animals?” I questioned.

Another gunshot rang out. Noah looked off in the distance and chuckled. “Don’t worry. They’re coming.”

In the Bible, two of each kind were taken onboard the ark. Heading our way was a twist on the story. A pack of small, unkempt dogs began yapping their lungs out upon catching sight of me. Breaking into a mad dash, the motley brood lunged en masse, looking like out-of-control mops as they nipped at my legs.

“Down!” A new voice issued the command.

The dogs immediately fell back in a ragtag semblance of order. I’d been so busy swatting the little beasts away that I hadn’t noticed the woman who now stood before me. A busty bleached blonde, she was dressed in a midriff shirt cut to emphasize her abundant cleavage, a small roll of fat squeezed out of the top of her hip-hugger jeans. She’d taken the time to apply full makeup to her slightly bloated face, and large gold hoop earrings finished off the ensemble.

Noah introduced us. “This is my number one mama, Georgia Peach.”

Georgia Peach looked like she had reached the summit of ripeness long ago and was now careening down the other side of the hill without her brakes on.

“So you’re the new kid on the block, huh?” Deep and gravelly, her voice sounded as if it had been run through a meat grinder and then lightly sanded until it held a distinctive growl. “Guess they aren’t going for perky tits and a tight ass these days.”

I refused to take offense at a woman who resembled an over-the-hill biker chick. Still, I made sure to stand up straight, push out my chest, pull in my stomach, and clench my butt.

“It sounds as if you don’t like the Fish and Wildlife Service very much.”

“I sure as hell don’t,” Georgia growled.

“Any particular reason why?” I was curious to see if the desert tortoise came up on her list.

“Yeah, I used to work for them as a wildlife biologist. That’s reason enough for me.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised if Noah had handed me an umbrella and correctly predicted an instantaneous flood. “What happened?”

“I wanted to be a
Playboy
centerfold. Can’t you tell?” Georgia pulled a pint bottle of peppermint schnapps from her back pocket and carefully wiped off the top before bringing it to her lips.

“What are you doing now?”

Georgia pointed to the gang of oversized hair balls, which had begun to chase a panicky lizard. “I breed Lhasa Apsos and sell them in Vegas.”

With the way they looked, I found it hard to believe she could give the mutts away.

A movement caught my attention and I glanced at the ark, but the figure that had appeared quickly pulled back. Noah followed my gaze.

“That’s my number two mama there. Suzie Q, get on out here. It don’t look like this one’s gonna bite.”

The woman came out from behind the ark and stopped a few feet away from me. Standing six foot two with eyes of blue, Suzie Q lived up to her name. A mane of dark hair framed an elongated face. Her clothes hung loose on a stick-thin body as though they were dangling from a wire. Munching on a Twinkie, she stood and stared at me in silence. But my eyes were glued to what was sitting on her shoulder.

Noah glanced at me and chuckled. “That’s Suzie Q’s pet, Frank Sinatra. Want to say hello?”

What I wanted to do was get back in the Blazer and leave, but my feet were frozen in place. A large tarantula the size of a man’s hand, Frank Sinatra could easily have replaced the star of
Arachnophobia
. Suzie Q kept munching away at her Twinkie, never taking her eyes off me.

Georgia’s voiced jarred me back to reality. “So let’s see what Fish and Wildlife has gone and hired themselves these days. Got a gun?”

My hand immediately went for the revolver stuck in the back of my jeans. “Why do you ask?”

Georgia licked her lips and smiled. “Just want to see if they hired someone who can shoot straight. How about we go a couple rounds?”

I followed Georgia, giving Suzie Q a wide berth as we headed toward the back of the ark. Strung out on a clothesline between two tall Joshua trees hung photos of Playboy centerfolds from the last twelve months. Noah handed Georgia a .38 Smith & Wesson.

“Got a favorite bimbo you’d like to take out?” Georgia inquired.

I pulled out my newly issued 9mm SIG-Sauer. Besides being rusty on target practice, I was still getting used to the gun. But it held ten more rounds than my old .38, and the Service was a stickler for rules.

“I don’t shoot at women.” I tried to make that a rule, even if they did have better bodies than me. “How about some cans?”

Georgia looked at me a moment and then grinned. “Sure. I don’t shoot at them either, unless they’re screwing up my day. Noah just likes to hang them there so he can pretend it’s his harem. Let’s go over here.”

We walked to where a black pickup sat. Plastered on its rear bumper were two ancient stickers declaring “Nevada Will Be Cattle-Free By ’93” and “No Moo By ’92.” Looking back at Suzie Q, I suddenly realized she was the woman I had chased in the desert.

Noah lined up three cans and Georgia took aim, easily knocking each one off its perch.

Twirling the gun around her finger, she moved away. “Your turn, Porter.”

Noah sat the cans back up as I took careful aim, knowing I was being tested. I blew the first can off its roost and felt my confidence soar. I aimed at the second. Lining it up perfectly in my sight, I squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened. The SIG-Sauer had jammed.

Georgia broke out in a roar. “Don’t you know that gun is for shit, Porter? That’s how good the Service is. They’ve got you using a weapon that jams whenever it damn well feels like it. Hell, it’s one way to cut back on retirement pay. Here—try this.”

Georgia tossed me her .38, and I fired off two rounds in quick succession, knocking the cans to the ground and then hitting them again so that they danced across the desert floor. In some ways, shooting is a lot like playing darts, my all-time favorite sport. You just aim as if your life depended on it and pray for the best.

“Not bad for a government employee.” Georgia pulled out her pint of peppermint schnapps and took a swig. Then she offered it to me. “Here. Have a swig. It beats the hell out of Lifesavers.”

I took a drink and turned to Noah. “Aren’t you going to shoot?”

Noah raised his hands in mock horror. “Hell, no. I’m a lover, not a gunslinger. I won’t go near those things.”

I decided now was as good a time as any to begin a bit of interrogation. “You may not be a gunslinger, but word has it you’re a scientist. Any truth to that?”

Noah pulled a pair of mirrored sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. “That was in my past life.”

I tried to get a read on his expression, but it had now become impossible to see his eyes. “Did you work for the government?”

For a moment, as the silence of the desert closed in on us, I thought Noah wasn’t going to answer.

“Yeah, I worked for the government and I got fired for my trouble,” he finally responded.

It was obvious that I was treading on sensitive ground. “Why were you fired?”

Noah faced the sun. “They didn’t like my personality. Can you imagine that?”

I pressed on. “What area of the government did you work for?”

“
Bzzzzzz!
” He sounded like the buzzer on a game show when the answer is wrong. “You just hit your limit for today, Porter. Time for my nap.”

But I wasn’t through with him yet. “Before you turn in for the day, did you know that a neighbor of yours was just found dead?”

Noah turned and gave me a cold stare. “Shit happens. Anyone I know?”