her big time for arranging such a super deal on the rooms for my family.” Recently remodeled, the Desert Sky Motel reflected the true charm of the Old West. I loved the heavy, rough-hewn furniture, cowboy art and colorful patchwork quilts complementing each four-poster bed.
“Yeah, she’s a peach, ain’t she?”
“She sure is.” I had to admire the woman’s tenacity. She’d had a rough year after losing her husband to cancer. She had busied herself restoring the formerly shabby motel as well as the cottage next door where she lived with her daughter, Jenessa, a talented young pianist who was scheduled to play at our engagement party.
Silence. And more silence. Very un-Ginger like. “Okay. So, why’d Marcelene call you so late?”
“She’s worried sick about Jenessa. She was bawlin’ her head off and she got me so riled up I got to bawlin’ with her.”
“What about Jenessa?”
“She and Nathan, that new boyfriend of hers, they took off on a campin’ trip ten or eleven days ago and shoulda been back day before yesterday. They ain’t showed up yet and no one’s heard word one from them.”
“Well…the weather has been pretty awful. Did she call the sheriff’s office to report them missing?”
“I think so. But…they’re both real experienced hikers and they had plenty of supplies. There’s just no good reason they ain’t home yet.” Ginger’s voice quavered slightly and I grew uneasy. Her account sounded uncannily similar to the story I’d unearthed less than a month ago regarding a local judge. He’d disappeared while hunting in the midst of the biggest November snowstorm the state had experienced in a decade. The subsequent discovery of his mutilated body had horrified the community. But even more bizarre was the judge’s unexpected connection to Tally’s family and the tragic consequences that followed. I reassured myself with the knowledge that hikers were constantly getting lost in the Arizona wilderness for a host of reasons, so I refrained from voicing my misgivings. “If they’re seasoned hikers, they’re probably fine. But, I hope they weren’t camping above the six-thousand-foot-level or they might be stranded in the snow.”
“I know,” she answered, her tone hollow, despondent. “Aunt Marcelene said Jenessa told her they was headin’ out into the boonies to camp someplace way back yonder in the mountains for a couple of days and then they planned to rent quads in Crown King and go exploring.”
During one of our statewide sightseeing trips, Tally had driven me to the old mining town situated high in the Bradshaw Mountains. The sometimes deeply rutted dirt road, fashioned from the remains of the old railroad bed, zigzagged its way straight up the mountainside. It had been a rather harrowing journey along a road replete with dizzying switchbacks tracking above sheer cliffs, along with stomach-dropping views and few guardrails. I remember feeling a huge rush of relief when we finally arrived at the Crown King Saloon located in the center of the isolated forest community. “Well,” I said with forced cheerfulness, “looks like it’s going to be a beautiful, clear day. Hopefully they’ll be searching for them by air, so try to stay optimistic.”
“I’ll try.” Before hanging up, she added two additional items to my list of things to pick up at the party store. Sad. I’d never heard Ginger sound so grim, her usual effervescent personality and infectious giggle glaringly absent.
Her obvious distress dampened my spirits, but then I thought of how blessed I was to have found a jewel of a friend like Ginger King. Not more than two minutes had elapsed from the first time she’d heard the news that Tally kissed me until my fun-loving friend, who had become like the sister I never had, began planning our nuptials. She’d enthusiastically made it her mission in life to make sure my engagement party and subsequent wedding would be the biggest social events in the history of Castle Valley. Good thing. Having survived a first brief, ill-fated marriage, I’d have just as soon skipped all the fuss and eloped to Las Vegas. But she wouldn’t hear of it and insisted on handling all of the details.
When the first fiery rays of the rising sun streamed over the rough spine of the mountain range, I grabbed for my sunglasses. Arizona’s dramatic sunrises and sunsets never ceased to evoke within me a feeling of awe. Within minutes the landscape was awash in shimmering light, transforming the ghostly silhouettes of saguaro cactus into glorious golden pillars. Ever so slowly, the radiant glow slid across the rolling