Digital ISBNs
EPUB 978-0-2286-0586-7
Kindle 978-0-2286-0587-4
Web 978-0-2286-0588-1
Print ISBNs
BWL Print 978-0-2286-0589-8
B&N Print 978-0-2286-0591-1
Amazon Print 978-0-2286-0590-4
Copyright 2018 by Diane Bator
Cover art by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book
“It’s amazing how we can look at the same view, yet we don’t see the same things.” Hannah’s breath swirled around her face as she tossed her long, black ponytail over her shoulder. “When I look at that old shed, I can’t wait to tear it down, yet you’ve turned it into a work of art.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have to live with it.” Christina glanced over and grinned.
Not even the chill in the early March day could dampen her spirits as she wiggled her hands in her fingerless gloves. It took months, but she’d finally found a kindred spirit to create with. Plein air painting was always best with an accomplice and, from the moment she and Hannah Diggly met, they’d both itched to get outside once the snow began to melt and capture the natural beauty of Hannah and Nate’s farm.
Each brush stroke reminded Christina of the first painting she ever sold while visiting a fishing village on the coast of Maine one summer. Early that morning, she’d wandered away from the bed and breakfast her family stayed at to paint near the docks. She paused only for sips of hot chocolate and bites of a fat pastry over the course of the next couple hours,
Every so often, she’d stretch the cramps from her paint-speckled hands and savor the salty air, while she drank in the world around her. Shouts from skippers on the barges as engines chugged at a steady speed.
“Lots of fish today,” an old woman yelled at everyone to clear out of the way to give space to the men as they disembarked nodded every time Christina passed. “You going to paint me too, sweetheart?”
“Probably.” Christina took pictures of people passing by as well as the fish woman and her sister who wore blue jeans, ratty sweaters and baseball caps. Both women sat beneath a gnarled tree and sipped strong coffee while they waited for the boats. When another boat tugged toward the docks, the women checked their haul as though each load were vital to their survival. Now and then, at least one of the two women would practically hip-check men into the water in their haste to check the loads.
“I don’t remember that blue thing being out there before.” Hannah dabbed a speck of blue on her canvas. “One of the boys must have lost a scarf over the winter and not told me. I should probably go pick it up and toss it in the wash.”
Christina snapped out of her reverie. Back to the cold. “I don’t know. It looks pretty muddy near the shed.”
She rolled her eyes. “We live on a farm. Mud and manure are all a part of life.”
“I’ll stick with sidewalks and asphalt, thanks.” Christina used her brush to swirl brown and sage green with yellow. “The farm’s a nice place to paint, but I’m no country girl.”
They lapsed into another comfortable silence.
Christina paused once more to stare at the scrap of blue in the distance. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Back on those docks where so many things had fascinated her. Where each time she took a break from painting, she’d snap photos of the fish that gleamed like silver in the sun. Of the kids gathered to watch the fishermen gut and fillet their haul. Of the two old women she later learned managed the docks with eagle eyes and iron fists.
An old man had stopped in front of her and peered into her lens to demand, “How much?”
“What?” She snapped a picture of his blue eye rimmed in red over-shadowed with a bushy gray eyebrow. “How much for what?”
He’d pointed to her canvas of the wharf and several fishing boats. “The painting. How much do you want?”
Stunned, she gave him a random amount. “Twenty bucks.”
“You’re better than that, kid.” He’d shoved some bills in her hand then tucked the half-finished canvas beneath his arm and walked away.
Christina hadn’t even signed it. No matter. He’d probably handed her a wad of crumpled ones anyway. Yet when she’d peeled the bills apart, she found he’d given her three times the amount she’d asked. Enough to buy paints and canvases for the summer. Shaking, she ran to tell her parents she was a professional artist. Her father Mel laughed and told her not so spend it all in one place. Daisy, her mother, told her to keep painting.
She hadn’t stopped since.
Hannah set her brush aside. “I’m sorry. That scarf bothers me. I hope you already added it to your painting. I need to go pick it up.”
“I’ll tag along. I could use a little walk.” Christina followed with her camera, careful of each step she took. “I don’t know how you do this without cringing.”
“Rubber boots.” Hannah glanced back over her shoulder, the sun catching the reddish highlights in her hair. “Then I leave them on the porch at night, so they don’t stink up the house.”
They were barely twenty feet from the shed when Hannah pulled out her cell phone. “Don’t come any closer. I’m calling the police.”
“What? Why?” Christina stopped next to Hannah. The scarf was attached to a mound of wet, reddish earth. “Is that a woman?”
Hannah tapped her cell phone. “It was.”
“I don’t think you’ll want to move that scarf after all.” Christina couldn’t tear her gaze away as the sun glinted off silvery threads on the scarf. She fought to keep from gagging.
“I think you’re right.” Hannah stared toward the shed as she spoke on the phone. “Danny? I need you to get out here and bring a forensics team. We found a body near the old shed.”
“A body?” Danny Walker, Hannah’s younger brother spoke so loud even Christina flinched. “Who is it?”
“I can’t tell from here and I’m not getting close enough to check,” she said.
Christina winced. Her gaze remained on the scarf. “Me neither.”
“Who’s there with you?” he asked.
Hannah huffed. “Can you please not yell?”
The next time he spoke, Christina could no longer hear his words since she’d moved a couple steps toward the body. That scarf seemed so familiar, but the smell of decay kept her from getting closer. Whoever the woman was, she’d been dead a while. She swallowed hard and fanned the smell away from her nose.
“Danny’s on his way.” Hannah placed a hand on Christina’s shoulder. “We need to keep our distance until they arrive.”
“No problem there.” She took a few steps backward, afraid to turn her back. Irrational maybe, but she didn’t know what else to do. She threw up.
Packham was fifteen minutes away. Danny and his partner Beverley Wallis arrived in ten with sirens wailing. They drove past the Diggly’s hundred-year-old farm house and stopped near where the two paint-splattered wooden easels stood in the pale gold grass.
Danny Walker, tall and lean like his sister with dark wavy hair, leaped from the passenger side of the car and ran across the field toward them. “Are you guys okay?”
Hannah hugged him. “We’re fine. I’m not sure how long she’s been dead, but it looks like some critters found her first. She can’t have been there long or the boys would have told me.”
“Or she was covered by snow until lately. Hey, Christina.” Danny met her gaze. “Why don’t you two go into the house and have some tea? You both look like you need to sit down. We’ll take care of things out here then I’ll come in to get your statements.”
“Gladly.” Hannah placed her hand on Christina’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s pack up our gear then go make some coffee. I have a feeling we’ll have a yard full of cops here soon.”
“Okay.” Christina tucked her shaking hands into her pockets as she followed.
Once they’d packed up their paints and easels, Hannah led the way to the farmhouse and lit the logs in the fireplace. While Christina hovered near the fire for warmth and tried to remember where she’d seen that blue scarf before, Hannah disappeared into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Hannah handed her a mug of tea a few minutes later.
Christina nodded as tears trickled down her cheeks. “Yeah, I just can’t stop shaking.”
“Shock.” She sat on the stone ledge in front of the fireplace to warm her back. “I made us tea and I have the coffee going. Mostly because I needed something to do with my hands.”
“That’s good.” Christina wiped her eyes. “I’m sure the officers will be grateful. The temperature’s dropping fast.”
Hannah seemed to force a smile. “With more snow on the way, I don’t know how much evidence they’ll find. She could have been out there all winter, which is awful to think.”
“Who do you think that woman was?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “Danny will be able to tell us. Maybe not right away, but eventually. I doubt she was anyone local or we would have heard she was missing by now.”
Christina winced. “True.”
The fire crackled and popped. Cheerful and bright. In contrast to both the damp March day and the current circumstances.
“I’ve seen that scarf before,” Christina whispered. “Or one like it, at least.”
“Where?” Hannah sat up straighter.
“I can’t remember. Maybe if I saw it up close I’d recognize it.” She sipped her tea. “I’m just not so sure I ever want to see it up close again.”
Whoever the woman was, she probably deserved better. What happened that she ended up dead and abandoned in Nate and Hannah Diggly’s field?
* * * *
Christina had barely filled all the baskets in the display case of her bakery the next morning when her first customer entered. A tall man dressed in an elegant suit stood across the counter and studied the bakery like he drank in every minute detail. While Christina didn’t have a clue who had designed and stitched his suit, she knew it was tailor made and cost more than the giant mixer in the kitchen.
Brett Salo’s suits always did.
She gazed down at the counter with her hands shaking and hoped that with her frizzy brown hair tied back, no makeup, to hide her tired complexion, and more clothes than he was used to seeing her wear. Hopefully, he wouldn’t recognize her. Her hand fluttered to her stomach.
Christina swallowed hard before she asked, “Can I help you?”
He turned toward her before he took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him. His gaze locked on hers. “Yes, Rose, you can.”
She gasped as her heart raced. Rose was her name in Newville. At the school and in the nightclub named Rascalz where she’d danced for the men who’d pay for her to wiggle her fanny in their faces.
“It took a while for me to find you, my dear.” Salo smiled. “Your old boss Marty Upshaw insisted he had no clue where you were. I was deeply saddened. You always were my favorite performer.”
“How did you find me?” Her voice came out a hoarse whisper.
His smile twisted. “I have my ways.”
She took a shaky breath. “What do you want?”
“I’ve missed your beautiful face horribly.” He kept one hand on her chin and stroked her hair with the other. “I must say this environment suits you much better than the raunchy atmosphere in the club did. Your attire here leaves a lot more to the imagination. Tell me, do you still paint?”
Christina flinched. He knew she did. It probably wouldn’t take a genius to hunt her down through the gallery. “Who told you where I was?”
“I saw your work on exhibit in Newville,” Salo said. “The gallery owner was reluctant to share any information to help reunite us, but when my associate expressed how dire the situation was, he acquiesced.”
She gasped. “Acquiesced? What did you do to him?”
“Nothing a good plastic surgeon can’t fix.” He chuckled. “Now about your other question. What I want is to make your wildest dream come true.”
Christina stiffened. “Which dream is that?”
“The one you’d sigh about when we discussed the future.” He finally slid his hands away from her face to the tops of her shoulders, his gaze never leaving hers. “That you could live in a house with lots of light and paint all day.”
She’d wished that aloud so many times it began to feel hopeless, especially when she’d leave the club and her husband Brady Ryan drove her back to the cramped apartment they shared. The cozy apartment she lived in above the bakery, which was technically Clancy’s, afforded her the privacy, but not the best lighting.
“I’m too busy here to worry about it.” Christina averted her gaze and moved back slightly. She didn’t have time to play games, especially not in the bakery.
Salo chuckled. “You’re a lousy liar, Rose. Or do you go by Christina now?”
Her cheeks burned. “Christina.”
“A beautiful name. It’s okay, my dear, your secret is safe with me.” He stroked her cheek. “Somehow, this isn’t how I pictured finding you.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Exactly how did you picture me?”
“Darling, you belong in a bright studio with paint on your face and minimal clothing.” Salo wandered across the bakery then glanced over his shoulder at her. “A painted lady, so to speak.”
Back to the dream she regretted telling him about. Why had she trusted this man with anything so personal?
“How’s Brady?” he asked.
“Brady?” she gasped.
“Your husband?”
Christina’s breath hitched in her throat. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”
“You broke up finally?” He raised his eyebrows almost wistfully.
She cringed, not sure what Salo was after. “Yes. We broke up.”
“Divorced?” He squeezed a bagged loaf of bread and seemed impressed.
“Not yet.” She bit her lip. “I haven’t had a day off yet to start the paperwork.”
“I could help with that. I know people.” Salo nodded. “People who kept my ex-wife from cleaning me out of all my assets.”
Since he was friends with Marty Upshaw, the known criminal who owned Rascalz strip club, she didn’t want to hear what sort of people he knew. Most of Marty’s friends had criminal records, were in jail, or were dead.
Salo met her gaze. “I love that you have your artwork hanging in here. The owner must like you a great deal.”
“Yes, he does.”
He strolled toward her paintings, his back to her once more. “You haven’t lost your passion. Although your work has changed a little since I last watched you paint.”
The one time she’d met him outside of the club he’d driven into the country to a large cottage with amazing windows. She flinched. His friend Gerard Maddox’s house. “Your friend has an amazing studio. The light was perfect.”
“You were perfect. That long white shirt with nothing underneath. It was an incredible day.” He turned and smiled. “That house is mine now. I bought it after Maddox went to prison. You’re welcome to visit and paint there any time you like.”
“I don’t have a car.” Torn between excitement and fear, her heart raced.
Salo’s smile finally reached his eyes which crinkled around at the corners. “I’d happily pick you up and you could spend the weekend. I have a lovely guest room that overlooks the lake. Imagine the incredible paintings you could do in a place like that. You could wake up, have your breakfast, then paint all day if you chose.”
“As I recall, I only painted for half the day the last time I was there.”
When he met her gaze, a slow blush darkened his cheeks. “That’s true but you seemed very inspired each time you touched a paintbrush.”
Christina avoided looking at him as she tidied the counter. As much as she’d love to live her dream of painting full time, even for a weekend, Salo’s offer would come with a price tag.
He slid a card on the counter in front of her. “My private cell number is on back. I’d love it if you gave me a call. A weekend away is definitely in order for us both.”
“Thank you.” She reached for the card.
Salo grasped her hand. His hands were soft and manicured. Gentle unless he was angered when he could turn hard. “A creative woman like you should not have to work so hard. Your father should find a real baker and let you get on with living your life.”
Christina tightened her jaw reflexively. “I like working here.”
“You like to paint more, my love.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Promise me you’ll call.”
“I’ll think about it.” She tried to pull her hand away.
Salo held tight. “At least call me when you have a magnificent painting I can buy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. What are you looking for?”
“Something large and seductive. I’ll send you the photo I’d love for you to paint,” he said. “I’ll even commission you to paint it to my specifications.”
“I don’t work that way.” Christina frowned.
“You will for me.” Salo’s face darkened for a brief moment and his cell phone rang before he replied. “I’ll pay you handsomely. I promise, you’ll love the subject matter.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“The woman I fell in love with who spent that magical day in the sunshine with me. I have some amazing pictures I’d love to hang on my wall.” He kissed her hand. “I’ll be back. I will convince you to run off with me to the lake house yet. I promise.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled.
“Don’t doubt me. I always get what I want.” He reached for his phone as he left the bakery and headed straight to a silver Mercedes as he spoke in low tones.
As far as she knew, Salo had kept all traces of their time together secret. Brady knew Salo, but not that he and Christina were involved. The day she’d spent at the lake, Brady thought she was at school painting. Not that it mattered. He’d spent the entire weekend hanging out with a local artist and his friends anyway.
As Brett Salo drove away, Christina blew out a long breath. She already harbored so many secrets, what was one more? The problem was, she still wasn’t sure how she felt about this particular secret. She needed to keep a clear head and find someone to talk to before she made another decision she’d regret.
Danny,
I’m having a problem finding good spots to use a phone in the Himalayas. You remember my guide Anil? Short guy who loves American beer too much. He sent orders for a new satellite phone to be brought to the village. My old phone met with an unfortunate accident.
For now, sending a letter by yak seems to be the most efficient means. If they don’t eat them. Granted this letter may not reach you until six months after I’ve returned to civilization and I’ll probably pass the mail yak on the way down, but what the hell.
Life is primitive here. A far cry from the big city of Newville, although not much more developed than your beloved Packham. Kidding.
I miss hot showers. Bathing in ice water beneath a waterfall is a great way to wake up in the morning, but not so good if you’re prone to heart issues or have any sense of modesty. As for shaving, let’s just say I’m starting to look like a yak.
I do have a new friend. Her name is Cricket. That’s what I call her anyway. I still can’t pronounce her real name no matter how many times Anil enunciates. His English is way better than my Tibetan. Cricket is five, nosy as hell, and likely to give me heart failure from all the pranks she pulls. She’s left hopping bugs in my bed on more than one occasion. Thankfully neither she nor the bugs bite. She loves her nickname only she pronounces it “Kickit.”
Grandmother’s calling. She needs the fire built up for dinner and found a log twice her size to haul over. I love that woman, but she seems determined to kill me. She gets a laugh when I hang my Batman underwear on the line to dry. Never a dull moment on the mountainside.
Time for me to lace up the old hiking boots and get moving. Speaking of. I need a new pair. Size ten. Leather. The good ones, not the ones you get for yourself. I’ll repay you when I get back to civilization.
Oh, and please send chocolate so I can get Cricket off my back. A lot of chocolate!!
A new coat was on my list, but one of the elders died in his sleep. The family kept what belongings they could use then shared the rest. The coat’s warm and keeps off the rain but smells like goat. He was a herder. A good man, but his coat stinks.
I miss you and your obnoxious girlfriend who’s probably reading over your shoulder. Hi Katie. Love you. Take care of that knuckle head. Give my love to Hannah, Nate and the boys. And to Lucy and the kids. Check in on Christina for me.
I’ll be back soon. I promise.
Leo
Leo Blue sat on a rocky ledge where the wind blew the tips of his shoulder-length copper hair across his face. He brushed them aside to watch Grandmother, a tiny, ancient woman, coerce a yak along a winding mountain trail in the late March sunshine. While she might be small and elderly, she could do the work of three men. Before lunch.
The dry season in Tibet would end in a couple more months which would be a great time to return to North America. He hated the rain. Once he’d arrived in time for a month of gray, gloom, and non-stop wet feet. At least he’d never stayed for the winter. Not yet anyway.
He’d left Packham in the middle of a Christmas blizzard three months ago, walking away from the only woman who’d ever scared him senseless. Beautiful. Sexy as hell. Smart-mouthed. He couldn’t get Christina Davidson out of his head or his dreams. He should have walked away before she got to him.
While he’d regretted leaving every single day since Christmas, going back so soon wasn’t in his current best interests or hers. He planned to leave Tibet just before March which should have given her enough time to figure out the things she wanted in her life. He wasn’t sure if he was one of them, or if he even wanted to be. Just that he wanted to be hear her and...
In the end, it was mid-March and he was the one not ready.
When the new satellite phone arrived a couple days earlier, he’d sent a brief message, much shorter than the long-winded letter he wrote. Danny Walker had simply replied Where the hell are you? Leo still hesitated to answer.
He let his fingers hover over the buttons of the new satellite phone. His previous phone currently rested in pieces at the bottom of a ravine fifty miles away thanks to a one-time drunken stupor that nearly cost him a lot more. As usual, part of him didn’t want anyone to know where he was since he’d run off like a scared rabbit for a good reason. This time, though, he’d kept in touch just in case. He just wasn’t sure in case of what.
In case Danny needed help with a juicy new case.
In case Lucy or her kids got hurt.
In case Christina wanted him to come back.
He sucked in a sharp breath of warm air and gazed out at the breathtaking purplish mountains and lush valleys. Where he’d always found peace here before, this time peace evaded him. As hard as he tried to meditate and find focus, his every thought raced straight back to the spunky brunette he left behind in Daisy’s Bakery who smelled of sugar cookies and tasted just as sweet. He may have boarded the plane with his duffle bag and cell phone, but his soul carried a great deal more baggage.
He’d left his heart in Packham. No one would ever make a song about that.
“Will you walk or fly today?” His guide and close friend Anil grinned, his face darkened to burnt sienna by the buffeting winds in the mountains and his sweaty, dark hair ruffled by the wind. Only thirty, the sun and winds had already weathered him to sixty. “If you try to fly again, leave your fancy new phone behind. I can trade for more yaks for Grandmother to boss around.”
A smirk tugged the corner of Leo’s mouth. “If I fly, you’ll have to climb down to pry it from my cold, broken hands.”
“Bah.” Anil waved him away. “What would a yak-herder do with a broken cell phone? I have no one to call but the yaks. My wife would be happy if I jumped instead of you.”
He laughed. “I doubt that.”
“She would be very happy to take you home instead. She likes your hair. She says it is the color of the sunset. She also says you need a wife and worries about how you will take care of yourself once you leave.” Anil huffed then nodded toward the trail. “Come, let us walk, brother. No more fighting until we reach the monastery.”
Leo glanced up the mountain-side to where the monastery peeked like a nosy neighbor over a fence of scraggly trees. The one last place he wanted to spend time before he returned to civilization. His meditations and training there always changed the course of his life when he needed to find a direction—aside from down. The monks welcomed him home with open arms.
Home. He’d never had one of those before. To say he’d come from a broken home was an understatement. Was that why he’d really run from Christina?
“Give me a sec.” Leo tapped at the keyboard to finally reply to Danny’s message. “What’s up?” he typed then jumped off the rock and followed Anil until Danny’s reply appeared fifteen minutes later. About time. I need you back here asap. New case.
Leo groaned as a blast of morning breeze sent a chill over him. A warning the rainy season might arrive sooner than expected. At least he was packed and was ready to go at any time. A true nomad. “Shit.”
“Bad news?” Anil asked. “Did your girlfriend finally get tired of waiting?”
“Any news from Packham is bad news.” Leo put away his phone. Danny would have to wait until his planned seclusion at the monastery ended. A week at best. He needed to sort through the jumble of thoughts in his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s my business partner.”
“Oh, yeah? What sort of business do you have?”
Leo hesitated. He’d never discussed his work with Anil. That topic, as well as Christina, that remained off limits. “I’m a detective. I track down bad guys who commit crimes and find missing people.”
“Huh.” Anil’s eyebrows rose beneath his woolly hat, he bit back his words for a moment then grinned. “Then you will not have a hard time to find your way back later.”
He turned to walk further ahead up the trail laughing harder with each step.
Leo chuckled and shook his head. Anil, along with his wife and five and a half kids, one of them the notorious Cricket, were only a handful of things he adored about Tibet. The Himalayas and the stubborn yak that fought with Anil’s grandmother a few feet in front of him were two more.
Grandmother herself had taught him more about life over the past two years than anyone else he knew. Her long, salt and peppered braid swung and hit him as he ran to help her tug the beast along the trail.
They stood outside the monastery’s stone walls three hours later. This particular monastery was one of the smaller ones nestled in the rocks overlooking the mountains and the broad valley below. Made of local stone, the gray building appeared carved into the hillside and stood camouflaged for many years from prying eyes. During the Cultural Revolution when most monasteries in Tibet were destroyed, this one remained untouched. Blessed by the protective mountains that surrounded it.
Grandmother gazed toward the sun then grunted as she sat on the rocky ground and crossed her legs beneath her. She took a small colorful pouch from her waistband and opened it before she popped something into her mouth. Leo guessed either tobacco or the yak meat he’d helped her to dry earlier in the week. She patted the rocks beside her.
Nearby, Anil took a large rock to pound against the heavy wooden door. “I hope we have arrived at a good time and they will not be doing meditation or working in silence today. It is very hard to get the answers you seek when no one can talk to you.”
Leo chuckled. The last time they visited the monastery, they’d arrived right after the start of morning meditations. No one answered the door for three hours. “You know they don’t believe in any such thing. They simply choose not to speak during meals or meditations. Not like your rowdy brood.”
“Yes.” He snorted. “And they are very slow about answering the door.”
Leo shook his head as he sat on the ground next to Grandmother who met his gaze then shook a small piece of dried meat into his hand. Despite how feeble she’d become since he arrived, her work ethic never ceased to amaze him. She rose before sunrise, went to bed long after dark, and always made sure he and Anil weren’t doing anything they shouldn’t. A true mother hen and he loved her for it.
“Thank you.” He bowed to her as Anil banged on the door again.
Grandmother patted his leg with her brown, sinewy hand. Never chatty, she got her point across in other ways. Smiling that wide toothless grin when he did a good job. Smacking he and Anil across the heads when they did something wrong. Once she’d even clunked he and Anil’s heads together then laughed at their stunned looks. Anil’s kids had giggled hysterically.
Behind them, the wooden door groaned open and a small, bald man in layers of deep red robes stepped out of the monastery. Leo helped Grandmother to her feet and approached Brother Sef, one of the monks Leo trained with many times over the years. Brother Sef’s dark eyes grew wide and bright as he bowed without showing any other sign of emotion. Leo wondered if there was a problem with them coming to the monastery or if he was simply distracted.
“Good mother.” Brother Sef bowed.
Grandmother handed him the end of the rope tied to the yak then bowed in return.
“Many thanks for your wonderful gift, honored Grandmother,” Brother Sef said. “We will use this yak wisely. Brother Ino will show you to your quarters. I will have butter tea and stew brought to you while you rest. I am sure your journey was long and difficult.”
She bowed once more, slower this time. Accompanied by an older monk, she led the yak to a pen around the far side of the monastery as she had dozens of times before.
Brother Sef motioned Anil and Leo to follow him to the kitchens. He lapsed into an easy silence as he stoked the fire as water in the blackened pot hanging over top came to a rolling boil. “You like our butter tea as I recall, Leo Blue.”
“I do, Brother Sef.” Leo warmed his hands by the dancing flames. He graciously accepted a steaming cup of tea and bowed to his host. “Thank you, for your hospitality. I hope we have not come at a bad time.”
“My friend.” He smiled and bowed to Leo. “Your welcome arrival is always at a good time.”
Leo bowed again then took a drink. As usual, the first small sip burned his tongue. A small price to pay to savor such deliciousness.
Anil, who had remained near the door, now stepped forward. “Brother Sef, it is an honor.”
Brother Sef turned to bow to Anil. “As it is to see you, my brother. I received word from the village of your imminent return. I trust you have had a safe and peaceful journey.”
“Very good, although the wind is colder today. The rains may come sooner this year.” A smirk lit Anil’s face. “The tea will warm my hands, and perhaps our brother Leo’s heart.”
“His heart? How is your heart frozen? This is alarming and a very serious condition indeed.” Brother Sef raised his eyebrows then handed Anil a second cup of tea. “Please, take this to Grandmother. Show her to the warmest part of the courtyard to rest. I will personally bring her stew when it is ready.”
Stew? Leo’s stomach rumbled as he peered into the pot. He smelled only butter tea, which wasn’t such a bad thing.
Dismissed from the kitchen, Anil bowed then scurried out the door with both cups of butter tea clutched in his hands.
When Brother Sef turned back to Leo, he lifted his dark eyebrows once more. “What is this talk of you having a frozen heart, my brother?”
“Nothing.” Leo rubbed his face then sipped his tea. “Anil likes to exaggerate.”
“Our friend Anil may be an avid storyteller, but when it comes to matters of the heart I’m afraid he knows far more than I, so I trust in his council.” Brother Sef waved to a thin mat on the floor near the fire. “Sit, Leo Blue, then you can tell me why you have come.”
Leo sighed. “I assure you, my heart is not frozen.”
“Methinks thou dost protest too much” Brother Sef beamed. Close to forty, he had the lean frame and appearance of a twenty-year-old. “See, I read Shakespeare. I am not just another pretty face, you know.”
“I believe the line is ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’” Leo grinned.
Brother Sef leaned forward. “Ah, then you are in love. At least with the Bard.”
“No, I’m not in love, I’m...” Leo scrubbed his face with both hands then sat cross-legged on the mat and shook his head so vigorously a kink burned into one side of his neck. “Brother Sef, I don’t even really know this woman. She was... part of a case I had back home.”
Home? Why had he said home? He didn’t have a home aside from the mountains and plains of Tibet. This was his home more than anywhere else in the world. Especially Packham.
“Ah, yes. Your detective work. I have enjoyed hearing your tales of criminals and deceptions. Very enlightening to widen my view of the world.” A twinkle gleamed in Brother Sef’s dark eyes. “Here I thought you came all this way to become partners with me. I would have had to turn you away.”
“No.” Leo chuckled. “Sorry, Brother Sef, but I don’t swing that way.”
His friend frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what you think it means.”
“Ah.” Brother Sef cradled his cup in both hands then sipped. “Good stuff, this butter tea. It loosens tongues better than most spirits. This woman you do not really know, she is a good person you think?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Will she give you big, strong, healthy babies?” he asked.
Leo’s face burned. “I don’t want babies.”
Brother Sef waved a hand. “You will. But will she want to have them with you?”
“Maybe if I return and she will still speak to me.” He sighed and stared into the pot.
“Then your heart has already decided. It is your mind as usual that is clueless.” Brother Sef grinned. “How many yaks is she worth?”
Leo fumbled his cup, sloshing hot tea on his hands. He winced yet welcomed the obscene warmth as a distraction. “What do you mean how many yaks is she worth?”
“Exactly what you think it means.” Brother Sef said, then burst into laughter. “I am joking. You Western people do not care about the abundance of yaks. All that matters to you is your money and possessions.”
“Not all of us, Brother Sef. Some of us travel light.”
“Then you must understand the significance of my question,” he said. “Yaks provide us with assistance, milk, meat, and clothing from one magnificent, yet very smelly animal.”
The water in the nearby pot seemed to have reached some magical temperature. Suddenly, Brother Sef leaped to his feet to toss yak meat and several vegetables into the steaming pot of butter tea. Hence the stew was created in a heartbeat.
Leo, used to Brother Sef’s odd cooking practices, sipped his tea and said nothing. That explained the enticing flavor of the monastery stew he could never quite put his finger on. Butter tea and wild herbs. “It smells great. What happened to the rice gruel you usually feed me?”
“This visit of yours heralds a special event. The stew will provide much warmth for the body and soul. Grandmother needs good food since her time here with us is coming to an end.” Brother Sef sprinkled in a handful of powdered spice.
“What do you mean?” Leo asked. “Her time here at the monastery or...?”
His smile froze. “Exactly what you think it means.”
“She’s dying? How do you know that?” Leo shifted, hoping he wasn’t about to become part of some bizarre mass suicide pact. He closed his eyes and pushed aside the fear. He’d spent enough time here to know better. Too much time in the outside world had tainted his mind.
“She told me when she arrived.” He stirred the stew with a crude wooden spoon.
Leo narrowed his eyes. “But she hasn’t even spoken to you.”
“People speak on many different levels. She is a wise woman who can tell many wondrous things with a glance.” Brother Sef said. “Grandmother’s words are kind, yet her eyes betray fear. Her hands and legs are frail. Her spirit wishes to roam free.”
“Frail? Are you serious?” Leo smirked although he’d seen the same signs. Just chosen to ignore them. “The woman just hauled a nine-hundred-pound yak up the side of the mountain single-handedly for you. If there’s one thing that woman isn’t, it’s frail. Even the yak was no match for her.”
As Brother Sef turned to face him, he tilted his head and regarded Leo in brief silence. “And why did you not help her?”
Silence fell between them.
“I did a couple times.” He sipped from his cup not sure what Brother Sef’s point was. “She seemed determined to get the beast here on her own.”
“Only a couple?”
Leo fidgeted. Why hadn’t he helped her more? Lightened her burden while he was here. Pride perhaps, but was it hers or his? He was so absorbed in his own problems, he’d failed to notice how she’d slowed since his last visit. Or even how tired Anil seemed some days.
“Well, two or three, I guess,” he said at last.
“Why not more?” Brother Sef asked. “Why not lighten her burden the entire way?”
Leo furrowed his brow and thought for a few minutes before he blew out a breath. “She didn’t ask for help.”
“And you, big strong man, never bothered to offer to help a woman? An old woman, at that.” Brother Sef shook his head. “Anil was correct. Your heart is frozen to others, Leo Blue. You may want to hope karma does not bite you in the backside in the form of a furry yak.”
Leo chuckled. “I’ve helped people before and I still haven’t been on karma’s good side.”
Brother Sef nodded. “Karma is a tricky thing, my friend. She can be sweet like the birds and sing sunshine into your life or she can be stubborn as a yak determined to teach you a lesson you are not yet open to.” He leaned over to tap Leo’s forehead with his middle finger. “What lesson is not getting through your thick head?”
“Many good ones, I’m sure, Brother.”
“Humor me.” He grinned. “Pick one. Just one.”
Leo sipped his tea as silence fell between them. With the weight of Brother Sef’s gaze on him, he sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”
Brother Sef pressed his small, rough hand over Leo’s heart. “You will know what it is you need to learn when you learn the truth. Trust in your own heart, my friend.”
Grandmother’s soul was set free a week after their arrival while sitting in the warmest part of the courtyard. Even though Leo and Anil performed their daily exercises only a few feet away, neither noticed when her tea cup fell to the ground or that her chin had dipped to touch her chest until they finished training. While Leo stared at the broken cup and trail of spilled butter tea, Anil bowed at Grandmother’s feet and wailed.
Leo drew back slowly then called for Brother Sef and the others. One by one, the men assembled in a small circle around Grandmother to pray, saving a gap for Leo to join in their mourning. He remained a few steps back. Deep in his chest, his heart ached and blocked his breath from moving.
If only he’d paid attention, he could have done First Aid and saved her. He could have sent for Brother Sef sooner. Anything.
If only he’d been more aware of what went on around them. Been more alert.
He was so absorbed in his own problems. Inside his own head.
He knelt next to Anil, closed his eyes, and allowed his tears to flow. Grandmother was a large part of his family for most of his life. In the end, he’d let her down. His heart spider-webbed with cracks until it finally broke in pieces.