Charade

By C. K. Thomas

Star Lance runs an antique store named Arrowstar in the sleepy southwestern town of Mineral City, Arizona. You’d guess her life might be rather quiet. However, when Star uncovers events back in the 1800s leading to the Storm family’s men abandoning their families, her life gets turned upside down. Star’s best friend ends up in trouble just as revelations about the past begin to play havoc with the present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. K. Thomas
• Release date: Sep 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310992681

C. K. Thomas

C.K. Thomas lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her husband, Frank, and Chihuahuas, Cleo and Peanut. She earned her first dollar writing a poem for a teen magazine when she was 14 years old. As an adult she continued to write freelance book reviews and articles for various publications, including Rider motorcycle magazine and The Arizona Republic’s weekly Arizona Magazine. Arrowstar is her second novel and marks the first in a series of novels set in Mineral City, a fictional town situated in the southeast corner of Arizona. Cheryl and her husband own ranch-land near Willcox, Arizona and roaming that area often serves as inspiration for her writing. While not claiming to be a cowgirl herself, she continues to admire the independent spirits of women who ride horseback and hold their own on ranches all over the state of Arizona. She intends for her stories about adventurous women not only to entertain, but also to inspire each woman who reads the books of the Arrowstar series to ... Take a chance, amaze yourself!

Book preview

Charade

Second in the Arrowstar Series

C.K. Thomas

Text copyright © 2014 C.K. Thomas

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

eBook formatting and cover design by FormattingExperts.com

This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced for any purposes other than review without the written permission of the author.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Other books by C.K. Thomas

Preview of The Storm Women

Charade is dedicated to my eldest daughter, Kimberly Gallagher, my content editor. An author herself, Kimberly listens, suggests, commiserates, celebrates and relates to all my writing ups and downs. I’m so grateful for her personal and professional support.

Acknowledgments

Sincere thanks to Lu Sanford, my friend and copy editor.

Thanks as well to Heather Godel, my friend and faithful manuscript reader.

And for your interest, encouragement and support, I’m exceedingly grateful to Penny Lessner, Janet Eaton, Joy Young, Cheryl Pyke, Cheryl Berry, Gwen Flora and all the women of Girls Night In.

Chapter One

Mineral City Cemetery – February

Valentine’s Day probably isn’t the best time to be sneaking around in a graveyard with cold and damp seeping in through my shoes, Star told herself as she took one wary step after the next, keeping low among the bushes and trees lining Mineral City’s only cemetery.

Didn’t I read something in history about a massacre that happened on Valentine’s Day? Star shivered at the thought. Not that she expected a massacre, rather someone possibly jumping out from behind a tree brandishing a knife. Oh well, at least if someone stabs me, I can be buried right here.

Questioning her motive for being up there in the first place, she thought back to an evening relaxing on Arrowstar’s wide front porch a few months ago when she noticed an eerie glow moving slowly alongside the Methodist Church. The church sat perched on a hill at the end of the street running in front of the antique store that doubled as her home. She remembered the chains supporting the Arrowstar sign over the front steps groaning with the breeze as she followed the light with her gaze until it disappeared behind the church.

It wouldn’t have become such a fascination had she not realized after several months of observation that the light appeared regularly on the 14th of each month. Finally, she could no longer contain her curiosity.

If Blanch looks out her window at the sheriff’s office and sees me up here at midnight, she’s going to have a fit. I can just imagine Marty Greer roaring up with sirens blaring and lights flashing, waking up the entire town only to discover it’s me again stirring things up in the middle of the night.

Sighing heavily with that thought, Star continued to move toward the back of the cemetery where the high iron fence wouldn’t block her view. The fence bracketed the cemetery in a horseshoe shape, stopping on either side where the land reached the edge of the forest at the back of the lot. Several ancient graves stood there under the sheltering arms of towering cottonwood and eucalyptus trees. Evidently, when grave markers weren’t available, burying someone by a tree helped establish where a loved one rested.

The remainder of the cemetery spiked with markers, both small flat ones planted in the ground and elaborate carved memorials, kept a quiet vigil with the citizens of Mineral City’s past. Iron fences defined each family’s burial space with only a few graves scattered outside any defined area.

The arch attached to the fence over the entrance gate simply read, Mineral City Cemetery in white iron letters, indicating it wasn’t limited to members of the church just because it resided behind it. A pump topped a well that had been there since Mineral City was a mere bump in a dusty road, but it still worked just fine for filling watering cans to keep flowers on the graves from wilting.

If you held your hand tight under the faucet, you could get a drink from the spout that forced the water upward through a little hole in the top, making a small stream. Tonight the squeaky pump handle stood silent while the moonlight played a shadow game with the tree branches as a soft, but chilly night breeze played across the hill.

Star didn’t have long to wait before the glow of a dim flashlight, held by a dark form she couldn’t entirely make out from so far away, showed around the corner of the church. Patiently she crouched further down and peered between the low-hanging branches of a green feathery pine tucked in among the cottonwoods. The pine tar smelled sweet and calmed her, but her hands were sticky from touching the bark to steady herself in place.

Moving noiselessly between the tombstones, the figure passed very close to the place where Star was hidden. The small gate to a family plot creaked as it opened. The figure hunched over to place an object on a grave marker and then looked around on the ground, obviously searching for something. Star drew in her breath at the sound of quiet weeping and cursed herself for intruding on this very private moment of someone’s profound sadness. Instinctively she lowered her eyes in a gesture of respect, but when she looked again she found herself alone among the trees.

In a moment of panic she doubted what she’d seen, but as she scanned the shadowy landscape, she spotted the retreating figure moving slowly and silently under the arch and through the gate. Star waited there for a moment surveying the stars and listening to the tiny night creatures moving among the leaves, singing their nightly insect songs. A lone mockingbird insisted on imposing his mixed-up soundtrack into the silence of the night and roused Star from her thoughts about the wisdom of her intrusion on a visitor of the dead. Still she wanted to know who that visitor might have been and why this person came on the 14th of each month, so late at night, to cry beside an ancient grave.

Reluctantly she left her secluded place and shined her light on the gate to the family plot where the visitor had lingered. Black iron letters welded into the gate spelled out the name Storm. A small bouquet of artificial violets tied with a purple ribbon lay next to a flat marble marker. A small rock, evidently marking this person’s visits had also been placed among several others atop the marble stone. In the dim light of a winter moon Star could barely make out the name Opal G. Storm and the dates May 28, 1935 - January 11, 1965.

* * *

In her office off the kitchen, Star sat hunched over the first tentative pages of the new novel she was writing with such fierce concentration that time became a blur somewhere in another dimension. Outside the wind whistled loudly around Arrowstar’s corners, and Lady stirred at Star’s feet with an anxious whine.

The back screen door slapped against the house with a loud crack, causing Star to jump up from the desk and run to hook it closed. Rain didn’t seem likely in spite of the bluster outside, so Star returned to the office where she polished off the last paragraph of the first chapter of her second historical novel. Leaning back in her chair, she stared up at the tin ceiling, musing over the possibilities for stories about the pioneer souls buried up in the cemetery behind the church.

Some of the graves had been there since Cochise roamed this land, and Star wondered if his band of renegades might have put some of them there. The saddest ones have inscriptions on the headstones that break your heart, Our Little Angel or He lingered with us, but for the blink of an eye - Guard this precious little soul. Very specific ages accompanied many of the inscriptions - four years, two months, and twenty-seven days, usually followed by a plea, Lord, receive our little lamb.

Star’s heart ached for the parents who sadly placed their beloved little ones beneath these marble markers carved with lambs, guardian angels, doves and puppies she’d seen gracing these small memorials. Several crumbling monuments in the Storm family plot especially fascinated her. On a narrow pillar an inscription read Stormy Almanza Storm, April 10, 1861 - December 25, 1890, and tucked very closely beside it, a second smaller marker adorned with a lamb said, Clare R. Storm - Dear Little Cherub, born December 25, 1890, Received by Our Lord, January 30, 1891 - One month and five days - Fly little cherub on angel’s wings.

On the opposite side of the pillar-shaped tombstone from the baby’s grave, a larger, more recent monument showed the name Dusky Ladoska R. Storm, January 21, 1888 - May 8, 1974. The statue of a horse stood watch over this grave, one knee bent, head down, and the remains of leather reins coiled on the ground. There were also three much simpler flat markers inside the iron fence, marking the graves of women buried there. Conspicuously absent were the men who should have been buried among them.

A crash and the sound of breaking glass sent Star bounding upstairs where the curtains at the bedroom window were blowing furiously into the room. The delicate vase Ricki had given her soon after Grant was killed lay shattered on the floor in front of the dresser.

Star quickly shut the window against the wind and thought, I wish I hadn’t fixed this window so it would open all the way. She stood looking through the rippled window pane as tumbleweeds blew across the yard, and the wind continued to whip around the house in lusty gusts.

Couldn’t be a more perfect day to write of ghosts from the past, Star mused as she swept up the remains of the vase.

The tinkle of the bell on the front door alerted Star that a customer had entered the shop. Hi, Blanch, I’m surprised you ventured out on such a blustery day, but it’s good to see you, Star greeted this tall, thin woman, who reminded her of a cartoon character with angular body parts and sharp facial features. Her long thin, silvery-blond hair draped so straight down her back, it looked as if it had been ironed. She spoke in a low husky voice from years of smoking, but she’d given up the habit several years ago when she’d accidentally burned a big hole in a stack of autopsy reports while working at the sheriff’s office.

Blanch preferred clothing from the past, and today she wore an outfit right out of the 1960’s. Her flared jeans over short boots, topped by a draw-sting embroidered blouse with billowing sleeves finished at her wrists with elastic brought to mind the way folk artists of that era had dressed. From outward appearances, a stranger wouldn’t have a clue Blanch had a very creative side, and she never failed to surprise Star with some bit of information about herself she never would have guessed. Once she had casually mentioned she wrote music for the organ in addition to working night shift at the sheriff’s office as a dispatcher. Surprisingly, some of her music had been published. The day Blanch mentioned this, Star had stood sputtering with an inability to form words to respond to this unexpected revelation.

I know, it’s crazy of me to be out in this weather, isn’t it? Blanch said. But I wanted to give you a message from our agent. He’s changed his phone number and email address because some of his on-line accounts were hacked. Since he’s buried trying to sort things out, he asked me to pass on his new information to you. He tells me you’re working on a new book.

Yes, yes I am. In fact I’m just now putting the first chapter to bed.

What’s it about? Blanch said handing Star a file card with the agent’s information jotted on it.

At this stage, it could go in several directions. I’ve been fascinated by a fenced cemetery plot up behind the church. Does the family name Storm mean anything to you? Star asked.

Not really, but then I’ve never been much of a history buff. The person you really need to ask is my mother, Blanch suggested.

Forgive me, Blanch, but I thought you weren’t in touch with your Mom these days, Star said tentatively.

No, that’s okay. Of course, that used to be the case, but since my step-dad died, we’ve made peace with each other. I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with her lately. You know she’s fairly frail at 96, and her heart isn’t in great shape. I worry a bit about her living alone.

Are you serious about her being willing to talk about the old days? I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if she isn’t well, Star said while hoping Blanch’s offer would stand. At 96 she would probably be familiar with the background of many of the people up on the hill.

I appreciate that, Star. Why don’t you let me talk with her and see if she’s willing to spend some time with you? I’m almost sure she’ll be eager to see you. She’s quite lonely since my step-dad passed away.

That would be so sweet of you, Blanch. I’m really intrigued by the graves in that particular plot since all of the headstones indicate women are buried there. Not one man lies buried among them. All the markers show the family name Storm, the same as the name on the iron gate, Star told her.

That is strange. I can’t think why that would be. It sounds like a mystery worth investigating. Since I’ve been over at Mom’s house so much lately, I’ve been trying to clean out an accumulation of stuff up in the attic. I’m afraid it might catch fire since it gets so hot up there in the summer. Anyway, there are some posters in the attic you might be interested in seeing. I asked Mom about them, but she says she doesn’t want to go through any of that stuff.

Honestly, I’m not sure where to begin researching for the book, but if you find anything in the attic about the Storm family, I’d love to see it. This first chapter details a bit of Mineral City’s rowdy past and the rugged landscape surrounding it. I’ve also included a bit about Bobby Flint and company as a bridge of sorts from the first novel. I’m just ready to start writing something about the Storm family. Your suggestion to interview your mother couldn’t have come at a better time.

You’ll want to check with the pastor up at the church as well. I think they keep a register with information about each grave in the graveyard, Blanch told her. Walt might even have something to add to your research. His family goes back years in this area.

Sure, that makes sense. When I wrote A Train Robber’s Tale, I had Patsy’s diary to guide me, so I haven’t had to dig much for background information before this. Now, I’m getting kind of excited about rolling up my sleeves and digging into the history of this place, Star told her.

Speaking of sleeves, Blanch said. Do you have any of those pretty peasant blouses with the cap sleeves that were so popular back in the sixties? I’m not sure why, but I’m so drawn to all those old hippie styles.

Star and Blanch spent the next hour chatting about their adventures in publishing while unpacking some clothes just in from an estate sale Star recently attended over in Tucson. Blanch spoke about her latest successes writing music, and Star mentioned how much the advance on her next book would help her acquire more antiques for Arrowstar.

Blanch frequented Arrowstar quite often to check out any new retro-clothing Star might have run across. Definitely an odd bird, Blanch preferred her eccentric clothing for personal reasons. She used the way she dressed as an atonement of sorts for moving out of her mother’s and step-father’s home at an early age. The rift developed over Blanch using her musical abilities to play the organ at the church. Her parents practiced some sort of religious prohibition of music that Blanch just couldn’t embrace. She felt she had shamed her parents by disobeying them, so she made a vow never to wear anything new.

When they didn’t come up with any peasant blouses Star said, Why don’t you check with Ricki over at Second Thyme Around? She often takes second-hand clothing into her store.

Oh, I didn’t know she had opened the store again since the baby.

Just opened again this week, Star told her. The baby’s three months old now.

No kidding! I can’t believe it. Jim and Ricki are so lucky to have such a sweet baby girl. It doesn’t seem like three months since I saw her in the hospital right after she was born, Blanch said.

She brings the baby to the store every day, so you’ll probably get to see her while you’re there. I run over there a few minutes just about every day to hold her. She’s quite the little lady, and Ricki and Jim are just thrilled with her.

I’ll let you know when Mother feels like talking with you, Blanch said as she took the back way out through Star’s kitchen door.

Thanks, Blanch, Star said. I really hope that works out. Please let her know how much I’m looking forward to talking with her. Oh, and bring those posters by the shop when you get a chance. I’d be glad to take a look at them.

Star stood at the screen door and watched as Blanch cut across Carla’s restaurant parking lot to Ricki’s store. She remembered how Ricki helped her move into Arrowstar Antiques when she first arrived in Mineral City following the death of her husband back East. Since then Ricki had become one of Star’s best friends along with Kat Abbi and Carla Rojas.

Kat owned and managed a horse ranch with the help of a foreman and a few hands on the outskirts of Mineral City, and Carla owned and operated the Bar and Grill next door to Arrowstar. The women came together to support Star following a mine cave-in that swallowed up and devoured Star’s boyfriend, Grant Cobb. The foursome continued to support each other through life’s rough spots and celebrated each other’s successes as well. The publication of Star’s first historical fiction novel, A Train Robber’s Tale proved to be just such an occasion for celebration.

It wasn’t long after that, on New Year’s Eve, when Ricki Wade, Sheriff Vince Wade’s daughter, became Mrs. Jim Kane, prompting yet another celebration. As Star saw the door at Ricki’s bang shut behind Blanch, she wondered if Ricki had heard any more about her Dad’s final retirement date and the arrival of the new sheriff.

The small town gossip about what the new guy might do to shake up the status quo had been non-stop since Vince announced his retirement. It quickly became apparent no candidates had filed in time to run in the upcoming election, so someone would be appointed. The very real possibility of an outsider becoming sheriff evidently unsettled a good majority of the 1600 people who populated Mineral City.

Star’s acceptance into this tight-knit community proved a bit difficult when she first arrived, and she wondered how long it might be before the new guy would be thought of as one of the tribe. All in all, she was glad to have performed the good deed of averting a fire at the church that