Valley Girl: A Lyndy Martinez Story, Part-8

Yosemite Valley, 1990s

Lyndy Life Observation: On a road trip with Mr. Chan, we stop for dinner at a seafood place. For some reason the restaurant had a tome-like menu which was 32 pages long, bound in faux leather. I’m thumbing through the thing and it takes me 20 minutes to decide what I want. Meantime, across from me Chan is turning red and has steam shooting out his ears like a blown radiator, cause I won’t make a decision. And the waiter keeps circling back every four minutes asking if we’ re ready to order. Finally, he shouts: “Melinda, enough! This madness must end. I will choose!”

Come lunchtime her arm still smarted, the pain having migrated up into her shoulder. She rubbed a knuckle against her back in circles near the shoulder blade, to keep it from throbbing. She wondered if she had one of those muscle injuries that was hard to identify without an x-ray.

Lyndy was meeting Kyle in the luxurious and airy Ahwahnee Hotel dining room. The ceilings were 40 feet high, with a dozen log beam trusses all fastened together by cast iron hardware. At floor level, plates and glasses were clinking, and the room was swirling with chattering guests as she rolled in. She’d been feeling relaxed, like vacation mode was starting work its magic in spite of events. Plus, she’d been looking forward to spending time with Kyle.

She smiled sweetly as she arrived at their table, next to a prairie-style gridded window with views of the falls.

With a pointed toe, Lyndy applied the brake to park the buggy. She slipped off her white gloves and undid her hat string, reaching down for a glass of sprite.

“Hey Lyn, can you pass me that basket,” Kyle remarked, pointing to the bread rolls, his knife already buttered.

Lyndy reached for it, but as the leverage of the weight put force on her arm, she felt a sting of pain in her shoulder. It caused her to wince and let go, nearly dumping the rolls and tipping all the wine glasses.

“What’s a matter?” he asked, rapidly straightening the table setting.

“I fell pretty hard this morning,” she answered, taking a seat at the table for two. She unfolded her linen napkin, setting it across her lap. “Good thing I’m relatively young.”

“You mean when you were hiking? Were you holding Maribel?”

“Yes,” Lyndy confessed. “It’s how I injured my shoulder. I must’ve braced myself so I could keep her from landing hard.” Lyndy took a sip of pop. “The scenery was incredible though.”

Kyle started huffing and she could see he was holding in anger. “You fell when you were with that waiter guy!” he exclaimed, his fists clenching up. “Why is it everywhere we go this happens.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. It totally wasn’t his fault,” she whispered. Fortunately for Neil, he’d taken a later shift and wouldn’t walk into this awkward situation.

“I’m going to speak to his manager.”

Her stomach felt queasy, knowing he might do it. She gazed at Mari. Kyle was one of those men who would say something when service was poor or they were disrespected.

“Oh please, let it go,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm.

He agreed, informing her he’d taken the liberty of ordering both their lunches. For Lyndy he’d requested a tomato bisque soup and sandwich.

Kyle had settled down, soon falling into his pattern of regaling her with stories of mostly middle-aged men in a conference room arguing how to build a dam. Which by his telling, behind closed doors devolved metaphorically into a circle of boys trying to decide how to build a tree house from a stack of stolen pallets. He also reminded her that tomorrow was the company field trip, which actually did require everyone waking up early so they could catch chartered shuttle busses to the site of the reservoir. Spouses and significant others were encouraged to attend, and Lyndy agreed to go.

The Spitfire was stuffing her face with a BLT wedge dipped in tomato soup when she spotted the ranger from the corner of her eye, conversing with the hostess. After a brief back and forth, he began striding their way. She ducked her head, putting a wine list up as a shield and facing toward the window. She swallowed hard. “Ruh oh.” Perhaps Brandt was here to interview somebody else? Fat chance.

“What’s happening?” snapped Kyle, seeing her feeble attempt at hiding.

Brandt locked eyes on her buggy like a hawk on a prairie dog, hardly deviating from his course as he snaked through the dining room to their table.

“There’s the little troublemaker,” joked Brandt as he hovered over the stroller making silly faces. Mari had a pacifier in her mouth. Brandt seemed to be in a jolly mood, his mustache looking plucked and trimmed. Without asking, he dangled his keyring above Maribel’s face, causing them to jingle.

Next, he looked Lyndy in the eye. “May I have a word?” He turned to Kyle, realizing he was interrupting. “Sorry to disturb your meal.”

Kyle slapped his napkin on the table and exhaled. “What did she do this time?” The look on his face said it all, switching his gaze between Lyndy and the law enforcement ranger.  The whole situation caused a stir, as anyone wearing a ranger outfit, complete with the hat, made the whole room stare. Unfortunately, this was the exact type of scene she’d been hoping to avoid, as Kyle would have to explain it later. Many of the diners were from the Silver Pacific meeting.

Lyndy stood up, wadding up her napkin. She swept the crumbs from her dress and straightened it.

“What did you do? Feed a bear or something?” whispered Kyle, sounding alarmed.

“Oh no, nothing like that Dr. Ellis,” assured Brandt with a chuckle. “Is there a place we can go?” he added.

Kyle folded arms, planting his elbows on the table and resting his chin atop. “Don’t mind me. I’ll watch the baby of course.” At the same time, Lyndy was focusing her mental energy on something more serious, the fate of Kristen Gardner.

Brandt swiveled, sensing all eyes were upon him. He grinned widely, raising his hands. “Enjoy your day everybody,” he proclaimed, which was a polite way of saying: “Will you people mind your own damn business.”

“Let’s go upstairs to the old library,” he spoke into Lyndy’s ear.

---

Two minutes later …

The elaborate dam model had been packed up and carted to the middle of the library, now guarded in bookshelves on topics such as forest ecology, wildlife and the history of the valley. It was a space modern hotel guests seldom ventured, as libraries were becoming relics of the past.

“Kristen is still missing?”

She could see it in Brandt’s eyes, as they were standing feet apart in the light of a narrow window slit. For the moment it felt private here. He’d made sure to shut and latch the double doors behind them.

“We have people out searching and her description has been radioed to all backcountry camps. So far nothing.” He sniffed and squeezed his nose reflexively. “It’s been over 24 hours. We have to do a press release which I’m not looking forward to.”

“She didn’t have much gear with her.”

“You’re right. That’s why I’m not placing stock in the idea that she’s hiding in the high country. If she’d been more equipped, then I’d entertain that—call out search and rescue.”

“So, you believe she’s dead?”

“Not sure.” Brandt leaned over the model, studying the stacked inlet where the precious snowmelt would be siphoned off for housing developments. “Oh, we also recovered the lost phone. Thanks for the tip. The final call had been answered around 2 AM, so she must’ve heard something, an advance warning maybe. It came from a pay phone in the Coit Tower neighborhood. Wish I knew what that last call was regarding.” He paced alongside to the portion of the model representing the wild river, tumbling down cascades before the flow abruptly entered the lake. “The sheriff probably wants to take over and kick us all out of the way. Only pays attention to us if we have intimate knowledge of the park.” With his pinky he tested a toy fishing boat, seeing whether it was glued down.

“Wait, why are you filling me in?” The fact he’d come here to tell her all this, seemed farfetched. Why was he being so generous with information?

“Well, turns out Kristen was in a cult. Some kind of eco-hippie one.”

“Sierra Spring?”

Brandt nodded. “Heard of them?”

“Some.” Lyndy gazed at the shelf across from her, which appeared to contain dusty copies of books on tourism, bound like they were printed in the 1920s and 1930s. Meantime she was rubbing her shoulder again, as the pain was intense. There were maps there, old ones, the kind showing hidden features scrubbed from current versions: old mines, sawmills and long abandoned roads.

“These folks are known to be passionate about their cause and will go to extreme lengths to deliver a message. Can’t blame em for that I suppose, however some of them are incarcerated.”

He turned his focus back on her. “If they think you know something, it might put you in harm’s way.”

“Are you advising me to leave?”

Brandt nodded, moving closer to the window. “I believe you should. No one wants to cut their vacation short. I understand. I don’t know if you can conjure up a last-minute excuse—fake a family emergency—and tell your boyfriend out there you need to skedaddle with the baby.” He sniffed. “Or, if you want, I can reason with him.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got other stuff to take care of. We’re heading into peak season.”

Lyndy bit her lower lip while scrunching up her nose, cause there was no easy way to go about this. “I answered that call,” she said meekly. “Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”

Brandt’s frame stiffened up like he’d double bogeyed in golf. “You answered her phone!” He braced himself against the table the model was resting on, seeming at any moment he was about to karate chop or flip it over.

“Did you ever find the car? The black one?” she whispered.

Brandt took a series of breaths before replying. “There are surveillance cameras placed at each of the entry stations, facing in and out of the park. Ruby scrubbed those. No black Porsche.”

A depressing realization crossed her mind. If Kristen Gardener had been killed, and that black 911 never left, then her killer must be here in the valley.

---

Coconino County, 2010s

Lyndy Life Observation: Deputy Keynes pulls over a speeding pickup on I-15. It only takes a whiff of the driver’s breath to realize he’s intoxicated as well. In routine questioning, Dale asks the driver why they were speeding. The man answers in slurring speech: “Well you see, I’m a bit late for an AA meeting.”

Lyndy stayed up late that night, stuffing an overnight bag—a big REI duffle—while her mind overflowed with memories of the late Miss Lovelace. Their white-knuckle adventures flickered by like that stack of color pictures loaded into a View-Master. Some life events she wished had gone differently. The sweetest moments she wished she’d savored; not realizing they were her best days. That feeling of summer in a tank top. Dancing in clubs. Even special songs on the radio. It made her pensive but at the same time energized.

She thought about phoning Maribel, to explain why she was leaving. She always told Maribel what she was up to, but this time it felt different. They were already on thin ice, and she couldn’t put her feelings into words.

“Hey I’m jetting off to Cali to meet a friend?” That didn’t sound right. “I found out my deceased, socialite employer might have a secret daughter we never knew? And I owe it to myself to sit down with this kid and see what she’s like.” That didn’t make a bit of sense. Maribel was more distant than ever before, and undoubtedly, she had every right to be angry. Hopefully Catherine’s neutral approach would work.

Once she’d had enough time to pack and arrange with a rancher to come feed her goats, Lyndy got a call. It was Fred, saying he booked a last-minute flight from Flagstaff to Santa-Barbara, at not a very economical fare. Anyone on that little route needed some bread in their pocket. But Fred had sprung for it.

The next day Lyndy set out before dawn, cruising the interstate to the Flagstaff-Pulliam airport, where she planned to meet Mr. Simmons again. She was thinking about the time she left Kyle and moved out of California in the early 2000s.

Lyndy vowed nothing in the world could persuade her to return—at least no more than a few days at a time. It was too much for the soul.

To that end, she’d boxed up her earthly possessions and rented an orange moving van. She sold her original airstream and most of her potted plants. She cleared out what remained on her desert lot—giving it back to the mining co—and left her homestead a ghost town so to speak. Swept so clean, you might miss it at 60 miles per hour. Like it never existed.

She’d buried her Beretta too. Those days were behind her.

Holding onto grade-school age Maribel’s hand, she assured her daughter they would start a new life in a place they belonged. A beautiful one, across state lines in a happy place, northern Arizona. A place they would both thrive.

Maribel, trusting her mother, had believed in that dream. Still, a part of her must’ve known her mother was anything but predictable.

The new Lyndy was not in business anymore, except to help recover occasional bounties or a stolen vehicle here and there. There was plenty of job security in that work, along with her goats, garden and a Lovelace Corp pension. The latter, frankly, should’ve been four times larger given the number of times she stuck her neck out for Rita.

She arrived at the airport as a brief storm thundered, wetting the mountains with shafts of rain and skirting south of town. A morning rainbow materialized faintly in the distance, spanning the hills and canyons around Fisher Point.

She spotted Mr. Simmons in the parking lot.

Fred handed her a printed ticket with a smile. He looked as handsome as before, with a cowboy hat and bluish-gray suit. However, something seemed bizarre in their second meeting. Wasn’t it odd to imagine that his late wife had passed away, literally in a fiery plane crash. Lyndy tried to understand this, but assumed she’d never fly again after such a freak tragedy. She reminded herself Rita was a bit cursed by fire in particular. It started when she was born in a town named Phoenix.