Song of the Red Rocks: Present Read online

  Several glances in her rearview mirror during the six mile drive to the post office annex revealed nothing out of the ordinary. She released a pent up breath and relaxed her shoulders. Moving her attention to the coastline beside the road, she enjoyed watching crashing waves and tourists gathered at the many tide pools. Point Loma didn't have beaches suitable for swimming.

  Sunny had always loved the ocean and, back in the day when she'd made enough money to purchase her first home on the beach, it had been small, quaint, cozy, and in a family oriented, nonexclusive neighborhood. She'd loved it!

  A sense of nostalgia enveloped her. She could have remained in that home forever, but the more famous she became, the more her privacy had been invaded. Finally, she'd been forced to sell. Because she loved San Diego, she'd stayed in the area and moved to the gated community she now resided in. She also had a condo in Nashville where she lived while recording her songs. Her other home was a tour bus.

  The drive along the coastline relaxed her and she almost felt happy. Since the divorce she'd often wondered if happiness was forever lost to her. She pulled into the post office parking lot, cast a quick glance around, and then exited her vehicle. The Jeep caused the corners of her mouth to crease in a smile. She'd bought it almost twenty years ago when royalties had started to come in. Before that, buying a brand new car had been impossible for someone who lived from paying gig to paying gig.

  She closed the car door and smoothed a hand over the faded green paint of the hood, and for a moment nostalgia besieged her. Then she sighed and headed inside the post office.

  Quickly, she grabbed her mail and a small package and tossed everything into her canvas bag. Back in her car she was tempted to open the package, but decided the less time she spent lollygagging, the less likely she was to be spotted. The reporters seemed to have a knack for seeing through disguises.

  She turned the ignition and headed back home, often glancing at the neatly taped box. Supposedly, it was family memorabilia found in the attic of some guy's home, but she was skeptical. A few years back someone had researched her ancestry and posted it to an online website devoted to celebrities' lineage. She had learned about the site from Adam and was skeptical of its accuracy. She had never visited it, and it never ceased to amaze her that so many people were interested in her. Almost every day her record company received mail on her behalf; most praising her, but a few brutally criticizing her.

  Back inside her garage, she grabbed her bag and ran into the kitchen. Pulling a drawer open, she reached for a pair of scissors to slit the box open.

  3: Journal

  Carefully lifting the box flaps, Sunny glanced at the handwritten note Adam had read to her and set it aside. Next, she lifted two items wrapped in bubble wrap. She removed the wrappings from a journal and tintype photo. For better lighting, she walked to the window with the photo. Something about the picture touched her heart and she inhaled slowly and deeply as she studied it. The picture was of a man standing slightly behind a woman and child on either side of him. The child looked to be around seven or eight, and the adults in their thirties. Sunny studied each face intently and suddenly realized something—they were holding back smiles; no, make that laughter—which was unusual for that era. Most pictures from the 1800s portrayed people with austere expressions. This one was different, and the more she studied it, the more she envisioned the laughter that had erupted once the photographer had released them from their stance.

  She moved her gaze to the background. The three people were standing at the edge of a bluff and beyond them tall monoliths rose in a cloudless sky. Instantly, Sunny recognized the gigantic rocks carved by nature as being unique to Sedona.

  For long moments she gazed at the picture. Were these people her ancestors? Had they lived on the land now owned by Mr. Grant? What had happened to them? And what about the stories of the Healing Woman? Were there facts hidden in the tales her mother had embellished to please a child?

  After her mother's death, Sunny had been so devastated that even thinking the word "family" had been impossible. Now, staring at the picture, she experienced something she hadn't felt since childhood—belonging. Somehow she knew she belonged to these people. She belonged to their land. The feeling only lasted a moment and then she scoffed, Even if these people are relatives, they're long dead. You don't belong to anyone. You've been alone since you were ten and you're still alone.

  She turned the tintype over and read three names: Tana Raven Sees, Dr. Thomas Matthews, Amy Matthews. The names were not familiar to her. She placed the picture back on the countertop and gently lifted a journal faded and weathered by years. Slowly and carefully she opened the cover and gasped. The year written on the first page was 1879 and below that was neatly printed:

  JOURNAL OF DR. THOMAS MATTHEWS

  So this is the man in the picture, she thought. She started toward her living room to begin reading, but paused long enough to sift through the contents of her junk drawer until she located a package of latex gloves. The journal was so frayed and fragile she didn't want to damage it more. After slipping on the gloves she settled on her couch. Ever so carefully she opened the diary again and turned to the first entry.

  November 13, 1879

  There is a grief so profound it entombs the griever with the dead one. I weep for those who have fallen into that abyss. I weep for myself.

  Involuntarily, Sunny lifted the back of her hand to her mouth. Even after more than a hundred years, the words jumped off the page to reveal their sadness. She wasn't sure she wanted to continue reading, but she was being pulled like a magnet into the past.

  Two hours later she was still on the couch. Gently, she closed the journal and stared out the wall of windows to the ocean beyond. Inhaling a shuddering breath she consolidated the story in her mind. It had evoked every possible emotion: sadness, happiness, hatred, love, hopelessness, hopefulness, despair, anticipation, and everything in between. However, if she were to sum the entries up, she would have to say they told a tale of love—love in all its facets. Love for nature, love for animals, love for humanity, love for children, but most of all, a man's love for two women: the first having died and the second having saved him from the depths of despair. The final words in the journal were etched into Sunny's mind.

  I have returned to the Healing Woman of the Red Rocks because it is she who will make me whole. It is she who will teach me how to truly give, for she is unshackled by the bonds of selfishness.

  Sunny lifted her cell phone off the coffee table and punched speed dial. When the phone was answered, she asked to speak with her attorney. Immediately, she was connected with him.

  "Hello Sunny. What's up?"

  "I just got the package you sent. Did you happen to read any of the journal?"

  "No. I just opened the box to make sure it wasn't a bomb or underwear," he chuckled. "I thought the picture was interesting." Suddenly, he sounded alarmed. "Is something wrong?"

  "No…yes…I can't really explain it, but the journal confirmed that Jason Grant's property belonged to my ancestors, and I want it. Call him and ask what it would take for him to sell."

  Adam sounded stunned. "Are you sure? We did an online investigation of Mr. Grant and it appears he only recently purchased it. Maybe you should sleep on this–"

  Sunny interrupted. "No. I want that property. In fact, I'm leaving tomorrow to drive to Sedona. I want to personally meet Mr. Grant and reinforce my willingness to pay whatever he thinks is a fair price. I'll call you later." She hung up before he could respond.

  4: Lexis

  Jason Grant landed a final blow to the nail and stood back to view his handiwork. "Nice," he said aloud. He swiped his hand across his brow and pushed back a lock of dark brown hair that had fallen into his eyes. Then he scratched the slight bump on his nose caused by a dirt bike crash when he was a teenager. His sweaty T-shirt clung to him. Working outdoors the past month had honed and tanned his body.

  He moved his gaze upward. Having replaced the
wood siding around the lower windows, his next project would be the dormer window of the attic. He bent and retrieved his water bottle and for the first time in two years felt a sense of well-being. The nightmare of his divorce was behind him, he now owned the twenty acres he'd discovered in childhood while visiting an aunt who'd lived nearby, and the house built in 1940 was on its way to restoration. After going through repossession in the late 1960s due to unpaid property taxes, the property had reverted to the state and then been bought and sold twice, but abandoned in 2010. Having been vacant for a few years, it had been a disaster when Jason purchased it, but he was an excellent carpenter, as well as architect by trade, and he expected the restoration to be completed within a year, give or take a few months, depending on the state of his finances. However, even his depleted funds after his divorce couldn't daunt his optimism on this glorious May day. The sun was warm, the sky cloudless and blue, the monoliths glowing like copper, and the water of nearby Oak Creek glistening like diamonds. He inhaled the fragrance of pines and then stretched and yawned. With his newfound freedom, not only from an unhappy marriage, but from a lackluster job, he considered taking a nap.

  The unexpected sound of an approaching car had him frowning. Who the hell had breeched the chain blocking access to his property? He walked to the center of his gravel drive and waited. The road to his house, although bumpy, was passable. He crossed his arms and spread his legs akimbo in an unwelcoming stance. Finally, a Lexis SUV came into sight after rounding a stand of mature ponderosa pines. Jason felt his jaw tighten. If there was one thing he hated, it was Lexis cars. For a moment he thought the trespasser was Suzette, his ex-wife, because of her insistence of only owning Lexis vehicles and living a life of luxury. His current financial situation was the direct result of selling everything he owned, including a portion of lucrative stock in internet companies, to buy her off in the divorce. His remaining stock was safely tucked away for retirement or emergencies.

  The driver of the Lexis was female, but she was blond and wearing a ball cap. Suzette wouldn't have been caught dead in a ball cap and her hair was fiery red, thanks to expensive hair stylists. Her natural color was muddy brown. Jason knew she preferred red because of all the attention it garnered. She was completely narcissistic and self-centered. Thank God they'd never had children. Of course, Suzette was the type of woman who wouldn't allow something as domestic as pregnancy to mar her perfect figure.

  Jason puffed a breath and berated himself for allowing his ex-wife to provoke his ire yet again. He concentrated on the woman stepping out of the Lexis. She was of average height and build, even slightly plump, but very curvy. The ball cap shadowed her face so he couldn't distinguish any features.

  He remained in his defiant posture and said with irritation, "This is private property and I know you saw the NO TRESSPASSING sign." She stepped forward and Jason caught a glimpse of her face. She seemed vaguely familiar.

  The woman responded, "Yes, I saw it, but since you don't answer your phone, I decided to break the law and trespass."

  Suddenly everything fell into place. For the past two days he had been receiving voice and text messages from Sunny Sundance's attorney about her wanting to purchase his property. He'd scoffed at the messages and ignored them. The last time the attorney had called and left a voicemail, he'd hinted that his client would be overly generous. Jason had hit the erase button and gone about his business.

  He now recognized the woman standing before him as Sunny Sundance, the popular country singer.

  He could care less.

  As far as he was concerned, no amount of money could entice him to sell the property he'd coveted since childhood. As she advanced toward him, he said, "The property is not for sale so you're wasting your time, and when did you become a blond?"

  She stopped a few feet away and glanced up, and since he was 6'3", she had to look way up. His first thought was that she looked older and she was shorter than she appeared in photos or on television. He guessed her age to be around forty.

  She didn't appear deterred by his rudeness. "I'm blond when I don't want to be recognized. Thank you for sending the journal and photo to me."

  He nodded. "It seemed the right thing to do."

  She shrugged and bluntly asked, "Did you read the journal?"

  "Other than the date and name on the first page, no."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I've learned to keep my nose out of other people's business."

  She smiled slightly. "Smart move. I wish more people were like you."

  Jason uncrossed his arms. "Besides wanting my property, is there another reason for your visit?"

  "Yes."

  They stared at each other in a silent battle of wills and Jason had to admire her spunk.

  Finally, she said, "Reading the journal made me aware that there's a cabin on the property dating back to the early 1800s. I'd like to see it."

  "No."

  Her eyes never left his. "Why not?"

  "Because I don't like trespassers and I don't like fancy attorneys calling me."

  She responded, "Your ex-wife really did a number on you, didn't she?"

  Jason narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "My business is just that, my business. Now get in your car and get off my property."

  "And if I refuse?"

  Jason stood straight again, reached into his pocket for his cell phone, and calmly said, "The police are only a phone call away and I'm sure the tabloids would love to get wind of a trespassing country singer."

  For the first time, Jason saw emotion in Sunny Sundance's eyes. The emotion was anger mixed with something else—fear? He almost felt bad for threatening her. Of course, he had no intention of calling the police. He didn't want them on his land any more than he wanted the famous Sunny there. He watched her inhale deeply, straighten her shoulders until she was a few inches taller, and set her gaze on the house behind him.

  She said, "My attorney did some research and discovered this land belonged to my family for over a hundred years. Of course, after reading journal I already knew that, and I intend to buy it back. You, Mr. Grant, have just made an enemy of me. I am wealthy beyond imagining and nothing will stop me from getting what I want."

  Jason's eyes widened slightly then narrowed again. He took a step forward and said low, "Lady, I suggest you get your ass off my property. I just got one of your kind out of my life and I'm not about to be intimidated by you. I don't care if you're richer than Midas, this is my land and I intend to keep it." He stepped closer and bent until his face was in hers. "Do. You. Understand."

  To her credit, she didn't flinch. She just set her face like flint and the expression in her eyes told Jason he was in for the fight of his life. Without a word she returned to her car, made a u-turn, and drove away.

  As he watched her car disappear beyond the trees, he thought, Bring it on.

  5: Bell Rock Motel

  Sunny commanded herself, Breathe slow. In and out. In and out. The command didn't work.

  She was so angry she hit her fist against the steering wheel. When she reached the entrance to Mr. Grant's property she slammed her brakes on, reached for her cell phone, and punched speed dial to a private number.

  "Hello, Sunny. Are you in Sedona? This must be important since you used my private number."

  She inhaled a long, calming breath, but sounded breathless when she said, "Adam I want you to locate all the property bordering the land owned by Mr. Grant. If it's for sale, buy it. If not, make the owners an offer they can't refuse."

  There was silence on the other end and then Adam said, "Whoa, girl. What's going on?"

  Sunny sucked another breath and said evenly, "Mr. Grant is the biggest jerk I've ever met and I've decided to pull out all the stops to own the homestead that belonged to my family."

  "Sunny! That's not like you."

  She thought about that for an instant and replied, "You're right, but Mr. Grant has forced my hand. I want that land and if it means squeezing him out,
so be it." Sunny heard Adam's sharp inhalation.

  He said, "Okay. I'll get right on it."

  She abruptly ended the call. Her anger now morphed into something akin to nostalgia or longing. Reading the journal had shifted something inside her and when she thought about how close she was to the cabin her family had lived in, it brought tears to her eyes. Callously, Mr. Grant had refused to allow her to see it, but she knew he was aware of it. She had seen a flicker in his eyes when she mentioned the cabin. Maybe it no longer existed, maybe it had been torn down years ago, but something remained. She was sure of it.

  She brushed away tears and pulled onto the road, not bothering to refasten the chain. Her mind busily ticked a "to do" list. First, she would find an off the beaten path, nondescript motel, and then she would relax in a hot bath before firing up her laptop and doing her own due diligence in locating property for sale in the area.

  Feeling somewhat placated, she headed back to the highway. Since the homestead her family had once owned was on the outskirts of Sedona, closer to a community known as the Village of Oak Creek, she concentrated her motel search there.

  The main highway ran through the village and she traveled its ten minute length back and forth twice before spotting a small sign advertising "Bell Rock Motel," with an arrow pointing down a side street. She turned onto the street and followed it for some distance. The motel was cute and painted a cheery yellow. She pulled into the parking lot and thought, This place is perfect.