Finding Zola Read online

  As it turned out, my dreams were anything but sweet.

  Chapter 6

  A GHOST-WHITE JEEP HURTLED ALONG THE narrow dirt road, taking the corners fast. A girl stared out the window at the canyon below. Jagged rocks pointed accusing fingers at her. Something—a deer, maybe—flashed up ahead and darted across the road. The driver swerved, the wheels spinning as the gravel shoulder gave way. For a moment, time hovered, like the Jeep, with nothing but air and canyon below. The girl gasped, sucking all sounds inside her. Then a scream poured out, echoing off the canyon walls and mixing with the thundering crunch of metal.

  As the dream faded, I woke to voices outside in the street. I glanced at the clock. It was 3:10 in the morning. Someone was out there. I was sure of it. My heart raced as I pushed myself up. I tried to peek out the window, but the shutters blocked my view. A car door slammed. An engine revved, then the car tore down the street. Who would be out at this hour? Even the paper delivery didn’t come this early.

  I glanced over at DJ’s bed. Soft snoring told me she hadn’t heard a thing. I lay back, trying to think of logical reasons for people to be out and about in the middle of the night. I couldn’t think of any, especially in a sleepy retirement town like this one.

  Wide awake and nervous, I never got back to sleep. When I finally saw daylight seep into the room and heard the doves start to coo, I got up. As I struggled into my slacks, I tried to be quiet and not wake DJ. The first thing I had to do was to see if Zola had come back on her own. A panicky thought hit me. What if that car I heard was someone bringing her back? What if they dropped her off and our door was locked? Would she have found her way to her own house? Now I felt awful that I hadn’t gotten up to check. I was sure no one had rung our doorbell. But then again, maybe she had a key.

  I peeked into Gran’s bedroom but found no sign of Zola. Since she hadn’t come back here, I hoped she was in her own house. Trying not to make any noise, I eased my chair out the front door and into the carport.

  The air outside echoed with a chorus of quail, doves, and cactus wrens. It sounded more like a rain forest than a desert, as if the birds were celebrating a few minutes of coolness before the summer heat cranked up. A cottontail rabbit sprinted across the road, his white tail puff disappearing under a bush. For a brief moment, my dark mood lifted.

  Across the street, Zola’s house sat dead quiet. No lights were on inside. Nothing moved. At the front door, I hesitated. What if Zola was home, sleeping peacefully in her own bed? What right did I have to bother her? I brushed those worries aside. If she got mad, she got mad. I didn’t care. At least I’d know she was all right. I reached up and pressed the doorbell. It buzzed like a trapped bee.

  After a couple of minutes, I tried again. Nothing. I tried the doorknob. It turned, so I shoved open the door, calling into the stillness. “Zola? Are you here? Hel-lo-o!”

  Tilting my wheelchair across the threshold, I pushed into the darkened house. It smelled damp and musty, even though most of the water had dried up. Dining and living room chairs were pushed aside, and towels lay scattered on the floor. Why hadn’t the maintenance men finished cleaning up the mess? Zola’s pink dancing dress lay in a lump across the sofa. Sitting wide open next to it was a huge black purse, the kind with lots of zippers and pockets. I called out again, louder this time.

  “ZOLA!”

  No reply.

  I pushed hard down the hall to the bedrooms. A quick check confirmed that Zola wasn’t there. She probably hadn’t been home all night. Her bed wasn’t even rumpled. Where was she? Snatches of her voice echoed in my head. A mix of panic and dread washed over me. I had a sick feeling that things were definitely Not Right.

  I hurried outside again, but I didn’t lock the door in case she came home. Across the street, DJ was picking up the morning paper on our driveway.

  “Where were you?” DJ called. “I thought maybe you’d run off, too.”

  “She’s still gone, Deej. We’ve got to call the police.”

  She tucked the paper under her arm. “Don’t we have to wait twenty-four hours?”

  “But she could be hurt! She’s a frail old lady who shouldn’t be out wandering around in the heat.”

  “Look, isn’t there a relative you could call? She isn’t even related to us.”

  “She mentioned a brother in Chicago. But I don’t know his name or how to reach him.”

  DJ glanced up the street. “Maybe the neighbors saw something. We should find out more before we call the cops in.”

  As we headed back inside, I felt the worry building up in my chest. I barely knew Zola, and yet I was connected to her because she had taken care of Gran. It was too early to start knocking on doors, asking questions. “Let’s have breakfast,” I said. “I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

  DJ whipped up a plate of scrambled eggs, adding glops of salsa on the side. While we ate, I pored over the morning paper, hoping I woudn’t find some news story about something that had happened to a lost old lady.

  “Think we should call your mom?” mumbled DJ, her mouth full. “She might know more about Zola.”

  “Uh-uh. She’d only come running back to take care of me. We can handle this.” In a way, this was just the challenge I needed to prove I could “rise to the occasion,” as Mom liked to say. It had been a while since I’d done anything daring, and I kind of liked the rush I was feeling.

  DJ grabbed a section of the paper and groaned. “Aww, gee, two kids were killed in a wreck on I-19.”

  I flipped through more pages. “A trailer fire. A carjacking at Tucson Mall. A bunch of house robberies.”

  “Hey! The Diamondbacks beat the Cubbies!”

  “Deej! We’re looking for Zola!”

  She folded the paper. “Nada. No missing person. No unidentified hit-and-runs. No Jane Doe murders.”

  I glanced out the front window. “Somebody around here has to have seen something. It’s time to start asking questions.”

  Chapter 7

  IN THIS COMPACT NEIGHBORHOOD, THE HOUSES hugged each other. Windows looked into other windows. Watching people come and go had to be a major pastime here. When I used to visit Gran, she was always up on what everyone was doing. It was like having live TV right outside.

  Our first stop was at Mr. Andrews’s door. The kid I’d seen in the golf cart opened it. Now that I got a good look at him, I decided that he was definitely cute. His brown eyes brightened when he saw us.

  “Hey, I was just about to come visit you guys,” he said.

  That surprised me. “You were?”

  “Yeah. It’s boring here with my dad. I was hoping we could, you know, do something.”

  “Horace Andrews is your dad?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone thinks he’s my granddad because he’s so old. My mom’s a lot younger. They’re divorced.” He stuck his hands deep in his jeans pocket as he talked. “By the way, my name’s Matt.”

  “I’m Crystal. And this is my cousin, DJ.”

  “I heard about your grandmother. Sorry she died.” He glanced down at the ground. He had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen.

  “Thanks,” I said. “We’re just here long enough to pack up her things and sell the townhouse.”

  “I’m only here for another week,” Matt said. “My mom and I live in Phoenix.”

  DJ piped in. “We were wondering about your neighbor, Zola. She seems to be missing.”

  “Dad said you were looking for her last night.”

  “How come he doesn’t like her?” I asked.

  Matt shrugged again. “It’s not that he doesn’t like her, exactly. He thinks she’s … you know, nuts. He can be kind of rude around old folks. He doesn’t realize that he’s getting old, too. It’s embarrassing.”

  “So you guys don’t know where Zola might be?” DJ asked.

  “Uh-uh. But I’ll ask him when he gets back from the golf course.”

  He started to go back inside, but stopped. “Is it okay if I come over sometime? We could d
o something, like go to the mall or a movie.”

  “Sure,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too eager. “How about tonight?”

  He wrinkled his nose, making his freckles wiggle. “Can’t tonight. My Dad’s got me enrolled in this lapidary class. You know, stone polishing and all? Maybe tomorrow. Good luck with Zola.” He ducked his head and slipped inside.

  I turned my chair around and studied the other houses on the street. The house to the right of Gran’s was vacant, with a red-and-white “sale pending” sign stuck in the dirt. It looked as if no one had lived there for a while. A couple of sun-yellowed newspapers lay forgotten on the driveway. No one to ask over there.

  The neighbor on the other side of Gran’s was using a hoe to hack out a clump of mistletoe from a palo verde tree. She was trim, with the no-nonsense look of a P.E. teacher. As we approached, she stopped and wiped her sweaty brow.

  “Darn mistletoe. If I don’t get it out of the trees, they’ll die. I’ll probably have to saw the whole branch off.” She pulled off her glove and shook my hand. Her grip was firm and warm. “I’m Anna Norberg. I saw you and your mother arrive. So sorry about your grandmother. She was a nice lady.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  DJ turned and pointed across the street. “Have you seen your neighbor from over there lately?”

  Anna Norberg’s smile faded. “Zola? Poor lost lady. I don’t know how much longer she can go on living on her own.”

  I leaned forward. “Lost is just the problem. My cousin and I were going to take her out for dinner yesterday. But when we went to pick her up, she was gone. I checked her house this morning and she’s still not there.”

  “Gone? Again?” She cast an anxious glance toward Zola’s house. “I’m sure she’ll turn up. She always has in the past.”

  “Does she go missing often?” asked DJ.

  “Oh, sure. Usually after she locks herself out. She starts wandering through the neighborhood, looking for someone to let her in. I keep a spare key to her house just for those times. We all try to keep an eye on her, but sometimes she slips out anyway.”

  “Have you seen her lately?” I asked.

  She wiped a bead of sweat off her brow, thinking. “Let’s see. She came by last week, asking if I had a camera.”

  “A camera? What did she want it for?”

  “Taking pictures, she said, of ‘something big.’ I had some film left on a small camera, so I gave her that.” She pulled her garden glove back on and adjusted her straw hat. “Try not to worry about Zola. She’ll be back. Remember the story about the boy who cried wolf? Well, that’s Zola. She causes lots of false alarms around here.”

  I remembered the story. In the end, there really was a wolf.

  DJ shaded her eyes and looked across the street. “Let’s try Zola’s other neighbor.”

  We crossed over and rang the bell. Mrs. Tucker opened the door and stood there, swaying like a tropical flower in a hot pink shift. She put her finger to her lips and slowly pulled the door closed behind her.

  “Ward’s resting,” she whispered. “He had a bad night.”

  I gave her a brief recap of how Zola missed our date at the Pizza Pub, and how she hadn’t been seen since yesterday.

  Mrs. Tucker folded her arms and tapped her chin with her finger. “I’m not certain, but I may know where she went.”

  “Where?” asked DJ.

  “She said something to Ward about going away with her brother for a short trip. I think to the Grand Canyon. He could tell you more about it, but like I said, he’s asleep right now.”

  It didn’t make any sense. “Why would she go on a trip?” I asked. “Maybe she meant she was going away to stay with me. She and Mom had it all arranged. How could she forget?”

  Mrs. Tucker sighed and threw up her hands. “Zola does things like that. She can’t remember from one day to the next what she has planned. I hope I don’t get that way when I’m her age. Just in case, I’ve got these herb pills called Ginkgo biloba to keep my memory from failing.”

  “Do they work?” I asked.

  She laughed. “I don’t know. I keep forgetting to take them.”

  Chapter 8

  “WELL, THAT’S THAT,” SAID DJ AS WE WENT back to Gran’s.

  I looked up, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Zola’s not lost, not wandering around in the desert, and not hanging out at the Indian casino. She’s on a trip. She plain forgot all about you.”

  “Thanks. Being forgotten makes me feel so much better.”

  But DJ had a point. Zola had forgotten about meeting me once before, the day Mom left. It was like her memory couldn’t hold on to anything for very long. So after all our questions, what had we learned?

  1) Zola had a history of wandering off.

  2) She got mixed up and forgot a lot.

  3) She borrowed a camera to use for ‘something big.’

  The Grand Canyon was big enough. She even had her bag all packed. So when her brother showed up, she probably thought she had packed for that trip. So why was I still worried?

  “I don’t know, Deej. Something doesn’t add up. Some detail is bugging me, but I can’t get at it.”

  DJ opened the front door and let us in. “Try not to think about it so hard. That’s what I do when I’m trying to remember something. Then, when your brain is relaxed, BAM! you remember what it was.”

  We spent the afternoon sorting Gran’s stuff. Her bed was piled with dresses, underwear, and shoes, all waiting to be packed. Boxes filled the living room as we added towels, blankets, books, and purses. Stacks of newspapers and tissue littered the floor, ready for wrapping breakable items.

  After a while, DJ slumped back on a chair and sighed. “Doing this makes me realize that Gran is really gone. I don’t like tearing apart her house and going through her things.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s like we’re snooping.”

  “Too bad your mom couldn’t at least keep the place, furniture and all, and rent it out. Winter visitors would pay lots to rent a nice place like this. Or better yet, you guys could get out of shaky-quaky California and move over here.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you kidding? Move to Geezer City? No way. I’ll take the earthquakes.”

  “Well, think about it. I heard it costs a lot to live in California. You could be here for a lot less. I found a real nice apartment in Tucson for half what I’d pay over there.”

  What DJ said made some sense. Ever since Dad died, Mom had been worried about the bills. Artists don’t exactly have a steady income. That’s why I hoped this show in Santa Fe would go well. If she could sell some paintings, maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about money all the time.

  I picked up a stack of hand-painted plates from the hutch. As I turned, one slipped off my lap and crashed to smithereens.

  I bit back a cuss word. “Oooh! That was one of Gran’s favorites.”

  DJ bent down to clean up the pieces. “It’s okay. It’s not like she’s going to come bawl you out.”

  “If only she could!” I pushed over to the table and set down my load before I dropped anything else. DJ dumped the broken plate in the trash.

  “I think you get along pretty well in that chair. A girl on my team only broke her arm and she made everyone wait on her hand and foot, claiming she was handicapped. We were glad when the team went to finals in Chicago and she had to stay behind.”

  I let out a huge sigh. “Sometimes I think I can do so much, but then something simple like dropping a dish has to come and remind me.”

  DJ waved me off. “You’re doing great. Coming down here, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Last time I saw you, you were still in the hospital. We weren’t sure what you’d be able to do. You wouldn’t talk to anybody. You wouldn’t even try.”

  “Everything had changed, Deej. My dad had just been killed, my back had been broken. I was scared, too.”

  “Accidents happen,” she said softly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

&
nbsp; I shook my head. “You don’t understand. Why did Dad die? Why did I live? I even have nightmares about it. It’s like I’m trying to go back and undo what happened. We’re driving along, on our way to do some fishing. I see a deer at the side of the road. I’m afraid we’ll hit it, so I shout something like ‘Watch out!’ He swerves, and the Jeep … goes over.”

  I buried my face in my hands. “Sometimes I wish I had died instead. I feel like it was all my fault. I killed my own dad!”

  DJ sidled over and gave my shoulders a gentle massage. “Don’t say that! Don’t even think it.”

  I stared at the floor, trying to calm the emotions boiling inside.

  She knelt down beside me, tilted my chin up and locked her eyes with mine.

  “Not-your-fault. Understand? People die. Sometimes it’s an accident, sometimes an illness.”

  I jerked my head away. “At least Gran got to be old before she died.”

  “Yeah. Gran got lucky.”

  My eyes wandered across the room, taking in little things that reminded me so much of her. A tin coyote we’d bought once on a visit to Tubac. A crazy quilt she made from old sewing scraps. Her favorite books, especially the one with folktales from Mexico that she used to read to me. “You know, sorting her things makes me feel close to her. I’d bet anything her spirit is lurking around this place, watching us. Don’t you feel it?”

  “Maybe. Gran was pretty matter-of-fact about death.” DJ hunched over a bit and made her voice sound old. “No sad faces, no funeral. Give my sack of bones to the medical center for study. Then go have a party and tell funny stories about me.”

  That made me smile a little. She sounded just like Gran. I reached out and touched DJ’s arm. “Thanks for being here.”

  I swallowed hard, ready to talk about anything else. “This job really does take two people. That reminds me, I lost something under one of the twin beds in our room. Can you get it out for me?”

  “Sure. Lead the way.”

  We went to our bedroom and I pointed under the bed. “Down there. It’s a roll of tape. Grab that bundle, too.”