Small-Town Secrets

But the money could go right to his father. He paused for a moment, running the idea through his mind, trying to picture himself with a clean slate.

No picture came; only a clean slate remained.

He’d make the money some other way. He could do it. Would do it.

“Sorry, I’ve gotten out of the business. I’m doing something else now.” It wasn’t a lie. He was teaching Tae Kwon Do classes, taking over the care of his brother and remodeling Yolanda’s Victorian.

None of which would bring him the money he needed to help his father. Maybe he should take a lesson from Yolanda. At least once a day she sat down with her spreadsheet and made sure that she was sticking to her budget, following the business plan she’d created. If Adam were lucky, he’d break even this month and manage to put gas in his van and food in his belly.

He was right back where he started: just getting by. Proving his father right. But his lack of career had also made him available when his father needed him.

Getting back that career would help his father even more.

“Tell you what,” Huckabee said, “I’m not in a hurry. I’ll give you a few weeks. You change your mind, give me a call. Better yet, come on out. We’re fairly new, and the locals haven’t really taken to stopping by. I’ll show you around. Bring the family.”

Definitely not an outing that would fit into his brother Andy’s routine. Adam had taken him to BAA, but he hadn’t been able to handle all the noise and chaos.

“Okay, I appreciate that.” After a quick goodbye, not giving Huckabee a chance to say any more, Adam rolled out of bed.

Good thing Huckabee had called. Adam had to teach a class this morning. After a decent breakfast, doughnuts and milk from the grocery store in town, Adam made it to Snapp’s Studio where his first step was to head down to the dressing room and change into his uniform. He had a ten-thirty class with ten students, all at various levels. One was actually better than he was. Two were beginning their second week. There was even a mom.

An hour later Adam applauded his class for being the best they could be and went through his list of reminders: their next lesson was on Thursday, there was a competition in Mesa this coming Saturday and they still had time to sign up and that a School Special started in just over a week. For the month of September, anyone who brought in a spelling test with a perfect grade got a ten dollar coupon for a Snapp’s Studio T-shirt.

His dad believed that Tae Kwon Do had to include the whole student, not just the student who showed up for lessons a few hours a week. Adam’s dad monitored the school kids’ homework and attitude.

Nobody dared mention Adam’s own past grades or bad attitude.

Changing back into his regular clothes, Adam tossed his uniform into the laundry bag and headed for the front lobby. There would be another lesson at four, but it would be taught by Mr. Chee.

Adam’s dad and brother were in Phoenix volunteering at a food donation center. They’d been going every Tuesday morning for a decade. Andy was a natural at sorting, and sorting was just what the donation center needed.

Adam had gone with them a time or two. But the repetition, standing still, had made him want to scream. His dad, however, never even blinked at the challenge.

Adam’s mother was up front. The beginning of the school year meant his parents put out a rash of advertising. She had stacks of brochures ready to go, all crisscrossed with sticky notes marking their destination.

“Want me to deliver these, Mom?”

She looked up at him, a half smile on her face, but tears were shimmering in her eyes.

“Mom, you all right?”

“No. Yes. There’s just such a lot going on. And I appreciate you staying with Andy while...” She didn’t finish. Instead, she came around the desk and reached up to hug him. He realized just how small she was, and yet she always carried so much: his dad, his brother, him.

He was more like her than he was his father. She was the decorator, and he’d gotten his love of color from her. When he was six, he’d helped her paint the living room as well as put tile down.

After a while she let go and stepped away.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Mom.”

“Your delivering these fliers would really help.”

Ten minutes later, he stood in front of Snapp’s Studio, staring at the sign, at the advertisements posted on the windows and at his mom still working at her desk inside.

It was in little more than a strip mall.

His dad had traded the highlife for such a venture. His dad had had a good reason, though. He’d not given up on his old life; he had instead given his all to what mattered.

Adam wasn’t sure he could say the same. But he was determined to change that.

* * *

YOLANDA HADN’T SLEPT all night. Every noise she’d heard had had her grabbing a flashlight and heading downstairs. Plus, when she’d showed the book to Rosi, her grandmother hadn’t remembered owning such a book and refused to even look at it, muttering that she didn’t want to remember the Ventimiglias.

Odd.

Yolanda had then spent an hour going through the books she still had to shelve. None were on the history of Scorpion Ridge. Later that evening Gramma Rosi begged off Yolanda’s offer to take her out to dinner because her favorite television show was on. Gramma Rosi never put television before family.

So she’d taken the mysterious book to bed. Now on Yolanda’s nightstand was a book that didn’t belong to her, but possibly did belong to a woman who’d not only disturbed Yolanda but had also disturbed her grandmother.

Adding to Yolanda’s anxiety, the book’s letters were small and handwritten, the words running close together—forget paragraphs. There were no indentations. Her head started hurting after reading two pages. So at midnight, when she realized sleep was a goal not to be realized, she settled on reading the pages devoted to a Ventimiglia: Richard. Chester wasn’t mentioned at all.

What she did like about the book were the drawings. Hundreds of thumbnails all about Scorpion Ridge. Some were faded and impossible to make out. Others, though, were still crisp and clear, almost jumping off the page in bold strokes.

Bold strokes? Now that was an Adam Snapp term.

The pictures were of homes and people—mostly faces. Most of the places were long gone; most of the people had passed away. She recognized her own house, looking much the same only with a stable. The other house she recognized was downtown and housed the Scorpion Ridge Historical Society Museum. The drawing showed the building with a door in the middle and two windows flanking it on each side. It looked the same today, except the front door had been moved, and there was now a swamp cooler on top. Yolanda had been there many times and remembered that the hardwood floor creaked and the ceilings were low. The back porch was big enough to sleep on. It was an old adobe dwelling with a plaster coating, same as in the picture.

Next came a drawing of an old mission that looked a lot like San Xavier Mission in Tucson. Under the drawing was a name, but Yolanda couldn’t make it out. The last structure she recognized was the old Scorpion Ridge courthouse. She remembered hearing about it in school. The old building had burned down in nineteen hundred and forty-six and had been replaced with an ugly cement structure.

But Adam had mentioned there was a plaque on the wall that mentioned Chester Ventimiglia. Here was something Yolanda could actually investigate! She finally fell asleep knowing how she’d spend her morning.

Her alarm sounded and she rolled out of bed at the first ring. Today she’d strive for good mood and peace of mind.

Not always easy. Yolanda had always been a worrier. Gramma Rosi blamed Yolanda’s mother for passing on such an unnecessary pastime. Yolanda knew that worry was a choice, and one she needed to make differently. She got up, got dressed and made an easy breakfast: cereal. Then she checked her to-do list before spending the next few hours stocking the last empty shelves in the children’s area.

Tired of bending, dusty from the books and needing to get outside, Yolanda locked the front door behind her and walked downtown. It took her three blocks and ten minutes. It would have only taken her eight minutes, but there were plenty of people to say good morning to. All asked about her grandmother. Two asked about the opening of her bookstore and promised to bring her some gently used books. And one offered a marriage proposal.

“No, thanks, Otis. I’m too busy to get married.”

Otis Wilson gazed past Yolanda at her Victorian. “I used to love a girl who lived there, you know.”

Yolanda wasn’t surprised. According to legend, her Gramma Rosi had been quite a looker. Of course, Gramma Rosi liked to weave her own legends. Whether they were true or not...

Yolanda arrived at Scorpion Ridge’s courthouse at the same time as the mayor, who’d been her third grade teacher. Janice Kolby had handed Yolanda her first Ramona book. “I hear the bookstore’s coming along,” Mayor Kolby said.

“Every room is stocked.”

“Make sure you take advantage of all the tax breaks given to female business owners.” With that, Mayor Kolby hurried through the front door. According to Gramma, the mayor was just as good at fiscal responsibility as she was averaging classroom grades. Which meant Gramma was pleased because Scorpion Ridge was debt-free.