Chapter 8
Holly Street was dead center in the industrial part of downtown Phoenix, and if it wasn’t for the exact address, I’d still be looking for Feltons’ Pavilions, Tents, and Awnings. The building was a one-story rectangular warehouse with windows so caked with dirt and dust it would take a pressure washer hose to break through the first layer. On one side of the building stood an old two-story brick warehouse that looked as if it might have been one of the original structures in the city. On the other side was some sort of factory.
No parking lot. Just off-street parking. A faded sign hung over the doorway, making the place look even more unwelcoming. I opened the heavy double wooden doors and stepped inside. The walls were lined with long shelves and an assortment of fabrics. Boxes of metal poles and rods appeared to be everywhere. Smaller shelves housed crates with all sorts of metal and wooden objects, none of which I could identify. The eerie overhead fluorescent lighting seemed to make the dust more visible in the air.
The terms “valley fever” and “code violations” immediately sprang to mind. I took another step inside. “Hello! Is anyone here? Hello!”
“Yeah. Yeah. I can hear you. Gimme a second.” A stocky red-haired man with reddish brown stubble on his face walked toward me. He was wearing jeans and a worn green polo shirt with the logo “Feltons’ Pavilions, Tents, and Awnings” sewn onto the top left-hand side of the shirt.
“I’m Everett Felton. You must be the Kimball lady here to pick out the fabric.”
Under normal circumstances, I would reach out my hand to shake his, but instead, I took a step back, gave a funny little wave, made a tight ball with my fist, and put both hands to my sides. “Yes. I’m Phee Kimball. Nice to meet you.” And why on earth couldn’t Aunt Ina have hired someone more like the Property Brothers?
He grumbled something and pointed to the back of the warehouse. “Come on, I’ve got the samples in my office. Shouldn’t take but a few minutes. Unless you’re one of those fussy types who can’t make up their mind.”
Oh, believe you me, I can and will make up my mind in thirty seconds or less. “Yeah, uh, I’m not that fussy.”
“Good. Let’s go check out the fabrics.”
I wouldn’t begin to wager a guess at the last time Everett Felton’s office had been cleaned, or sorted out for that matter. There was stuff everywhere. Empty candy wrappers, metal pieces and clamps, balls of assorted string and hooks, not to mention stacks of old magazines and catalogs. And crumbs. There were crumbs everywhere. And crumbs meant roaches and mice. I made a mental note not to lean against anything.
“Okay.” He pointed to a table off to the left. “I’ve got the samples all lined up for you.”
Sure enough, piles of fabric were stacked on the long wooden table. Everett Felton pointed to them, folded his arms, and stared at me.
“So,” I said, “you want me to go through these and find one I like?”
“That’s the idea, lady.”
I was quick. I settled on a nice all-purpose white polyester for the exterior with a slightly pinkish white organza for the interior ceiling and walls. It was as close to floral white as I could imagine. The other choices were awful. The chiffon fabric reminded me of 1950s prom dresses and the gossamer fabric was so over the top I had to avoid it completely.
The canopy was a small marquee design with the organza. Done. Done and out of here! “Thank you, Mr. Felton. I appreciate it. I’m sure my aunt appreciates it.”
“Hold on. Gotta write it up. Don’t need any screwups, you know.”
Everett walked over to a desk that was overflowing in papers, ashtrays, and miscellaneous metal objects. It was a wonder he found a notepad. While he was writing up the order, I glanced around the room. The walls had all sorts of posters, each in a different state of decay. Wedged between two of them was a framed picture of some men standing. I took a closer look. Someone had written “The Crew, 2006” across the top of the picture in black marker. Underneath were the names Everett, Jake, Tony, and Little Hank. Someone must have had a sense of humor because Little Hank looked like a Sumo wrestler. Everett looked about the same, only a bit heavier. I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting Jake.
“Are all of you still working here?” I pointed to the photo.
“Nah. Little Hank’s down in Tucson somewhere and Tony split years ago. Hired a few new guys.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I should be going. Thanks, Mr. Felton.”
As I walked out of his office and headed for the door, I heard another voice. Louder than Everett’s. It had to be Jake, the brother.
“YO! Everett! Is that the lady for the Petroglyph wedding?”
“YEAH! Why?”
“Tell her to hold on, I’ll be right there.”
Everett then repeated everything his brother had already said. I was about to respond when Jake Felton came out from behind one of the ceiling-high stacks of tent material. He was taller than Everett but not by much. Also unshaved. Curly black hair that had started to turn gray at the temples. Same jeans and green polo shirt. Both men appeared to be in their late forties or early fifties. “Glad I caught you in time. Kimball, right?”
I nodded.
“Look,” he said, “we’ve gotta go check out that Petroglyph site tomorrow morning. It can’t wait. Everett’s gonna need to order the fabric and I’ve gotta see the direction and how everything’s gonna open up. The tent. You know what I mean? We can only do that when we scope out the place. Sunrise wedding, right? So, I gotta set it up so the sun doesn’t blind everyone. What do you say? Six in the morning? No, wait. That’s too late. Make it five-thirty.”
“Five-thirty? You want me to be at the park at five-thirty in the morning? They don’t even open the park until eight.”
“Yeah. Even better. We don’t have to pay the lousy entrance fee. So, you gonna be there or not?”
“I’ll be there. But not at five-thirty. What do you say we make it at seven-thirty? That’ll still give you an idea of where the sun is.” My voice was starting to wobble. I cleared my throat.
Jake shrugged as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, sure. Seven-thirty. I’ll meet you at the trail to the Petroglyph Plaza. There are a few parking spots right in front of the trail. Ain’t like we gotta worry about parking. Unless you’ve got a bike. You can drive one of those right to the ditch and I’ll meet you there.”
“Uh, no. I have a car.”
“Figures.”
I wanted to kick the guy in the shin, but the last thing I needed was to lose the only tent company available. I ignored his comment. I had to get this right for Aunt Ina. It was important to pick out the exact spot for the tent and canopy and I figured the sooner I could get it over with the next morning, the better. It would still leave me plenty of time to get to work by nine. I would just be comatose for the rest of the day. Maybe Nate and Augusta wouldn’t notice.
“So, um . . . I guess we’re all set.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “Seven-thirty in front of the trail.”
I think I mumbled “thank you,” but honestly I couldn’t remember. I was in too much of a hurry racing to the door. Between the dust and the Felton brothers, it had to be one of the most unpleasant moments I’d had in a long time.
I set my alarm for the ungodly hour of six and knocked the clock over the next morning, shutting it off. Bad move. I tripped over it on my way to the shower and caught myself on the dresser just in time. Darn those Felton brothers. I dried off, got dressed, dashed on a bit of makeup, added sunscreen lip gloss, and drove toward the White Tank Mountain Regional Park. It was about a forty-minute drive from my house in Peoria, which allowed me a good ten minutes to stop at a Starbucks for a desperately needed cup of coffee.
Sure enough, no one was manning the gate to the park. I drove right in and headed to the parking lot in front of the trail. I was wide awake and in a hurry to get this over with. It was seven twenty-five and Jake who-wanted-to-meet-at-five-thirty hadn’t arrived yet. I took out my iPhone to see if there were any messages, and just as my e-mails started to arrive, so did Jake. He pulled up next to me in a green Dodge Ram pickup truck with a plastic sign on the door that read FELTONS’ PAVILIONS, TENTS, AND AWNINGS.
Shoving my keys into my pocket, along with my phone, I got out of my car and approached Jake, who had just slammed the door of his truck. A tattered green tarp was stretched across the bed of the truck, and I could make out the outline of something metallic sticking up against it. More than likely tent poles and posts.
“Good morning.” I tried to sound upbeat and chipper.
“Morning. Okay, come on. Let’s scope this out before it starts to heat up. And watch for scorpions and snakes, will you? I don’t want to be dealing with anything.”
Terrific. And you think I do?
I hadn’t really given desert critters a thought that morning as I slipped into my sandals. Now I was beginning to regret my decision. Especially since I owned more pairs of boots than I cared to enumerate. Boots that I brought here all the way from Minnesota. Just in case.
As we walked up the dirt path, I kept my eyes fixated on the ground in front of me, occasionally turning around to see if anything was approaching from behind. Jake was a few steps ahead of me and clearly not in the mood for conversation. With Petroglyph Plaza only yards away, I noticed the sign to my right. It read STAY ON THE TRAIL. POISONOUS SNAKES AND INSECTS INHABIT THE AREA.
No sooner did I look down when Jake spoke.
“Yep! We’re here. Got a big open space we can use. The lookout for the rocks is right in front. We’ve got at least a five- or six-foot leeway before someone takes a nosedive into the canyon. The park ain’t takin’ any chances, either. Looks like they put in new railings. These come up to your waist, not your knees like the old ones. Guess I haven’t been here in a while.”
I glanced over to where the Indian ruins were located. Aunt Ina would want the tent to face in that direction.
“Have the tent open up this way,” I said. “Everyone can look out at the ruins.”
“Sun’s gonna be slightly off to the left, you know. That gonna be okay?”
“How slightly?”
My aunt wanted a dazzling effect for the ceremony, so I figured maybe the canopy could be adjusted.
“What if you set it up so the canopy is dead center to the sunrise and the tent faces the ruins?”
“Yeah, we can do that.”
Hallelujah. The man said they could do that and now I could head off to work.
“Hey, lady. One more thing. You mentioned something the other day about putting some flowers along the pathway leading to the ruins. Whoever’s doing that has to wait till we’re all set up.”
“That’s not a problem.”
I glanced over at the ruins and, for a minute, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. There was a splash of color that seemed out of place. Taking a few steps forward, I decided to catch a better look. Maybe some neat flowers were in bloom and more would be blooming on the day of the wedding.
“Hey, now what are you doing?” Jake sounded annoyed. “Don’t tell me you want to move the canopy over?”
“No, I’m just taking a closer look at the—OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, NO!”
“What the hell? Did you get bit? I told you to be careful! Damn snakes and scorpions.”
“OH MY GOD! It’s a body! A body lying by the rocks. I think the person’s dead.”
“Oh hell. This is really gonna ruin my day. Stay where you are. I’m walkin’ over.”
Jake grumbled about stupid weddings as I stared straight ahead at the figure lying stretched out between two huge petroglyph boulders. Like witnessing a train wreck, I couldn’t seem to pry my gaze off it and found myself edging closer and closer until I got a crystal clear view of the person. Then I really started to scream. This was the third time I had seen that man’s face. First with Rochelle at the restaurant and then on the cover of Phoenix Home and Garden. Now, dead in a petroglyph ditch.
I took another look. This time closer. Then I screamed again.