Alpine Gamble Read Online Free Page B

answered. “Most of my flock is Navajo or Hispanic or both. The Hopi are more inclined to keep to the old ways. But some of them are willing to listen to the Christian concept of God and can reconcile it with Maasaw, their deity of life. I try to offer a rallying point for mutual understanding, but the more rigid Hopi view me as a Navajo dupe.”
    Had I never lived in Alpine, I might have wondered why people with so much in common couldn't get along. But small-town life had taught me about feuds. I knew members of the same families who not only wouldn't speak to each other, but who spelled their last names differently just for the sake of spite.
    “I still wish you hadn't given Adam that two hundred dollars,” I said, for lack of any cogent advice on intertribal warfare. “It'd serve him right if he got his driver'slicense revoked. He's been nagging me about buying him a car.”
    “Don't worry, Emma,” Ben reassured me. “I'll make him work it off on the dig this summer.”
    The previous year, Adam had been a novice at the Kayenta Anasazi archaeological excavation. He had performed menial tasks for his room and board at the parish rectory. But because my son had shown an aptitude as well as an interest in the dig, Ben had promised to pay him this coming summer. I congratulated my brother on his solution, but issued a warning:
    “I know you weren't going to pay him much,” I said, aware that line one had lighted up again. “Adam will try to finagle money out of you after the first week. If there were any spare jobs in Alpine, I'd insist he spend the summer here.”
    “We'll work it out,” Ben said. “Our flight gets in around noon on the eighteenth. I'll probably talk to you before then, unless I end up as cannon fodder.”
    On that disturbing note, Ben rang off. I picked up line one and heard an unfamiliar male voice.
    “… called while I was with Sheriff Dodge,” said the voice, even as my mind tried to cope with recognition. “Construction should start June tenth. Is that what you were calling about, Ms. Lord?”
    “Oh!” It dawned on me that I had Scott Melville, architect, on the line. “Yes—and no. Milo Dodge hadn't confirmed the start-up date. What I really wanted was to know how far you've come with the Windy Mountain plans.”
    Scott chuckled, a pleasant yet reserved sound. “Not far. Have you hiked up to the pools?”
    I confessed that I hadn't. Scott's tone became businesslike. “That's really rugged terrain. If Fannucci and Levine buy that property, I'm envisioning terraces,maybe built right into the mountainside. It's going to jack up the price by another two mil.”
    “May I quote you?”
    “No,” Scott replied. “Not the numbers. This is for publication? Let's just say that if it's done right—if it can be done at all—it's going to be more than the earlier estimates.”
    “I suppose,” I said in a ruminative voice, “I ought to see the site for myself.”
    “Wear boots. There's still snow around the pools. Hollenberg says it doesn't melt until mid-June. We're talking serious elevation here, like maybe four thousand feet.”
    'Then what's the point?” I asked. “Can they keep a road open more than four months of the year?”
    Scott's laugh sounded forced. “They're talking helipad, maybe a tram. It's their money. I'm just the talent.”
    Vaguely, I recalled articles I'd read over the years in
Variety.
Hollywood people could talk a great line. The Second Coming was not only imminent, it would be shot in Panavision with Dolby sound. Or so the reader would believe by the end of the story. I thanked Scott for his call and hung up.
    With a sigh, I turned back to my word processor. Vida stood in the doorway, her nose wrinkled, as if she could smell a story. In this case, she wasn't quite on target.
    “Damn,” I said, looking up from my screen, “without Hollenberg's okay, all I've got is speculation.”
    “Leonard's an old fool,” Vida declared, removing her glasses, breathing