Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
He put one finger in the air, asking for a moment, his eyes darting between her and Devon as he drank.
There was fatigue behind his gaze. Wariness.
Even stress. Her dad rarely showed strain.
Then again, he had never been one to rough it.
His clothes looked shiny but torn, his stiff hiking boots uncomfortably new.
His white hat was smudged with dirt and sweat like the rest of them, but it was made of cheaper fabric, and it didn’t have the telltale embroidered B.
Instead, a simple yellow Grand Canyon patch adorned its crown.
When Liv’s water bottle was empty, he launched into his tale.
“I never planned to come down here,” he said. “This isn’t really my scene.”
“But?”
“Every couple months, Babette and I meet up to talk business. Two nights ago, we had dinner at the Venetian. We shared some
sashimi, some laughs . . . then, out of the blue, she asks me to come down here with her. Convinced me it’d be fun. She booked
us one of those prop planes that comes with its own Ken doll pilot, and the kid flew us to an airstrip on a tumbleweed ranch
on the North Rim last night. This morning, before the crack of dawn, this guide Marc shows up, no coffee for me, no turmeric
matcha for her, terrible service, but he loads our stuff onto this mule and gives us each a hat and tells us we’ve got a twelve-mile
hike down to reach y’all. Babette, she’s one heck of a trooper. She set a tough pace for all of us, even the mule.”
“Where is she now?” Devon asked.
“That’s the thing. She got a little overheated a few miles back. Nothing serious, but it’s dry in that valley, and we were
running low on water. Marc told me to go ahead with the mule to get more water from you or from the creek and then to retrace
my steps back to them. He said he’d help her take a break and get cooled off before they continued down.”
He squinted back up the trail, as if he could will Babette and the guide into view. When they didn’t materialize, he shook
his head. “Then I got turned around. Never found you, or the creek. The guide told me I’d reach a patio within an hour, but
it’s been four hours at least, and I don’t see no cabanas.” He flashed Liv a rueful smile. “Can you believe it? Your dear
old dad wandering in the wilderness?”
There were at least seven things Liv didn’t believe about the story her dad was telling, chief among them the idea that he decided on a lark to hike twelve miles into the center of the earth.
“The last you saw her was four hours ago?” Devon said.
“Thereabouts. I figured they’d be all cooled off and rested and drinking activated charcoal margaritas with your group by
now.”
So Babette’s two companions weren’t hit men. The way Guy was talking, it sounded like Babette had come to him for help. That
she trusted him. Which meant either he’d lied about what he could do for her or he’d legitimately helped her out in the past.
Or both. Guy Chisholm’s signature cocktail was a blend of enthusiasm and exaggeration, shaken into stirring performances.
Liv was still staring at him, trying to make sense of the situation, when she heard footsteps approaching from below.
“Good. You found him.” Big Pete was breathing hard. Then he took a closer look. “You’re not Charlie. Who the hell are you?”
Her father winked, bemused. Liv was already exhausted by how rapidly he could flick on the charm. “Guy Chisholm, at your service.”
“He was traveling with my sister and your mule guide, Marc.” Devon was looking carefully at Guy, assessing him. “But Babette
got overheated, and Marc told him to find us.”
Liv turned to her father. “Is there anything Marc said about where he would take Babette to rest? Or just that you should
look for us?”
Guy scrunched up his forehead in a pantomime of remembering. Liv had no clue if he was actually thinking back or just pretending
to do so while he conjured the most profitable story for the moment.
“He told me if I didn’t run into you, I should head for Deer Creek Patio. There’d be lots of water there. But he also said
something about how a queen like Babette deserved a throne.” He smiled at Devon. “Your sister really is extraordinary, isn’t
she? Even the guide could see it.”
Big Pete gave him a quizzical look. “There’s a place he could have been referring to. But I didn’t think Marc had ever hiked
down from the North Rim before.”
“Maybe someone told him about it?” Devon said.
“I suppose so. It’s close. Right over there.” Big Pete pointed across the trail to the cavernous maw where the hillside gave way to blank space.
“Let’s get the others and check it out,” Devon said.
Guy took off without waiting for the others. Liv followed him. Ten minutes later, they arrived at a broken amphitheater of
stone. It was less landmark than vacancy, a cavity yanked from the jaw of the canyon.
“I don’t see her,” Guy whispered.
Liv kept doggedly moving forward. This whole park was an upside-down world. Every other natural wonder she knew of grew up
from ground level. Mountain peaks. Granite towers. Forests of shimmering red pine. The Grand Canyon was the opposite. Instead
of shooting up, it plummeted down under the world, tunneling out caves and rivers, absence and emptiness.
Liv peered across the barren void, trying not to question. Trying not to doubt. Hunting for something—anything—in the nothing
chiseled away. But it was no use. The fading sun sliced across the empty bowl before her, blinding her to everything but the
sharp edges of the orange rocks, bleeding red in the afternoon light.