Desert Moon

By Maria Grazia Swan

When her cat hitched a ride without her, she had no choice but to tail the furry creature...

From award winning author Maria Grazia Swan comes a story of suspense, romance, and one mischievous cat... How does a domestic black cat from Southern California become a stowaway and end up in Phoenix Arizona? That’s what Lella York wants to know as she crosses the desert, pedal to the metal, to bring her cat, Flash, back home. But something about a full desert moon bewitches Lella into staying in Arizona longer than she planned and playing house with the sexy Detective Lawrence Devin who is in Arizona as a special witness for an old murder case. The desert is a land of extremes so it’s no surprise that Lella and Larry brave the heat to chase after a cold case. Throw in a hint of Russian mafia, some attractive flight attendants, and a ferret named Lucy, and Lella realizes what a dangerous place the desert can be under a full moon

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Grazia Swan
• Release date: Mar 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005041427

Maria Grazia Swan

Best selling author Maria Grazia Swan was born in Italy, but this rolling stone has definitely gathered no moss. She lived in Belgium, France, Germany, in beautiful Orange County, California where she raised her family, and is currently at home in Phoenix, Arizona--but stay tuned for weekly updates of Where in the World is Maria Grazia Swan?As a young girl, her vivid imagination predestined her to be a writer. She won her first literary award at the age of fourteen while living in Belgium. As a young woman Maria returned to Italy to design for--ooh-la-la--haute couture. Once in the U.S. and after years of concentrating on family, she tackled real estate. These days her time is devoted to her deepest passions: writing and helping people find happiness.Maria loves travel, opera, good books, hiking, and intelligent movies (if she can find one, that is). When asked about her idea of a perfect evening, she favors stimulating conversation, Northern Italian food and perfectly chilled Prosecco--but then, who doesn't?And then there is her latest attempt at conquering the world of readers-who-love-Italy-and-anything- Italian. Yes, she has a new series out thanks to Gemma Halliday Publishing. The Lella York’s series has released 2 books to date;Murder under the Italian Moon and the newest addition, Death Under the Venice Moon

Book preview

Had country legend Glen Campbell materialized, hopped on a table with his guitar, and sung By the Time I Get to Phoenix, it would have been perfectly acceptable. Such was the mood this evening at the home of Maricopa County Sheriff-elect, also known as America's toughest sheriff. His house sat high on a hill in the town of Fountain Hills, thirty miles northeast of Phoenix, Arizona.

And yes, Glen Campbell had been an unwilling resident of the Sheriff's detention facilities following a DUI arrest back in 2003. After all these years, most of the party guests still spoke of the singer fondly.

Tonight, under a starred early summer sky and minus his uniform with the large-sized stars dotting the collar, the Sheriff was just another nice older man. He entertained these friendly folks with the help of his silver-haired wife, who seemed as respected and liked as her husband. When they stopped by our table, the Sheriff let me know we had something in common—his parents were Italians.

Of course.

I hadn't quite figured out how Larry Devin, the love of my life, fit in with this group of people. A former detective from the Homicide Division of the Sheriff's Department in Orange County, California, retired for about four years, he couldn't possibly have met all these lawmen before retirement, as some looked young enough to be his kids. He'd insisted I join him at the cookout, implying I would get a better sense of Arizona's laid-back lifestyle.

The smell of barbecue lingered and while margaritas were available, most of the men drank beer. You could feel the camaraderie and general cheerfulness all around, yet no one was loud or acting intoxicated. I was still nursing my first glass of wine while studying these two dozen or so professional lawmen and women.

Eighty percent were men, and about twenty percent of them must have come from work, still wearing their uniforms. The rest wore shirts and dress pants, like Larry, their coats and ties hanging from the back of their patio chairs. Of course, no one wore their threads quite as well as my man. He looked as good as, if not better than, the first time I'd set eyes on him—same dark hair, same intriguing, stormy gray eyes.

How we'd lasted this long I had yet to figure out, but I'd enjoyed every minute of it. The chat had switched from crime in general to the rescued pets the Sheriff housed in one of the old jails. The rescued animals had air-conditioning, while most of Maricopa County's inmates did not.

Out of the blue, Flash, my cat's name, came up among muffled laughter.

Apparently, they all knew why I was in Phoenix.

Poor Lawrence Devin.

I had no idea what version of the story he'd told, and so as to not embarrass him in front of the Sheriff's inner circle, I listened, smiled and said nothing.

The startling reason for my impromptu solo trip to Arizona hadn't begun to sink in to my consciousness until yesterday morning just outside Beaumont, where State Route 60 and Interstate 10 intersect. And where I'd found the rest area closed.

Closed. Just when my last hurried cup of coffee wanted to get out.

No logical connection between my need to use the bathroom and my cat's decision to go for a long ride. If Larry's reporting of the discovery was correct, by the time I was done with that pet of mine she would have nine lives minus one. The nerve of that cat.

At first I felt flattered. Larry was retelling the story, probably for the fourth time. Those people gathered around my Mercedes, they must really like the spiffy German car, I thought. But as I got closer, the group split, and no one looked at me with much sympathy. Quite the opposite. Puzzled, I quickened my pace, and even before unlocking the door I could see what they'd been staring at. Flash. My girlfriend's cat.

He rested his arm on the back of my chair, probably his idea of letting everyone know I was the 'girlfriend.' Flash stood on her back legs, on the rear seat, scratching on the window and meowing. A black devil. How did she get in my car? Where did she come from? Could she have been in the backseat the whole time?

As Larry spoke, I had mental images of his expression: confused, surprised, concerned. How about the expression of the bystanders? It must have screamed animal abuse. A mad as hell black cat is not a pretty sight.

Larry sighed, adding to the exaggerated sense of drama. Blythe was past the point of no return, too late for me to drive back to Dana Point. I had to keep my appointment in Phoenix. Many of you people depended on it. So I called Lella and convinced her to drive to Phoenix to get her cat.

A few people snickered. Others stared at me.

How did you manage to keep the cat calm in the car for such a long ride? someone asked. Did you stop to get her food and water? How about doing her business? Did she pee in your spiffy German car?

Now the snickering was louder, turning into open laughs.

I bought a small leash. Well, more like a harness, really, at a pet shop in Blythe. Had no idea they even made such things. And I found out they have designated pet areas at the rest stops off the I-10.

"Well, Devin, if we ever need to transport some convicted felines to California, we'll make sure and call you," a young woman with long, shiny black hair said. She wore a grayish uniform, which according to Larry made her a detention officer

When he'd told me he would have to be in Phoenix as a special witness for the retrial of an old case, I hadn't asked many questions. I assumed someone, either the defense or the prosecution, had hired him. He would get there, do his thing, and come back home to California. Neither of us had expected Flash to put a funny twist on such a simple deal.

While Larry dodged the puns about the badass cat and I kept a straight face through it all, Flash the cat sat in a fancy hotel suite in downtown Phoenix with a pet-sitter hired and paid for by Larry. He'd had to sign the pet-sitter clause for management to allow him to keep the cat in the room.

It will all be over soon.

Come morning, Flash and I would get into my Mustang and drive back to Dana Point, where the midday temperature was about twenty degrees cooler than the night temperature in Phoenix, and I didn't care about the but it's a dry heat slogan Arizonans kept repeating to us visitors.

At first I wanted to grab the cat and drive right back, but Larry had the whole day free, so I'd stayed an extra twenty-four hours. This was the evening of that day. And I was happy he'd insisted I go with him to the barbecue. The Sheriff's fame was well-known throughout most of the Southwest. It was now after 9:00, and we had promised the sitter we would be back before ten.

I was about to remind Larry of that small detail when one burly man who'd arrived wearing a coat and tie and who'd sat close to our table most of the evening checked his cell phone. Fuck.

What? Larry and a few other people looked at the cussing man as if expecting some explanation.

They are here. He drank the last of his beer.

Here? Where? another man asked.

They are driving here, directly from the airport. The burly man seemed to check around, nodding at some of the other men, including Larry.

What was going on?

Lella. Larry patted my hand and seemed to hesitate.

I noticed the Sheriff walking toward our table. He stopped between us and the man with the phone. I heard, the Sheriff said. You can use my office or better yet, the den. Dennis, how many are coming?

Three, cussing-man Dennis said. He turned to Larry. Devin, you should sit in.

Larry's eyes darted from Dennis to me. He nodded. Let me talk it over with my girlfriend.

Every time he called me his girlfriend in public it felt—strange. Not warm and fuzzy, just—awkward. He got up, and we walked toward a secluded side of the yard. With Larry a whole foot taller than I was, people must have thought we were an odd couple. Away from the party I found myself admiring the sky, so dark and yet so clear, each star shining incredibly bright, like probably all stars did before pollution was invented.

What's going on? I asked.

The people from the Innocence Free Project are on their way here. I didn't know they were due in this evening.

Innocence Free Project?

Yes, it's complicated, but they are the good guys. I'll explain it to you later. Here is my dilemma. I can't ditch the meeting—it's very important and we are short on time— but I don't want to have you sit around God knows how long. Can I call you a taxi and get you back to the hotel? I'm very, very sorry. I was looking forward to spending a fun evening with you. He pulled me close.

I can drive myself back to the hotel if one of your buddies can give you a ride, I suggested.

He opened his mouth, and I knew perfectly well what he was about to say. No, I don't want you to get lost. But it must have crossed his mind that I'd just driven four hundred miles through the desert, alone, to get to Phoenix. He sighed. I could give you good directions. Phoenix isn't that complicated. It was built on a grid system and—

Yeah, well, we can discuss all that some other time. We promised the sitter she could leave at ten, remember? Let's make sure you have a ride back, and then I'll get going.

Hey, who are you, and what have you done to my Lella? He laughed that low, intimate laugh that made me feel warm in all the wrong places, and besides, I was already hot and sweaty thanks to the dry heat.

We rejoined the group. Larry spoke to Dennis, who I learned was a lawyer, and once he knew that Dennis would drive him back to the hotel, Larry walked me to the large circular driveway where we had parked the Mercedes.

I sensed his edginess while he helped me slide the driver's seat forward, and he kept repeating instructions regarding the lights and the turning signals. Then he moved on to retelling the directions to the hotel. Thankfully the headlights of a car climbing the hill put an abrupt stop to the lecture, and just like that, he kissed me good-bye, and I was on my merry way down the private road and toward Saguaro Boulevard.

TWO

Saguaro Boulevard might have been a very appropriate street name when Fountain Hills first started out, but on our drive to the Sheriff's home, there wasn't a saguaro in sight. Palm trees, yes, and grass. Such an oddity, green grass in the desert. I noticed the absence of saguaros because of my self-proclaimed familiarity with that gigantic, multi-branched type of cactus.

The first time I saw those huge cacti was on a car trip to the Sonoran Desert, around Yuma. To make it even more interesting, saguaros were only found to the east side of the Colorado River, same desert, different altitude. While by day these examples of nature's wonders were quite imposing due to size and shape, at night against a full moon, they were downright spooky. They reminded me of tall bandits with multiple limbs.

In all fairness I was also very intimidated by the wind turbines populating the hills around Palm Springs. I firmly refused to drive through there at night alone. When driving through those wind farms I found myself thinking of Don Quixote de La Mancha and his fight against the windmills.

Well, no problem driving along Saguaro Boulevard this evening. The only visible silhouettes were of squat buildings and low hills, until I reached the signal at Palisades and Saguaro Boulevard. Larry told me to stay on Saguaro. A straight shot to Shea Boulevard, he'd said.

The Mercedes was the only car around. What a difference between this sleepy town and Dana Point, where I lived. I caught a glimpse of the manmade lake surrounding the famed fountain. I did see the fountain on our way in. Probably not at full power, as it reminded me more of an oversized drinking fountain, shooting straight up. And it only came on once every hour. I bet it was quite a sight at night.

So quiet, no people walking, sort of eerie. The only sound was an annoying buzzing, a lawnmower? So late? I couldn't see anything moving, no motorbike, no cars. The signal turned green, and I inched ahead. Such a peaceful spot. Too bad I couldn't open the windows or the sunroof. It was still too hot outside, so I had the air conditioning on.

And then my world exploded.

I didn't know how or what hit me, but something landed on the roof of the car, the impact so violent the whole vehicle shook, and it felt like the earth shook along with the automobile. Could it be an asteroid? I'd heard a loud whistling nanoseconds from contact. All kinds of crazy scenarios whirled in my head.

I screamed, again and again.

Something coated the outside of the car so completely that I could no longer see where I was going. I tapped on the brakes, put the car in park, and, shaking and sobbing without tears, I reached for my purse and the cell phone.

That's when I noticed it.

In spite of the darkness inside the car, I could see a large indentation on the roof of the Mercedes, between my headrest and the back seats. The bump seemed to be expanding, nearly grazing my head. I shut off the engine and slid a little toward the passenger seat, but the console in between hindered my maneuvering.

9-1-1. What's your emergency?

Oh, my God, something is on the roof of the car, something fell, I can't see. I had problems talking, thinking, breathing.

Ma'am, are you in the car? Are you hurt? What's your location?

I'm parked by the fountain, you know, Fountain Hills? I was driving on Saguaro Boulevard, something fell out of the sky... ah… I have not been drinking… Oh my God, oh my God, the roof is caving in, there is something seeping into the car... ah! It's falling on me, hurry, hurry…

The Sheriff's Department is on its way, ma'am. Do you smell gasoline?

No, no, this stuff is not liquid, I don't know what it is. I can't see. It's dark.

Please remain in the car until help arrives to assess the situation. What is the license plate of your vehicle?

The license? I don't know, it's not my car.

Silence. Is the owner of the car there with you?

No, he is over at the Sheriff's–Ahhh, this stuff is inside the car, it's covering everything. Ahhhh!!!!

I heard noises outside. My heart tumbled in my chest as I observed the powderlike substance slowly filling the car, sticking to my hair. It felt like sand on my lips. Would it ruin Larry's car?

Help is here, ma'am. The officers can see your car. Be patient a little longer.They'll get you out.

I heard a light knock on the driver's window. I'm in here. I'm unlocking the doors.

Ma'am, please stay where you are. We aren't sure what substance is on the vehicle. Are you hurt?

Hurt? I don't know. I'm scared to death, and this powder from the roof is all over me. My throat feels tight.

Sirens screamed in the distance. I couldn't tell how many policemen had responded, but by the voices I knew there were more than a few. Were they whispering? Or was I paranoid? Why wouldn't they let me get out?

The dusty substance kept falling from the cracked sunroof. What was I going to tell Larry? I needed to call him. If only I could see what was happening outside, but the layer of stuff made it nearly impossible to see. What was on the roof that was so heavy to make it cave in?

More sirens, my eyes were getting accustomed to the darkness. I could see flashes of light somewhere in the distance. Oh, it must be the cop's vehicle. I sensed more people circling around the car with flashlights, powerful flashlights. For an instant the inside of the car felt like daylight, and then it faded back to black. It sounded like a circus out there, heavy steps, voices, then my cell phone chimed.

Mrs. York, we are going to open the car door and get you out. Don't be alarmed, we have officers in hazmat suits, okay?

Hazmat suits? They knew my name? What the hell?

The driver's door opened, and yes, I was glad they'd warned me about the men in hazmat suits, or I would have had a heart attack right then and there. It was like a scene from a sci-fi movie, men covered from head to toe and with faces protected by masks. I didn't even know if they were men or women, and what difference did it make anyhow? One of them held my