Chapter 1 (Mom's Story)

Hello and thank you for taking the time to look at this. My mother has recently retired and she is doing some writing in her spare time. I told her this was a great site where she might get some feedback and reviews. She says she isn't quite ready to hear negative comments. {c=khaki}Her skin hasn't toughened up yet. Anyway, I want to help her but I'm just not that good with specific details. I've told her to work on her active voice versus passive voice... but I was hoping some of you could provide some good starter points and maybe some grammar pointers so that way she knows what to keep in mind.

Again, thank you for your time

Chapter One

“Burn Him! “Bring out the fire! “Burn Him! Burn Him!” Burn! Burn! Burn! Anticipation was heavy in the air and the crowd was going nuts as the chanting continued until it roared with intensity.

Zozobra moaned while turning his spooky face back and forth, as if looking for that one person in the mass, and then he aimed his pointy finger right at Jet. A shiver whispered down her spine. The wind was picking up blowing the soft tendrils that had escaped from her heavy braid to brush them across her face, as if shielding her from the ghostly giant. She usually was a full participant in the barbaric festivity, along with her sister, Jaz. But this year she was working while the fifty foot marionette was about to be torched to meet his annual fiery demise, and Jaz was out at one of the pueblos helping track down someone’s escaped 5 ft pet savannah monitor. Her mind was working overtime. They better burn him soon, before the wind spoiled everyone’s fun.

Old Man Gloom was resurrected every year since 1924, and every year the good citizens of Santa Fe set him on fire and burned him down to ashes to drive away all gloom and depression. Somewhere along the line, someone got the idea of filling him with mortgage papers and notes that contained individuals’ secret scribbles of problems and worries to be burned away as well. Jet wished she had dropped a note for her sister Jes, the baby of the family, because she sure as hell didn’t know how to help her.

Beside Jet, a group of mildly intoxicated sorority sisters screamed, “B-u-u-r-r-r-n!”, then from somewhere behind her came “Eeh Ho Le! Viva La Fiesta!” loud enough to blow out an ear drum. She turned to look at the partier; he would be one of the ones to pass out on the Plaza until Santa Fe’s finest came through and transported the revelers to “Hotel Tequila-Land” to sleep it off. That’s if he was lucky and didn’t end up in the ER with alcohol poisoning.

It was like this every year. The burning of Zozobra kicked off Fiesta for the week following Labor Day weekend. In an attempt to reduce the escalating fiesta crowds and retain the peaceful spirit of Santa Fe, the city had changed the burning to Thursday night from the traditional Friday. The logic being that there would be less drinking by locals who would still have to get up and go to work Friday morning and as for the tourist there would be smaller turn-out. Yeah, right! Jet scanned the crowd, there had to be 30,000 to 40,000 good souls crammed into Marcy Street Park for the festivities. Jet was only concerned with one, and she apparently was on the move. Jet could see her skinny, carrot topped body jockeying for a better view as the popular “Gloomies”, aka Santa Fe children dressed in plain old white sheets, danced their way off of the platform.

Jet moved in closer. She was adept at blending-in, and had the advantage that the crowd was packed like sardines. The chance of being noticed by her ** was pretty slim. The chance of losing her during the human tidal wave that would pour out of the park at the conclusion of the “Old Man’s” demise was incredibly high**. It was imperative that she keep her subject in view at all times.

“Excuse me. Pardon me. Buddy, I need to get through”. She had walked into a human wall. The man was over six feet tall, dark hair that was almost black and he had the most arresting blue gaze that she had ever seen. She paused for a moment to stare up at him in shock, her gaze colliding and locking with his. Jet felt a burning sensation pooling inside of her, and the air seemed to become a vacuum sucking the breath from her lungs. Oh! Be still my heart. The lack of oxygen had moved on to affect her brain cells. What had she been about to say? Sexy, sexy was the only thought she could form and she wasn’t about to let those words tumbled off her lips.

Another wave of “Burn Him!” rang out and broke the sweltering locked eye contact. An exuberant partier pushed Jet from behind shoving her hard into Mr. Steely gaze. She was caught in a vise like grip that ended more like an embrace, her breast pressing into his well muscled chest. Heat flared between them melding their bodies together perfectly.

“Whoa, I’m sorry”, she pulled her self free from the accidental embrace. Her vocabulary had diminished with her loss of brain cells.

“Are you okay?” his face was tanned emphasizing the steel blue of his eyes. Concern etched his face, and tiny little lines formed at the corner of his eyes. His hands remained loosely around her back, sliding sensually lower toward her hips.

Her mouth was as dry as the Sonoran dessert. “Oh I’m just fine”, except for the intriguing thought of tasting those firmly formed lips. Okay where did that come from? Her body was operating on its own agenda.

Jet heard something hit the ground. Looking down she saw something metallic jostling between bustling feet. Crap, her cell phone must have come loose in the shuffle. She was expecting a call from her client at ten p.m. Oh God, I’m working! Shit, where did my subject go? She scooped down to retrieve her phone before it was trampled and shouldered her way past the human wall without risking another steamy staring match.

He was dangerous to her mental state and her rising career. She really didn’t need a man mucking up her life, but acknowledging her body’s still smoldering response a little R & R might be called for.

“Hey, wait!”

Not now, Mr. Steely Gaze. Getting a fix on her subject, she ignored the masculine voice calling to her. Stay focused! You’re working, remember? She moved into action to re-establish her tail and regain proximity to her subject.

Jet always got teased by her sisters for talking to herself. What did it mean when you started having a conversation with yourself in your mind? Nothing good could come of it at the very least, especially when those conversations came with sultry images of Mr. Steely Gaze heating up her bedroom.

“Dammit, I said wait”, an arm snaked through the crowd and caught her arm just above the elbow. His broad hand easily captured her arm and stopped her forward movement, holding her in place.

“Look, I said I was sorry, now get lost! I don’t like being man handled!” no matter how hot the guy was. She managed to jerk free and squeeze further away into the pulsing mass to distance herself from her pursuer.

She looked back to see him steadily making progress following in her wake. Oh great, that’s what I need -- a stalker!

In a way, Jet got paid good money to stalk people *but having the shoe on the other foot was definitely creepy. *But then, she always tried to remain a shadow, never making any of her subjects uncomfortable by letting them know of her presence. She was exceptionally good at her job, which had earned her the reputation as the very best.

Jet was Guardian Investigations; founder, owner and operator. She had built a thriving business specializing in jobs relating to (monitoring) “trust-fund babies”. It had started as a part time thing to earn money while in college. She had applied for a part time position at one of the local banks. Rudy Martinez, one of the bank trustees, had taken a shine to her immediately and offered her a position as his assistant. As a trustee, he managed several trust fund accounts for the rich and famous. Santa Fe was a Mecca for generations of “trust fund babies” drawn to the history, art, beauty, and the new age phenomena that made Santa Fe known as the “City Different”.

One day Rudy had issued a check to one of his wards to pay an outstanding medical bill. Unfortunately the cunning ward had made of with the entire amount of $25,000 to pad his pockets and replenish the allowance he had squandered showing off to some young bimbo that was not even bright enough to be a gold-digger. Jet was young and attractive enough to hang at the viable spots and track down the wayward young man before he squandered the proceeds and created a damaging blemish on Rudy’s otherwise spotless career.

On the third stop of the evening, Jet spotted him with a ditsy big breasted young thing glued to him like wallpaper. She made a call to her boss, and followed her subject comfortably mixing, mingling and when necessary becoming a shadow. She maintained her surveillance until her boss showed up to collect the errant ward and the remaining pilfered funds. No one even noticed or realized her part in the mini drama as it had unfolded, except her relieved and grateful boss.

Mr. Martinez had rewarded her with a generous bonus. Jet had enjoyed the intrigue so much that she almost declined the money. The imperative word being “almost”.
Mr. Martinez later shared some of the details of the incident with friends who also happened to be trustees within the banking community. These men were visionaries who saw endless possibilities and opportunities to utilize Jet’s recently discovered potential.

Seven years had passed, and now at twenty-eight Jet was experienced and skilled at all forms of surveillance and investigation. She had a strong understanding of the mentality and motivation of these young people. They lived off the trusts established for them and under the yoke of the rules that accompanied their every request for finances.

Often the trusts were the result of an estate, but many were the result of a family member unwilling to relinquish control but wanting distance from the recipient. The trustee became the intermediary, protector, mentor, babysitter, warden. Jet had been involved in every aspect and role associated with this unusual way of life.

Jet’s current assignment was twenty-one yr old, Rachel Wilder whose family hailed from Cape Cod. The trustee acting on concern expressed by her family had enlisted Jet’s services to monitor all of her activity. Apparently young Rachel had fallen in love with a starving artist and had jumped head first into an all-out bohemian lifestyle. Currently she was sharing her lover’s passion and living as one of common people willing to scrape and starve in order to fully experience the vagaries of life and art. So far Rusty was getting pleasure from her new lifestyle.

Jet coded all of her files, assigning nicknames in order to keep all subject identities confidential and usually picking a nickname that would only have meaning and significance to her. For this case she had chosen to refer to the subject as Rusty. At times when the light was ebbing or when Rachel moved into shaded areas, her carrot colored hair mellowed to a copper-rust hue.

As Jet moved through the crowd looking for Rusty, she was thankful for the light cast off from the flames erupting as the fire dancer ignited the fifty-foot moving puppet. The mass was totally mesmerized by the spectacle of fireworks and gulping flames devouring the puppet as Zozobra continued to moan and finger point. Hopefully Mr. Steely Gaze had stopped his pursuit and was as enthralled as everyone else.

Off to her right about twenty yards, Jet could make out a flash of carrot color fading to copper-rust. As she narrowed the gap, she was relieved that she had located the subject and resumed her surveillance.

Rusty was clearly in awe and enjoying an experience unlike anything she had ever seen before. The finale included a high-tech pyro tornado. She leaned provocatively against a wiry young man with long curly hair, and intelligent eyes. He had his arms wrapped around her as if to protect her from the chill night air.

Smoke, ash, and sparks filled the air but only filled the party spirit. It was as if the fiery demise of Zozobra had burned away all gloom and worry.

Jet was one of the few in the crowd that was not oohing and awing. She wanted no more than three or four bodies between herself and Rusty, and that included the young man holding her subject. **** Or: that included the potential threat/golddigger holding her young subject.

Rusty’s family feared she had hooked up with a fortune hunter who would use her to get control of the family money. Jet was to observe and monitor the affair, to keep the trustee informed.

So far, they appeared to be a normal young couple spending a lot of time holding hands, whispering to each other and exchanging longing glances. Nothing to report home about.

Jet felt an emptiness inside. The slightest swell of envy coursed through her. Was it loneliness? How could she be lonely? She had three fantastic sisters who were always there for her, and friends -- but no man in her life. Why was that?

The crowd shifted, and the exodus began. So many people trying to push their way to freedom. As tight as the crowd was Jet shifted into the flow of traffic behind her quarry. No one would be making anything other than baby steps until the crowd reached the open streets.

The police were waiting to funnel the crowd and direct traffic down the streets and away from the plaza as much as possible.

Religious groups lined the sidewalks calling out to passersby. One approached Rusty, and she courteously accepted a pamphlet proclaiming the coming end of the world. A few minutes later, Jet watched as another zealot approached Rusty and observed the boyfriend quietly and calmly intercept and deflect the man away from his young love. That earned him some points!

The human tidal wave was spreading out and allowing breathing room. Jet moved into the smaller wave branching off toward the elegant El Dorado Hotel. It was nine thirty. Great, looked like an early night. Maybe Jet would get home early enough to find out if Jaz had survived the monitor hunt.

No such luck. Rusty and her knight continued straight on passing the hotel, unaware of Jet following them.

The crowd had dwindled to some extent. The narrow historic streets filled with cars as people entered the bumper to bumper routes leading away from the plaza. Small groups veered off as they approached various hotels. Chatter and laughter carried the fiesta spirit.

The four streets leading to the plaza were blocked off for Fiesta, open only to foot traffic. The strains of music wafted on the breeze as a band began to play.

For a moment the two young lovers looked as if they might join the Fiesta crowd entering the plaza. After a brief conversation, they headed south down Gallisteo street away from the activities.

Jet moved across the street as the young couple turned onto Water Street. As she rounded the corner, she saw them entire the Atomic Grill/sidewalk café. A guitarist sat on a stool, playing **************

A waitress wearing ratty jeans and a t-shirt seated them under the awning at a table for four. Jet pondered her next move.
*** (Hang out across the street and do surveillance from a distance – or take a table in the cafe) ****
If she moved across the street and planted herself one of the decorative boulders she could mingle with some of the locals chatting there and still keep them well with-in her sight. No one would notice her. The café was quite small and intimate. If she decided to get a bite to eat she could do a little eavesdropping. The drawback to that approach was the unwanted attention she might draw.

Rusty was lost in conversation. It was clear that her attention was focused solely on her struggling artist.

Would he be more aware of his surrounding? Would he figure out they were under surveillance?? A man in love should only have eyes for his lover, right?

Jet made a command decision and moved toward the café.

“Table for one?” the hostess pulled a menu and nodded her head for Jet to follow.

They passed the young couple’s table, and continued toward a table in the corner by the street. Jet took the seat that was against the decorative wrought iron rail that separated the café from the hustle and bustle of sidewalk traffic.

She held the menu so she could keep the young couple in her peripheral vision and heard them place one order for fish tacos to share. Big spenders or just not hungry?

Jet felt the vibration of her cell phone in her pocket. She pulled it out and flipped it open to take the call.

“Gabe! I know your pissed but don’t hang up! We’ve got to talk about this. I need to know which side you’re on. I need to know now, dammit!” The disembodied voice carried desperation and anger.

“Well, hello to you too and I hope you’re having a great day!” Jet used one of her sweet, cutesy voices. Wrong number.

“Who the hell is this? And where the hell is Gabe?”

“That’s a lot of hell isn’t it?” She responded “I don’t know where Gabe is—you got the wrong number! And if I were Gabe, I’d tell you to go to Hell!”

She hung up on the irate caller and set the phone on the table. The waitress cautiously approached to take her order.

“I’ll have an Italian soda – make it mandarin orange, and a smothered burrito with lots of cheese.”

“Red or Green?”

“How hot is your red?”

“Not too bad. But if you want hot and you like Green -- it’s got a bite to it today.”

“Sounds good, I’ll have the green” Jet noticed the waitress looking down at her cell phone. It was vibrating again. She looked at the number, it wasn’t familiar.

Tentatively, in a soft voice she answered, “Guardian Investigations”

“What in the hell is going on? Put Gabe on the phone right now!” It was the same irate caller.

“I don’t know what’s going on, have you been drinking? You keep dialing the wrong number and you’re being a jerk while your at it. Look I’m expecting an important call. Don’t call again!” Jet hung up again and was about to check her call log to see if she’d missed her ten o’clock call when she noticed the young couple looking her direction.

She was in the process of turning around when she felt a presence and strong hand imprisoned her shoulders.

She looked up, straight into the face of Mr. Steely Gaze, stalker extraordinaire! He had a twinkle in his eyes. He was finding something very humorous.

“You want give me back my cell phone?”