- The Ties That Bind

- Copyright © 2009 by Andi Marquette

- Acknowledgments

- Chapter 1

- Chapter 2

- Chapter 3

- Chapter 4

- Chapter 5

- Chapter 6

- Chapter 7

- Chapter 8

- Chapter 9

- Chapter 10

- Chapter 11

- Chapter 12

- Chapter 13

- Chapter 14

- Chapter 15

- Chapter 16

- Chapter 17

- Chapter 18

- Chapter 19

- Chapter 20

- Chapter 21

- Chapter 22

- Chapter 23

- Chapter 24

- Chapter 25

- About the Author

- More Andi Marquette Titles

- Other Quest Titles

- Visit Us On Line

The Ties That Bind

by

Andi Marquette

Copyright © 2009 by Andi Marquette

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Parts of this work are fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-935053-79-8 (eBook)

eBook Conversion April 2011

First Printing 2009

987654321

Cover design by Mari SanGiovanni

Cover concept by Donna Pawlowski

Published by:

Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC

4700 Hwy 365, Suite A, PMB 210

Port Arthur, Texas 7764

Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz

Published in the United States of America

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to everyone (you know who you are) who read incarnations of this, including R. G. Emanuelle, who went through the entire thing and found some holes I patched right quick. Thank you, too, to Patty Schramm for editing and to the RCE proofreading and typesetting crew who followed her lead. Many thanks, as well, to Mari SanGiovanni, who continues to make me swoon with her cover designs. Thanks to the muses and to all the quarters where I find inspiration and as always, thanks to you, the reader, for taking some time with me and the New Mexico posse.

The Ties That Bind

by

Andi Marquette

Chapter One

Body found on Navajo Reservation near Shiprock

THE HEADLINE CAUGHT my eye as I skimmed through the local news round-up in the Albuquerque Journal waiting for the coffee to brew. I read the brief paragraph, shifting into research mode. An unidentified white male, possibly mid-late fifties, found dead about ten miles outside the reservation town of Shiprock. Authorities speculated that he'd been dead for a few days and that he'd been hit by a car. He was wearing blue jeans and a red flannel shirt and he carried no identification. Anyone with any information was encouraged to contact Navajo Tribal Police or the Farmington Police Department.

White guy. I puzzled over that for a bit as I leaned on the counter, coffeemaker gurgling next to me. Not to suggest that white guys weren't allowed on the Navajo Reservation. It just struck me as odd that this guy was out there. Even that close to Farmington, the Navajo Reservation had few roads, fewer people, and a lot of lonely space. What was a white guy doing walking around on the Rez in such a state that he was hit by a car and left to die?

I wondered who he was and the logical part of my brain clicked through a myriad of possibilities. Most likely he got himself into a bit of trouble with local rednecks who roughed him up a bit, drove him to the Rez, took his wallet, and rolled him out of a battered pickup along with several cans of beer. Maybe he was drunk and might have tried to get help but instead got the front end of either that truck or a different one. Regardless, whoever hit him kept going.

Nice. What pleasant pre-breakfast thoughts. I placed the newspaper on the kitchen counter, making a mental note to check for more information on this case. It was just the kind of thing I was looking for to include in my lesson plan for one of the courses I was teaching, the Sociology of Crime. I ran a hand through my hair, reminding myself again that it was just three weeks before fall classes started at the University of New Mexico. Where the hell does the time go?

I glanced at the coffeemaker. Almost done. I stirred the eggs and turned the sausages over in the frying pan and adjusted the burner heat while I thought some more about the unidentified man.

Whoever he was, I didn't envy the investigators charged with the task of trying to uncover his identity. Because he was white, he'd be autopsied. Because he was found on Indian land, his journey to the medical examiner's table in Albuquerque might take a while. A dead white guy on Indian land made for bad press for the Navajo, especially if more than just stupidity and callousness was involved here. Like, say, if a Navajo had taken him there and dumped him. Or hit him and kept going. Plus, the traditional tensions between tribal and non-tribal law enforcement sometimes hamstrung investigations of crimes committed on Indian land. Unless the guy was killed elsewhere and just dumped on the Rez.

I turned my full attention to the coffeemaker as it finished and poured coffee into the two cups I'd set on the counter, half-and-half already in them. I skimmed the rest of the headlines but nothing grabbed me or demanded my anal retentive research streak so I tossed it onto the counter just as Sage entered the kitchen. Before I turned around, she slid her arms around my waist and rested her head against my back.

"Hi," she murmured. "Aren't you up bright and early on a Saturday morning, solving the world's problems," she teased. She knew how stuff in the newspaper sent me down paths of conjecture.

I turned around to hug her. "Nope. It gave me time to make you breakfast." I kissed her on the forehead and buried my face in her hair, breathing in her scent, lavender and cloves, and losing myself in the moment with her.

"Not that I'm complaining," she said as she nuzzled my neck, "after last night," she added with a little nip at my throat. Sparks zipped up and down my spine and I ran my hands down her back. She was wearing one of my T-shirts and it struggled--without success--to cover her bare ass.

"Jesus," I whispered. "Two years and I still can't get enough of you." I'll never get enough. I looked down into her eyes, soft brown edged with fire.

"Good." She kissed me, then pulled away, grinning impishly. "My evil plan is working."

"And how." I released her so she could reach around me and pick up a cup of coffee.

She took a sip. "Perfect." She winked. "Be right back."

I watched as she padded out of the kitchen, hem of my tee brushing her ass, brown hair falling around her shoulders, and the athletic lines of her calves and thighs set my heart pounding again. I turned back to the scrambled eggs and sausage, glad I'd turned the heat down on that, at least. I moved the eggs around with a spatula and added more green chile.

"Oh, K.C.," Sage called from the bedroom in a cute little singsong voice.

"Yeah?" I flipped the sausage over.

"What did I do with my zoom lenses?"

I grinned. "By the front door," I called back. A little flush of heat suffused my stomach. By the door, where she'd managed to set the bag last night with one hand while unbuttoning my shirt with the other even as I was trying to shut the door and undo her jeans.

She reappeared in the doorway, smiling. "You know, if this teaching and research gig doesn't work out for you, I could always use a professional assistant of your caliber."

I looked over at her. "My caliber, huh?" I furrowed my brow, pretending to consider her offer. "You don't think I'd be out of your price range?"

She quirked an eyebrow, a gesture that always made me weak.

I made a "somebody help me" face. "Hell, if you'd look at me like that once a day, I'd lug your equipment over the Rocky Mountains barefoot for you," I teased. Except I wasn't really teasing. I'd do it. Naked, even.

She blew me a kiss and left the doorway, no doubt on her way back to the bedroom, leaving me with another spectacular view of her backside. I sighed happily and left the food for a bit so I could take a drink of coffee. I read a few of the headlines in the front section of the Journal. Same ol' political crap and local pronouncements about how poorly New Mexico ranked in terms of education and poverty, nuts doing nutty things, and politicians behaving badly. And that's news...how?

I focused on breakfast again and filled two plates with food then took them out into the large front room that served as both our dining and living rooms, and set the plates next to the orange juice glasses on the table. I crossed the room to the Mexican-style sideboard that held the stereo and selected CD six, closing the cabinet door on the trastero as Ella Fitzgerald started her groove through the speakers. Sage emerged from the small hallway that delineated our bathroom and two bedrooms, wearing one of my baseball caps along with a pair of shorts and my tee. She looked cute as hell. I stared at her, blown away yet again. She sat down and caught my gaze, the look in her eyes reminiscent of the first time we'd met, right here in this house, at a barbecue.

I had been staying in the small cottage out back, once inhabited by my ex, Melissa's, younger half-sister, who had gotten herself in a bit of trouble with a neo-Nazi boyfriend. I'd returned to Albuquerque from Texas to try to help track Megan down, since white supremacist movements were my area of research expertise. Sage and her then-roommate Jeff Abeyta lived here in the big house, and Jeff invited me over. But Sage already knew who I was. She knew a lot of things about me through Megan, and through her secret Sage-way of knowing things. I tried not to fall in love with her. Really tried. And I failed miserably. Thank God. I exhaled and sat down next to her. In a nice twist, Jeff was still in the family, in a way. He now lived in the cottage out back.

Sage looked at me and took a bite, nodding and smiling. "This is so good."

I grinned. "High praise, coming from you." I took a bite as well. Huh. Not bad at all. Though Sage remained by far the more gifted chef of the two of us.

"Have you heard from Kara?" she asked between bites, shifting topics in typical Sage fashion.

I rolled my eyes. "Not since Wednesday. She's threatening to show up sometime next week. But you know how she is."

Sage smiled.

"Oh, hell. Forgot the bagels." I pushed away from the table and returned to the kitchen. Sage didn't like hers toasted, but I did, so I put half of one in the toaster and held the other while I rummaged in the fridge for the cream cheese. I brought both to the table, setting the bagel half on Sage's plate and the cream cheese next to her. The toaster popped and I went to retrieve my bounty. I returned and took my seat again.

"Thanks, hon." She glanced at me. "So we should expect her to get here any time between Monday and Friday," she continued as she slathered cream cheese on her bagel.

I watched, wondering how the hell it was possible to find something like cream cheese on a bagel so damn sexy. Maybe it was her fingers. "Who?"

"Kara." Sage looked up at me, and her expression told me I was busted in my reverie about her. "Your younger sister? In California?"

I grinned sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. Her."

Sage raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"I'll try to get her narrowed down to a thirty-six-hour window. But you know how she is." I sighed and took the last bite of my eggs.

She smiled again. "I do. But you know you love her."

I shrugged.

"Let's see...what did your mom call her...Ah. A 'free spirit.' I seem to recall she said the same thing about someone else in your life. Now who could that possibly be?" A little smile danced at the corners of her mouth. She took a bite of her bagel.

"You're different," I said, reaching for the cream cheese.

Sage regarded me, waiting for me to remove my foot from my mouth.

"Kara's my sister. I'm supposed to express long-suffering frustration about her freaky tree-hugging self. Sibling rivalry and all that." I spread cream cheese on my own bagel.

"'Freaky? Tree-hugging'?" Sage giggled. "This from Miss Where's-the-free-trade-coffee?"

I shrugged, trying not to laugh as I took a bite of my bagel.

"Miss 'honey, don't throw that away, you can recycle it'?"

I swallowed and flashed a grin at her. "But at least I'm not living in a redwood."

"I thought Kara finished that campaign."

"She did. But still." I picked up my coffee cup. "Don't worry," I said, catching Sage's eye. "I'll call her and find out when she'll be breezing into town."

Sage air-kissed me.

"Hey," I said, changing the subject, "does that artist friend of yours still live up near Farmington? The Navajo woman?"

"That narrows it down in that part of the state," Sage responded, eyes twinkling. "And yes, she does."

"You think she'd be willing to talk to me about something completely unrelated to art?" I set my cup down on the table and Sage looked at me, waiting for me to drop whatever nutty idea I had into her lap. "No, nothing crazy," I assured her. "I just don't know that much about Navajo beliefs surrounding death and I was thinking about incorporating some stuff about the Navajo Rez and jurisdiction over violent crime into one of my classes this fall."

"What the hell did you read in the paper this morning?" she teased, bumping my leg under the table with her foot.

"The usual. Destruction. Mayhem. And that's just politics." I grinned at her.

"I had to fall for an academic," Sage said in an exaggerated stage whisper. "How did that happen?"

"I'm sort of charming." I batted my eyelashes at her.

"True. And fucking sexy," she said in a tone of voice that always made my insides melt.

I blushed and she laughed. "Ellen Tsosie," she pronounced. "I'm sure she'll enjoy enlightening you. Bilagaana provide her with endless amusement." She took a sip of her coffee. "I'll get her e-mail address for you."

"So us white folk make her laugh but she doesn't mind helping us out? Cool." I reached for my bagel. "And she's not on the Rez?" Most of the Navajo Reservation had little access to electricity, let alone computers.

"A lot of her family still is. She lives in town, though." Sage finished her coffee and stood. "Thanks for breakfast, honey. It was great." She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. I blushed again and Sage laughed as she took our empty plates into the kitchen.

"Don't worry about it," I called after her. "I'll clean up. Go get your stuff ready." I stood and picked up our cups.

Sage appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "Thanks, sweets. You're the best." She moved to the table and pulled me down into a long, lingering kiss that left me weak in the knees. I let my breath out when she released me.

"Damn," I muttered.

"Indeed." She pecked me on the cheek and headed for the guest room, which we used as office space and a place to store all her photography gear. I finished cleaning off the table then washed dishes and wiped down the stove. The Journal rested on the counter, like it was waiting for me to do something with it. I wiped my hands off with a towel and opened it to the article about the dead man on the reservation. I carefully tore it out and took it to my desk in the guest room, where I taped it to the edge of my computer monitor as a reminder. I heard Sage in the shower and debated going online and seeing what I could find about Navajo jurisdiction in cases like this when my cell phone rang. I checked the ID and grinned.

"Hey, Detective Rock Star," I answered. "What's up? Your taskmaster boss got you working another icky murder case? And on Sage's art opening day?"

"Hola, esa," Chris said with her customary Nuevomexicana greeting. "Damn, you're psychic. How did I not know that my best friend is psychic after all these years? Jerry did call and I do have to go in to work for a few--love that on a Saturday--but we should still make Sage's opening. We might be a little late, though. Sorry." She sounded frustrated.

"No problem. Not like police work ever goes on vacation. Or Jerry, for that matter. Your boss is way scarier than mine, mujer."

"Not as scary as some of the pendejos I have to deal with outside the police department. Don't get me started on this, chica."

I cleared my throat. "If it's any consolation, you get a lot of them off the street. And you of all people know how slowly the wheels of justice turn."

"I'll be retired before some of these cases go to trial," she grumbled.

"And you and Dayna can hang out on the porch with me and Sage. We'll all have our own personal rockers."

She chuckled. "That'd be a sight. So when are you going up?"

"Soon. We'll leave in about an hour. Sage has a meeting in Santa Fe so she'll drop me off at the gallery and I'll finish getting things set up." I sat down in my desk chair and spun around.

"Sounds good. I'll call you if it looks like we're running late."

"Call the gallery if you can't get through to me or Sage. Cell phone service is iffy up there." I pushed with my feet and rolled on the hardwood floor along the edge of the Turkish rug and ended up near the doorway to the hall, feet propped on the arm of the futon-couch we kept in there for guests.

"Jackson's, right?" Chris double-checked. I heard her moving papers around. "Okay. Dame el número, por favor."

I gave her the number as Sage walked in, wrapped in a towel. She looked at me, expression questioning. I mouthed "Chris" to her and she smiled and reached for the phone.

"Somebody wants to talk to you," I said to Chris before I handed the phone to Sage.

"Officer Gutierrez," Sage said, "I need a favor. Can you bring a couple of bottles of that wine we like? We're not going to have time to get it and I'd like a wider assortment of New Mexico alcohol." She paused, listening, then started laughing. "That's a hard bargain. I'm sure K.C. won't mind if we have another dinner party over here, though." She looked at me and smiled then finished up with Chris. "That'd be great. Thanks. See you later." She handed the phone back to me and left the room.

"You've been Saged," I said, grinning.

"Damn, esa. Nobody can refuse your girlfriend," Chris replied, laughing.

"I know." I pretended a long-suffering air. "If she asked you to hold up a bank, the only thing you'd want to know is when and where." I pushed my chair back across the floor toward my desk, skimming along the edge of the rug again. "Hey, does Dayna want to come up with us, since Jerry's making you go to work?"

"She's at the office today, too. She's got a few big cases coming up and she gets to be the main prosecutor, so she's making sure she knows her shit."

"Like there's any doubt." I rolled my chair across the floor again, this time toward Sage's desk.

"True."

I heard Chris's smile through the phone. "You are so in love," I crowed. "Totally. Big, bad cop chick falls for hard-edged but groovy lawyer. That could be a new program on Showtime. Hot lezzie police detective refuses to believe anyone will ever want her because of the weird hours and nasty shit she has to deal with. Enter hot lezzie attorney with a great laugh who thinks her job is her life. Their eyes meet at a conference and--I see it now. 'Law and Disorder.' "

Chris started laughing again. "I knew there was a reason I've kept you around the last twelve years. Your damn jokes."

"My undying loyalty as your best friend in the whole world isn't it?" I tried to sound hurt.

"Well, there's that."

"Duh!" I laughed as well and rolled back to my desk. My gaze fell on the article I'd taped to the computer. "Okay, quick jurisdiction

question."

"Jesus, Kase. What'd you do?"

"Nothing, yet. I'm preparing, should that come to pass. You know how I am about research."

"Sadly, I do. What's up?"

I pulled the article off the computer. "Dead white guy on the Navajo Rez. Who handles the investigation?"

"Depends. Since he's white--has the medical examiner established that yet?"

"Don't know. I assume so, since it says in the paper that he is." I scanned the text again.

"Okay, so operating under that assumption," Chris continued, "how did he die?"

"They don't know. The article says 'authorities speculate the man was hit by a car.' So I'm guessing lots of blunt force trauma and injuries consistent with that."

Chris made a sound in the affirmative. "That's not much info. But here's where it could get sticky. If he was killed on the reservation--and if he was killed by someone who's Navajo--then the tribal police are major players in the investigation. However, since it's a murder on Indian land, the feds could get involved if they feel it's warranted. Serious crimes like that--if a crime was perpetrated--in Indian country mean the feds can follow up, but ultimately, jurisdiction depends on the circumstances of the case. I'm sure the feds will at least check it out. The vic is white--any info on the perp?"

"No. Just speculation based on the victim's injuries. And he was out there for a few days before somebody found him. Isolated road and all. He might have died some other way." I studied the article. Whatever it was, it wasn't "natural."

"Shit. It's hot out there. Decomposition probably didn't help matters any," Chris mused. "It's been dry, though. Monsoons ended three weeks ago." I was thinking aloud, spinning around in my chair. "Anybody know how he got out there?" "No. Ten miles outside Shiprock. No car. No ID. I thought maybe some locals rolled him. I'd argue he was from Farmington."

"Most likely," Chris said, though she didn't sound convinced. "Still, they might have just been screwing around and took him out there then left him there as a joke and somebody else came along later and killed him. And that person might have been Navajo. And it might have been an accident. Maybe whoever hit him didn't see him. Just hit a bump, didn't think anything of it. Since people aren't wandering around out there for the most part, why would whoever hit the guy--if that's what happened--think he'd hit a person?"

I loved bouncing ideas around with Chris. She approached police work the way I approached my own research. She didn't buy into any one explanation unless the evidence led her there. I posed another question. "So since the guy was white, the feds could have jurisdiction over his body. But since they won't know for sure what killed him until after an autopsy, the investigation is either on hold or being handled by tribal police and feds?"

"Since he was white, yes," Chris concurred. "The feds probably get to deal with the body. But this investigation might be problematic if a Navajo killed him. And since the vic is white, Navajo authorities may have already released the body for autopsy."

"But it fucks up the investigation regardless, because the longer you wait--"

"The colder the trail gets. And you know how things are between tribal police forces and federal law agencies. No love lost there. So what's up with this?" she asked, interested.

"I thought it'd make a good case study for my sociology of crime class. How race and the sovereignty of Indian nations can affect how a crime is approached and how it's handled and, hopefully, solved. I like to do 'ripped from the headlines' shit. And since it's a local case, the kiddies might resonate with it."

"I love it when you sound all smart like that," Chris said, laughing. "It does sound interesting. Maybe I'll poke around in that one. I'll see if I know anybody at the Farmington department."

"That'd be awesome, mujer. I might turn this into a semester-long 'see how this shit can affect people today' project thingie."

Chris chuckled. "Nice use of technical terms. Anyway, I've gotta jet, esa."

"Okay, go save the world and all that. We'll see you when we see you." I stuck the article back on my computer monitor.

"Gracias. Hasta."

"Yep. Later, gator." We hung up and I was about to put my phone on my desk when I remembered to call Kara. One ring. Two. Three...voicemail. I sighed.

"Hi, it's Kara. Leave a message and I'll get back to you soon. Breathe, reflect, and have a lovely day!"

"Hey, it's me," I said. "Sage and I need to know when you'll be coming. Give me a buzz when you get a chance. Thanks. Hope you're all right. Later." And you have yourself a super groovy ultra-peaceful day! I hung up and set the phone on my desk, thinking about Kara, who somehow got stuck in the sixties though she was born in 1973.

Nobody on either side of our family knew where Kara's sensibilities came from. My dad's side--the Italian half--gave up on her when she entered high school and proclaimed herself a vegan and started wearing tie-dye shirts she found in second-hand clothing stores. My mom's side--from staid New England stock, some of whom ended up in Texas--wondered what the hell the Italian side did to her while she was growing up. My older sister Joely, who taught literature at a private liberal arts college back East, considered Kara an amusing anomaly and wrote short stories with hippie characters based on her. For my part, I just hoped Kara wouldn't get herself involved in some freaky underground eco-cult that I'd have to infiltrate. I stood and stretched, sighing. I'd done my sibling duty and left a message.

Sage's phone rang in the bedroom and I heard her pick up on the second ring. Thinking I'd save us some time, I started loading her framed photographs--each wrapped in foam and bubble wrap--into the trunk of her Toyota Camry. A few I had to position carefully on the back seat. Twenty-five photos later, I locked the car and went inside. Sage was still talking on the phone, so I headed into the bathroom for a shower. I finished and as I was toweling off on the rug next to the tub, Sage appeared in the open doorway. A troubled expression shadowed her face.

"What's up?" I asked, stopping my drying.

"That was River."

"Is he okay?" I searched Sage's eyes. "No run-ins with Montana wildlife on guide trips?" Sage's brother sometimes had to deal with that when he took hunters out into the wilderness for the company that employed him.

"He's fine. But he got a letter from Dad." Sage still held her phone and she tapped it rhythmically against her thigh.

"A letter? Your dad hasn't contacted either of you in years." I stated the obvious.

"He read it to me. It's really strange." Her eyes clouded.

As I waited for her to continue, I finished drying off and hung the towel on one of the hooks we'd installed.

"He--Dad--said he was sorry to bother River, but he just wanted him to know that even though he'd been a bad father, he hoped that River and I didn't carry that around and let it mess us up."

I leaned against the sink, watching her face. Sage hadn't addressed her baggage with her dad much over the two years we'd been together.

"Which was fucked up enough. But then he said that there was something going on where he works, something that's not right and it could hurt a lot of people and he was thinking about telling someone about it."

"Where's he working?"

"Ridge Star Drilling. And you'll love this. In Farmington." She shook her head, obvious distaste on her elegant features.

I stared at her. "Your dad's in New Mexico? How long?"

"Don't know. It wasn't in the letter."

"Okay, wait. So he writes to River to apologize for being a shitty father and to talk about something bad at a place he works?" I frowned, puzzled.

"I know. But it gets freakier. He said that if anything happened to him, chances are it was because of what's going on at work."

I ran a hand through my damp hair. "Is he suggesting that someone's going to whack him for whistle-blowing?" My thoughts jumped to the article I'd cut out of the paper that morning. Body on the Rez. White guy--hell, no. Just a coincidence. I pushed that thought way to the back of my mind.

Sage's eyebrows raised, lips curved in a wry smile. "Apparently so, Ms. Corleone." She closed the distance between us and pecked me on the cheek. "I just love it when your Italian side shows itself."

"Sorry, honey. I'm not trying to make light of this. It's just--"

"Bizarre."

"Good word. So did he say what's going on at Ridge Star?" Like it's something we need to worry about. Or can do anything about.

Sage pulled away and motioned me toward the door. "I'll tell you more while you get dressed. We're running a little late."

I padded into the bedroom and dressed in my usual summer outfit. Cargo shorts, tee, and Birkenstocks while Sage talked.

"He said that Ridge Star was covering up safety violations and that there have been a few injuries and two deaths at the site in the last three months and the company covered up the cause, which my father seems to think was the result of bad management and faulty equipment that Ridge Star didn't want to pay to have fixed."

"But most everybody knows the oil and gas industry isn't the safest job on the block," I said. "I mean, some of those companies are very bad about safety. And the nature of the jobs themselves--it's a wonder more guys aren't killed or maimed. It's like mining." I put a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt in a duffle bag, positioning them over my black cowboy boots. My outfit for the evening.

"True. But he seems to think that this is a conspiracy, beyond just the usual shit in the quest for a profit," she said dryly.

"So what the hell are you and River supposed to do about it?" I picked up the duffle bag, irritated that this asshole from my girlfriend's past was putting this heavy trip on her.

"I don't know. He said that he's sorry for laying this on us, but he wanted somebody to know in case something happened to him and he doesn't trust anyone else."

"He put that in the letter?" There's an irony for you. He doesn't trust anyone.

Sage nodded and turned toward the doorway. I picked up her duffle bag from the bed and followed her to the front door. "River said he sent pictures," she said, voice strained.

"Of what?"

Sage opened the heavy inner front door then the security door. I preceded her onto the porch. "One of himself and--this is fucked up--one of each of his arms."

I watched as she locked up. "His arms?" What the hell?

She regarded me, an uneasiness in her eyes. "On one, he's got River's name tattooed and on the other, mine."

"Holy shit. Why the hell did he want you to know that? Proof that he's loved you, even though he's been an abusive drunk and an absent father most of your lives?"

Sage didn't reply right away and instead she headed down the porch steps to the walk and then to her car, parked on the street. She unlocked it with her key fob and I positioned the duffle bags on top of the framed photographs on the back seat, protecting them further from shifting around. We were in and buckled up before she said anything. She smoothed the dark blue sari she was wearing as a skirt.

"He told River that if something happened to him, chances are that whoever messed him up would try to make him harder to identify." Her tone was brittle as she started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

I reached over and squeezed her thigh. I didn't know what to say to that. She covered my hand with hers briefly, before she had to shift. I watched her, knowing she was thinking about this, sorting through the various emotions that her father triggered.

"It's not fair of him," she muttered as she turned left onto Carlisle. "Putting this responsibility on us. He's never acted like we were family. Now he puts this obligation on us."

I left my hand on her thigh, letting her know I was listening and giving her the space to vent. She exited onto eastbound I-40 and accelerated, glancing over her left shoulder. She settled into her seat and flashed a smile at me. "Time enough to think about it later." She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "We have an exhibit to put together and a reception to enjoy." She turned on her car stereo and the gritty but soft voice of Robbie Robertson emanated from the speakers, doing his mellow, Native American-tinged rock.

"Damn right," I agreed. I took her hand and we spent the rest of the drive singing along to the CD and talking about the gallery layout and Sage's meeting in Santa Fe that afternoon. By the time we got to Madrid, the strange letter had faded into the background of my mind.

Chapter Two

I STEPPED BACK, appraising the framed photograph. Still crooked. I reached out and shifted the bottom left-hand side just a tad. I checked it again and instead got caught up in the image itself, in the splash of sunset on the southwestern canyon wall and the sparkle of light on water. I liked pairing this with one Sage had taken in the Amazon basin. The contrast of browns and reds with greens and blues made your eyes travel back and forth between them, appreciating the contrasts but also finding similarities in the curves of the different landscapes.

"K.C.," came Maureen Jackson's voice behind me.

I turned. "Yeah?" I smiled at her. She stood a couple of inches taller than me and she wore her short blond hair spiked, which made her seem even taller. Her left ear carried at least seven piercings, all silver studs that increased in size from top to lobe. One silver hoop graced her right ear. Her faded black t-shirt bore an image of Che Guevara. Groovy New Mexico art woman. That was Maureen. She and her husband Dan ran the gallery.

"I just wanted to introduce you to another one of our fabulous gallery personages," Maureen said, smiling. "This is Shoshana. If you need anything, let her know. She's my right hand around here." Maureen indicated the newcomer with a sweep of her arm.

Hippie nature girl, I categorized. The kind of cute that appealed to both men and women. Maybe I'd bring Kara up here to bond with her in a drum circle. Her dark mahogany hair hung just past her ears, several strands died royal blue, which worked on her. She wore a light blue skirt and a plain white v-neck tee that accentuated her tight, compact build. The pendant that hung on the leather thong around her neck looked like jade and it matched the color of her eyes. She stood a few inches shorter than me. "Hi." I smiled and extended my right hand. "I'm K.C. Nice to meet you and thanks a bunch in advance."

She took my hand in hers and squeezed gently, holding on a little too long. "Absolutely no problem at all," she responded in a voice that hid traces of laughter and mystery. "My pleasure." She slowly released my hand.

Whoa. Strange vibe. I cleared my throat and shifted my attention back to Maureen.

"Do you need help hanging the rest of the photos?" Maureen asked, hooking her thumbs on the front belt loops of her jeans.

"No, but thanks," I said. "There're just a few more."

Maureen looked at her watch. "You've got plenty of time before the opening. Have you had lunch? I can get you something at Back Road. Good pizza, you know," she coaxed.

"I'm fine." I smiled. "But if you maybe have a Diet Coke stashed somewhere?"

"I'll take care of it," Shoshana said before Maureen had a chance to respond. She brushed past me and disappeared through a curtained entrance into the back rooms of the gallery.

Maureen shrugged with a "well, all right, then" expression. "I'll leave you to it. I have to check on the food for later." She left by the front door and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as it closed behind her. No buffer between me and hippie nature girl with the intense energy. I glanced at the curtain that separated me from Shoshana and set to work again. Maybe she'd ignore me and do important art gallery things. I crossed the concrete floor to the pale blue wall the last three images that I had yet to hang leaned against.

I picked up the one in front--a stunning shot of Taos Pueblo at dawn--and carried it to the place Sage had demarcated before she left for Santa Fe two hours ago for a meeting with a foundation representative. Sage's photographic expeditions received lots of funding from a variety of sources because she was good. No, better than that. Superb. Her work was often featured in magazines like National Geographic and Outside. Most recently there had been a write-up about her in New Mexico Magazine, and it had plugged this opening at Jackson's Gallery, a walled adobe gem amidst the preponderance of ramshackle clapboard structures of Madrid.

I stood looking at the photo for a while, remembering when Sage took it last fall. I loved this picture and I always felt Sage's presence in it, felt the way things I couldn't see spoke to her. God, I love her. I grinned, knowing I looked completely goofy.

"Nice," came a low voice behind me.

"Very," I responded as I turned toward Shoshana. She regarded me as she handed me a can of Diet Coke. "Thanks," I said as I opened it and turned back toward the photo.

Shoshana stood a little too close as she leaned over my left shoulder, studying the picture. I caught a whiff of sandalwood.

"She does great work," she said, studying the image. "It's so nice having her featured here. Our little gallery in Madrid." She pronounced it as New Mexico locals did, with the emphasis on the first syllable. Mad-rid, rhyming the first syllable with "bad." The pronunciation shifted somewhere in the coal-mining town's past and stuck.

"She does," I agreed after a bit, smiling. "And getting a show here is ultra-cool." I returned to the last two images I needed to hang and set my can down nearby but out of the way of spillage. Sage worked in both color and black-and-white, though she preferred color. All the stuff she was showing at this opening featured her color work. I hung the picture of the Shiprock formation on the wall. Its vertical spires jutted like a ship's masts into the intense blue of a desert sky.

"It's crooked," Shoshana said behind me. "Here--" she adjusted it and stepped back, nodding. "I've seen a lot of pictures of that." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And they're nice, but they don't really capture the intrinsic energy of it. I have relatives in Farmington, so I've spent a lot of time in that area." She paused, staring at the photo. "This--this is what it is to really be there." She shook her head, impressed. I warmed to her a bit. Plus, she had relatives in Farmington. Maybe she'd know something about Navajo jurisdiction.

"Farmington, huh? Are you from there originally?"

She shook her head. "My uncle married a Navajo woman. I'm close to that side of the family. I'm actually from Phoenix."

"Oh," I commented. "I'm from Flagstaff, though my parents live in Tucson now."

"That's beautiful country up there," she said, appraising me. "How did you end up in Albuquerque?"

"Grad school."

Shoshana nodded. "So is that how you met Sage?"

"No. We met by chance later." I smiled. With Sage, there were no "chances." Things unfolded the way they were supposed to in her world, whether good or bad.

Shoshana waited, clearly interested.

"I was living in Texas two summers ago and my--" I paused, searching for the right word. Melissa, my ex, had appeared at my grandfather's farm two years ago to ask me to help find her sister. "A... friend asked me to help her with something in Albuquerque. So I did and I ended up staying in a place behind the house where Sage was living. You know--one of those guesthouse kinds of places."

Shoshana nodded, a little smile on her lips.

"Anyway, Sage's roommate invited me to a barbecue and--" I smiled. "I did go back to Texas that December to finish some academic business but ended up in Albuquerque again by May."

"That's a good story." Shoshana's eyes seemed to sparkle. "I've met her once," she continued. "At a gallery opening in Santa Fe. She's a gifted artist." Her gaze returned to the image of Shiprock. "And a different sort of soul."

I looked at her, surprised at her choice of words though I agreed.

A Navajo man I'd met briefly when I'd returned to Albuquerque to help Melissa said that Sage carried a rare spirit. I likened her to a force of nature and thanked every lucky star I might have that I met her.

"She sees things most people don't." Shoshana inclined her head toward the image. "It's a treat to show her work here. I have no doubt it'll sell. To the right people." She turned her head to look at me. "What's your favorite photograph here that she's done?"

I didn't need to look at the display. I knew all of Sage's work and had gone with her on a few of the shoots. "The canyon." I turned ninety degrees to my right, toward the neutral-color display panel that stood in the middle of the gallery floor. "I have a thing for canyons," I added as I walked the five paces over to the image. Shoshana followed.

"I can see why," she said, studying this picture like she did the one of Shiprock. "She shows us the life in the stone, invites us to touch it. You can see how warm the rock is." Shoshana pointed to a place in the photo where the fading light of the sun pulled the texture of the canyon wall closer to the viewer. "Excellent," she breathed. "Multi-layered, like the natural world."

I smiled, glad Shoshana appreciated Sage's work. Maybe she was just one of those flaky art chicks, as Sage called them, with an intense off-kilter vibe. I relaxed and left her contemplating the canyon while I went to retrieve the last photo, part of a Baja series Sage did in March. This was a shot of Santa Rosalia, a fishing village on the eastern coast of the Baja that overlooked the Sea of Cortés. I hung it in the spot on one of the other display kiosks that stood about three feet from the canyon shot.

"Crooked?" I asked Shoshana, who was watching me.

"Looks good."

I grinned and stepped back, making sure the spacing between this and its three mates worked for flow. Of course it did. Sage had delineated each earlier that morning, using masking tape to mark where she wanted the bottom corners of the frames to line up on the display panels and walls. Sage always seemed to know what would work in each gallery.

"And the picture's nice, too," Shoshana added in the silence, flashing me a wicked little smile.

"Uh..." I was glad my hair and the brim of my baseball cap hid the flush on the back of my neck though it was probably obvious on my cheeks. I cleared my throat and wished that Sage would walk through the door. No such luck. However, the phone rang. Shoshana cocked her head at me, playful expression on her face. She headed to the back of the gallery, where the reception desk stood, and answered it. She perched herself on the desk's edge, running her hand over the fabric of her skirt as she talked.

I avoided her eyes and instead checked my watch. Almost 2.30. The opening was scheduled for 4.00 that afternoon. Jackson's liked to do receptions and openings on Saturdays, so nobody had to fight rush hour either from Santa Fe to the north or Albuquerque to the south. I returned to my can of Diet Coke and picked it up. I could go stand outside. And walk to the north edge of town. And keep walking toward Santa Fe. Sage was bound to come along eventually. Or some nice Harley dude might pick me up and give me a ride.

Like a message from the gods, the front door opened and Sage entered, taking her sunglasses off as she did so. "Hi, honey. I'm home," she announced, smiling. She placed her sunglasses on the top of her head as she approached, her Chaco rafting sandals scuffing on the concrete floor. I relaxed. My magical nature girl was here to save me.

"Hiya," I said, grinning while my heart skipped a beat. I pulled her into a hug. "How was the meeting?"

She grinned back and kissed me and my lips heated against hers. She pulled away much too soon. "Excellent. Looks like the funding's coming through for my Pacific Northwest proposal."

"That is awesome news." I brushed a strand of her hair away from her exquisite cheekbones and looked down into her eyes. "So, what do you think?" I asked, stepping away and indicating the room.

She affected a critical assessment air though her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Excellent work," she said. "You're hired."

I looked at her, skeptical. "Hmm. What's the salary?"

She took the Diet Coke from me and took a sip. She handed it back and arched an eyebrow. "I think we can work something out," she said in a low throaty voice that always sent little tingles up my thighs. "With benefits, of course."

I was about to say something else when Shoshana interrupted.

"Hi--" she started before Sage interrupted her.

"Shoshana, right? You were at my Medicine Man Gallery opening. I didn't realize you were at Jackson's." She offered a smile that could charm the quills off a porcupine and extended her right hand, which Shoshana took, impressed that Sage remembered her.

"That's right. About a year now," Shoshana said by way of explanation. She released Sage's hand much faster than she had mine. "I was telling K.C. how excited we are to have you and your work here." She smiled. "And if you need anything, just let me know."

"I will. Thanks. Is everything ready or can I make a supply run?"

"Oh, no. Maureen's finishing up and should be back any minute. It only takes a couple minutes to get the tables set up and Dan already has the drinks ready. We'll have some outside in the courtyard, but most of them, and the food, will be in here, along the back wall." She gestured toward the tables covered with linen cloths near the curtained entrance into the back. "And you're welcome to change in the back."

"That's nice of you. Thanks." Sage regarded her warmly but I thought I saw something else in her expression though I wasn't quite sure what it was. I smiled at Shoshana as well but slid my arm around Sage's waist. She didn't miss the gesture and a momentary awkward silence ensued.

"If you'll excuse me," Shoshana said, breaking the moment first. "I need to do some last-minute things. I just wanted to make sure I had a chance to introduce myself."

"Of course," Sage responded. "Thanks again. See you in a few."

Shoshana inclined her head and returned to the desk, partially visible around one of the display panels. Her skirt swirled around her ankles as she walked, the heels of her clogs making flat sounds on the floor.

"So," Sage said to me. "Burger at the Mine Shaft?" She waggled her eyebrows and brushed a kiss across my lips.

"Who can refuse an offer like that?" I followed her through the front door, pulling it shut behind me. We walked through the adobe-walled courtyard and emerged onto the one paved road that swung lazily through Madrid--New Mexico Highway 14, often referred to as the Turquoise Trail. Directly across the road squatted the Mine Shaft Tavern, a legendary bar bursting with bikers every summer where I'd tied a few on during my University of New Mexico days. It was well worth the fifty-mile drive from Albuquerque to hang out in a place where a sign stated "In Madrid, there is no town drunk. We all take turns." That and the green chile burgers ensured that the Mine Shaft retained a place of honor in my heart. A herd of Harleys sat out front in the dirt parking lot and music and laughter blared from the large, covered porch.

Just past the Mine Shaft, Highway 14 curved to the left and various nineteenth-century structures resurrected from Madrid's past lined the road, most painted in bright pastels or primary colors. Many served as quirky art galleries and weird little shops, but a few were residences whose inhabitants displayed a special kind of patience during summers, as tourists often peeked in the windows. Cars lined both sides of Highway 14, making their own parking spaces, often jutting a bit into traffic. Which was okay, since nobody drove over fifteen miles per hour through Madrid. It was one of the unspoken rules here. Tourists caught on fast because locals would make sure they did. Jackson's courtyard wall hugged the roadside on the southbound end of that curve, making a nice target for drivers who might not be paying much attention to the road, instead trying to avoid pedestrians and the town dogs who wandered back and forth from one side to the other.

We waited for a minivan to pass before Sage pulled me across the road toward the Mine Shaft where we ascended the steps to the porch, past the Harley crowd and into the dark interior.

I PULLED MY cowboy boots on and arranged the legs of my jeans over them. Lucky for me, the Jacksons had thought to put a full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door and I inspected myself. I ran my hands through my hair, trying to arrange it in some semblance of professionalism. I wear it not too short and not too long. Lately it was hanging just past my jaw line. Sage referred to it as "wavy" and though I just said "dark brown," she said "dark chestnut," which I thought sounded nicer.

I ran some water over my fingers and raked them through my hair again. Thank God I'd thought to bring gel. I doctored my hair a bit more and inspected myself one more time. I had just bought this shirt last week for this occasion. A loose-fitting off-white button-down. Multi-colored Guatemalan embroidery decorated the banded collar and shoulders. I smoothed it a bit, checked to make sure my belt buckle wasn't off-center, and picked up the duffle bag that held the clothes I'd had on earlier.

I unlocked the door and emerged into the back area of Jackson's, where Maureen, Dan, and a couple of guys I didn't recognize were running around in a controlled chaos, carrying veggie trays, bowls of fruit, and bottles of wine. I checked my watch. Quarter to four. Trying to stay out of people's ways and avoid the various artwork and bubble-wrapped objects stacked on the floor against almost every wall, I emerged into the main gallery, where Sage was helping set the food out on the tables.

She had changed into a lightweight faded red skirt that moved and fluttered around her calves with every air current. She'd chosen a long-sleeved cream-colored blouse cut to hug her sides, emphasizing her shoulders and back. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and I saw the silver bracelet I'd bought her last Christmas on her right wrist. Sage had opted to pull her hair back into a pony tail. Her leather hair tie was decorated with a silver concho. Simple but elegant. I loved watching her at these events because she was Zen personified. In the midst of absolute freak-out, there was Sage, utterly at peace and at home in the world, doing what needed to be done, unchained but somehow down-to-earth. She finished arranging the paper plates and napkins and glanced over at me, as if she'd known the whole time I was watching her. She probably had.

She smiled at me.

I held my duffle bag up. "I'm going to put this in the car. Do you need anything?"

"You." She closed the distance between us and kissed me on the cheek. "Mmm--" she breathed. "My girlfriend is so fucking hot," she said, pulling back to study me.

"Aw, shucks, ma'am."

"I love when you wear your boots." She arched an eyebrow and her smile lit up her face like a promise. We both heard Maureen's voice in the back, yelling something. "Wait a sec," Sage said, holding up an index finger. She pushed through the curtain covering the doorway. I moved over to the tables, looking at the trays piled high with veggies, fruit, and cheese, all covered with plastic wrap. And a plate of brie. Yum.

"You look nice," Shoshana said as she came up behind me and placed a plate of crackers next to the brie.

"Thanks. This is my quota for the year. After this, it's back to looking like a desert dog." I tightened my grip on my duffle and hoped she didn't notice that I'd taken a little step backward.

She crossed her arms, eyes drilling into mine.

No way. I will not break first... How mature. A stare-down with Art Chick.

A slow smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Do you always act like this when someone notices you?"

I started to say something but she raised a hand and brushed my thought aside. "Maybe you don't want to hurt my feelings."

Help me, I prayed to whatever deity might be listening. "I don't like to hurt anybody's feelings," I said, finding my voice. I put on my most charming grin. "It's not good manners." I regained my footing. "And I'm a sucker for good manners." I turned before she could respond and moved toward the doorway that led to the back just as Sage brushed the curtain aside.

"Crisis averted," Sage said. She looked at me, playful, and her expression shifted. She threw a glance at Shoshana, then studied my face again. Sage smiled, the look in her eyes softening. "Averted here as well, I see."

I nodded, relaxing. "So do you need anything? Everything okay?"

"Much better, now. I'm going to help Dan with the wine." She winked at me and returned to the back. I sighed, relieved, and headed for the front door. People were already arriving. I hoped there was a large turn-out.

I exited the patio and went left, toward Opera House Road, a dirt strip lined with old miners' shacks that had been refurbished. Madrid had an odd history. A true late-nineteenth-century boom town, it tanked after World War II because coal production shifted elsewhere. It was literally a ghost town until the 1970s, when wandering artists and other so-inclined people discovered it nestled in the Ortiz Mountains north and slightly east of Albuquerque. Many of the miners' houses had been re-done, though a few still stood abandoned amidst their more lively neighbors.

I turned right onto Opera House. Sage had parked here, squeezing close to a cinderblock wall somebody had built across from the houses. I put my duffle bag into the trunk and locked up as a sleek newer-model SUV bumped past, its driver no doubt looking for parking as well. I returned to Jackson's and made myself unobtrusive but useful while Sage worked the crowd, which was growing larger by the minute. By 4.30, the gallery was packed, filled with the drone of voices, laughter, and soft jazz through a couple of large speakers near the food.

"¡Esa!" said a familiar voice.

"Hey! You made it with time to spare." I grinned at Chris, who pulled me into a quick hug.

"I love these things. And I love you two, so missing it wasn't an option." She patted my abdomen.

"You still clean up good," I noted as I pretended to assess her outfit. Black trousers, light blue denim shirt, and classy black shoes. Tall, dark, and handsome. Chris's dark mop of hair fell past her ears and a lock or two always hung over her forehead, giving her sort of a playful, boyish air. "Damn, you could be a model for GQ," I teased.

Chris rolled her eyes. "Please. I had to find something to wear to compete with you."

I glanced down at my faded jeans and cowboy boots. "Oh, for sure. Kenneth Cole versus cowpie. I see why my fashion sense would concern you."

"Nobody looks as good as you in boots and jeans, girl. Not even me. And that's saying a lot, hot as I am." She laughed.

"It's the shirt," Sage announced. She gave Chris a hug before turning back to me. "Or maybe it's just you." She quirked an eyebrow at me and I felt a little blush work its way up my neck.

"Thanks for coming," Sage said to Chris. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"Wouldn't miss it. And no, I haven't."

"Food's along the back wall," I said, gesturing.

A woman with lots of blond hair and a tight black dress put her hand on Sage's forearm. "Honey, could you come here? I want you to meet somebody," she said in a loud Texas accent.

"Absolutely," Sage responded politely. She blew an air-kiss at me as she moved off into the crowd.

Chris grinned and looked around the gallery. "Damn, lots of people here. That's some good news for Sage."

"Very good news. Where's Dayna?" I looked past Chris toward the front entrance.

"Schmoozing." Humor danced in Chris's dark eyes. "Oh, I mean networking. You know how lawyers are." Chris beckoned with her chin and I followed the gesture. Dayna was talking to a couple of women who appeared to be in their fifties.

I smiled again. Dayna was good at that sort of thing. She was wearing one of her artsy-professional outfits--she pulled that shit off really well. Cowboy boots beneath a flowing black skirt and a casual rose-colored shirt. She had her long light brown curly hair pulled back from her face and a pair of blue Euro-frame glasses on. I knew their color matched her eyes. I glanced at Chris, who was watching Dayna with an expression I thought I'd never see in her eyes. I smiled again, grateful to whatever forces brought Dayna into Chris's life.

Hey," Chris said absently, still looking at Dayna. "I gave the wine to some woman with blond spiky hair--Maureen." She turned her gaze back to me.

"We'd better go get some, then," I said, turning toward the back wall. "That stuff's good and it'll go fast."

"Not to worry. There are two more bottles in the car for you and yours. I wouldn't think of depriving you." She grinned.

"You are the best. You want anything?"

"If they've got a Diet Coke over there, that'd be great."

"Sure. What about Dayna?"

"She's got a glass of something. Hey, I'm going to check out Sage's stuff. I don't get to see much of it on display like this." Chris flashed me a smile.

"By all means. Catch you in a minute." Secretly, Chris was an art fiend. And a talented artist in her own right, though she never talked about it. She preferred to work in pen-and-ink, but she enjoyed looking at all media. I'd nag her now and again to let Sage hook her up with some of her art friends to get Chris a gallery showing in Albuquerque, but she always refused, telling me the same thing every time: "It's just a hobby, esa. I prefer to keep it that way."

I made my way through the knots of people toward the back wall. Dan stood behind one of the tables pouring glasses of wine. The plate of brie looked like a pack of wild dogs had fought over it. I cut a small piece from what was left and ate it before I picked up a strawberry and bit into that. Yummy. Three other people grazed across the veggies, talking about somebody who just had a baby. A big plastic tub stood in a corner near Dan's tables, filled with ice and soft drinks and bottled water. I pulled a can of Diet Coke out for Chris and glanced at Dan.

"You have any of that St. Clair cabernet that came in a little later?" I asked, hopeful, scanning the bottles on the table.

He smiled beneath his big, bushy mustache and reached down underneath the tablecloth for a bottle from which he poured me almost a full glass. "Bottoms up," he said as he handed it to me. "Good stuff."

I took the glass in my free hand and raised it appreciatively before taking a sip. I wandered back to the food and set my glass down so I could nibble on another strawberry.

"Nice turn-out," Shoshana said.

I hadn't heard her approach. I chewed and swallowed so I could address her. "Yeah, it is. Thanks for all your help." I set the top of the strawberry on a plate that seemed to be serving that purpose. I picked up my wine and took another sip, still holding the can of Diet Coke in my left hand.

Shoshana inclined her head and reached past me for a strawberry. She bit into it seductively, keeping her eyes on mine.

Whoa.

"I'm sorry," Shoshana said as she set the inedible part of the berry down on the plate. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable earlier." She picked up another strawberry. "You're right. That was bad manners." She looked at me in a way that offered to take me out back and show me a few things that involved close physical contact, manners be damned.

I shrugged and sipped the wine, thinking of the glass as a wall between us. "No problem." I didn't want to give her any sort of play.

"So I guess I should assume you're exclusive."

I stared at her but managed a response. "It's not an assumption. I am."

She smiled, a little sad, maybe. "Too bad." She looked me over again. "If you change your mind--" she reached up and slid a business card that I hadn't noticed in her hand into my shirt pocket. I stood frozen.

"Hey, Kase," Dayna said, smiling a greeting as she approached. She gave me a quick, careful hug so as not to disrupt my glass of wine.

Thank God. "Hi," I said, exhaling in relief. "Thanks for coming."

Dayna glanced at Shoshana like she was going to introduce herself but I gave her a "don't go there" look and fortunately, Shoshana turned to address a question from an older man recognized as a representative from one of the foundations that sponsored Sage's Baja trip. She flicked a glance at me as she moved off with him.

"And thanks for coming to my rescue," I added.

Dayna laughed. "She's...interesting," she said noncommittally as she reached for a strawberry.

"And a little scary," I muttered.

"No comment. By the way, nice shirt," Dayna said. "No wonder Miss Thing tried to put her swerve on you."

"No, I think it's because I have this awesome glass of wine."

"Oh, of course." Dayna nodded, pretending to believe me.

Chris appeared and reached for a carrot. I handed her the Diet Coke.

"Thanks." Chris finished the carrot then opened the can and took a swig. She smiled at Dayna and the look on her face made me feel that all was right with the world. "I figured you'd be over here with the strawberries," Chris said, raising her eyebrows at Dayna.

"Not as good as the ones you always find for me." Dayna bumped her with her shoulder.

I made gagging noises. Chris shot me a look and Dayna giggled.

"Now you know what I had to put up with when you and Sage hooked up." Chris flashed me a "nanny boo boo" grin.

"That bad, huh?" I pretended innocence.

"Worse. But I wouldn't trade watching you fall for her for anything." She took Dayna's hand and caressed the back of it with her thumb.

"You're too fuckin' cute." I started to move away then stopped. "Oh, here. In case you need an art rep." I took the card out of my pocket and handed it to Chris, who looked at it, confused. "Dayna'll explain," I said cryptically. Before either could say anything else, I navigated my way through the crowd in search of Sage.

I found her near the image of Shiprock, holding court with five people. Three men, two women. I slipped in close, making sure she noticed me. Without interrupting her conversation, I handed her the full glass of wine and took her empty glass out of her other hand. She put her free hand on my arm, and I waited.

"Wayne, my partner, Dr. K.C. Fontero." Sage introduced me to a heavyset balding man about my height.

Uh-oh. Sage had busted out my academic credentials. I gave Wayne a quick once-over. He wore khaki trousers and a dark green button-down shirt. He hadn't buttoned his collar all the way up and his white undershirt peeked above the fabric of his shirt. Little round wire frame glasses completed his preppie ensemble.

"Hi." I shook his hand and stifled a shudder. He had one of those limp fish grips.

"Wayne Hampton." He looked at me with disapproval. I wondered if it was because I was a woman or a lesbian or both. Maybe that's why he didn't really want to shake my hand. Dyke cooties. "I was asking Sage here about Shiprock and how the Navajo feel about photographs of it."

I looked at Sage, puzzled. She knew the answer to this question. I shrugged mentally. "As I'm sure Sage has already explained, it's always good to check in with tribal headquarters before you do any kind of art on Indian land. Common courtesy. The formation is considered sacred, but it's okay to take pictures of it. Just be respectful."

"But if you make money off this photograph--" he gestured at the image--"aren't you exploiting the Navajo for your own personal gain?"

Sage and I exchanged a "what's got this guy's undies in a wad" glance.

"I suppose it depends on intent and how you express it," I responded diplomatically.

He was about to say something more when Shoshana politely interrupted him. "Sage left explicit instructions with us that if this image sells, all proceeds are to go to a scholarship fund for Navajo high school students from the Four Corners area who are interested in pursuing fine arts after graduation."

The other people standing around us nodded and smiled, pleased at this information. What organization did Wayne run with, that he felt the need to go to an art opening and try beating people with the Indian exploitation stick? From a guy who seemed to have a problem with women at the very least, that struck me as a bit hypocritical. I glanced at Shoshana, actually grateful that she had intervened. She inclined her head at me then moved on through the crowd.

Wayne harrumphed and headed over to another group of people standing near the Baja images.

"Thanks," Sage said to me. "That's the asshole at Diné College in Shiprock who rides my case about the photos I do on Indian land." She pronounced it Din-eh, like it sounded when Navajos said it.

"That's the guy?" I looked at him again. "I can take him," I muttered, drawing a giggle from Sage. She was about to say something else when a trim woman wearing jeans and a casual black blouse approached. She wore her long dark hair loose and her dark eyes reminded me of pieces of black stone. She beelined for Sage.

"My apologies for Wayne's behavior," she said, regarding Sage. "He isn't always the most tactful person."

"Thanks," Sage responded, gracious. "But he does raise good questions."

I watched the exchange, wondering who this woman was and why the hell she'd bother apologizing for an ass like Wayne Hampton.

"I'm Tamara Kee," she said, apparently able to read my mind.

Sage's eyes lit up in recognition. "Of course. You teach at Diné College. Any word on the photography workshops I've proposed?"

Kee smiled, but her expression didn't lose its intensity. "I'm checking on a grant for three, a week long each. I've been out of town and didn't get a chance to respond to your last e-mail." At that juncture, she looked at me.

"K.C. Fontero," I offered. "Good to meet you."

She nodded once, then turned her attention back to Sage. "I was on my way back to Shiprock from Oklahoma and checked your event schedule on your website. This one fit into my travel plans."

"Thanks so much," Sage said, smiling. "I'm glad to meet you in person."

Kee nodded again and looked past Sage at the photo of Shiprock. She didn't say anything for a while, instead stood staring at the image. The way she examined it was just starting to creep me out when she turned back to Sage and spoke again. "When did you take this?"

"Last summer. June."

"Did you notice anything while you were out there?"

"Always. The light shifts quite a bit, which changes the way textures appear in a photo. It took about four hours to get that shot. It's one of several. That's the one that spoke to me."

Kee looked at the picture again then back at Sage, and I thought I saw the hint of a warning in her eyes. "All things have energy," she said. "Even those we don't think have ever been alive. Sometimes energies cross, and that can open possibilities for many things, both good and bad. Watch your next steps on your path." Kee turned to me, then. "You as well." And then she offered a wan smile. "Sage, I look forward to further conversations about workshops. Take care." And she moved off before either of us could say anything.

"Okay," I started. "What exactly did that mean?"

Sage shook her head, worry drawing lines across her forehead. "I'm not sure."

Whatever Kee implied, her words fell like snow on my bones. Words. They're just words. I tried to shake the little pall Kee's statements seemed to have created, but I thought instead of the body found on the Navajo Reservation. I glanced over at the photo of the Shiprock formation.

Sage took a sip of wine and made an appreciative noise. "Thank God for Chris making a wine run." She lapsed into silence for a moment then sighed in exaggerated annoyance. "Unfortunately, I now have to stop wanting to kick Shoshana's ass," she continued in a low voice.

I caught her gaze, not sure whether she was kidding or not, but glad to think about something other than weird warnings. Her eyes seemed to sparkle and she smiled, sheepish. Good. She was past the conversation we'd just had with Tamara Kee. Sage leaned closer. "I'll be the first to admit that the way you look in those jeans is a better view than most people get in a month. And far be it from me to put a stop to someone's appreciation of a hot woman." She took another sip of wine and heat built under my collar. "But I'm a little territorial when it comes to you." She shrugged. "I know. It might be a character flaw." She watched me over the rim of her glass, a come-hither expression in her eyes that could melt ice in Greenland. From here.

Must. Not. Ravish. "Feel free to claim this territory any time," I whispered near her ear.

"I knew you'd see things my way." Sage ran her hand up my arm and squeezed my shoulder just as a man who reminded me of my dad accosted her with a bombastic "Sage Crandall, your work is unbelievable!" Compact, loud, but endearing. This guy was the Hispanic version of my father. I left Sage to her animated conversation with him and made my way through the crowd, catching snippets of various discussions. I checked my watch. Almost six. We probably wouldn't get out of here until around nine, if not later. But it was well worth it. Chris was standing out on the front patio and I went to join her, putting Kee out of my mind.

Chapter Three

I SAT OUT on our covered front porch, enjoying a cup of coffee. The Sunday paper lay on the floor next to my feet, but I ignored it, deciding instead to revel in the morning cool before the late summer heat moved in. Our front yard consisted of New Mexico dirt and a mixture of native plants like yucca and sage and drought-resistant foliage like lavender, purple coneflower, and Texas hummingbird mint, whose raspberry-colored flowers harmonized with the lavender. Sage had xeriscaped the area when she moved in four years ago. I watched a hummingbird approach a jumble of coneflower and valerian just as a small red Honda CR-X pulled up in front and Jeff got out.

"Hey," I said in greeting as he started down the path along the side of the house that would take him to the small faux-dobe cottage behind it. We had sort of an amenable compound kind of thing going on here. Kara would definitely appreciate it. "Late night?" I asked, teasing.

He stopped and shrugged, grinning.

"You want some coffee?"

"Love some." Instead of continuing down the path to the back yard, he came up the steps. "Where's Sage?"

I motioned toward the house. "River called."

"Ah," he said and opened the front security door. "Be right back."

I leaned back in my chair and watched the neighbor across the street watering her rose bushes. Jeff emerged from the house and took one of the other plastic lawn chairs. He had that "just rolled my happy ass out of bed" hair.

"So how's Amy?" I asked.

His smile was so wide I worried it hurt his lips. "I might need to talk to you guys about that."

"Oh?" I rested my cup on the arm of my chair.

"We're thinking about--" He paused and cleared his throat. "We're thinking about moving in together."

"Wow. This is good, right?"

He studied his coffee. "Yeah. I think so. But I'm not sure yet. We just started talking about it."

"Good. Don't rush into things. But you've been seeing her for...what? Over a year now. Seems you talk about things as they come up, don't you?"

He nodded and sipped his coffee.

"So what are you worried about?"

"I don't know. Guy stuff, I guess. I don't want to feel like I'm moving in with her just to make her happy." He looked at me, searching.

"That's definitely not the right reason to move in with somebody. If you're going to do it, make sure it's something you both want. And if she makes you happy, then why wouldn't you move in together?"

His expression softened. "I really like being around her."

I hid my smile in my cup just as his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, goofy before he even looked at the ID. He must've programmed different rings into it for different people. "Thanks for the coffee. I'll bring the cup back." He stood.

"No worries. Say hi to Amy. And you know, Sage might have some insight for you."

He nodded as he answered the phone and walked down the steps, headed for his place in the back. Love bustin' out all over the place, I thought. I reached for the paper just as Sage opened the security door and came out onto the porch.

I looked over my left shoulder at her. She was wearing surf shorts and a tank top. "How's River?"

She didn't answer right away and instead stood in front of the door, arms crossed.

"What's up?" I let the paper drop back onto the floor. "Honey? Is everything okay?" I started to stand but she moved and put her hand on my shoulder.

"River's fine. But something strange is going on."

More strange than that letter? I waited, watching her face, a twinge of foreboding skittering along my spine. She released my shoulder and walked around me to sit in the chair Jeff had vacated. She drummed the fingers of one hand on the plastic armrest. She rarely did that. Something was really bothering her.

She took a breath and relaxed a bit. "River said he talked last night to a woman who claimed to be Dad's girlfriend."

I set my coffee cup on the floor and reached over to take Sage's left hand with my right.

"She wanted to know if Dad had tried to contact River recently."

"Did he tell her about the letter?"

"Yeah." Her tone said that she wished he hadn't. "And he of course wanted to know why it's her business."

Sage started drumming the fingers of her right hand on the armrest again. "She said that he didn't come home last Saturday. He went to work as usual, but after his shift, she didn't hear from him.

She wasn't too worried because it was the end of a long stretch of work days for him and he had a couple of weeks off and sometimes, she said, he'd go out drinking, especially since his work schedule had been rearranged." Sage made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "He obviously hasn't gotten that problem resolved. He's such an asshole about it. Anyway, I guess a friend of his called the place they shared on Monday wanting to know where he was because they were supposed to work on some plumbing together. That's when the girlfriend--Tonya--thought something might be up because even though he's a drunk, she said, he never bailed on his friends. I'd give him props for that, but he never showed up as a dad when River and I were kids. And when he did, he was usually drunk and an absolute prick."

"How come she didn't wonder why he didn't call her?"

"She said if he was drinking, he wouldn't call her for a day or two because he felt guilty about it." She rubbed her forehead with her other hand.

"She said that to River?"

Sage nodded. "He asked the same question."

I squeezed her hand. "So how'd she get River's number?"

Sage sighed, still rubbing her forehead. "She didn't. She went through his things and found River's name next to the number for the company he guides for in Montana. She called them, they contacted River, and he decided to call her back, since he figured it must be sort of serious if she's calling her boyfriend's estranged son..." her voice trailed off.

"Wait a second," I started. "If this Tonya says your dad's been gone about a week, how did he mail the letter?"

"River was leading a guide trip until Saturday--yesterday. The letter was in the pile of mail he had waiting for him and the postmark on it was a week ago Friday."

She extricated her hand from mine and reached into her shorts pocket. She pulled out a scrap of newspaper and handed it to me. I recognized it as the article I'd ripped out of the Journal yesterday and taped to my computer. I looked at it, then at her and that thought I'd filed the day before popped right back to the front of my mind.

"You don't think--" I started.

Her fingers drummed on the armrest even faster. "The timing's right. And the description of the body seems to match, too."

"Fuck," I muttered. "If it is--honey, I'm sorry."

"For what?" She seemed puzzled. "Given his past, his choices most likely put him out there."

"We don't know that for sure. It could have been a random crime. Maybe he was on his way home from work or something and--" I caught myself. I'd already decided that Sage's dad was the dead man found on the Navajo Reservation. The evidence isn't in yet, I remonstrated myself.

"Doubtful." Sage smiled, a little sad, emotions I couldn't read flickering through her eyes. "You didn't know him. He was not a nice man. River and I don't have good memories of him and it's a very good thing that Mom threw him out of the house when she did. The only tie I have to him is genetic and that doesn't mean shit to me, no matter what he said in that letter." She stood and leaned in to kiss my cheek. "Thanks for the sentiment, but there's nothing to be sorry about."

I hugged her close and rested my head on her belly as she stroked my hair. Her voice held finality. She, too, had already decided the dead man on the Rez was her father. "Doesn't matter what you thought of him," I said. "If he is dead, it might still bring shit up for you and River." Like that damn letter obviously did.

She didn't respond right away, just continued stroking my hair with one hand while the other rested on my shoulder. "I love you," she said after a while and I hugged her even closer.

"Right back at 'cha."

She chuckled. "I'll call Mom. See if she's heard anything."

I reluctantly released her. She leaned down and brushed a kiss across my lips before she went inside. I sat staring at the article from yesterday's paper but I didn't see the words.

I HEARD THE front door open and close and I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and wiped them on the dish towel. I finished just as Sage appeared in the doorway.

"Hey," I said, smiling. "How was the studio?"

"Good," she responded. She closed the distance between us and wrapped her arms around my waist. "Mmm. My sexy girlfriend is making dinner."

I kissed her forehead. "Thought we'd grill out. I invited Jeff."

Sage's eyes lit up. "Cool. I haven't seen him in forever."

"Amy keeps him busy." I grinned. "You want a beer?"

"I would love a beer."

I stepped away and opened the refrigerator, crouching to pull a bottle of Rio Grande Pale Ale off the bottom shelf. I stood and removed the top with the bottle opener I'd left on the counter. Sage took the bottle and sipped. She leaned back against the counter as I continued working on the burgers. I'd stacked six patties on a plate and set to work slicing roasted green chile.

"Jeff told me this morning he and Amy are thinking about moving in together." I kept my eyes on my work.

"I figured it was a matter of time. He's probably freaking out."

I glanced at her. My psychic girlfriend.

"Jeff's always been commitment-shy. Which cracks me up, because he gets so wrapped up in the whole idea of it." Sage giggled. "Remember when we first met and he was seeing Robin? He so wanted her to be 'the one'. But I told him he didn't want that. He picks emotionally unavailable women so he can pretend he tried a commitment and it just didn't work." She took another sip of beer.

"So you're saying that Jeff is basically a lesbian?"

Sage laughed and almost choked on her beer. "Something like that. But I think it might be different with Amy. Maybe he figured something out."

I started slicing tomatoes. "I did." I stopped and looked at her. "When I met you."

She looked at me for a while, a little smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"I really wanted to be the kind of partner you were looking for. Which requires that I show up game-ready. Every day."

She cocked her head at me. "How do you think you're doing?"

I started slicing again. "It's hard sometimes to get out of my head. But I think I'm doing pretty good." I flashed her a grin.

Sage moved closer and kissed my shoulder. "Better than good." She watched me slicing for a while. I finished the tomatoes and started working on the lettuce.

"The situation with Dad is bothering me," she announced.

"How so?" I left the lettuce to soak in a pan and gave her my full attention.

She took a sip of her beer. "My mom admitted that Dad had been in contact with her over the years and that she'd kept him posted on what River and I have been doing."

I didn't say anything for a long moment. "Did that piss you off?"

"A little. I asked her why she'd do that, given that she had to kick his ass out of our lives when I was sixteen."

"What'd she say to that?"

"She said that he'd contact her every once in a while wanting to make amends to us so she'd give him our addresses and she told him it was up to him. She wouldn't facilitate." Sage pursed her lips. "Which is better than telling me and River that poor Dad was so sorry and couldn't we just call him once in a while and give him a chance." She paused. "Notice how he never called. Some fucking amends, Dad." She looked up at me. "Maybe I'm not pissed at her. Maybe I'm pissed at him, still." Sage sighed. "Shit. I'm always telling people to let things go and I haven't taken my own advice."

I hugged her and she rested her head on my shoulder. "He did send a letter."

"Because he fucking wanted something," she said, irritated. "That wasn't about amends. It was about digging into another mess that he got into."

I hugged her closer.

"Why the hell would he tell us about his job if he didn't want us to maybe look into it if something happened to him?"

"I don't know." Maybe he was scared. Whether his fear was based on reality was another question.

"Regardless, he didn't end up on the Rez by accident," she said as she stroked my back.

"Honey," I reminded her, "we don't know for sure that was your dad." I rocked her gently. "Don't jump to conclusions until all the evidence is in. And even then, you have to see where it leads."

"Jesus. You sound like Chris." She nuzzled my neck and chills shot down my spine. I buried the inappropriate thought that entered my mind.

"Well, it's damn good advice. Otherwise we'd be knee-jerking all over hell and gone." I clenched my teeth to keep myself from collapsing beneath the onslaught of her lips.

She pulled away and studied my face then she shook her head, smiling. "I cannot believe I hooked up with the essence of analytical thought."

I shrugged, sheepish. "And I can't believe you, a force of nature, took a chance on my boring, rational self."

She ran her fingers along my jaw and another set of chills erupted down my back. "Balance. I need your clear head as a counterpoint." She kissed me and I pulled her closer. "Christ," she muttered against my lips. "Boring? Kase, you're so far from that it's not even on our map."

I kissed her again just as Jeff called from the back porch, "As soon as you're ready, I'll start the coals. Except it looks like some already got started in the kitchen," he added, joking.

We started laughing and Sage pulled away. "Men."

I removed the lettuce from the water. "You want to see if Chris can find out more about this?" I spread the lettuce leaves out on the cutting board.

Sage thought for a moment before answering. "No, I don't think so. I'd prefer that things just unfold." Her tone held resigned finality.

I nodded in understanding and she went out the back door to talk to Jeff, leaving it open. I finished the prep work and pulled a beer out of the fridge for him. Armed with that and the plate of burgers, I walked through the mud room and out onto the back porch. Maybe talking to Jeff about Amy would help get Sage's mind off the reservation for a while. I joined them at the grill and he set to work with the burgers while bantering with Sage. Within a few minutes, the subject of Amy came up and Sage started deconstructing it in her gentle way. Smiling to myself, I went to set the table.

I SPENT MONDAY morning in my office on campus, organizing the reading list for two of my classes. I checked with the bookstore to make sure what I was assigning was either in stock or en route. Those tasks completed, I worked out at the UNM gym then went home and finished up some research I was doing for Gus Clayton over at the local FBI office. He had concerns that a local neo-Nazi cell might have links to a larger organization with ties to Germany. Fortunately, I didn't find any evidence of that. Since my run-in with neo-Nazis a couple of years ago, Gus contracted with me to do outside research on right-wing activity. Why the hell I'd chosen that as the brunt of my doctoral work I'd probably never know. But at least I could put it to good use and help law enforcement keep tabs on groups and individuals.

I finished typing up my findings and ran a spell check before reading through it again and saving the document. I e-mailed it to him, shaking my head, bemused. Who knew that two years ago I'd be back in Albuquerque chasing white supremacists around and end up as a sometime-consultant for the FBI? Crazy, how things turned out. My cell phone rang and I glanced at the caller ID before answering.

"Hey, Mom. What's up?"

"Hi, hon. Just calling to check in and let you know that Kara's on her way here."

"Why couldn't she call me and tell me that?"

She cleared her throat in a way that said, with practiced patience, "because your sister keeps her own damn schedule."

"Okay. So, how long 'til she gets there?" I put my feet on my desk, annoyed. Tucson to Albuquerque was about nine hours driving. So if Kara remembered to call me when she left our folks' house, I'd have that long to prepare myself for her visit.

"She'll be here tonight some time. Then I suppose you and Sage had better start looking for her Wednesday."

"Are you sure she's even related to us? You're absolutely positive you gave birth to her and she wasn't switched with the Grateful Dead entourage's love child in the hospital?"

She started laughing. "Yes, she's your biological sister. She's a lot like your dad's brother Mike. And my sister. The 'do your own thing' genes from both sides coalesced in her."

"Maybe she'll just bypass me and continue on to visit Joely," I grumbled.

"I know Kara irritates you, and I wish that she'd sometimes think about the consequences of her actions. But she loves you very much and she admires you more than she lets on. So the best advice I can give is to just try to find her good points."

"Shit, Mom." I ran a hand through my hair and stood. "She's so damn flaky. I can't trust her to come through on anything. Joely and I had to just go ahead with Dad's birthday present last year because Kara couldn't get her crap together to do her part." I stalked out into the living room. "After she told us 'oh, no problem. It's a great idea. I'll do this and this and this.' And did she? Fuck, no. So here she is again, pulling the same kind of bullshit. I called her on Saturday to find out when the hell she'd get here and I'm still fucking waiting to hear."

She didn't respond and I felt her discomfort over the phone as plainly as if she'd voiced it. I forced myself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I just--I don't get it. I don't understand her. Here you and Dad are, total professors. So Joely and I got the academic thing, too. Which makes sense. I mean, we all grew up in the same household. It stands to reason that we'd follow in your footsteps to some degree. But then there's Kara. Miss 'I just can't be bothered with mundane responsibilities.' She's more devoted to her damn trees and environuts than she ever was to her own family." I went through the kitchen onto the back porch where I flopped into one of the chairs we kept out here and stared moodily at the ramada we'd built over the patio at the base of the back steps.

"Honey, that's not fair," my mom said.

I snorted.

"Kara's different in many ways. But she's also a lot like you."

"Please," I muttered sarcastically.

"Moreso than like Joely. She's very stubborn like you are and insecure in some ways. But she's also very loyal to her family. She just hasn't figured out where to channel her energy and she's spent all her life in your shadow and Joely's. So she rebels. She keeps her own schedule and does her own thing, trying to carve a niche for herself in the world and in this family."

My mom. The anthropologist. "Yeah, but even Uncle Mike and Aunt Tess check in before they go flinging off on some new venture."

She chuckled.

"So how do I get her to at least check in with me before she shows up on our doorstep?" I stretched my legs out.

"Maybe change your tone?"

"What does that mean?" I sat up straighter.

She hesitated a bit before answering. "She's an adult, honey. Maybe if you started speaking to her like one and interacting with her like one, she'd start acting like one. If you expect her to screw up all the time and behave like a little sister, she will."

My mom. The burgeoning therapist.

"Set the bar higher. And let the things that bother you about her go."

"God, Mom. You sound like a twelve-step program." I sighed and stood again.

"That's not such a bad thing."

"True." I relaxed a little. "So how's Dad? Is he going to Guatemala with you next month?"

"Yes. He managed to clear his schedule. And he's really looking forward to it. He's exploring origin myths of various indigenous peoples there. He's also collaborating on another religious studies textbook."

"Glad to hear there's life after the ivory tower," I said, smiling.

"Honey, it never stops. Speaking of which, when are they going to hire you full-time over there? Adjunct teaching doesn't offer good benefits and you don't get to sit on committees."

"Which isn't a bad thing, Mom. Committees can suck. I don't know if they'll hire me full-time. They haven't offered and they haven't posted for any teaching jobs on campus in either American studies or sociology. But I'm not worried about it. I'm still okay with the grant money and I've got a couple more articles coming out at the end of the year. Plus, the University of California Press wants me to edit an anthology about extremists. Left and right. That's in the planning stages and it looks like we'll score a chunk of change from the NEH for that." I walked back into the kitchen and took a bottle of Tazo iced tea out of the fridge. "I don't know how I'd be able to teach full-time and do all that shit. Geez. How did you do it all of those years?" I shook up the tea and, bracing my phone between my ear and shoulder, I unscrewed the top.

She laughed. "Sometimes I wonder that myself."

I heard their home phone ring in the background.

"That's probably your father. I'm supposed to pick him up at the library."

"You'd better get it then. Talk to you later. Love you."

"I love you, too. Give our love to Sage. Bye, hon."

"Bye."

I hung up and took a long drink of tea. I stood in the kitchen a while longer, thinking about Kara and what my mom had said about raising the bar. I hate it when she's right. I speed-dialed Kara's cell. One ring...two...

"Hey, Kase! I was just going to call you."

Sure you were. Mom guilt-tripped you. "Cool." I kept my tone light. "Can you talk? Or are you busy?"

"No, it's fine. I'm on I-10 and traffic's not bad."

"All right. So for real. What's your schedule? Sage was asking me so she could get things ready."

"Aww! I love your girlfriend. I'm on my way to Mom and Dad's right now. I should be there around eight Arizona time. I thought I'd leave for Albuquerque Wednesday morning."

"Are you sure? That's only, like, a day with Mom and Dad." I swirled the tea in the bottle.

Pause. "And?"

"I just--um--shit, I don't know."

Kara giggled. "Girl, you know how it goes. After about a day Mom starts asking me when I'm going to go to law school so I can become a lobbyist. Then Dad wants to know about my latest boyfriend. Then Joely calls to find out what project I've been working on so she can write yet another freakin' whale-lovin' hempgrowin' hippie story." She sighed. "Does she not know anybody else to write about?" She asked plaintively. "Is our sister deprived of human companionship?"

I grinned in spite of myself. "Good point. I'll tell Joely it's time to write about lesbians who research the latest in neo-Nazi ideology and fashion."

"Would you please? I'm so tired of being a stereotype at her department meetings." Kara laughed, but I thought I detected some tension underneath it.

"I'll see what I can do. Okay, do you want me to pick up any kind of food in particular?"

"Nah. You guys eat pretty much the way I do."

"So you're not still vegan?" That surprised me.

"I go through phases. I'm in a fish and poultry phase now. Which pretty much ruins Joely's day, I guess. I'm not the pure-asthe-driven-snow hippie chick anymore."

"When did that happen?" I moved the phone a bit so I could take another drink of tea.

"About four months ago. I wasn't feeling well and my acupuncturist recommended animal-based protein so I reintroduced it and started feeling better right away."

"Wow. So, are you--"

"Yes. I've reconciled it with my belief system..." She trailed off. "Jesus, I sound like Dad. Smack me when I get there."

"Nah. The realization is punishment enough."

Kara hooted. "You're pretty damn funny for my uptight older sister."

"Thanks. I guess." Uptight?

"No worries, Kase. That's why you have me in your life. To loosen you up a bit. Oh--hold on--gotta pass this guy."

I waited while she performed the action. Uptight? I heard music in the background but I couldn't identify it.

"Okay, I'm back. Anyway, can you e-mail me directions to your place? I know Central and Nob Hill all right, but those residential areas--not so sure."

I leaned against the counter. "Yeah. I'll do that tonight. Anything else?"

"Not a damn thing. I'll call you if anything changes."

"Awesome. Drive carefully."

"Will do. Love ya. Bye."

"Bye."

I stood staring at my phone. Aliens. That was the only explanation. Aliens had landed and one obviously took over my sister. She sounded relaxed and--what was the word I wanted? Mature? Holy shit, yes. Mature. I set my phone on the counter and finished my tea. When was the last time we'd just hung out together? I pursed my lips, thinking. Not this past Christmas. We'd all been in Tucson for a couple days and Kara did some bonding with Sage but not with me. It had been over a year. Maybe things could be different this time.

I rinsed my bottle out and took it to the recycling bin in the mud room before I returned to my computer, where I sat staring at the crumpled-up article from Saturday's Journal. I hadn't pursued it further, too weirded out at the possible connection to Sage's dad. Still, I wanted to know more about how things worked on Indian land and I was particularly interested in Navajo beliefs about death. I reached over and turned on the receiver to the small stereo system I'd installed in this room. I tuned it to KUNM, a local public radio station, and reached for the piece of paper on which Sage had written Ellen Tsosie's e-mail address.

Chapter Four

"DO YOU THINK I'm uptight?" I tried to sound nonchalant as I cut into my enchilada, watching Sage out of the corner of my eye. She sat at the end of the table and I sat to her right.

She served herself from the ceramic bowl that held the Spanish rice. "In what sense?"

"Any."

"That's not a fair question," she said. "We all have uptight moments, depending on the circumstances. Myself a case in point these past couple of days." She arched an eyebrow and smiled at me.

"Okay," I conceded. "Uptight all around. In the existential sense."

Sage cleared her throat. I looked at her. She was struggling not to laugh.

"What? It's a legitimate question." I pretended offense.

She put her fork down and reached over to take my hand. "Honey, you have got to stop taking what Kara says so personally."

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

"Kara always teases you about...what?"

I grimaced. "My anal research streak."

"And you talked to her yesterday. This question never comes up unless someone teases you about it."

I shook my head. "Am I that predictable? Damn."

She squeezed my hand and released it. "No. Just about certain things. This is one of them." She reached for her water glass.

I finished another delectable bite. "I love your cooking." I waggled my eyebrows at her. "I'm the luckiest woman on the planet."

Sage smiled and served herself another enchilada from the pan. "I'd argue that I am."

I watched her for a moment, seeing a shadow in her expression that disappeared as quickly as it had come. I put my fork down. "This thing with your dad--what would help you come to some kind of resolution with it?"

She looked up at me and for the first time in the two years I had known her, I saw wisps of uncertainty in her eyes. I reached for her hand. She interlaced her fingers with mine.

"This is going to sound weird," she started.

"I doubt it." I squeezed her hand. Life with Sage was sometimes like living with a mystic. Something about the wind-and time-carved Wyoming landscapes of her childhood opened other senses for her. Sage grew into one of those people who carried an inner wisdom that many of us didn't have or that we chose to ignore. Our own connections to bigger things seemed so unimportant in the mundanities of our lives. But if you stop to think about it, everything is about connection to bigger things. Sage was always aware of that. Most of us weren't.

"Something's brewing." She studied our joined hands, resting on the table. "You know how you can tell a storm's coming even if there're no clouds? Like during monsoon season." She looked up at me. "That's what it feels like. And it's put me out of sorts."

I waited, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb.

"It's not good energy, whatever it is. There's sadness and anger." She lowered her gaze back to our hands. "And fear." She sighed.

"Your dad's in this mix?"

She nodded, a distant, troubled expression in her eyes.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked, feeling a little prickle of anxiety on the back of my neck. I almost turned around to see if somebody was watching from the front porch.

Sage pulled her hand out of mine and cupped my cheek. "You're already doing it."

I leaned into her palm. "So we're just...waiting."

She nodded. "Something's out of balance. But I expect we'll know more soon." She studied my face.

I clenched my teeth. I suck at waiting. My impatient, rational self seeks answers. Needs them. I turned my head and kissed her palm.

"I know," she whispered. "But waiting, too, is a form of action."

I offered a wry smile. "If I'm not doing or saying what you'd like or want, you'll tell me?"

Sage leaned in and kissed me. "Yes." She pulled back, studying my eyes in a way that undressed my soul. She stood. "I'm going to call River." She started to pick up our plates.

"I'll get this." I took the plates from her and her fingers brushed mine, sending a strange, hot jolt up my arm. Surprised, I remained standing in front of her, plates in both hands. "Did you--" I started, but the look on her face stopped me. Intense but relieved. For the first time in over two days, she visibly relaxed. "Tell you what," I said, pleasantly rattled. "I'll finish up with this while you call River. Then how about I open K.C.'s awesome massage clinic?"

She giggled. "Do I need to make an appointment?"

"Hell, no. It's Sage-specific. Open all day, every day for you."

"What are your rates?"

"For you, we work somethin' out, eh?" I answered in an imitation of my paternal grandfather, whose gruff Italian accent ran right up to the edge of stereotype.

Sage laughed. "An offer I can't refuse. I'll try to hurry." She grinned and headed to the office. I watched her, still holding the damn plates, wishing I could will her shorts right off her hips. Dishes first. I took the plates into the kitchen.

I JERKED AWAKE. Disoriented, I glanced around the bedroom, trying to figure out what woke me up. I remained lying on my side, spooning Sage, and listened, trying to sort through the usual night noises. A lone car driving past. A dog barking two blocks over. And a soft knocking and rattling at the front security door. I slowly pulled my arm off Sage and sat up, automatically glancing at the clock on my bedside table. 2:47 in the morning. Sage sat up as well.

"You heard that too?" she whispered.

"Yeah." I pushed the sheet aside and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I put my glasses on, then retrieved my T-shirt from the floor and pulled it over my head. Another soft knock, like on a window. "What the fuck?" I whispered even as I heard Sage rummaging in her dresser and knew she was in the process of removing her handgun. I hated that she had it, especially since my run-in with neo-Nazis two years ago. But she'd grown up with guns and she practiced regularly, so at least she knew how to use it. I heard her snap the magazine into place but I kept my mouth shut and retrieved my own weapon--a Louisville Slugger--from under the bed. Thus armed, we both left the bedroom and crept into the living room. Light from the streetlamp out front filtered through the curtains over the front windows, creating dim pools of light near the heavy oak door.

I licked my lips, thinking I heard something moving around on the front porch. But I wasn't sure. Sage glided to the front window to the left of the door, gun in her right hand. Are we that jumpy about her dad that it's come to this? A showdown at the OK Corral? She started to push the curtain aside and then she stopped and motioned me to go to the window on the other side of the door. She put her finger to her lips and we stood, half-naked statues, listening. This time, I did hear something on the wooden porch floor. A series of clicks, like someone typing on a keyboard. I turned to look at Sage and her eyes seemed like dark stones in her head.

She reached with her left hand toward the light switch and I tightened my grip on my bat. She turned the porch light on and something skittered across the porch floor. I flung the curtains open and scanned outside. "Fucking dog," I muttered, catching a movement across the street that melted into shadow.

"A dog?" came Sage's voice, low and urgent.

I let go of the curtain and it fell back into place. "I think that's what it was." Had to be an animal, since it moved way too fast to be human.

Sage slowly opened the curtains over her window then, and I waited, holding onto my bat like I was choking the life out of it. She gazed outside for a couple of minutes. Satisfied, she let go of the fabric and it settled back into place. She removed the magazine from her gun and stood tapping the cartridge against her bare thigh. "We forgot to turn the porch light on."

"Clearly," I answered, though how that would deter a stray dog I didn't know.

"Did you lock the back?"

"Yeah. I think I turned the light on, too."

We both turned toward the arched kitchen doorway behind us. I relaxed, recognizing the reflection on the linoleum floor as the glow of the back porch light. "I'll check the door again." I padded past the couches and the table into the kitchen. One door separated us from the mud room, a less-solid wooden door with a window about two-thirds of the way up. I opened it and crossed in three steps to the second wooden door--a match to the one I'd just opened. I tested it. Locked. Swallowing hard, I leaned my bat against a wall and unlocked it and opened it in order to check the metal barred and steel mesh security door beyond. I exhaled with relief. Locked. Out of habit, I glanced to the right, toward Jeff's place. His front porch light was on, as well. But he was pretty good about that. I closed the inner door and locked it again.

"Okay?" Sage asked from the doorway into the front room as I closed the door that separated the kitchen from the mud room.

"Yep. Everything was locked." I picked up my bat and followed her into the bedroom. She turned her bedside lamp on and returned her gun and magazine to its place in her dresser. I didn't put my bat under the bed this time. Instead, I leaned it against my bedside table. Sage climbed into bed and waited while I settled in before she turned the light off. She pressed her back against my front and I pulled her hard against me with my right arm, hand on her abdomen. She covered my hand with hers and I imagined a warm current moved back and forth between us.

"You all right?" I asked.

"Yeah. Just a little shaken up." She burrowed against me and I tried to get closer but I was already plastered to her back like a second skin. She fit so well here with me, the curves of her body complementing mine, the length of her legs tucked in close. A sense of connection settled over me, the warmth of a high desert morning after a long winter's night.

"Pretty freaky," I acknowledged.

"Very."

We remained like that for a while until I felt Sage's body relax and her hold on my hand slipped.

"I love you," I whispered as her breathing deepened. She mumbled something sleepily back. And I won't let anything happen to you. I kissed her cheek and arranged myself into a more comfortable position. I was more tired than I expected as I crashed from the earlier adrenaline blast. I sighed and closed my eyes. My last coherent thought was that dogs can't rap on windows.

KARA CALLED AT 8:30 the next morning to let me know she was on her way. I hung up with her just as Sage emerged from the bathroom toweling her hair.

"How's Kara?"

"Good," I managed, staring at her.

Sage looked up at me while finger-combing her hair. "And?" She was teasing me.

"Okay, that's just not fair. I can't think when you walk around the house like that."

"Like what?" She offered me a certain devilish smile.

"Like some butt-ass naked wanton hussy." I moved toward her and pulled her against me. She rested her head against my shoulder, her arms around my waist. I inhaled, loving the way she smelled.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while.

"For what?"

"Last night. I know you don't like guns, especially after what happened with Megan. And that was really stupid of me. I don't know why I freaked and reacted that way."

"You've got stuff on your mind," I said, stroking her back. "But is it okay if I ask you not to go all John Wayne like that at every little noise?"

Sage giggled. "Please do."

"I know. We'll have a safe word."

She started laughing and pushed away.

"No, really," I continued, following her into the bedroom. She threw the towel at me and I caught it. "No, wait...A safe phrase. 'Hey, there pardner,'" I said in a bad John Wayne drawl. "Or how about 'back off, pardner'."

Sage picked her T-shirt off the bed and threw that at me, too.

"Now, now. Back off, pardner," I repeated, tossing her shirt aside as I advanced toward her. She pulled me into a kiss and nothing else came to mind.

"Thank you," she said against my lips after what might have been minutes or hours. In my fogged state, I didn't know. "You always make me feel better." She ran her fingertips over my mouth and along my cheek. "I'm sorry for being so weird," she added.

"We're all weird, honey. It's just that I happen to like your weirdnesses. I think they look good with mine." I kissed her forehead. "I'm going to call Chris. See if they can come over tomorrow for dinner. We haven't had a pizza party in a while. What do you think?"

"I think...you're the best girlfriend in the fucking world. That sounds great." She pecked my cheek and I released her. She moved to her dresser.

"Maybe you should swing by Abuelita's this week," I suggested. "She might have some clarity for you."

"I might." She pulled on a pair of black panties and put on a matching bra. "I love that Chris shares her grandmother."

"And speaking of Chris's relatives, call John, too. Maybe he can do some cooking with you this weekend."

Sage turned to look at me, a wry smile on her lips. "Too bad he plays for our team. He might have been a good match for Kara."

"You think?"

She pulled a pair of black linen shorts on. "He's very grounded, like Chris. Even since he came out to the family."

"Give it time." I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "It's only been a couple of months. Their mom'll drive him crazy soon enough. She's checking with all her friends to see if their daughters are available."

Sage giggled. "He'll be fine. He's focused but easygoing. Someone like that would be good for Kara."

I sat up and watched as Sage slipped a light blue v-neck tee on. "I don't even know if she's seeing anybody right now."

Sage opened a hand-carved cedar box on her dresser and selected a pair of earrings. "She didn't say?"

"No. But then, I didn't ask. She gets weird if any of us ask her."

She put her earrings in, a pair of small silver hoops. "I'll ask her. I'm interested to see where she is with things."

I smiled to myself. Sage sounded more like herself today and I fervently hoped this creepy shit with her dad passed quickly, though Tamara Kee's words echoed through my thoughts. "Watch your next steps on your path."

"Sweetie, I have to go," she said, turning to regard me.

"I know. You want a bagel for the road?"

"I'd love a bagel for the road."

I bounced off the bed and went to prepare the requested item. Ten minutes later I stood on the front porch with her. "Bye. Have a good day. Say hi to all those senior citizens. Especially the old men who stare longingly at you. The ones who take this workshop every time you offer it."

"For sure. 'My hot lesbian lover wants you all to know she says hi'." She kissed me. "Actually, most know. I talk about you quite a bit." She bounded down the steps with her bagel in one hand and her travel cup in the other, messenger bag draped over her left shoulder.

"Hey," I called after her. "I want full disclosure."

She air-kissed me from her car. "See you later."

I waved as she pulled away from the curb and waited until she turned the corner. I then examined the front porch, checking the security door--for what, I didn't know. Clumps of dog fur? I scanned the corners. No, no telltale Milkbones. I checked the front windows. What the hell am I looking for? I stood staring at the wood of the porch floor, chewing my lip. My rational brain had two explanations. One, a dog bumping against the security door and scratching at it, trying to get in. Maybe scratching at the window. Two, a person trying to get in. Or trying to get our attention. But why?

I turned and looked across the street. I had seen something disappear over there the night before. A moving shadow. No person I knew of could move that fast. Down the steps, around Sage's car, across the street, neighbor's yard. All in the amount of time it took to flip the light on and open the curtains. So...back to animal. Maybe a small dog and it darted under Sage's car. Or mine. Then it went across the street. Or maybe what I saw moving across the street was a second animal. When Sage turned the porch light on, the second animal startled. The first, meanwhile, bailed to an immediate neighbor's yard.

I ran a hand through my hair and replayed the incident in my mind. On a hunch, I rapped lightly on the window to my right with my knuckles. No way in hell that sounded like a dog scratching on glass. I knocked on the security door with my knuckles and then my fingertips. Even if a dog snuffled around the door and bumped against it, those sounds were not what we heard, which was knocking. My rational explanations hit a dead end.

Okay, how about irrational? For shits and giggles? I went through all the ghost stories and supernatural phenomena I'd come across over the years. Poltergeists? Nah. Those usually manifested as a series of events over a long period of time. Frustrated, I entered the house and locked the security door, leaving the front door open. I turned on my computer and while it warmed up, I went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee then returned to my office. I set my cup on the coaster I kept next to the monitor and opened my Web browser.

I started with "tommyknocker," though I was pretty sure that's not what I was looking for. Of course, here I was looking ghosts up on the Internet. At this point, who knew what I was thinking? I clicked on a site that looked like it might tell me more about tommyknockers and read through the information. Early nineteenth-century Cornish miners brought the superstition of the tommyknockers to the United States. Little green spirit dudes dressed up like miners who allegedly knocked on the walls of mine shafts just before a cave-in. Miners debated whether the knocking was helpful or portentous. Did tommyknockers ever leave the mines? I scrolled through a couple more pages. Apparently not.

I sat back in my chair, aware of how ridiculous this was. I'm looking up ghosts on the Internet. What the hell is wrong with this picture? Next thing you know I'll be down in Roswell waiting for the mothership. What would the neighbors think if they saw some little green miner knocking away on our windows? I clicked out of the window and went to e-mail instead. Ellen Tsosie had written back. I opened it and started reading.

She thanked me for contacting her and yes, Sage has mentioned that I might be in touch with her. She appreciated my wanting to learn more about Navajo culture and she'd try to give me some "pointers" here, but it would probably be best if I called so here's the number. I stopped reading and opened a small spiral-bound notebook I kept next to my keyboard. I flipped to the page I'd started with regard to "Navajo culture and criminal jurisdiction" and wrote Ellen's number next to her name and e-mail address.

I turned my attention back to the e-mail and continued reading. Hmm. Most traditional Navajos, though not afraid of dying--it's part of the natural order of things, after all--fear the dead because the spirit of a dead person has the potential to cause great harm to the living. I'd heard that somewhere.

This is a difficult thing for you to understand, given the emphasis on using the dead in your culture to help solve violent crimes and to help with medical research. But in my culture, when a person dies, he or she must be buried as quickly as possible, to prevent the spirit from wanting to stay in the world of the living and cause trouble. We believe that the spirits of the dead go to another place--you might think of it as an "underworld." It is a spirit-land, and we must take every precaution to ensure that the spirit is not tempted to return to the living. Traditionally, a dying person was taken from the house to another structure and the family selected items that the person owned to bury with the body. Because of the danger from spirits of the dead, we Diné either hired attendants to keep the death watch, or two men who took careful precautions would deal with the body. When the person died, the attendants would bathe and dress the body and they might place a fine blanket with it. Then it is very important to perform purification rituals. Once the body is buried, the tools that dug the grave are destroyed and tracks must also be destroyed, because a spirit might be able to follow them back to a place where the living are. Another precaution is to return home taking a different route than you arrived on. Diné will not speak someone's name once they are dead, because even saying the name of someone who has left us could call its spirit back.

Wow. I thought back to all the Tony Hillerman books I'd read. Some of what Ellen wrote was familiar, but the academic skeptic in me preferred that she confirmed it rather than relying on murder mysteries for my knowledge about Navajo culture. I read further.

"The spirits of the dead are not the only spirits to fear. The world can be a treacherous place, and as Diné, we must try to keep balance so that these spirits do not cause bad things to happen. Some Diné have chosen a path of witchcraft--not in the sense you might be familiar with. These are bad things in our culture and to speak of them openly is dangerous. I can tell you more about death rituals and how even though modern times have brought some changes, the old ways linger, especially where death is concerned, but I think a phone call is a better way for me to explain these things to you, if you're interested in more information. Thank you again for your interest."

I sat back, tugging on my chin. "Keep balance," she'd written. Sage had mentioned that the night before. She'd said that something was "out of balance." On a whim, I clicked back into my Web search window and typed "Navajo witches." I pressed "enter" on my keyboard and waited. Seconds later, my screen filled with a variety of sites. "Skinwalkers" figured prominently and the term jogged something in my brain. Of course. One of Hillerman's mysteries was called that. I remembered now. Navajo witches who could attain the shape of an animal by donning its skin. I clicked on what appeared to be a more scholarly discussion of Navajo witchcraft and studied the information.

In Navajo, a skinwalker is called yee nadlooshii, which means, roughly translated, "he who travels on all fours like an animal." I stopped reading, a strange little tingle traveling up my back. I turned toward the doorway, half-expecting to catch somebody--something-- looking at me. Nothing. Just the late morning light splashing across the thick hallway rug. Jesus. I'm creeping myself out. I stood and picked up my coffee cup in one hand and my cell phone in the other. I thought again about Tamara Kee. Had she been warning us about something? Crazy. How would she know?

Exhaling, I flipped my phone open and dialed Ellen's number with my thumb. She didn't answer, but after five rings I reached her voicemail and a generic female voice told me to please leave a message.

"Hi," I said. "This is K.C. Fontero in Albuquerque calling for Ellen Tsosie. I got your e-mail. Thank you so much for taking the time to write. If it's all right with you, I'd really like to talk with you about these matters. Please let me know what's best for you either by e-mail or phone." I left my number, thanked her again, and hung up, setting the phone back on my desk. Time for more coffee.

I headed for the kitchen, where I poured more half-and-half into my cup before adding coffee and I stood leaning against the counter, thinking. Strange incident on porch, take three. A Navajo skinwalker just happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to mess with us. I took a drink from my cup. Like a skinwalker had nothing better to do than screw with a couple of gringa lesbians in Albuquerque. Jesus. I returned to the office and speed-dialed Chris. No answer. I left a message on her voicemail about a pizza party tomorrow, since Kara would be in town.

I then settled into my desk chair. It was just a dog. Some stray wandering around that ended up on our porch and we were already on edge because of the situation with Sage's dad. Almost convinced, I clicked out of the web and set to work on my syllabi for the fall semester.

Chapter Five

"NO SHIT?" CHRIS said incredulously over the phone. "Sage's dad?"

"Not definitively. But Sage has a feeling." I rubbed the back of my neck as I stared out the window of the office. Sage's desk fronted it. Our neighbor's massive lilac bush blocked most of the sunlight, which helped keep this room cool during the summer. I had just returned from a two-hour workout and was getting ready to pull the futon-couch into a bed for Kara's impending arrival. I still had to put sheets and blankets on it.

"I'll call the Medical Examiner," Chris said, businesslike. "See if I can get any info for you. But they might not release it to me because if they've identified the body, they're looking for the next-of-kin. Which in this case--"

"Sage and River," I finished. "Unless he's got other kids elsewhere. I wouldn't put it past him. But Chris--don't call. Sage doesn't want that."

"Okay..." she said, hesitant.

"She wants this to unfold the way it's supposed to." I ran a hand through my hair.

Chris exhaled, a soft sound over the phone. "Hey, if that's what she wants, there you go." Chris changed the topic. "So what's this Tonya have to say? Has Sage talked to her?"

I chewed my lip a little. "No. But River said that Tonya went to the police after Bill's work called looking for him to sub a shift. So they do have a missing person report on file for him. If the feds are handling this case, they've got that information..." my voice trailed off as I thought about the body on the reservation.

"You okay, esa?" Chris asked after a long moment.

"Yeah. It's just weird. I mean, if that guy is Sage's dad, it's just really weird that I was already poking around in it. That creeps me out."

Chris made a noncommittal noise. "How's Sage?"

"Not sure. Sort of brittle. She wasn't a fan of her dad. But when stuff like this happens, it gets you thinking about the past and brings up a lot of crap. Not to suggest Bill's the dead guy on the Rez." I chewed my lip, thinking. "She talked to her mom after she told me about what River said. Her mom's been keeping Bill posted on what Sage and River are up to, including contact info."

"That might bring shit up."

"To Janet's credit, she told Bill if he wanted to contact his kids, it was up to him. She wouldn't be the go-between."

"Good for her. That seems like a healthy approach."

"Yeah. Shit, Chris. I don't know what to do or say. It's totally weird. Sage is sure the Rez guy is Bill. So she's basically waiting for official notification. I hope it's not him. I hope he just went on another damn bender and ended up in jail somewhere. Or detox. Something." I exhaled, frustrated.

"Where is she now?"

"On campus. She's doing a workshop for senior citizens. They love her. She has people who take that damn thing three or four times."

Chris chuckled. "Can you blame them? It's like Abuelita always says about her. Todos quieren la estrellita, quién arde con la luz de vida."

"That's poetic. So all those senior citizens want the little star burning with the light of life? Should I worry? Maybe those older men are turning on the charm as we speak."

She snorted. "Abuelita also says that you're an excellent match for Sage."

"Geez," I muttered, embarrassed.

"Esa, Abuelita loves you as another grandchild. She's had over a decade to get used to you."

"Damn, are you that old?" I teased.

"Kiss my ass, Fontero," she retorted, laughter in her voice.

"You'd so like that. How is Abuelita, anyway? Sage is working on another empanada recipe she wants her to try."

"She's excellent. Thank God for Abuelita. She's really helped both Mom and Dad deal with John's coming out, like she helped with mine. But I still think it was harder for my dad to deal with John being gay than it was for him to deal with me."

I wandered into the hallway to the linen closet and braced the phone on my shoulder as I pulled sheets from a shelf. "That might be typical. I've noticed that dads tend to be a little better about daughters coming out than about sons coming out. That male heterosexist thing. Are Mike and Pete still weird about it?"

"A little. But I think Abuelita talked to them--recently--and I think they're going to be the over-protective brothers now. It's not easy, but it's getting a little better. Plus, with John leaving in January for L.A., it might give them all some time to cool off and get used to the idea."

I sat on the futon. "Two years at least for chef school. I hope he comes back and opens a restaurant."

"Same here. But who knows? Maybe he'll meet Mr. Right out there and things will change."

"Maybe Mr. Right will know that Albuquerque is where he needs to be with John, and he'll go in on the restaurant with him."

"I'd like to think so."

I lapsed into silence, trying to decide whether I should tell Chris about what happened last night. It seemed stupid, in the light of day.

"Kase? Hello?"

"Something kind of strange happened last night," I started, staring at the floor between my feet.

"What?" she asked, tension in her voice.

"It seems lame, now, but last night..." I ran a hand through my hair and told her what had happened the night before and where my thoughts had led me.

"Skinwalkers? Jesus, K.C.," she said when I finished. I visualized Chris rubbing her forehead, perplexed, wondering how the hell her best friend had managed to get from anal academic to freaked out paranormal researcher.

"I know. It's nuts. But I've never seen Sage like this and I guess I ran with it."

"Good thing we're coming over tomorrow night. Nothing pizza won't fix. And Kara might help settle things down, too."

"Maybe. But you know she and I don't get along all that well," I said with a sigh.

"Still, she's a distraction. It'll help. And stop researching shit like skinwalkers. Once Sage's dad turns up, things'll settle."

"Thanks, mujer. I needed your no-nonsense cop view on this."

"De nada. Say hi to Sage and tell Kara we'll see her tomorrow. Hasta."

"Will do. Bye." I hung up and scratched my head before I stood and slid my phone into the left-hand cargo pocket of my shorts. I finished making Kara's bed and returned to the linen closet for a clean set of towels and two pillows. I placed all those items on the bed as well. I checked my watch. Almost three. If Kara had been normal, she'd arrive around six. Because Kara wasn't quite like other people with regard to time, I figured she'd arrive around nine. Sage, on the other hand, would get in around five. I set to work cleaning the house, which involved scrubbing the bathroom, sweeping the hardwood floors and the linoleum in the kitchen, then vacuuming the rugs. On a roll, I also mopped the floors and put a load of laundry in. I was in the process of sweeping off the back porch when Sage yelled from the front door.

"Honey, I'm home!"

I leaned the broom against the house and went into the kitchen just as she entered from the living room. "Hey, awesome girlfriend." I pulled her into a hug. "How are all those old guys?"

She giggled. "Did I hook up with a boring academic or a surfer dude?"

"Both. Keeps things interesting." I released her and studied her face. I didn't see the night before in her eyes, and a surge of relief swept through my torso.

"Did you get your syllabi done?" She kissed my neck, sending chills down my arms.

"I have one more to tweak. Do you think reading Mein Kampf is a bad idea for my intro class?" I asked with a "golly" tone.

"The whole thing? Or the intro?" Sage raised an eyebrow and it took me a second to realize she was teasing me right back.

I grinned at her. "So when you were shopping in the cosmic lesbian store, did you specifically ask for someone who does what I do? Or were you maybe a little too vague with your request for a girlfriend?"

Sage smiled and kissed me again. "I got exactly what I wanted. And thanks for cleaning the house. Have you heard from Kara?" She moved away and opened the fridge. She took the pitcher of herb tea out and poured herself a glass.

"No. But she's on Kara time, so we'll be asleep when she gets here. Oh, Chris and Dayna are coming over tomorrow night at seven for pizza."

"Good. Do you want to do Il Vicino or--"

"I'm kind of over upscale pizza. I want big, yummy, basic pie."

"Ooo! Giovanni's!"

"And that's why I love you," I said.

"I'll stop by on my way home tomorrow. I have that damn meeting at five. Do we have beer?" Sage set her glass on the counter. "Well, wait. If Chris is working on Friday, she won't be drinking. Dayna'll drink wine. What does Kara drink?"

I thought about that and realized I had no idea. "I'll ask her when she gets here."

"Hellooo," came a voice from the front porch.

"Speaking of which--" Sage said and smiled.

"Hey, Kara," I yelled back as I headed toward the front, surprised that she was here at a reasonable hour. "What the hell do you drink?"

"Whatever the hell I want," she retorted, laughter in her voice. She opened the door and met me halfway, hugging me so hard I lost my breath. "Hey, big sis. You look great. Albuquerque's been good to you this time." She looked past me. "Hi, Sage. It's your influence, I know."

Sage laughed and hugged her. "Hi. How was the drive?"

"Nice. Mellow."

"You cut your hair," I said, running my hand over her head. "Damn. Shorter than mine." Kara had generally worn her hair past her shoulders. Like me, she'd gotten our father's thick, dark brown wavy hair.

"It looks cute," Sage interrupted, saving me from further older sibling inanities.

"It does. You look great, Kare." I gave her another hug. "It's good to see you." I meant it. "Okay, time for the grand tour, since you haven't been here."

"Cool. Lead on."

After Sage and I showed Kara around, she and I went to her car--a newer model Mazda sport sedan--and retrieved her luggage. I hefted her duffle bag to my shoulder and took her laptop case in my other hand.

"You're so butch," she teased as she closed the trunk of her car.

"Like you'd know what that is," I snapped back good-naturedly.

She didn't respond right away and instead gathered a few more things from the back seat. "I might," she said, flashing me an odd little smile.

I stared at her, wondering if my jaw fell off my face. "Shut up," I finally managed. "You're--"

"Geez, Kase. You look like a guppy." Kara reached over and pinched me on the cheek. "Yes, I've been with women. Why are you so surprised?"

"I--shit, I don't know. I guess I never even thought about it. I don't even ask Joely about her preferences."

Kara snorted. "Joely is so straight that if a woman asked her out, she'd think it was for a doubles match at a tennis tournament."

I stared at her again and then started laughing.

"She's like Mom. Completely het. Zero on the Kinsey Scale. Whereas you are a six. And I'm about a two or three." She locked the car and started toward the steps.

"You think I'm a six?" I followed her.

"Duh. You're so gay you make Melissa Etheridge look bi. You've been that gay since you came into the world. Oh, I mean, came out into the world." She flashed me a smile and opened the security door for me.

I preceded her into the house, rattled. My sister is bi. And I had no clue. I took her stuff into the office and set the duffle on the floor and the laptop on the bed. "Okay," I said, for lack of anything else to say in the wake of her revelation.

"Do you mind if I put some of my stuff on your desk?" she asked.

"No, go ahead. And use the closet, too. There's some extra shelving in there."

"Right on." She started doing just that, methodically emptying her duffle bag. I realized I didn't know how long she was planning on staying. She'd said "a few days" but with Kara, that could mean anything. On the other hand, she had arrived here around five-thirty and not ten. What's up with her?

"There's room in the bathroom for your shampoo and whatever else," I offered. "We've got shelf and shower space."

"Thanks." She continued unpacking. I watched her and it dawned on me that of my sisters, she looked most like me in facial features, though she'd gotten the dark Italian eyes while I'd gotten the hazel blend. I'd gotten the height, though five-six wasn't all that. Kara stood about three inches shorter and where I was more angular and boyish she had softer edges and curves.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me quizzically. "Are you still freaked?"

"Um..."

She started laughing. "You are so easy to read."

I opened my mouth to retort but stopped myself, deciding that I wanted to work on not repeating old patterns with her. "Okay, yeah. I am a little freaked. I had no idea. And I guess I feel kind of badly about it because I never asked. I just assumed you were exclusively interested in guys."

"I've never been. And don't feel bad. It's not like I ever volunteered much information about my personal life."

I stared at her, knowing I probably looked like a guppy again. Who the hell is this? Where's Kara?

She grinned. "Get Sage. Let's go eat." She hustled me into the front room. "And I'm buying."

"YOU KNOW WHY you have issues with her," Sage said after we'd gotten back from dinner.

I looked over at her, knowing she'd tell me whether I wanted to hear it or not.

"You two are a lot alike." Sage took a sip of her coffee and continued gazing into the fire that burned in the chiminea out on our back patio. She sat in a plastic lawn chair to my left, elbows braced on the armrests. Kara was inside checking her e-mail and getting ready for bed.

I took a sip of wine and stared into the flames. My mom had said the same thing. "Maybe you're right," I admitted.

Sage didn't respond right away. After a long moment, she said, "Interesting that she told you she's bi."

"Interesting?" I glanced over at her. "Downright nutso. I never saw that coming."

Sage quirked an eyebrow at me and her expression said "how could you not have known?"

"Oh, c'mon," I muttered. "She always had boyfriends when we were growing up."

"Clearly, not all of them were boys," Sage said. "I wondered about her when I first met her."

"Well, why didn't you clue me in?" I asked with a touch of irritation.

Sage giggled. "You're so cute when you're frustrated."

I clenched my jaw muscles.

"Honey, would you listen to yourself? Kara's personal life is her business. If you want to know about it, you need to ask her."

"I know." I lapsed into silence, trying to figure out who my younger sibling really was.

"You're feeling guilty because you didn't know that about her and you feel that maybe you screwed up as a sister." Sage took another sip from her cup.

"I don't even know why we have these conversations," I groused. "Do you know how it can suck sometimes to be in love with a psychic?"

She sighed with long-suffering patience. "There's no mystery to paying attention."

I took her right hand in my left. "I'm sorry. It's just--shit. I don't know who Kara really is. And I guess it's bothering me."

"Well, here's your chance," she said, pulling my hand to her lips and kissing the back of it.

We sat like that in comfortable silence for a while, until the fire collapsed into coals and the coals began to disintegrate into ash. At that point, we stirred and I set my wine glass on the flagstone and poured water over the remnants of the coals from the bucket I kept handy. Sage waited for me and when I was sure the fire was out, I picked up my glass and followed her into the house. Once inside, I locked the back doors and turned the outside light on. We set our cup and glass down next to the sink and then we both went into the front room where Sage checked the locks on the security door and the inner door. She drew the curtains over the windows and checked the front porch light then turned and slid her arms around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder. I held her close, sinking into the warmth emanating from her body and the comfort I found within her arms.

"Bedtime," she said.

I released her and followed her toward our bedroom, checking on Kara's door. It stood partially open and her room was dark. I smiled. She'd always left her bedroom door open when she slept, ever since we were kids. She told me once when she was in high school that it helped energy flow. I figured it was because in the Flagstaff winters, it helped with heating. Energy. Heat. Same thing, in some ways. I did my pre-bed ministrations and waited under the covers for Sage. She turned out the light on her bedside table and slid in next to me. I snuggled against her.

"I love you," she said before she kissed me and wrapped herself around me.

"I love you, too. Good night." I stroked her hair, thinking about the day. Sage relaxed and her breathing deepened. I listened to her for a few minutes, hoping this whole weird situation with her dad would blow over like Chris said, and that whatever unfolded did so without any wrinkles. I pulled Sage a little closer and allowed myself to sink into sleep as well.

Chapter Six

I SPENT THURSDAY morning finishing up my syllabi and answering e-mails. The editor at the University of California Press told me to start rounding up contributors for the volume they wanted me to edit on extremists. Good news there. I finished up and stretched. The clock on my computer read 12:34. Time for lunch. I went into the kitchen and made myself a chicken sandwich.

Kara had been up already and she'd made coffee and breakfast for us. She was freaking me out. I chewed and swallowed. Maybe I'll just sit down with her and talk. There's a new one. Me talking to Kara. Really talking. I retrieved a half-full bottle of Tazo iced tea from the fridge and shook it up before opening it for a drink. Then, as if cooking for us wasn't messed up enough, she cleaned up. After she showered, she said she was going exploring and she'd be back in time for dinner with Chris and Dayna. She left before Sage did, before I remembered to give her the spare key to the house, which I set on the table in the front room so I wouldn't forget again.

My cell phone rang from the office. I swallowed the bite I had taken and jogged into the other room. I didn't recognize the number, though it was preceded by the New Mexico area code.

"Hi, this is K.C.," I answered.

"Hello," said a warm female voice. "This is Ellen Tsosie."

"Oh, wow. Hi. Thanks for calling back." I sat down in my desk chair and reached for my notepad and a pen. "Do you have some time to talk for a bit?" She hadn't introduced herself with her clan name. I wondered if that was because she was talking to me, a white person.

"I do."

"Um--is this your home phone number? I can call you right back to save you the cost."

"Oh, no. This is my cell. I have a great plan," she said, with a little giggle. "I'll do my best to answer your questions, but some things I cannot talk about."

"I understand. And I really appreciate that you're taking this time with me."

"It's a good thing, to share some of our beliefs. It helps heal."

I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but for whatever reasons, I wrote it down. "Okay. Are you ready?" I offered a smile through the phone.

"Shoot," she said.

"Can you talk a bit about how traditional Diné beliefs about death might have changed in the last fifty years?"

She laughed, a sound sort of like windchimes. I tried to visualize her, sitting in her house in Farmington. I couldn't tell how old she was, but from her voice I imagined she might be in her mid-fifties, maybe plump and stocky, with a wide, pleasant face like the other Navajos I knew. I hadn't found any photos of her online. Maybe Sage had one. On cue, Ellen said, "Sage told me what you do. And she said you had a way of getting right to it, so I had to be prepared for that."

Shit. "I'm sorry," I said, a little flustered. "I do tend to be pretty gringa when I'm researching things. My apologies. How about this? You just talk. Tell me what you think I should know."

"'Gringa'," she repeated. "I think I like you." She chuckled. "I'll start with your question and we'll see where it goes."

I murmured assent and waited, pen hovering over the paper, and she went back over traditional Navajo death rituals, providing more elaborate details that weren't in her e-mail about the precautions that had to be taken to trick the spirit. She spoke with the rhythmic, almost musical cadence that so many Navajos employed, an accent that was stronger in English if they also spoke their native language. "You must never, ever speak the name of someone who has gone to the spirit world," she said in a tone that carried a warning. "Because that could call a bad spirit back to the world of the living, where it might cause sickness and pain. The parts of a person that were good--those parts go back to the place from where the Diné entered this world. Those parts are not the ones that cause problems."

"So," I said as I wrote, "there are good and bad parts to all of us. The good parts go to dwell in--can I say 'underworld'? Is that right?"

"Close enough."

"And the bad parts might not do that. Those bad parts might decide to hang around. Am I understanding this correctly?"

"Not bad for a gringa." She giggled, pleased. "What many bilagaana do not seem to grasp is our idea of 'balance.' Everything is a balance between good and bad aspects."

Yin and yang? I wrote that down.

"The world around us requires vigilance to ensure harmony, and as Diné, it is important that we perform rituals properly and that we offer our gratitude to the natural order of things and that we not upset that order." She paused, allowing me a chance to write her points down. "And it's a struggle, keeping balance, because there are forces that try to upset it. Some of those forces might be Diné themselves."

"Why do the spirits of the dead want to hurt the living?"

She paused a moment before continuing. "Let me tell you a bit about the beginning of life in Diné tradition. When a person is born, the Holy People--you might think of them as 'gods'--breathe the spirit of life into the body, and this is a good thing. But when a person dies, a bad spirit is released with the last breath. I will not say this word, but I will spell it in English for you. C-h-i-n-d-i. This is a very bad spirit that wishes to avenge something it feels was done wrong to it in life."

"Does everyone have--" I stopped, trying to figure out how to talk about a chindi without saying the name. "A bad spirit like that?" I decided that was the best way to do it.

"No, not everyone," she responded and I thought I detected relief in her voice. "Babies and the very old do not."

"What happens to you if you come into contact with one of these spirits?"

"Sickness, maybe. Bad luck. Maybe death. If you think you have been in contact with one, it is important that you have a healing ceremony conducted within four days."

A chill crawled up my spine. I thought about what had happened two nights ago. "What if you're not sure whether you'd been in contact with one?" Where am I going with this?

"You will know if it is something that isn't right," she said, matter-of-fact. "You'll feel it, though many bilagaana try to talk themselves out of believing in forces beyond their comprehension."

"What ceremonies should someone employ if they believe they have come into contact with a bad spirit like that?" I turned the page of my notebook.

Ellen was quiet for a long moment before speaking. When she did answer my question, I thought I heard a gentleness in her tone. "A Diné who believes she has been in contact with a bad spirit will return to the place she thought it happened. Spirits like that can take many forms, most often animals like coyotes. If she finds a coyote track in the place where she thought the spirit appeared, for example, she will place a piece of turquoise in the track and request a Talking God Blessingway. Within four days, she must have a Blessingway."

"But these are Diné ceremonies," I pressed. "Can they apply to others?" And a Blessingway, from my limited knowledge of them, required a lot of preparation and time. Not to mention a qualified Navajo practitioner.

"I know some bilagaana who have had Blessingways performed," she said thoughtfully. "Only a very few of those, however, understood in their hearts the significance."

"Do you think--" I started.

She laughed. "The next time I have need of a Blessingway, I will call you so that you might observe. And Sage, as well, though she has seen a few of them already."

"She has?" My girlfriend has been hanging with the Navajo and I didn't know?

"We have known each other for a few years now," Ellen said in a tone that dismissed the topic.

I changed the subject, though I was surprised that Sage hadn't mentioned that to me. "What happens if a bilagaana dies on Navajo land?"

"We find another bilagaana to take care of the body. Nowadays, that's usually the closest police force off tribal lands."

I wrote that down. Cultural belief systems dictating jurisdiction. "Do Diné ever allow an autopsy?"

"Ah, this is a very difficult question. Some do, but it depends on the circumstances of the person's death. Remember, it is tradition to bury a body as quickly as possible, to prevent the bad spirit from remaining. There are many things that go into this decision. It is not one any Diné takes lightly, no matter how modernized they may think themselves."

I started to ask another question about autopsies when she interrupted me.

"I understand how an autopsy can help in a criminal investigation. But we Diné do not have this tradition and for any of us to imagine what happens to a body in such a situation and how that might affect the balance I have told you about is traumatic. Do you understand why this is such a sensitive issue?"

"I do." And I did. "What might a compromise be? Or is there one?"

"Now that depends on the way a Diné perceives the actions of the investigators." She took a humorous tone then. "Attitude is everything," she said, using a voice like a commercial announcer's. She giggled again. "If investigators don't behave respectfully, we might not want to compromise."

I smiled. "I don't want to keep you talking. But I really appreciate the information you've shared."

"If you wish to talk more, just call."

"I will. I don't want to misrepresent anything you've said."

"And I'll let you know when there's a Blessingway I think you can attend."

"I'd be honored." I closed my notebook.

"Sage was right," Ellen said in a teasing tone. "She said I would like you." And then she laughed again. "Very well. We'll talk later."

And she hung up. I set my phone on my desk next to the stack of books Kara had put there and jiggled my mouse to bring up my monitor. I Googled "chindi" and as I suspected, it could be applied as a generic term to other malevolent forces like witches. And skinwalkers. I rubbed my temples. What is wrong with me? This line of thought was messed up. I decided I needed to clear my head so I shut my computer down and got my workout gear together then left the house around two and headed for the UNM gym.

KARA PULLED UP in front of the house at four. I closed the copy of Outside magazine I'd been reading and watched as she locked up and approached.

"Hey." She took her shades off when she joined me on the porch.

"Pull up a chair." I gestured at one of the plastic lawn chairs.

"Don't mind if I do," she said, grinning as she pulled one closer and sat down. "So I had a very interesting experience today."

"Oh?" I watched her, wondering what was prompting her to talk to me about it.

She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture that I knew I shared with her. "Okay, so I went to Madrid because I wanted to see Sage's latest exhibit--holy fuck, Kase. She is so good."

I smiled about that and also because Kara had pronounced Madrid like the locals do. "I know."

"I mean, for real. She's got to have enough of a following that she could put a book together."

"That's a good idea." A great idea, I added to myself.

"For real. She could get a foundation to front the money for production costs, if she goes with a smaller local press. And she could keep the proceeds or donate them to whatever. Knowing her, she'll probably donate."

"True. Damn, girl. You're hired. For what, I don't know. But if you keep it up with shit like this, I'll think of some kind of title for you."

She leaned back, lips pursed in thought. "I need to think about this a bit. And I'll talk to Sage, too. The three of us need to have a conference about it."

Typical Kara, I thought, feeling a little tension in my gut. All talk, no action. Grand "I'll get back to you" ideas and then nothing. She never followed through. Why am I surprised? I forced myself to relax, remembering what Mom had said a few days ago.

"Anyway," she continued, "here's the rest of my interesting experience."

I waited, listening.

"I met this woman at the gallery and we talked for a couple of hours. We ended up having lunch over at the Mine Shaft."

Why do I have a bad feeling about this?

"And I asked her out to dinner tomorrow."

"You mean on a date?"

"No. To play a doubles tennis match. With Mom and Joely." She rolled her eyes. "Duh, Kase. Yes, a date."

"That's great," I said, trying hard to sound enthused and not take the disapproving big sister role. "Where does she live?"

"Santa Fe. She knows you and Sage."

"Uh--" Holy fucking shit. "Shoshana?"

Kara grinned. "The very one."

I clenched my jaws. I will not start a fight with Kara. I chanted that over and over in my head, alternating with "new leaf."

"She told me she came on to you pretty strong." Kara grinned at me like she was a cat who'd just eaten the proverbial canary.

"She admitted it?" I drummed my fingers on my armrest.

"As soon as she found out who I was, she got really embarrassed. We were talking about Sage's work--" she stopped and flashed me a mischievous little smile. "And yeah, we were flirting. But anyway, she said she thought Sage had a rare gift because she's able to capture the essence of something. I told her that Sage is my sister's partner and holy shit, the look on her face." Kara giggled. "She turned bright red and said had she known I was your sister, she wouldn't have been flirting. I told her it was too late and that's when she told me about what happened Saturday." Kara reached over and smacked me on the shoulder. "I can see you freaking out but trying to be all charming and not hurt her feelings."

"She didn't notice a family resemblance?" I asked, ignoring the comment.

Kara shrugged. "Context. Why would she make the connection? Plus, my hair's shorter than yours now. If it was longer, she might have wondered about a resemblance."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"What? That she made a play for my sister?"

I decided not to respond.

"Nope. She didn't know who I was and we were flirting for a while before she found out."

I recognized a certain petulance to Kara's tone and it took me right back to when we were teenagers, pushing each other's buttons. New leaf, dammit. "Well, hell. She's attractive and interesting. Why not?" I reached over and squeezed her forearm. "I hope you have a good time."

She looked at me, unsure, suspicion in her eyes.

"I'm still trying to get used to you dating girls," I said. "That kinda wigged me out a little."

Kara sat back, studying my face, the suspicion dissipating. "We need to talk." Nothing in her tone set off warning bells in my psyche.

"Yeah." I fidgeted with the magazine that was resting on my thigh. "But not just once. Maybe we should make it a habit. Or something."

She nodded. "I know we haven't always gotten along. And I know I drive you crazy."

I sighed. "I feel like a shit. I was thinking today that I've never asked you what you thought about things. I've been a total asshead older sister. I'm sorry about that."

"Well, I've been a total asshead immature younger sister. And I'm sorry about that."

"All right," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "So you're bi and you're going out on a date with some chick who propositioned me a few days ago. What else do you want to share?"

Kara's eyebrows raised but she grinned. "Okay. I've decided to leave California."

My turn to raise my eyebrows. "Why?"

She shook her head, a distant, grim look on her face. "Burned out." She studied her hands, which were resting on her thighs. "I've worked almost ten years for a variety of environmental organizations out there. And I realized something." She raised her head and smiled wanly. "It's about politics. Not just the government and the corporations we're fighting." She leaned back, sighing with something that sounded like frustration. "Inter-office, too. Petty bullshit between groups. Cults of personality. Stupid drama that detracts from the overall message. And besides, I'm not sure it's the kind of work I want to do the rest of my life."

"So you're searching."

She nodded, staring out toward the street. "Yeah. And I decided to check in with the family because I also realized that I don't like who I've become in some ways." The muscles of her jaw clenched then released. "I know I've let you down in a lot of ways," she continued, voice quiet. Her gaze held mine. "Like Dad's birthday last year. I know you were disappointed that I didn't come through. I don't know why I do shit like that. I don't know if I'm rebelling against you and Joely, the perfect daughters for professors, or against my own insecurities about feeling like I've always been in your shadows."

"Kare--" I started.

"Hold up," she interrupted, though gently. "I'm not saying you tried to make me feel that way on purpose. That's just how it seemed to me. I never felt academia was the way I was going to go but in our family, it was pretty much expected."

I thought about that, how hard it must have been to negotiate expectations and personal identity. "I guess I didn't consider that."

She shrugged in a "what are you gonna do?" motion. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. And I see that I'm responsible for a lot of my own shit. I'm just not sure how to get rid of it. But I'm going to try." She toyed with a thread that had come loose at the pocket of her shorts. "And I know I'm going to fuck up. I know I'm going to continue to push your buttons in some ways but I'm working on things, okay?"

I reached over and ruffled her hair. She flashed me a teenaged "quit it!" expression and we both started giggling.

"Okay," I said after a bit. "I'll work on not falling into big sister bullshit. But I know I'll screw that up on occasion, too."

"That's cool. I just want to try to change some things and I think I'm on the right track because it feels good, though it's hard."

I leaned back, and a weight I didn't know I had hanging around my neck seemed to fall off. "So what do you feel like your next career's going to be?"

"I don't know. I'm thinking about a few things. Grad school-- and don't you dare make any academic DNA comments--maybe staying with environmental work but in a different state. I'm a pretty good fundraiser so I could hook up with some other kind of nonprofit."

"Are you all right on money?"

She smiled at me. "For a while, yes. Contrary to what Joely thinks, I'm also very good at budgeting and I have quite a bit saved up. But thanks."

"Seriously. If you need anything, let me know. I'll call on my vast network, see what kinds of jobs are out there."

"I appreciate that. And I'll keep you posted. I'm just not sure what I'm doing or what I want right now so I'm taking some time to figure it out."

"Cool. So...first girlfriend?"

Kara laughed. "God, would you chill with the bi thing?"

"C'mon. I'm trying to get to know you better."

"I know. I'm teasing. Amy Sinclair. Junior year in high school. You were already in college."

"Shut up. Are you serious? The valedictorian? That Amy Sinclair?"

She wiggled her eyebrows. "From spring break to the end of summer. Then she went to college and I think hooked up with some guy in the engineering program."

"You said you were hanging out with Randy Blake that summer."

"I was. But then Amy and I would get together." She grinned, enjoying my discomfiture.

"Holy crap." I shook my head, floored.

"Please, Kase. You told Mom and Dad you were hanging out with guys, too. Like Jerry Irvine. But I busted you making out with Mindy Johnson your senior year."

Oh, my God. I knew I was blushing. I cleared my throat. "Where?" I managed.

"In her car after one of your softball games. Don't worry," she added, smirking. "I didn't stick around too long. But I'd always suspected you swung that way."

We sat in silence for a bit and I thought about Mindy. She was a junior when we hooked up. Bubbly, funny, and an Allstar shortstop. We did a lot of heavy petting, but that's as far as it got.

"Mindy wasn't your first, was she?" Kara grinned like she knew something I didn't.

"Second. April Gonzalez was the first girl I kissed, my junior year." Kara was a freshman at Flagstaff High that year and Joely was already in college.

"Yes! I thought there was something between you two. She was cute. I liked her more than Mindy. I thought Mindy came across kind of shallow. But April--she was quiet. Deep."

I nodded. "Yeah, she was."

"How'd it happen?"

"Get all personal, why don't you," I retorted in mock indignation.

"Whatever."

"April was really good with math and that's just not my subject. As you know." I looked at her and she nodded in agreement. "We were in the same trig class and I was fightin' life. I stayed after school one day for a math study group and Mr. Roberts went over a bunch of stuff with me. He was pretty cool about it, but I still didn't feel like I was getting it. April was in that group and she offered to help me--"

"In more ways than one," Kara snorted.

I shot her a teasing glare and she shut up.

"Anyway," I continued, "she helped me every Tuesday and Thursday after school for a couple of hours. We'd sit there in the library and she was even more patient than Mr. Roberts." Funny how I never use my high school teachers' first names. "And she had these memory tricks for working specific problems and then the second week she was helping me, something clicked and I was able to start working the problems and I stopped freaking out so much about math, which was probably half of my issue."

"Blah, blah, blah, Kase. Get to the good stuff." Kara nudged me with her foot.

"Hey. Context is everything. So we took the midterm and I got a B and I was so damn excited. After we got our grades on that, I was hyped and I hugged April in the hallway and...well, you know."

"No. You'll have to tell me. Describe it exactly." She leaned back in her chair, smiling mischievously.

"That feeling. I already knew I liked girls more than boys. But I didn't understand how that might work until I hugged April. And I flipped out a little." I thought back, remembering how her body felt against mine. She wasn't a jock like I'd been, but she wasn't inactive, either. And she was soft in all the right places. "There was a basketball game that Friday. Guys. I went with the usual suspects and April was there with her cousin. April didn't wear a lot of makeup. I liked that. And she had a great ass."

"Yeah, she did."

I glanced at Kara. "I wish I had known you liked girls, too."

"So we could double-date?" She laughed.

"Nah. Just so we could...hang out. I felt like some kind of freak. After all, Joely was so boy-crazy that Mom and Dad got used to blatant heterosexuality in their offspring through her. And I was so not feeling that."

Kara regarded me for a long time. "I wish you had told me."

I tried to shrug our regrets away. "Hindsight. Anyway. Everybody went to that Denny's over on Milton and I asked April if she wanted to go. I told her we'd give her a ride home but she lived near there, on the side of the college opposite us. So I walked her home, after we shared an order of fries. I told everybody I'd be right back."

"But you weren't." Kara smiled and a sweet expression hovered in her eyes.

I sighed, smiling back. "No. I wasn't." I thought about that walk with April, on that cold, clear mountain night. I was so nervous and I wasn't sure what it all meant. She had a great voice. Warm and inviting and she always sounded glad to see you, even if she didn't know you very well. We went around back and we were standing by the chainlink gate into her yard, set in a cinderblock wall, and I thanked her again for helping me with math and I remembered my palms were sweating and I felt sort of queasy because I knew that no matter what was going to happen that night, my life was about to take a very different path than Joely's.

"So did she kiss you or did you kiss her?"

I snapped back to the present. "Neither. It just kind of happened. I remember we were standing there and she thanked me for walking her home but she didn't move. She just kept looking at me, like she expected something. I leaned down a little and she waited and I leaned down a little more and then we both kind of met in the middle. It was really awkward. But kind of sweet. We warmed up after that and by the time she went inside, we'd been out there over an hour. I ran back to Denny's but everybody had left. So I had to run home, across campus, and sneak into the house." I smiled, shaking my head. "High school. What a trip."

Kara sighed. "High school sucked. Especially being the third. Everybody knew you and Joely and they just expected I'd be like you guys. Super scary smart like Joely or funny and athletic like you. But I'm not any of those things and I wasn't ever 'Kara.' I was always somebody's kid sister. Usually yours, since we were in high school together for a couple of years and Joely had already graduated."

I watched as a group of teenagers walked past, laughing and talking, on their way to Central Avenue, no doubt. I didn't realize how high school had affected her. After all, it pretty much sucked for most people. Maybe I'd suspected she didn't feel she had her own identity, but I never followed up with her. "I'm sorry that happened. And for the record, you're way smart. You just don't obsess about it like Joely does."

She laughed a little.

"And you're totally funny. You have this great wacky Bette Midler sense of humor when you let it rip. Plus you can swear like a sailor and I, for one, appreciate a woman who cusses."

She punched me on the arm.

"Ow. Texas titty twister," I yelled as I reached for the front of her T-shirt. She shot out of the chair before I got a grip on her and we both started laughing.

"What time do Chris and Dayna get here?" she asked after we'd stopped giggling.

"Seven."

"Okay. I'm going to check my e-mail."

"What kind of pizza do you like?" I stood, stretching.

"I'll eat whatever kind."

"Yeah, so I found out recently."

Before I could stop her she lunged for me and pulled my shorts down.

"Shit!" I reached for her with my free hand while I tried to pull my shorts up with the other but she dodged my grip and disappeared into the house, laughing. I adjusted my clothing and followed her in, making a mental note not to wear shorts with elastic waistbands around her.

Chapter Seven

THURSDAY EVENING CHRIS and I sat out back, talking and munching on pizza. Chris had just taken another bite and she chewed for a few seconds, staring into space. She swallowed and turned her attention back to me. "So what do you think Sage'll do if that's her dad that was found out there?"

"I don't know." I took a sip of beer. "I want to see the whole letter. River's supposed to send us a copy in the next few days." I braced my bottle on the chair's arm. "If that is Sage's dad and if somebody offed him because of shit going on at work, then it's a murder investigation. I doubt Sage'll want to get involved, given her history with him. River might. But I doubt it."

Chris nodded and took a drink from her glass. As Sage predicted, Chris had to work the next morning and she opted for iced tea with dinner. "It's weird that he would send a letter like that to a son he hasn't spoken to in years. Something must have been really bothering him to do that, knowing how River and Sage feel about him."

"So you're saying that something was going on at Ridge Star?"

"Not necessarily. But he thought there was and it scared him enough to one, write that letter, and two, to send it. The fact that he disappeared after he mailed it sends up a couple of red flags, as well."

"Maybe he bailed from work," I said. "Maybe he was scared, yeah, and then decided 'fuck it, I'm outta here'."

"Wouldn't be the first time one of those guys did that," Chris agreed. "Plus, he's an addict. Maybe he OD'ed somewhere."

"I thought about that. And his pattern of behavior seems to support his leaving on his own rather than sticking around and trying to whistle-blow. He's roughnecked all over the western states working various oil and gas wells. He'll make a shitload of money in one location, then move on with it, drink most of it, work for another few months torqued on meth to get the overtime hours, then move on...spin cycle. Him and all the other guys who work that industry. It's a lot of money for some of 'em, but a shit life in most ways." I swirled my beer in the bottle.

"Damn dangerous industry," Chris muttered. "And it doesn't make sense, based on what we know about him, that he'd stay put somewhere and be Mr. Good Citizen. Which brings us right back to the original question. Why send a letter like that to an estranged son?"

Laughter emanated from the house. Chris and I exchanged smiles.

"Down time, mujer," I announced, our signal that it was time to talk about something else.

"Agreed. So what's up with Kara?"

I gave Chris the short version and when I finished, Chris shook her head, partially shocked, mostly amused. "Bi? And hooking up with the art chick who made a play for you? Holy shit."

"Yup. That was my reaction, too. But we had a nice talk and I think we're both going to try to work on things. She does seem a lot more grounded than I've seen her and the Shoshana thing...well, like Kara said, Shoshana didn't know who she was when they started flirting. Just kind of a freaky coincidence."

"What are the damn chances, though?" Chris mused. "I mean, seriously. Art Chick makes a play for you on Saturday then Thursday she makes a play for your sister, in town temporarily from California. Abuelita would say something like los caminos se unen con razón."

Roads meet for a reason. "Or it could just be a freaky coincidence."

Chris grinned at me. "Dr. Rational over here. Are you the same Dr. Rational who told me yesterday she'd been looking up skinwalkers online because one might have stopped by?" She raised her eyebrows at me.

"Yeah, whatever. Nothing wrong with expanding one's research interests." I slumped down in my chair, pretending offense.

"So what's next, Dr. R? Neo-Nazi poltergeists?" Laughter edged Chris's tone and I started to respond when I heard the doorbell ring, a distant little "ping" that worked its way through the kitchen and out the back door.

Chris looked at me. "Expecting anybody?"

I checked my watch. Nearly eight and dusk had already insinuated itself into the residual warmth of the desert air. "No. Might be a neighbor. Sometimes Mrs. Graves next door comes over with extra tomatoes from her garden." I shrugged when the back door opened and Kara's voice, urgent, interrupted from the top of the steps.

"Kase, it's the police."

Chris was on her feet before the words even sank in.

"What--" I started as I got to my feet.

"They came to talk to Sage," Kara said, worry in her eyes.

Chris caught my eye and I knew the same thought was going through our minds. She waited for me to precede her up the back steps and into the house. I went through the kitchen into the living room, where Sage stood near the front door talking to a couple of plainclothes officers, one a short, stocky guy with sandy-colored hair he wore trimmed over his ears and the other a petite woman with long black hair pulled back from her face. He was dressed casually, in khakis and a polo shirt while she wore a black business suit. She carried a briefcase in one hand and a legal pad in the other and for a moment, she reminded me of Melissa.

I crossed the floor, my thoughts going a million miles an hour. Chris was right on my heels. Sage returned my gaze. I read relief and tension in her eyes.

"Hi," I started, positioning myself on Sage's left. "I'm K.C. Fontero, Sage's partner." If that revelation freaked them out, they hid it well.

"Chris Gutierrez, APD." Chris's voice, low and professional. Both newcomers shifted their attention to her, measuring. The man's expression remained cop-stoic but the woman seemed to warm up a bit. She picked up the introductions.

"Maria Simmons, Farmington Police. This is Jim Martin, my colleague with the FBI."

We all murmured "good to meet you's" before Martin cleared his throat.

"We're very sorry to bother you like this at home," he said in a surprisingly deep voice, "but we have some bad news for Ms. Crandall." He glanced at her, as if checking to make sure it was okay to break the news in front of all these other people.

"It's okay." Sage met his gaze. "We're all pretty much family here."

I felt Kara's presence behind me, to my left. I was glad for it.

Martin continued, unfazed. "We're sorry to report that the Albuquerque Medical Examiner has positively identified a body found last week near Shiprock as that of William C. Crandall. Public records indicate that you and a brother are next-of-kin of Mr. Crandall." He stopped then and I took Sage's hand. Holy fuck. Then again, why was I surprised? This whole week was a Dali painting. Bodies on the Rez. Navajo witches. Letters from dead men.

"What happened to him?" She sounded tired.

"We're still trying to determine that," Simmons interjected.

"Where was he found?"

A question we knew the answer to, but you always hold out hope that your instincts are wrong. Or maybe Sage was fishing, trying to see how much they'd tell her.

"The Navajo Reservation," Simmons answered, crisp and detached. "These are suspicious circumstances and we're investigating his death, which is why Agent Martin is assisting. I'm not sure you're aware of jurisdiction on Indian land, but given the manner in which Mr. Crandall died, we are working with the FBI. Your father was reported missing last Monday by--" she looked at the legal pad. "Tonya Daniels."

Sage chewed her lower lip for a moment. I squeezed her hand, my thoughts bouncing from the reservation to Farmington to oil and gas fields back to the reservation.

"Ms. Crandall," Simmons started.

"Sage," she responded. "I'm not sure what to say. I haven't spoken to my father in over ten years. We weren't close."

Simmons shifted, perhaps uncomfortable. After all, here she was, probably braced for a wild-eyed grief session and instead, she got this response. She seemed to be rethinking her approach.

"My brother wasn't close to him, either," Sage said, sounding steadier. "And I'm not sure what we're going to do about this."

"You're sure he didn't try to contact you?" Martin asked in a way that said he knew something.

"Not me. But my father did send a letter recently to my brother."

Both detectives went into investigation mode. Chris was better at presenting herself in such a way that she always sounded casual, like she was just talking with you. As a result, she extracted lots of information. These two looked like eager puppies, though I was gravitating more toward Simmons than Martin.

"As I said--" Sage directed her comment at Martin, in a "don't try your bullshit interrogation technique with me" tone. "We hadn't heard from him in over ten years. In the letter, which my brother received on Saturday, my father expressed concerns about his place of employment, Ridge Star Drilling." She pulled her hand out of mine and rubbed her palms together, thinking.

Simmons set her briefcase on the floor and took a pen out of her blazer pocket. She started writing on the legal pad. "What kind of concerns?"

Sage waited a beat before continuing. "He was afraid that something would happen to him. He didn't say specifically that he was afraid he might be killed, but he did say that he was thinking about reporting some alleged safety violations on Ridge Star's part and that it might cause some problems."

"Where is this letter?" Simmons was writing and she didn't look up.

"In Montana, with my brother. He's making a copy to send to me."

"They'll need the original," Chris interjected. "Let River know and tell him to put it and the envelope in a plastic Ziploc to preserve any fingerprints or other trace evidence and protect it."

Martin shot Chris a glance that was both measured and territorial.

Sage and Chris ignored him. "Tonya Daniels contacted River this past Sunday," Sage continued. "She said she found the phone number of River's employer in my father's things."

"Why did she contact him?" Simmons looked up, pen hovering over the paper.

"She wanted to know if my father had been in touch. She said that he didn't come home from work the Saturday before she reported him missing."

Simmons nodded as she wrote. They'd probably already talked with Tonya. I tried to catch Chris's eye but she was in professional mode and stood watching the proceedings, arms folded over her chest. Dayna stood to her left, thumbs hooked in her belt loops. She appeared relaxed but I knew she wasn't missing anything. I breathed a little easier, glad they were here. Kara stood to my left. She glanced at me and flashed a little smile of support. I smiled back.

"We'll need to speak with your brother," Simmons said, almost apologetic. I decided I liked her approach much better than Martin's.

Sage nodded.

"Excuse me," Dayna interrupted. Martin and Simmons turned to appraise her. "If I may--would it be possible for Ms. Crandall and her brother to have a few days to discuss this matter? Given the extenuating circumstances surrounding their relationship with their father, it's unreasonable to expect them to claim his body. At least at this juncture."

The expression on Martin's face hardened a bit at Dayna's lawyer tone, but Simmons appeared more amenable. She responded, "I'll let the Medical Examiner know that you're in the process of making a decision."

"I'd appreciate that," Sage said. "Thank you."

"This is an ongoing investigation," Simmons continued. "We'll be conducting interviews and trying to reconstruct what happened to your father. We will be coordinating with federal law enforcement-- Diné land, after all--and tribal officials as necessary. I can't promise you we'll have this solved tomorrow."

"I understand," Sage said. "I'm sure we'll be in touch regardless."

We stood there, looking at each other, me thinking that Simmons was Indian because she'd used the specific term Diné rather than just "Indian," which so many non-Indian people used. Or maybe she was just super culturally sensitive. Farmington needed people like that, what with its history of tension and violence between whites and Indians.

Martin cleared his throat. "We're sorry to bring you this news, Ms. Crandall." He glanced over at Simmons.

"We'll be in touch," she said as she handed Sage a business card before nodding once and turning to open the security door. She walked across the porch and down the front steps toward their car, a big nondescript American something-or-other that they probably rented at the airport. Martin followed and I decided he might have been military once, given the way he carried himself. I was willing to bet money they'd flown Mesa, the commuter airline service in New Mexico and Colorado as soon as they got the ID and next-of-kin listings. Farmington was a good three hours away by car, depending on a variety of factors like weather and traffic. We watched them drive away from the curb, Simmons at the wheel.

I hugged Sage.

"I have to call River," she said, and her tone sounded distant and hollow, like the expanse of space that defined the Navajo Reservation. I released her and she went into our bedroom. Dayna and Kara started cleaning off the table, leaving me and Chris standing by the front door. She motioned me outside onto the porch.

"I wouldn't wait around for Simmons to contact the ME. I'll give you the number before we leave so Sage or River can let them know to hold the body until they decide what to do." Chris put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

"Shit," I muttered. "That bastard. I know Sage won't want to pay to have him cremated or buried or whatever the hell he might have wanted. Like she even knows. But she'll feel guilty about passing that burden to the state. That son-of-a-bitch."

Chris didn't respond. She just let me vent.

"Fuck." I ran a hand through my hair. "All right, so what do we know?" I shifted into research mode, which helped me compartmentalize. "Dead body on Rez turns out to be Sage's dad. Most likely, someone either took him out there and killed him or killed him and dumped the body there. Why on the Rez?"

"Remote," Chris answered. She knew what I was doing and she also knew that right now, I needed to be in this kind of space with her. "Difficult to access. Maybe whoever took him there and killed him or, alternatively, dumped him there, figured it'd be a hell of a long time before anybody found him."

I fiddled with the bottom of my T-shirt. "Yeah. But two things went wrong with that plan. One, Bill sent a letter and two, someone found his body sooner than his killer anticipated."

"We're not sure it's murder."

I glanced over at Chris, outlined in the light that emanated through the front security door. "True. We aren't. But circumstantially, that's what the scenario seems to suggest. No car, no wallet. That's a long-ass walk from Farmington. Plus, he suspected that something he knew and something he was thinking about revealing put him in danger."

"The key word here is 'circumstantial'," Chris pointed out. "Clearly, where he was found and the condition of his body--if in fact there is blunt force trauma involved--are suspicious. But you know the drill, esa. The evidence is suggesting that, but it's not definitive. Not yet." She slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, watching me. I saw worry in her eyes.

I sighed. "Thanks."

She moved toward me and wrapped me in a hug. "Kase, we've known each other a long time. I have so much respect for your intellect and how you go about finding information. But as your friend now--you've got to let this go for a while. Sage needs you to be a partner, not a consultant. This might bring some shit up for her--you said so yourself. Stay on point with her."

I heard the unspoken "don't let what happen with Melissa happen here, too." I exhaled, forcing myself to relax against her, knowing she was right. "Okay. But I don't know how to negotiate the Medical Investigator's office or stuff like that from this position so I might need some help."

"You know I've got your back through this," Chris said against my hair and the years between us spread through my torso with a slow, comfortable warmth. "Somos familia. And that will never change."

I thought about how we'd met, over a decade ago. "I am so glad I went to that party that night." I released my hold on her and poked her in the stomach.

"Same here." She grinned. "And wasn't it you who told me to stop with the counseling and just try out for the police academy?"

"Well, geez, Detective I-hate-this-counseling-shit. You weren't exactly happy doing the psychology thing. You needed a kick in the ass."

"I distinctly recall it was a six-pack of beer that did it," she teased.

"Details." I shrugged. "Beer. Ass. Whatever."

Chris chuckled. "It works both ways. You realize that if I think you're straying into research land too much and not running the right plays with Sage, I'm going to tell you."

"You're such a jock," I muttered.

"Oh, like you didn't play high school sports." She jabbed me in the ribs and I poked her in the stomach again. We both started laughing.

"You okay?" she asked after a bit.

"Yeah." We both knew I wasn't, but that for the moment, it would have to do.

"All right." She reached for the door.

"Thanks." I said.

"De nada. I love you, chica. You coming in?"

"In a minute. And I love you right back, Detective Goddess."

Chris squeezed my shoulder before she went inside. She could read my moods better than I could, sometimes, and she knew when I needed a little bit of alone time. Like now. The door clicked as she pulled it closed. I stood at the top of the steps and stared out into the dark, glancing toward the bush where I thought I'd seen movement a few nights before. A car drove past, blocking my view momentarily.

I heard Dayna and Kara talking and Chris responded to a joke that made Kara laugh and I thought about family. Chris and I were lucky in that our families of origin were supportive, for the most part, of each of us and the paths our lives had taken. The dynamics of Sage's family were very different than mine, because of Bill's alcoholism. I knew a little something about addiction and how it poisoned friends and family because Melissa's younger sister Megan had battled it from a young age. Their father, too, was an alcoholic though he'd replaced booze with Jesus. Melissa still attended Al-Anon meetings and she went to therapy regularly, sometimes with Megan when the latter was in town from school in Oregon, where she'd moved after the neo-Nazi fiasco. Both of them worked hard on undoing years of damage and I admired them for it. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts and looked up at the sky, seeing a few stars even with Albuquerque's light pollution.

Sage had her own way of dealing with things. She'd tried therapy off and on but hadn't connected with any of the counselors on a level she needed. She had mentioned a few months ago that she was thinking about trying again because she felt that some dark things weren't moving through. I hoped that day came sooner rather than later.

For his part, River was very protective of his sister, and much more engaged with her than their mom, who had become more a friend than a relative through the years. Sage told me stories sometimes about their lives in northern Wyoming, and how she hated when her dad came home from the rigs, tired and angry and usually half-drunk. Better he was completely drunk, she'd say, and passed out in his truck out front after a bender, because then he'd leave the family alone.

Sage stood up to his bullying when he tried pushing River and Janet around, which she believed kept her safe in the bedroom she shared with her brother. And when River hit his puberty growth spurt, he assumed the protector role, using his increasing physical size and strength as a buffer between Bill's drunken rages and the women in his household. River never said anything to Janet about his resentment, but Sage knew he sometimes blamed their mother for allowing this big, messed-up man into their house, into their lives, and into the widening cracks in the family.

But she also knew that Janet was socking money away, hiding it somewhere, skimming it off her father's paycheck, stealing it from his pockets when he sprawled, passed out, on the beaten-down couch in their hardscrabble cabin. And she knew that Janet was arranging a place for the three of them to live in town, that she was looking for a job. She'd finally told a few people what was going on, including a local rancher lawyer, who took pity on this ragtag band of pioneers and ended up helping them for free.

Sage told River these things when she turned fifteen, she said to me one night a couple months after we first met. And she said it was another year before Janet had everything in place and when Bill came home one spring day from a three-month stint working a rig outside Billings, Janet met him at the door with his hunting rifle. She told him she was done and she didn't care what he did with his sorry-ass cabin, but she was taking what she wanted, taking the kids, and filing for divorce. If he knew what was good for him, he'd sign all the papers and he wouldn't fight for custody. Sage and River watched these proceedings from behind her. It had come to that, and Sage remembered feeling numb but lighter, somehow. But she also said that sometimes, the past has a funny way of catching up with you.

"Honey?"

I turned at the sound of her voice and smiled. "What's up?"

She joined me, shutting the door behind her. I slid my arms around her waist and felt her snuggle against me. "River's coming down."

"When?"

"He's leaving tomorrow morning. He'll get here late tomorrow night." She put her head on my shoulder.

I brushed my lips against her forehead. "I'll tell Kara and see what she wants to do. Maybe get a hotel room or something. Or maybe she'll want to go back to Tucson for a while."

"No."

I pulled away so I could look at Sage. "Where's River going to sleep?"

"One of the couches. But he'll bring an inflatable mattress or that damn cot so he can sleep out in the mud room. He's Mr. 'I hate civilization.' Remember?" Her voice held a trace of laughter. "Besides, I already made it very clear to Kara that she's welcome to stay as long as she wants, and not to feel uncomfortable in the midst of this because she's family and she's always welcome to share the love and the pain."

"What'd she say to that?"

"She said she was going to ask me and you anyway if it was okay for her to stay and let her be helpful."

I snapped my mouth shut, trying to keep my jaw from falling off my face.

"Yes, your sister said that. And your response will be?"

"'Thank you'," I recited like I was in grade school. "'Thank you, Kara, for helping out. It's great that you're here'."

"Very good. Tell her that as soon as you have a chance. She needs to hear it from you because, after all, I'm just the cool girlfriend."

"You're the very cool girlfriend," I said.

"So are you." She kissed me before taking my hand and pulling me toward the front door. "Nothing more we can do tonight. So let's finish this pizza party and have some dessert."

Chapter Eight

"I'LL CALL YOU if I'm going to stay in Santa Fe."

I looked up from my monitor, not sure what Kara was talking about. She was standing in the study's doorway, looking at me.

"Did you hear anything I said?" she asked, but without the irritation she usually expressed with me.

I sighed. "I'm sorry."

She walked over to me and gave me a quick hug. "It's okay. You've got a lot on your mind."

"Santa Fe," I started. Her date with Shoshana. "Oh. Yeah. But that's this evening, isn't it?"

"I'm going to do some sight-seeing. Part of finding myself and all that."

I managed a smile. "Sounds good. And you'll call if you're staying there tonight. Gotcha."

She stood looking at me, worried, like Chris had regarded me the night before. "Kase, I won't go if you want me to stick around the house with you today."

I brushed her off. "Nah, it's fine. Go have fun."

Kara didn't move. "I know how you get."

"What does that mean?" I winced the moment I said it. "Shit. That sounded pissy. Sorry."

"It means that you tend to bottle things up and you don't ask for help. You go into your head--and that can be a hell of a bad neighborhood--and you put up your analytical walls."

I clenched my teeth then forced myself to relax. New leaf. "You're right. And Chris lectured me, too. I'm working on it." I smiled. "Right now, it's okay. But I'll tell you if it's not."

"Promise?" She crossed her arms.

"Scout's honor." I gave her the Boy Scout salute and tried to look earnest.

She giggled. "Just call if you need to. Or if you want to."

"Will do. Hope you have a good time."

She turned to leave.

"Hey--"

She stopped in the doorway, waiting.

"Thanks for sticking around. And you look nice." She did. She wore loose tan linen trousers, an olive v-neck tank, and leather huarache sandals.

She held my gaze for a long moment before replying. "You're welcome. See you later."

I listened until I heard the security door close and then I turned my attention back to the monitor. I typed "Ridge Star Drilling" into Google and waited to see what popped up. Not much. Let's see...date of incorporation in 1999. Hmm. I clicked on a few other sites and found an innocuous-looking legal document outlining a lawsuit against Ridge Star for the death of a worker in 2000. I bookmarked it and continued my search and found two other references to deaths at Ridge Star, men killed while on the job. One died when a load of pipe shifted off a hauling truck and crushed him and the other fell headfirst forty feet off a grated walkway onto a concrete platform. One of the men was Navajo. I wrote that down. I found some complaints about safety violations and wrote each incident down.

An hour later, I sat back, tugging on my chin. I'd gotten a crash course in the New Mexico oil and gas industry. The state was the third-leading producer of natural gas in the country. So production was up in the last two years, a combination of an increase in wells drilled and the discovery of more potential underground rock reservoirs of naturally occurring hydrocarbon-based gas. And the San Juan Basin--the northwestern corner of New Mexico--accounted for some sixty-seven percent of natural gas production in the state, Farmington a hub city for all this activity.

None of this was new to the state's history. Since the 1920s people had been sucking oil and gas out of the ground here. Oil peaked in the 1960s but since the late 1980s-early 1990s, gas production increased, especially in the San Juan Basin. And like any kind of boom, an influx of industry requires an equal influx of workers, which can often lead to tensions with older, more traditional industries and long-time residents.

Okay...so what? I tried a couple more searches and uncovered an article that documented some of the safety violations and subsequent injuries and deaths on oil and gas rigs in western states. New Mexico figured prominently in these and the list included three separate incidents within four months on Ridge Star equipment over the past year. That seemed high, even for this industry. So Bill basically stumbled upon the obvious. I stood, frustrated, and went into the kitchen for the last bit of coffee, by now the consistency of Rio Grande mud. I poured it into my cup anyway and added more halfand-half.

Bill had been a long-time, old-school roughneck. He knew drilling and he knew all its attendant effects. He was part of the whole male-centered transient culture that defined the job. He'd no doubt seen a few grisly injuries and a death or two. This was a hardened man who'd lived a hard life, some of which he'd brought on himself. So why the hell would he freak at what was going on at Ridge Star, if something were, in fact, going on? Why wouldn't he just move on to another rig?

I took a sip from my cup, staring at the sink. Something about this wasn't adding up. Why would Bill give a shit about safety violations, working in an unsafe industry most of his adult life? What did he really know? I needed to see the letter he'd sent to River. I headed back to the office just as the home phone rang. We kept it in the kitchen, so I had to backtrack. I checked the caller ID on the handset but I didn't recognize the number, though it had the New Mexico area code. I answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi," said a male voice with a slight drawl I guessed was Texan. "This is Ward Lindstrom, calling from Farmington. I'm trying to reach Sage Crandall."

I set my coffee on the counter. "She's not available at the moment, but I'm her partner. Can I help you in some way?"

Long pause. Probably absorbing what "partner" meant. I took the phone into the office and picked up a pen on my desk. I pulled my legal pad closer.

"I'm the attorney handling her father's will." he said it tentatively, though I didn't hear any underlying revulsion at the lesbian connection.

Will? What the--? "I see. Can I have a number where you can be reached? I'll have her give you a call as soon as she can."

"That's mighty helpful." He sounded relieved and provided the number. I wrote as he spoke and repeated it back to him.

"That's my cell. I'm available any time."

"Great. I'll let her know."

"Thanks. Bye, now." And he hung up. I took the phone back into the kitchen and set it on its base. A will. This should be interesting. I retrieved my cell phone from the dining room table and called Sage.

I RETURNED FROM UNM around 4.30, having completed my campus errands like checking in with the department secretary, slogging through my academic snail mail, and then working out. As I was trying to unlock the security door, my cell phone rang. dropped my gym bag on the floor of the porch and pulled my phone off the belt. Sage.

"Hey, sexy."

She giggled. "Hi. What are you doing?"

"Trying to open the front door but I'll wait on that. Did you get my message?"

"I called him."

I set my school bag beside my gym bag and leaned against the wall next to the front door. "So what's the deal?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled. "Well, this guy is Dad's lawyer. At least where the will's concerned. River and I are named in it."

Damn. You may already have won a trip to Farmington. "Did he tell you specifics?"

"Some. I asked whether Dad had left any instructions about what to do with his body."

"And?"

"He did. I almost lost my shit, I was so surprised," she said wryly. "He wants to be cremated and he wants Tonya to take his ashes to some place he picked out with her."

"Hell. So he was pretty serious about her."

"Sounds like it." I heard a shrug in her tone. "Here's the really surprising part. He left money to do that. So I'm going to contact the OMI and go over there with River and we'll have Dad transported back to Farmington. He even has a funeral home designated."

"Wow." I ran a hand through my hair. "Well, good for him, taking care of that, at least." "Yeah. River and I'll have to go to Farmington to do this in an official capacity. The lawyer's scheduling with Tonya." "Honey--" She kept talking. "This kind of official thing--I'll see when

River wants to go up and then I'll call the lawyer back."

"Sweets--"

"I've never been to one of these," she continued, as if she was trying to both avoid the subject of her father but somehow deal with his death.

"Babe," I said, with a little more force.

"What?" she sounded surprised, as if she didn't know I'd been trying to talk to her.

"I'm going with you." I nudged my gym bag with my toe.

Pause. "Really? Kase, that would be so great."

"Hey," I chided her. "I'm your partner. I love you. I'm not going to let you go through this without me. My schedule's pretty clear. So whenever you and River and Tonya can get together is fine by me."

Sage didn't respond right away but I heard her breathing. Then, "Thank you. I was afraid to ask." She said it in such a way that it reminded me of a kid trying to carefully wake up a sleeping adult.

That bothered me. "Why?"

"I didn't want you to freak out about getting sucked into family drama--"

"Okay, wait. I'm part of your family. When I signed up for this ride, I knew it wasn't always going to be rose petals and hallelujah choruses all the time. I'm in this with you, as long as we ride this horse. I know you sometimes have trouble believing that, but please try." I remembered how Melissa used to avoid asking me to help her with things because she was afraid of my reaction. Sage sometimes did that, too, and I recognized it as residue from growing up with an alcoholic parent. She never knew what kind of reaction she'd get so she learned not to ask for anything and not to rely too much on anyone because alcohol always pulled the rug out from under her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That wasn't a very healthy thing to do on my part."

"You don't need to apologize." I rubbed my palm on my shorts. "You didn't do anything wrong. You just need to remember that I'm not your past and you don't ever need to be worried about talking to me. Ever." I started pacing the length of the porch, wondering what I might be trying to work out, hooking up with another woman who grew up with an addict for a parent. The thought didn't go anywhere because in the great scheme of things, it didn't matter. I felt like me around Sage. I saw where I ended and she began, and how we complemented rather than subsumed each other. I loved her. And right now, that's what was important.

"Sometimes--" she hesitated.

"I know. Old stuff. And a lot of that is coming up right now. But I'm here. And that's the one thing you don't ever have to worry about. Okay?" I paused in front of one of the windows.

"It's hard for me sometimes," she admitted. "I'm working on it."

My gaze shifted to the windowsill, a little concrete ledge. At first, what I saw didn't register, so I turned my attention to my sandaled feet. "I know. It's okay. I'm working on stuff, too." I glanced again at the windowsill and this time, my brain clicked into gear. Several small turquoise stones, each irregularly shaped but about the size of my pinkie fingernail, lined up in a neat row from one end of the sill to the other. Even in the heat of an early August day, a chill tainted my skin. "What do you want for dinner?" I asked, almost jumping over my bags to get to the other window. Same thing. A row of turquoise.

"I'm cooking tonight."

"Cool. You want me to put anything out?" I reached for one of the stones but stopped and drew my hand back.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

"Uh, is there a reason that a bunch of turquoise is on our front windowsills?" I crouched down so I could study the stones without coming into physical contact with them.

"I put it there."

"When?"

"Thursday."

Two days after the porch incident. Why hadn't I noticed it before now? "Do I want to know why it's out here?" But I already knew. I just wanted to hear Sage's perspective.

"How about we talk about it when I get home?"

I thought I detected a bit of strain in her tone. "Sure. I'll see you when you get here."

We signed off and hung up, leaving me to ponder the turquoise as I unlocked the door and carried my stuff inside.

I LEANED AGAINST the counter, watching Sage cook, enjoying the way she coordinated so many things at once. She stirred the chicken dilruba in her favorite cast iron frying pan then she set the wooden spoon on the ceramic holder I'd bought her. She checked the nan in the oven and glanced over at me, smiling. "See anything you like?"

"You have no idea," I teased back. "I was thinking about that first time you invited me over. You cooked tikka masala. I knew I was in serious trouble from that point on."

"Trouble?" She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. It had gotten free of the leather tie.

"In a really good way."

She laughed and stirred the dilruba again. The florid but earthy smell of Indian food filled the kitchen and I remembered that first dinner with Sage, fighting my feelings until the moment she asked me to leave, saying she couldn't be that close to me and not want more. I asked her to dance and we did, there in the living room and all the reasons I'd manufactured to justify avoiding my attraction to her crumbled in the heat between us and the warmth of her mischievous smile.

"Turquoise can be a marking stone," she said, still stirring.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "A deterrent?"

"Maybe." Sage continued to stir, not looking at me. Her arm moved in gentle, rhythmic circles.

"It's been almost four days," I said, remembering what Ellen Tsosie had told me.

Her arm stopped moving. She raised her head and her eyes held a strange, guarded expression. "I had someone over," she stated. "To do a cleansing ceremony." She stirred a few more times, then stopped and set the spoon on the holder.

"When?"

"Wednesday afternoon. I called you but you weren't at the house."

My throat tightened. "Why didn't you call my cell?"

She didn't answer. Instead she checked the nan in the oven, spending way too much time obsessively poking at it.

"Sage," I started.

She closed the oven door and straightened, staring at the stovetop, hands on her hips. She turned, something like resolve in the set of her jaw and shoulders. "I'm not sure."

I nodded, a sinking feeling in my stomach. Old stuff, I chanted wordlessly.

"I'm sorry. I was afraid you'd think I'd gone crazy, talking about witches."

"The Navajo kind?" I clenched and unclenched my teeth.

She exhaled and dropped her gaze. "Yes. I didn't want you to laugh at me."

That hurt, somehow. "Why would you think I'd laugh about that?"

She raised her head. "Because you can be so damn rational and logical. I knew you'd tell me it was just a dog, that I was just upset about the possibility that my father was dead on the Rez." She crossed her arms, daring me to refute her.

"I--you're right about my damn rational and logical side. But I would never make fun of you or what you believe."

"Not overtly." She turned her attention back to the stove, stirring again.

"What are you trying to say?" I stopped leaning on the counter, confused and hurt at the prickle in the air between us.

"I don't think like you do." She paused, watching the dilruba. "I've seen some things that logic can't explain. I don't look for explanations, either. I just accept that there are things I don't understand, things that don't respond to science or logic or rational thought." She met my gaze then, clouds gathering in her eyes like storms over Hopi mesas. "And maybe you don't do it on purpose, but you have a certain tone you use when I talk about things like this."

I kept my mouth shut, knowing it was the best course of action in this conversation.

"It's a professor tone. Respectful, but with a patronizing edge. Like you're trying to figure out how to get me to come around to your way of seeing things." She turned the heat off under the frying pan, every movement tense. She emptied the pan's contents into a serving bowl. Steam curled into the air as she did so. She did the same with the rice.

I didn't know what to say. I went through the last few days in the tight silence that separated us, and through other memories we'd been making. "Do I really sound like that?" I asked, throat tight.

She set the empty pan on the stove and regarded me, a softer expression in her eyes. "Sometimes." She picked up the dilruba and carried it out of the kitchen. I heard her place it on the table, which I'd already set. She came back and turned the oven off. Using tongs, she placed the pieces of nan in a cloth-lined basket and took that to the table then reappeared in the doorway, waiting. I took the pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge and brought it to the table, tense. Sage sat down at the end farthest from the kitchen and I took my usual seat to her right. She served us both. I waited until she finished then poured tea into our glasses.

I stared at my plate, trying to conjure my appetite. Sage's food was always amazing, but uncertainty about what she had said sat in my gut like concrete. Her fingers brushed mine, settled like feathers on my hand.

"Honey," she said, "I'm sorry I brought it up like that. I don't always think about things before I say them. As you know."

I looked at her fingers then at her face. "No, I'm glad you did. I didn't realize--" I lost the thought, not sure where I wanted it to go.

She squeezed my hand, giving me a few moments. Then, "What's your impulse right now?"

Another Sage segue. I exhaled. "What do you mean?"

"I know you'd rather be anywhere than talking about this. Where would that be?"

"No, that's not true. I don't want to be anywhere else. I just don't know what to do."

She curled her fingers around mine. "I love that about you," she said, tone gentle. "You always own your shit."

"I don't realize that I'm--"

"Acting like Professor Know-it-all?" she finished, a little smile fluttering at the corners of her mouth.

I nodded, relaxing. "I guess I need a safe word, too."

Sage smiled. "We'll work on one." She pulled my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles before she released my fingers.

My appetite redeemed, I took a bite of dilruba and flavor exploded in my mouth. "Wow," I managed. "This is unbelievable." She'd added cinnamon, which somehow enhanced the turmeric and softened the ginger.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, me savoring every bite, stealing glances at Sage, seeking some kind of assurance.

"How do you feel about what I told you?" she asked.

I set my fork down and focused my attention on her. "I think that I probably do sound that way. I didn't realize I did, but I'm sorry I've made you feel bad." My stomach clenched.

She offered a little smile. "I know you don't do it on purpose. I'm sorry, too, for the space I'm in. I don't think what I said sounded very nice." She rested her hands in her lap and watched me, anxiety and uncertainty in her eyes. Mirrors to my own, perhaps.

"I researched some things," I said hesitantly. I waited for Sage to say something but she didn't, so I continued. "After you left on Wednesday, I spent a long time on the porch, trying to figure out what it was I saw. Trying to make myself believe that it was just a dog."

Sage remained quiet, but in her eyes I saw something. Hope?

"But nothing made sense. So I poked around in--um-- paranormal fields, trying to find a match."

"Did you?"

"Not right off. But then I got an e-mail back from Ellen and I tried a couple other angles." I stopped, uncomfortable.

"You found something." It wasn't a question but I treated it as such.

"Maybe. So I did some more research. Navajo witches and--" I stopped then looked at Sage. "Ellen said that words have power, that in Navajo--Diné--tradition," I corrected myself, "you can conjure bad things by speaking of them and so I didn't use the words for the witches when I talked to her. At first I think I was doing that out of respect for her traditions, but then I thought about it and it makes perfect sense for anyone." I gestured with my fork. "I mean, the kind of energy you put out into the world is what you get back. So it makes sense that words have energy, since it requires energy to think them and then say them..." I was rambling. "Anyway, I did a little more research and decided that I was freaking myself out so I quit. Bad ju-ju." I moved food around on my plate, waiting for Sage to say something.

Instead, she pushed back from the table and stood. I started to ask her what was up but before I could she straddled me, trapped my face in her hands, and kissed me hard and deep. My fork clinked against my plate as I dropped it. My hands found Sage's hips and her fingers dug into my hair.

She stopped and tied me up with the look in her eyes. "I love that you surprise me like this."

"You're one to talk." I ran my hands up her back.

She grinned devilishly and no further coherent thought entered my mind as she kissed me again. Her hands dropped to my breasts and I groaned against her mouth. "You like that?" she whispered.

"Uh..."

"You like this too?" She started moving slowly against me.

"Oh, my God," I managed, sliding my hands to her thighs.

"Sounds like a yes," she breathed against my ear before she nipped at my neck.

I moved my head, granting her better access and she gave my neck a thorough working over that left me weak in all the right places and soaked in my shorts.

"I think I need a bit more," she said, and she started pulling my tee off.

"Whoa, honey--the door--"

She stopped, glancing over my shoulder at the open front door. "The security door's locked." And she continued working on my tee.

"I'd kind of prefer that the neighbors not get a free show," I said, completely aroused, but feeling prudish.

"They won't." And Sage pulled me off the chair onto the floor, the couches blocking any view from the doorway. She laughed at my surprise and took her shirt off. "You inspire me," she said as she lowered herself onto me. Anything else I might have said never made it out of my mouth until some time later, when I lay staring up at the underside of the dining room table amidst a tangle of clothing, Sage next to me, head on my right shoulder. The palm of her hand was warm on the skin of my belly. She caressed my bare abdomen and the sparks her fingers generated raced down my legs.

"I've never experienced this particular view with anyone," I said as I stroked her hair with my right hand. "I'm glad we put a rug here."

She giggled, which always got a smile out of me. "I'm sorry about being so fucked up lately."

"I know you've got tons of shit on your mind, so I know you're a little out of sorts. But you're telling me, and that's what's important. Well, that and unbelievable sex under the dining room table."

Sage smacked me on my thigh. "So that's all I am to you?" She pretended to pout.

"No. I love your cooking, too."

She jabbed her finger into my ribs, tickling me.

I gasped, trying to get out of her grip. "No, wait. I also love your ass." She tickled me harder until I was whooping and we ended up in a tickle fight until she chased me into the bedroom. I did a flying leap onto the bed, ending up on my back, with Sage right on my heels. She launched herself onto me, pinning me to the bed, which I really didn't mind. "Shit, okay, okay. It's definitely--"

Her lips hovered dangerously close to mine.

"It's everything."

She kissed my cheek very slowly, melting my heart and firing my core all at the same time and then she stopped, watching me.

"It's how you look at me," I said. "Your laugh. The way you get frustrated with me but you're so patient." I moved my arms as she released my wrists and I pulled her against me. "It's what I see in your eyes and how I feel when I'm near you or think about you."

She brushed my hair away from my forehead.

"And you're so fucking hot," I growled, rolling us over so she was on her back.

She locked her legs around my waist. "So what are you gonna do about it?"

"The possibilities are endless. Fortunately," I said, pinning her wrists to the pillows behind her head, "I love exploring them with you."

"So get to it, Professor. Show me something." And she grinned in a way that makes my entire skeletal system useless.

"Gladly."

Chapter Nine

"HEY, KIDS. I'M home from my date. Did you stay out of trouble?"

"Hi, Kara," Sage shouted from the kitchen.

I looked up from my magazine as Kara came in through the front door. She left the inside door open. I made a show of reaching for my watch on the coffee table and looking at it. "Geez, Mom. It's not even eleven yet."

"Well, you know how I worry. Kids today, after all." She sniffed the air. "Is that coffee?"

I was about to respond in the affirmative when Sage appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Decaf. Want some?"

"Love some." Kara headed toward the kitchen, flicking me on the head with her fingers as she passed the couch where I sat with my feet up on the coffee table. The gesture flipped the order of things, making her seem like my older sister for a moment. I heard her laughing with Sage in the kitchen before she returned and sat down on the other couch, holding her cup in two hands.

"Damn, this smells good. Cinnamon and..."

"Mexican chocolate and nutmeg," I filled in for her, leaving the magazine on my lap.

She sipped. "Mmm. Wow."

Sage joined us with a plate of bizcochitos that she held out for Kara, who took one and nibbled on it.

"Oh, my God. It almost melts in your mouth. Sage, open a bakery."

Sage giggled and moved so she could offer me the plate.

I removed one, knowing what I was in for when I bit into the cookie. A delicate combination of sugar, anise, and a tiny bit of vanilla in this batch. "Have you done these with Abuelita yet?" I asked around my mouthful.

"We came up with the recipe together," Sage said as she set the plate on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch next to me. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, which brought an "Aww" from Kara.

"And how was your day?" Sage retrieved my cup from the coffee table for a drink.

Kara swallowed before answering. "Good. I explored Santa Fe. Hit some galleries. Saw some of your stuff on Canyon Road and I was so excited I told the person there that I knew you and he just went on and on about how wonderful your work is."

"Was it Trent at Anahita?" Sage set my cup back on the table and picked up a bizcochito.

Kara nodded.

"He's biased," Sage announced. "He has a crush on me."

I gave her an "excuse me?" look. She pretended not to notice.

"But if he does that every time someone asks about your work, girl, it helps sell it. He's kind of cute. Maybe I'll take him on a date, too, so I can help with your marketing." Kara grinned at me as I cleared my throat.

"Speaking of which--" Sage redirected the conversation. "How'd it go?"

"Good. We went to Pasqual's. I had a great pupusa stuffed with zucchini and green chile and Shoshana had enchiladas with chard and zucchini. Oh, and guajillo chiles."

"I've had those there," Sage said. "They are good. Maybe I'll try to make a batch like that."

I opted not to say anything, though I was dying of curiosity. Did Shoshana put her swerve on my sister? Was she nice? Respectful? I reached for my cup and Sage squeezed my thigh.

"I think K.C.'s having a dad moment," she teased.

Kara started laughing. "I know. She so wants to ask more but she doesn't want to sound like my big sister."

I glared at both of them, which only made Kara laugh harder. "Oh, Jesus, Kase. You're a riot." She wiped at her eyes.

I retained my stony silence.

"Yes," Kara relented. "She was very sweet, treated me well, and we had a wonderful time."

Sage hid her smile behind the rim of my cup.

"And we're going to try to get together again in the next couple of days," Kara continued, anticipating the next question I wanted to ask. She took another drink from her cup. "But enough about me. How are you, Sage?"

"Just waiting on River." She told Kara about the call from the attorney.

"So you'll probably be headed up to Farmington in the next few days." Kara stared at the plate of bizcochitos, thoughtful. "I'd like to go with you."

"You don't have to--" I started.

Both Kara and Sage flashed me "shut the hell up" looks.

"I want to." Kara took another bizcochito. "I wanna rep the Fonteros and kick the shit out of anybody who messes with my sister and her partner." She stuck her tongue out at me.

"Christ, I think you could. All right. When Sage knows more, she'll share. Right, honey?" I batted my eyelashes.

"Thanks, Kara. I appreciate that." Sage handed the last bizcochito to me.

"Second that. Thanks." I smiled at Kara.

"And speaking of Farmington--" Kara settled back into the couch, directing her comment at me. "You know Shoshana has family there."

"Yeah. She mentioned it at the gallery."

Sage gave me a look I couldn't read.

"Well, her uncle married a Navajo woman and they've lived there for about ten years now. And here's something interesting--he worked at Ridge Star for a bit, quitting earlier this year."

Whoa.

"Did he know my dad?" Sage's fingers hovered over the plate.

"I asked her, and she can't say. She doesn't see her uncle that much and when she does, he doesn't talk about work. But I'll bet if you contacted him, he'd talk to you. She said he would."

I flashed on Detective Simmons and Agent Martin and what they'd say if we started running our own private investigation on this. But the researcher in me itched for answers. I was like a horse, champing at the bit. What is wrong with me? This was Sage's issue. I was the support. How could I even think of turning her situation into another one of my research projects?

"I'd like to do that, I think," Sage said. "Could I have Shoshana's number?"

"Um, honey? Are you sure that's a good idea?" I took her hand.

"Absolutely. I want to try to find out what happened. River does, too. And I'll need your help, since you're good at this."

"Oh, hell, yes. K.C.'s awesome at tracking information down."

I shot a glance at Kara.

"Yes, she is." Sage planted a kiss on my mouth and I forgot my reservations for a second. She stood and picked up the empty plate and took it into the kitchen.

I fidgeted with the hem of my T-shirt. "Kara--"

A car door slammed outside and Sage burst out of the kitchen and ran out the front door.

Kara and I exchanged bemused expressions. "She never does that for me," I said with a sigh. Kara rolled her eyes.

I heard River and Sage's voices intermingling as they approached the house, punctuated with River's slow chuckle, a marked contrast to Sage's giggle. I recognized his footsteps on the front porch because they weren't Sage's. He had a more deliberate, heavy step and when I heard it, I thought of cowboys. The security door opened and a taller, broader, male version of Sage entered.

"Hey," He greeted us, setting a duffle bag on the floor.

"Hi, bro." I got up and gave him a big hug. "Good to see you. We need some testosterone around this joint."

He grinned and released me. "What, yours isn't enough?"

Sage smacked him on the arm.

"Oh--hi," he said as Kara joined us at the front door. "I'm River."

"Kara. One of the Fontero litter," she shook his hand.

"Oh, yeah. Sage said you were here. Nice to meet you." He pushed the brim of his baseball cap back on his head and flashed an impish grin reminiscent of his sister's. "Let me get the rest of my stuff."

"Are you hungry?" Sage called out the door after him. He must have said yes because Sage bounded into the kitchen.

Kara caught my eye. "He's hot."

I shifted into disapproving big sister mode.

"What? Can't a girl state the obvious? Besides, it stands to reason he would be, because Sage is hot."

"Not all siblings share hotness," I said with a sniff. "Take us, for example. What happened to you?"

Kara lunged at me and tried to get me in a headlock. We wrestled like that until River opened the front door. "Don't let me interrupt." He leaned a folded-up camp cot against the wall and set his sleeping bag and pillow next to it.

"I'm the normal one," she said haughtily though she was laughing. Sage emerged from the kitchen with a plate of warmed-up dilruba and rice and River made a beeline for the table.

"Excuse me, ladies. I rarely get the chance to eat Sage's cooking."

"Must be a guy thing," I stage-whispered to Kara. "Home cookin' and all that."

"Anybody else want any?" Sage asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, but we'll hang out with River and stare at him," I answered for both of us.

"Cool," he said blandly. He finished chewing and swallowed. "Oh, yeah. This is awesome."

He had taken Sage's customary seat and I sat in mine while Kara occupied the chair to my right. Sage was in the kitchen grinding more coffee. The grinder stopped and I heard her pouring water from the pitcher in the fridge into the carafe.

"How was the drive?" I asked.

"Fine. I'm just really tired. Left around three this morning."

"Jesus," I muttered. "Did Sage call you about the lawyer?"

He nodded, not looking up from his plate. He had taken his cap off and hung it on his chair and his hair--a shade lighter than Sage's--was flattened against his skull. He looked like a teenager who'd spent all day working on a ranch somewhere.

Sage joined us at the table, sitting to River's left.

He straightened in his chair and inspected the front of his tee, faded blue with a rodeo logo on it. Satisfied, he looked up again. "Thought I dropped something," he said, smiling at me and Kara. He checked his jeans as well then returned his attention to his food. "Yeah. I was driving through Colorado. Crazy. Never knew the old man would be responsible like that." He and Sage exchanged a glance, heavy with the past.

"I'll get the coffee." Kara stood.

"I'll help." I followed her.

She rinsed out the cups the three of us had already used and got a clean one out of the cabinet for River. We waited for the coffee to finish brewing and Kara carried the cups to the table while I brought the carafe, pouring coffee all around. Kara retrieved the half-andhalf from the fridge and set it on the table.

River scraped the last bits of food off his plate with his fork. He finished that last bite and took his dishes into the kitchen. I heard him running water in the sink and the sound of the dish brush. His years as a hunting guide and all-around outdoorsman made him anal about leaving dirty dishes out--dirty campsites attracted animals like bears--and Sage told me once that he didn't like when Sage waited on him because it reminded him somehow of the way their mom acted around their dad.

He returned to the table and we sat around for another half-hour or so, chatting and getting caught up on the more mundane aspects of our lives. Around midnight, River announced he was tired. He made the mud room his bedroom, as Sage predicted he would. Kara retired to the office and Sage and I waited our turns for the bathroom. By the time we snuggled together in bed it was almost one.

"Thanks for today," Sage whispered against my ear. "You always remind me of possibility."

Though I was tired, the warmth of her breath made me think of staying up a bit longer. "You're welcome. But thank you." I buried my face in her neck, remembering the first time we'd made love, and the way magic still crackled in the air between us. "You are the sexiest woman I've ever met," I whispered.

"I was just thinking that about you." She ran her fingers down my neck and chills inundated every inch of my skin. "How quiet do you think you can be?" she asked in a tone of voice that rendered me helpless.

"I'll figure something out."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say." She got out of bed and closed the door. I saw her remove her T-shirt in what outside light managed to squeeze around the blinds. She slid into bed next to me. "Now. Where was I?"

I STOOD NEXT to Chris as she picked the Ziploc bag off the dining room table and looked at the letter inside. River had put it, unfolded, in a large freezer bag. Her brow furrowed. "Okay," she said, half to herself and half to me. "It's basically a 'sorry to bother you with this, but someone might try to kill me' letter." She turned the bag around so she could look at the last paragraph on the back.

"But why would he send it to River?" I asked. "I mean, why not go to the police in Farmington?"

"Roughneck culture," River answered. He was slouched in the chair next to Sage. "Guys like that--you're a wuss if you go to the cops."

Kara sat across from Sage, watching River.

Chris nodded slowly. "Good point." She turned her attention to two smaller Ziplocs, each containing a Polaroid image. Bill had, indeed, gotten the names of his children tattooed on the undersides of his forearms. Sage on the right, River on the left, in small gothic script. We needed to get this stuff to Simmons so that she could put it in better bags.

"The autopsy report might be useful," Chris said, looking at Sage then at River and they both seemed to understand what she was implying, which was to find out if Bill's killer had tried to remove the tats to hinder identification.

"How can we get it?" Sage's voice sounded tight, but her jaw was set.

"Let me have Dayna call the DA in Farmington. The Medical Investigator's office issues the reports to the jurisdiction where the crime occurs, but you and River have the right to request a copy from here. You have to do it in writing and it might be faster to get a copy through professional courtesy. But file your own request, too, so everybody's ass is covered. I'll e-mail you the information you'll need."

"Will the detectives handling the investigation have a copy?" I had a thought.

"Yeah." Chris put the baggies with the photos back on the table. "Make sure you get those to Simmons soon," she said.

I nodded. "So maybe they'll let her and River have a look at the report?"

"My money's on Simmons," Chris said. "Ask her first." She picked up her bottle of iced tea and shook it. "Have you heard from the lawyer?" she asked Sage.

"No. He's checking with Tonya to see when it works for all of us to meet."

"He might not set anything up until after the weekend," I said.

Chris pursed her lips, thinking. "Dayna's not an estate lawyer, but she must know a few. It might not be a bad idea to have one in the wings. Just in case. Shit like this can get complicated."

River muttered something and stood up. He went into the kitchen. I heard him clump through the laundry room and go out the back door. Chris caught my eye, a question in her expression.

"Dad shit," Sage answered. "He's pissed that Dad put all this on us."

Chris nodded in understanding. "Brings up a lot of baggage, something like this."

Sage sighed, stood, and went into the kitchen. I knew she was going to see where River was, though she'd leave him to his solitude. He could be prickly, but whether that was because he spent so much time away from people or because he just was that way was a question open for debate. She returned a few moments later and slid into her chair.

"All right, here's what we know," I said, needing to feel like I was doing something, that we weren't all spinning our wheels. "Something was going on at Ridge Star. It was enough to spook Bill--" I used his given name, hoping that it might help Sage distance him. "And because of the macho world of roughneck culture, he decided not to go to the police and instead wrote a letter to a son he hasn't spoken with in ten years."

"Farmington's still got kind of a small-town mentality," Chris interjected, falling into the exchange with me. "Could be the local cops have connections to the local crew bosses. Whistle-blowing could get your ass kicked. Not that I'm proud to admit that about law enforcement," she finished.

"I don't get why he'd tell an estranged family member," Kara said, looking at Sage. "Doesn't he have friends up there? And why wouldn't he tell his girlfriend?"

"Maybe he didn't want to put her in the line of fire." I ran a hand through my hair.

"So he'd rather put his kids there?" Kara's tone was skeptical.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sage said, distaste in her tone.

Something flashed into my mind. "If whatever he was worried about was that much of a threat..." I shared a look with Chris, and in her eyes I saw my own fears echoed. "Then wouldn't whoever took him out there to the Rez want to know whether he told anyone else?"

I felt Sage's eyes on me and I turned, locking my gaze to hers. That son of a bitch.

"All right, let's not go there." Chris set her bottle back on the table. "Whatever happened seems to be related to what he knew about Ridge Star. Kase? I know you haven't let them off the hook."

I shifted, uncomfortable. Sage started laughing and I relaxed. "Okay, I did poke around a little."

"That's my girl," Sage said and I heard pride in her voice. Kara laughed as well and Chris grinned.

"They have a shitty safety record, but that's not unusual for the industry. Three deaths since 2000, and they settled a lawsuit about one of those in 2004. They had three major safety violations within four months in the last year. But--" I gestured widely, like I sometimes did, "so what? Bill worked this industry all his freakin' life. He saw all kinds of shit. Why wouldn't he just go to another rig? Why would seeing shit like this bug him enough to send a letter to a son he doesn't talk to?"

Chris crossed her arms. "True. Why not just pack up and move on? Or, more intriguing, why didn't Ridge Star just fire him?"

"I don't know. Maybe he really had something on Ridge Star and if they fired him, he'd go public with it. Given their safety record, he might've had some ammo." I reached for the Ziploc with the letter and read the front again, through the plastic. Bill's handwriting was a scrawling cursive slanted toward the right, with not much space between letters. "I just wanted you to know that if something happens to me, it's because something's going on at Ridge Star and this time I have to let someone know."

"This time," I said aloud. "He said that something's going on at Ridge Star and this time, he has to say something. He's compelled to say something. Why? Why this time?"

"Maybe he was tired of running. He had a girlfriend, after all, and they seemed serious." Kara took a sip of Diet Coke. Chris looked at the bottle longingly and I went to the kitchen to get her one.

"Anybody else want anything?" I called. After a chorus of "no thanks," I returned to the table and handed Chris the beverage.

"Psychic," she said, taking it.

"Nope. The way you were looking at Kara's, I thought Dayna might be in trouble."

Sage laughed and Chris grinned as she unscrewed the cap. Sage's cell phone rang from the kitchen, where she'd left it. She went to answer it and I picked up the Ziploc again and continued reading.

A good friend of mine got hurt really bad in january and now he can't work then three guys got hurt bad in march and then two guys got killed, one in june and another two weeks later in july. RS covered it up, so only the familys know there was more deaths out there. One guy had to climb a rig with no safety harnes, the company man said if he didn't, he'd get fired and he has two kids at home. The other guy was working the platform and he was guiding pipe to the well but a cable snapped in the rig and the pipe fell on him. The guys had been trying to get RS to fix the cables for days and inspections said the cable was bad--

"Kase, is Monday at three okay to meet with the lawyer in Farmington?" Sage was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding her cell phone against her thigh.

"Yeah. That's fine." It'd give Sage and River time to go to the OMI and release Bill's body. "Kare?" I glanced at my sister.

"Sounds good."

Sage smiled at us both in turn then retreated into the kitchen.

"What are you thinking, esa?" Chris pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.

"I'm still hung up on why he would suddenly give a shit about safety violations, after all his years doing this kind of work."

"Let's focus on what we know. He did give a shit about it. We're not sure why yet, but he did, as evidenced by his letter."

Kara leaned forward, listening. I flashed her a grin. "Aren't we exciting?"

"Actually, I've never seen you work," she said. "It's cool."

Chris smiled and took a drink of Diet Coke. "Feel free to jump in. It's not like we have a monopoly on bullshit."

I poked Chris in the back.

"Okay," I said, getting back on track. "Bill cared. And the two guys who died recently aren't the only ones who have died while working for Ridge Star. I found violations going back to 2000, as well as a wrongful death lawsuit. If we include these two latest victims, there are at least four men who have died while working for this company. Not to mention numerous safety violations. Which leads me to surmise--"

"Shitty management," Chris finished. "Whether willful or not remains to be seen." She leaned back in her chair.

"Bill specifically mentions the violations and the deaths." I picked up the letter. "And he specifically says that he has to let someone know. He also specifically says that if something happens to him, it's apparently because he did just that. So he's fingering Ridge Star."

"We need to go to the site," Kara said.

"Uno momento." Chris let the front legs of her chair meet the floor. "Too dangerous. We don't know for sure whether Bill was right about any of this. He might have been using and he might have been having delusions. He may have died because he was drinking, got in a fight at a bar, and locals rolled him on the Rez."

"If that's what happened," Kara pressed, "then why would going to the site be dangerous? If Bill's death had nothing to do with Ridge Star, then Ridge Star has nothing to hide."

I tugged on my earlobe, my gaze bouncing from Chris to Kara. "I want to know more about why Ridge Star put a lid on the deaths of these last two guys. And I think we might be able to get that info from Shoshana's uncle."

"Okay, hold up." Chris was watching me, worry in her eyes. "Kase, you're not law enforcement. You're not even a PI. What the hell are you proposing here?"

"Just some digging around. For context," I hedged.

"If a crime has been committed," Chris said slowly, for emphasis, "then the proper officials will investigate."

"Investigative journalists do this kind of shit all the time. I'm gathering information." I came across as defensive and I saw it reflected in Chris's expression.

"Kase," she started.

"You know I don't just barrel into situations." I ran my hands through my hair then sank them into my front pockets.

Chris sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Kara shifted her gaze to me. "Why do you want to do this?" Chris looked up at me.

"I don't. But Sage wants to know what happened."

"What if there are no answers?" Chris's tone was brittle. "What if you'll never know for sure?"

"Then we won't. But at least we'll know that we tried." I watched Chris start to slip into cop mode with me, and even though I recognized it for what it was, it always made me feel very small and very young. Even with me standing and her sitting, Chris was imposing. Kara physically scooched down in her chair and dropped her gaze to the table.

"Here's the deal, K.C. I'm not supportive of what you're up to with this. If Bill was murdered, then you're dealing with people who are willing to kill others, which means they won't give a fuck about killing someone else. And you know exactly how I feel about you messing around with situations like this."

I nodded, as if I was a kid again, getting lectured by the cop on the beat.

"But you're right. There's nothing wrong with doing some research and gathering some information. But so help me, if you start poking around and hit the wrong people, I will kick your ass just as hard as theirs for messing with you."

I nodded again.

She relaxed. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"Chris," I said, thoroughly chastised, "if something's scary or freaky, I'll back off and let law enforcement handle it."

"Is that a promise?"

"Hell, if she won't, I will. You're scary," Kara announced. "K.C., if you fuck up and Chris has to kick your ass, I'm going to let her."

Chris started laughing and I exhaled, relieved. "I promise. I won't do anything stupid and if it looks like things are going to go that way, I'll back off and get help."

Chris stood and pulled me into a hug. "I worry," she whispered.

"I know. Thanks." I hugged her back, remembering the last time trouble found me, behind a tattoo shop on east Central, and Chris had been there, like the Lone Ranger, to save me from a confrontation with a couple of neo-Nazis. Farmington was a long way from Albuquerque, though, and if something went wrong...I tried not to think about that. Chris released me just as Sage emerged from the kitchen, River following her.

"Here's the plan," she announced.

We all waited.

"River and I have to be in Farmington by three Monday afternoon. We'll go to the Medical Examiner's office before we leave. Then we're thinking we'll take two cars, since there'll be four of us and that might be easier to coordinate. I think we should get a couple of motel rooms and stay the night, since I don't know how long the meeting will take. Besides--" she arched an eyebrow. "We can check in with the detectives and maybe poke around, as my sweetie likes to say." She blew me a kiss and I grinned.

"Sounds good." I glanced at River, whose expression betrayed nothing but his demeanor seemed more at ease.

"Yep. I'm in," Kara said.

"Okay. I'll check with Dayna and see who she can scare up that does estate law. Sage, I'll e-mail you the info about requesting an autopsy report--"

River's eyes flicked to Chris and I thought I saw a scowl coming on but it passed.

"And I'll see if Dayna can get a courtesy copy from the Farmington DA for you. But check in with Simmons. They're going to want to see the letter, anyway, so you'll have a reason."

"I'll call her. Thanks, Chris." A note of relief coursed through her voice.

"No hay problema. All right, I have to go get ready for Saturday with la familia. Kase, call me."

"Will do. Gracias, mujer and say hi to Dayna."

"De nada and you know I will."

We all said our goodbyes as Chris left. I glanced at my watch. Almost three. "Dinner?"

"Let's grill," Sage answered. "I'll call Jeff, see if he wants in on the fun."

"Do we need anything from the store?" I picked up Chris's empty bottles. "River? Did you want a beer with dinner?"

"Nah, I'm good. Iced tea is fine."

"Kara?" I raised my eyebrows at her in a question.

"We still have a bottle of wine. That should be fine."

I nodded. "Okay. River, if I'm really nice to you, will you do that marinade thing?" I batted my eyelashes at him.

"Sure." A warm, slow smile pulled the right side of his mouth up. "I'll get right on that."

"See? I knew we needed more testosterone here." I bumped him as I passed him on my way into the kitchen. Sage caught my eye and mouthed "thank you" to me. I winked at her and rinsed the bottles out.

Chapter Ten

I SET THE two bags of groceries on the hood of my car and unlocked the driver's side door so I could flip the switch for the rest. As I put the groceries on the floor of the back seat, I heard my name. I looked up to see Melissa Crown, my ex, headed toward me.

"Hey," I said in greeting as she approached. I gave her a brief hug and stepped back. "It's been a while. How are you?" Dumb question. From her smile and relaxed demeanor, she was in a good space. And today she hadn't had any lawyer things to do because she was dressed in khaki shorts and a loose blue tee. A baseball cap graced her head, giving her a cute sporty air.

"Good. About to do some shopping at the Co-op," she said, gesturing at the natural foods store across the street that I'd just left.

"Don't panic," I said with pronounced gravity. "It's organic."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Did Megan call you yet?"

"No--is she in town?"

Melissa shook her head. "Oregon. Classes start soon. She likes checking in with you."

"I appreciate that," I said, leaning against my car.

"So does she." Melissa took her shades off and propped them above the bill of her cap. "How are things with you?"

"Good, for the most part." I told her about what had happened with Sage's dad, leaving the supernatural aspects out. When I finished, she pursed her lips.

"I'm so sorry about Sage's father. How's she doing?"

"Okay, I guess. She wasn't close to him and hadn't talked to him in ten years. But even so, stuff like this brings things up you thought you'd left behind."

"That's true. How are you with it?"

I shrugged. "Trying not to fall into old patterns," I said, a veiled reference to how I'd handled the downward spiral of our own relationship before it ended five years ago.

"I know some good therapists," she said, gentle.

"I might take you up on that. But right now, I just want to get through this."

She made a sympathetic noise. "I have experience with estate law. And also Indian jurisdiction." She put that out there, to do what I wanted with it. Melissa's paternal grandmother was Nez Perce, so it didn't surprise me that she might know a few things about Indian law. It just hadn't occurred to me to contact her.

"I really appreciate that," I said.

"And I'll work with Sage on the estate end of things, if she wants."

"That's so nice of you. If it's not too much trouble."

"No, it's not. I offered, remember?" She smiled. "Because I know you wouldn't have asked."

I grinned. "I'm working on that, too." I slid my hands into the front pockets of my shorts.

She nodded, a teasing "sure you are" gesture. Then she became serious again. "I'd be glad to help Sage and River with the will, if Sage is comfortable with that."

"I can't--"

"Kase, hello. I'm offering. Just let me know."

"Okay," I relented. "I will. Thanks."

"And keep in touch anyway. I'd like to see you more than once every few months."

"I know. I'm sorry. You know I can be bad about that. Just call or drop me an e-mail to remind me to pull my head out. Please?"

She laughed and gave me another hug. "I will. Hi to Chris and Sage." She released me and I watched her cross the street. I sometimes forgot how much I liked her as a person. I'd see if we could set up a barbecue in the future and invite her. And her girlfriend, if she had one. I wasn't even sure she was seeing anyone at the moment. I got into my car and headed home, five minutes away.

Barbecue preparations were in full swing when I arrived. Kara divested me of the grocery bags and I heard River laughing in the kitchen, a good thing. I worried about him, spending too much time alone with his demons. But Sage told me that he had always been that way, ever since he was a boy. He preferred the company of mountains to people, though he still managed to find girlfriends now and again. Or rather, they found him. Maybe he'd get serious about someone if he found her. Then again, maybe he just wasn't ready to share his life that way.

I entered the kitchen, where River was busy working on the steaks while Kara was preparing to cut vegetables for a salad. She threw a carrot top at River when he made a comment about women and knives. Sage had gone outside where she stood talking with Jeff while he fired up the grill, something he enjoyed doing.

"Damn, that smells good. I'd eat that raw. Hand it over," I said to River as I watched him baste the meat.

"Go camping with me. You'll eat a hell of a lot more than that raw."

"Sounds like fun. Guys' weekend out?"

He laughed again. "Cool."

"Kase," Kara said, interrupting my male bonding with River. "I called Shoshana's uncle, though she'd already told him to expect it."

"And?" My, how helpful Shoshana is. I kicked myself. Why was I having issues with her dating my sister? Maybe Sage was right. I was acting like a dad with Kara.

"He'd be glad to talk with us. He did say, however, that he's not going on record with anything."

"That's reasonable. But it also makes me think that maybe Bill really did have something to worry about, if this guy is afraid to talk though he's not working anymore for Ridge Star." I leaned over and picked up a piece of carrot and popped it into my mouth.

"My thoughts, too. River, you okay talking to this guy?"

He glanced over at us, considering. "I think so. Sage wants to."

He wasn't okay with it, I saw. But he wanted to make sure he was there for Sage. River just wanted to leave well enough alone. His father was dead, taking a huge chunk of an uneasy past with him and River didn't want to mess with it. My dad told me once that though the past might be dead, the demons aren't. I wondered what would help River put some of his to rest. I returned my attention to Kara, who was watching River work on the meat. She caught my eye and shook her head almost imperceptibly, like she knew what I was thinking.

"So I have this other idea," she continued.

I opened the fridge and took out a beer. I used the bottle opener on my keychain to open it and tossed the cap onto the counter. "And that would be?"

"I think we should contact Ridge Star and see if we can get a look around at the site where Bill was working."

I flicked another glance at River, saw his back stiffen a bit but he didn't say anything.

"And how do you propose we do that? Call up and say we're just passing through, all touristy, and can we stop by and can we see this one particular site and oh, by the way, did you know a Bill Crandall?" I was being sarcastic and she knew it. A little bit of sibling pissiness flashed through her eyes. "What's your plan?" I said, heading off our impending button-pushing session.

She directed her attention to the cutting board again, where she was working on slicing tomatoes. "I have my ways. If I can get us an audience, are you in?"

I took a sip of beer, debating. Chris's admonishments came to mind. But then again, we were just doing research, right? And I couldn't let my younger sister do this alone. "Yeah." And then I did something I had never done with her. I relinquished control. "It'll be your show. Just tell me what to do."

She stopped slicing and stared at me, shocked. "Oh, my God. Where's K.C. and what have you done with her?"

River chuckled and shot an appreciative "can't older sisters be totally lame?" glance at her.

I was about to respond when Sage came in. She headed for me and kissed me hello. Kara threw a piece of lettuce at us. "Get a room," she shot.

River grinned and flipped a steak over. "You should have seen them after they just hooked up. I was kinda jealous, though. Sage always gets more action than I do," he added, with a heavy sigh at the end.

"Aww. Pobrecito, Rio." I put the back of my hand to my forehead.

"It's true," he continued, playing up the pity card, though his eyes sparkled like Sage's did when she was pulling my leg.

"Well, come down off your damn mountain some time and go get yourself some." Sage poked him in the arm.

"I like my damn mountain," he grumbled, though he was still smiling.

"Honey," I addressed Sage. "River wants to take me camping and show me how to eat raw meat. Can I go?"

She shook her head, pretending to be disgusted. "Megan called while you were shopping. I told her you'd call her when you got back."

"Do I have time before dinner?" I caught River's eye and he nodded. "Cool. Kara, good work on that salad. Keep it up." I pulled Sage out of the kitchen as Kara threw another piece of lettuce at me. Sage followed me out of the kitchen to the bedroom, where I'd left my cell phone.

"What's going on?" She watched me.

"I ran into Melissa outside the Co-op. I told her a little bit about what was going on and she said that if you and River felt you needed a lawyer to help with the will, she'd lend a hand, since she's done estate law."

"That's nice of her."

"She told me to run it by you, to make sure you'd be comfortable with her doing that, if you decide you want to."

Sage smiled. "I appreciate that, but she doesn't need to worry about walking on the present because you and she have a past."

I stood gazing down into Sage's eyes, and I forgot everything I was supposed to be doing and instead just hung in the moment.

"I'll give her a call if it looks like we'll need her," she continued.

I nodded, still caught in her beauty and the way she moved me. "I am so in love with you," I said, caressing her face.

She reached up and cupped the back of my neck, pulling me into

a long kiss that made me think of sex under the dining room table and sweat between our sheets. She lightly bit my lower lip as she pulled away. "Call Megan before I end up showing you how you make me feel."

I pouted.

"River won't forgive us if we miss dinner," she scolded, grinning. She left, on her way back to the kitchen.

"True that," I muttered, watching the way her ass moved in her shorts. Shaking my head, I speed-dialed Megan. Twenty minutes later we hung up and I turned just as Kara appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. "Steaks are on," she said. "Your girlfriend told me that if you don't join them at the grill, she won't put out for a week." She grinned wickedly. "Who knew my sister was such a freak?"

I flushed. "Yeah, well, you're one to talk. Bagging the valedictorian and all."

She flashed me a sarcastic "whatever" glare that dissolved into giggles and I followed her outside.

Chapter Eleven

ON MONDAY MORNING, we convoyed up to Farmington, a decent-sized city in the northwestern corner of the state. Some thirty-eight thousand people call it home. It's positioned in such a way that it's a crossroads between cultures--Indian and white primarily, though Hispanos figure prominently in the mix along with a very few Asians and African Americans. The main source of historic tension lies between Indian and white here, and Farmington's proximity to the sprawling Navajo Reservation serves both to increase tension in some quarters and to promote understanding in others.

Almost four hours' drive from Albuquerque along State Highway 550, a car trip between the two cities provides a stunning cross-section of New Mexico's diverse landscape. From the rugged Sandias and swaths of sage-and cactus-ridden desert hillocks and arroyos, 550 skirts the Nacimiento Mountains on the western edge of the Jemez Wilderness and then pulls drivers into a desert moonscape with rock and soil formations not unlike South Dakota's Badlands, layers of sediment and stone colored white, tan, slate, and rust. Fifty miles southeast of Farmington the first real evidence of the gas industry presents itself, with the so-called "Christmas trees" of visible pipe jutting from the earth like curving urban bike racks, dotting cornfields and desert alike, New Mexico's version of the seemingly ubiquitous horse head pumps in parts of Texas.

Hundreds, I knew. Thousands, maybe. Thousands of gas wells in this part of the state fueling the surrounding communities, once economically depressed and barely maintaining populations. But industries like this came with a whole new set of problems, both environmental and social. When we drove into Farmington from the east on Highway 64, I had gaped at the changes on the outskirts. Slick new stores, myriad offices for various drilling companies, lots where people could buy gas drilling equipment like they might buy a used car, and a lot more traffic than what I was used to seeing in a town this size. I had passed several large trucks on our way in hauling what looked like pipe and a couple others with stuff I guessed might be hoisting equipment and fittings and collars for the big drill bits that bored into the hard desert soil.

Because it hunkers in a valley watered by the San Juan River, Farmington harbors an agricultural and ranching base, but since World War II, natural gas and oil exploration and drilling has helped transform the town into a hub for natural gas extraction. Since the 1960s and 1970s, the area has been transformed into a boomtown, where roughnecks mix with ranchers and Native peoples are often attempting to bridge the huge gulfs between both.

Money from the natural gas industry seemed to have beefed up an economic infrastructure in Farmington, which in turn lured people unaffiliated with agriculture or extraction to the area and they, in turn, drove the push for big-box stores and better educational facilities, like the spiffy San Juan Community College. But poverty still marred the largely rural region in surrounding communities, Indian reservations included. And some of these communities were bitterly divided about selling their land or mineral rights for extractive industries. An ongoing western battle, with no punches pulled.

We parked at 2.45 in front of the small brick office building that housed Lindstrom, Smith, and Bails, Attorneys-at-Law. The wide streets and grid layout of downtown Farmington reminded me of Lubbock. That, plus the 1960s-era square structures that indicated businesses, banks, and an occasional store gave it a broad, Midwestern feel. I shut the engine off and Kara looked out the passenger side at Lindstrom's office.

"Bails. Now there's a good name for a lawyer," she commented.

"I was just thinking that." I took my sunglasses off and put them in their case, which I left in the glove compartment.

Kara got out and stood on the sidewalk, stretching her arms and shoulders. I waited for a couple of cars to pass before I opened my door to join her. We stood in front under the faded awning just as Sage pulled into a parking space along the curb three cars down in her vehicle, River in the front passenger seat.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice said to my right.

I turned. A plump white woman wearing tight faded jeans, sneakers, and a yellow tank stood appraising me. She wore her dark blond hair feathered back from her face in the style Farrah Fawcett immortalized in Charlie's Angels.

"Are either of you Sage Crandall?"

This must be Tonya. "No, but she's right over there," I said, indicating Sage as she got out of her car. "And the gentleman with her is her brother."

"Oh, thanks. I'm Tonya Daniels." She stuck out her right hand, which I took. A firm, brisk handshake.

"K.C. Fontero." I released her hand. "My sister Kara," I added, gesturing with my head toward her. "I'm Sage's partner." I watched her to see what she'd say to that, but my statement got no reaction. She instead looked past us at Sage, who was walking toward us.

"Hi. Tonya Daniels." She offered her hand to Sage, who shook it as I had.

"Sage Crandall." She let go of Tonya's hand so River could take his turn.

"River," he said in his quiet, deep voice. "Good to meet you in person. Sorry about my reaction on the phone when you called." He offered a smile that could melt a skating rink, and it worked on Tonya, because she smiled back in that way straight women do to polite, handsome men.

"That's okay. I know Bill didn't talk much to you and it probably didn't look very good, me calling like that."

He shrugged. "No problem."

"Everybody ready?" Sage interrupted. She took her sunglasses off and propped them on top of her head. She had opted to wear her hair loose today and it fell around her shoulders in a way that often caused me to forget to breathe. I held the glass door open and everyone but Sage filed in. She paused at the threshold. I reached with my free hand and gave hers a little squeeze. She smiled, relieved, and entered.

I expected a cheesy paneled interior with maybe dark green carpet and mismatched furniture but what I got was a pleasant waiting area with big, comfortable chairs in deep plush blue. The interior walls had been stuccoed white and two large paintings of desert landscapes hung on two of them. The floor was tiled, though a large Navajo-style rug lay underneath a heavy wooden coffee table on which someone had stacked a variety of magazines and local interest pamphlets.

"May I help you?" The trim, perky receptionist inquired from her desk, which sat behind a low wall that served as a boundary between lobby and offices.

"Yes. I'm Sage Crandall and this is my brother River. We and Tonya Daniels--" she motioned toward Tonya--"are here to see Ward Lindstrom about my father's will."

"Of course. He's expecting you. One moment." She picked up her phone and pressed a couple of numbers. I continued to check out Lindstrom's digs. Classy, but not pretentious. "He'll be right up. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? We have water and soft drinks in the refrigerator." She pointed at an apartment-sized fridge in the waiting area.

Kara opened it and took out a Diet Coke. "Thanks," she said.

"They got regular in there?" River moved over toward Kara and she handed him a bottle of the requested substance.

"You want to split one?" I looked at Sage, who had crossed her arms in a gesture I knew meant she was stressed.

"Sure," she said.

"Tonya?" I looked at her.

"Diet."

Kara extracted two more bottles of Diet Coke and carried them in one hand, holding on to their necks. She brought them over. I took one and Tonya the other.

"Hi," said a male voice with a soft Texas drawl.

We all looked at the newcomer, who stood in front of the receptionist's desk. White guy, about five-ten, maybe in his forties. He looked like he took care of himself, given the fit of his black pleated trousers and the off-white shirt tucked into them. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows though he still wore a tie. Mostly muted maroon, it featured abstract designs in blues, creams, and black. He wore his sandy hair trimmed above his ears and though he was balding on top, he didn't affect any kind of comb-over. He regarded us with frank blue eyes.

"I'm Ward. Thanks for coming. I've got us set up in the conference room, which has a little more room. Come on back." He motioned for us to follow him and I noticed he wore plain black dress shoes rather than wingtips, which seemed a lawyer stereotype that often proved true. He led us down a tiled hall to a room on the right. A big rectangular table occupied the center. At the end farthest from the door a couple of manila folders sat on the table and bookshelves lined the wall behind it. Several basic no-nonsense conferencing chairs were positioned around the table. Sage, River, and Tonya introduced themselves to Ward while Kara and I hung back. Once those names were established I stepped forward.

"K.C. Fontero."

He shook my hand. "Oh, yes. I spoke with you last week. Ms. Crandall's partner. Welcome." He smiled. I gave him big props for that reaction.

"Kara Fontero." She shook his hand as well.

"Ah. I see a family resemblance," he said in a droll tone, looking from her to me. "Glad you could come. Please, have a seat."

We all did so, setting our beverages in front of us. Ward took the head of the table, where the manila folders lay while Tonya sat to his immediate right and Sage to his immediate left. River sat on Sage's left, then me, then Kara. Which left Tonya all alone on her side, but she didn't seem to mind. She sat with her hands in her lap, watching Ward.

"All right. Thanks for coming," Ward said by way of introduction to the reading of the will. "I know it's a longish drive and I appreciate everyone's willingness to meet."

From his tone, I guessed will-readings weren't always lovefests. He removed a piece of paper from the top folder, then took a stack from the bottom folder.

"I made copies." He handed one to Tonya and then a few to Sage, who passed them on down. Kara set the remaining two copies aside.

"First, you'll notice that Bill did name me as his personal representative in executing his estate. We'll cover a few points thoroughly as we go through. Please feel free to ask questions as they come up." He paused and glanced around the table then continued. "As you'll see, Bill left instructions for his body and he does have money set aside for that. Ms. Crandall, you and your brother can request that the funeral home your father specified release his body for transport and cremation unless there is some other extenuating reason that the Medical Examiner in Albuquerque provides to delay that. When you do notify the funeral home--specified here--please inform me so that I may inform Ms. Daniels, since she is named as the person who will handle cremation. Is all this amenable?"

Sage nodded. River did, as well, though he kept his eyes on his copy of Bill's will.

"As you can see," Ward said, "Bill did not specify a funeral or memorial service. That's a decision that you and Ms. Daniels need to make, if you're so inclined. The money he left should more than cover a small service of some kind." He glanced first at Tonya then at Sage and River then back to his copy. "Bill bequeathed all of his personal effects and his home to Ms. Daniels. Should you, Ms. Crandall or your brother wish to access any of your father's personal belongings, please arrange such through Ms. Daniels or, if mediation is required, through me."

I flipped the page, appreciating the professional but relaxed way Ward was handling this. Tonya was also reading through the will. She wiped at her eyes and Ward pushed his chair back and reached for a box of Kleenex on the bookshelves. He set it in front of her and she took one and wiped her nose. She must really have liked Bill. I read another paragraph. Then re-read it. Holy hell. I glanced over at Sage, whose jaw muscles clenched. She didn't look up.

"Bill started investing in stock about ten years ago. He concentrated on companies that produced equipment for gas and oil drilling and exploration, and managed to do pretty well. The stock, as you can see, he leaves to his daughter, Sage, and his son, River, to be divided evenly between the two and to do with as they see fit," Ward said, reading the last bit from the will. "The money he accumulated in his retirement account he leaves to Ms. Daniels. I do have his stock portfolio on the premises and I will provide that to you and your brother, Ms. Crandall." He looked up. "Questions?" He waited a moment. "No? All right. Some good news in this difficult time. Bill paid off his debts with the exception of his mortgage, which Ms. Daniels will be assuming, should she decide to stay in the home she shared with him."

I finished reading through and glanced again at Tonya. A pile of used Kleenex sat at her right elbow. He had paid off all his debts. So he had been trying to get his shit together. I wanted to have a chat with Tonya about Bill and what other things he might have been up to, but I wasn't sure how to do so without coming across as tacky.

"What I'd like to do," Wade entreated, "is give all parties a chance to look this over for a few days, if necessary. I want to be sure that everyone understands the contents of this document. Contact me immediately if you don't and we'll work on it." He gave a business card to Tonya and passed a few to Sage. "Is everyone all right with this arrangement? My cell phone number is on my card. Please don't hesitate to use it."

I glanced at Sage, who was studying the card. She seemed small, all of a sudden, and sort of lost. Wade stood. "If everyone's okay, then we're done here. Let me know in the next couple of days or so if you're clear on everything. Please do feel free to contact your own lawyers should you have them and go over this again. The more you know, the better the decisions you can make. Ms. Crandall, I'll get that stock portfolio now. Be right back." He smiled, encouraging, and left the room.

Sage got up and went around the table to sit in the chair next to Tonya's. She sat down and gently squeezed Tonya's right forearm. "Thanks for coming," she said.

Tonya nodded, sniffling. "Is there anything you think you or your brother would want of Bill's?" She looked up at Sage, dabbing at her tears.

"I don't know. If you think there is, River and I could come over." Sage said it in a soft tone, offering comfort. "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too." Tonya's voice broke then and she cried harder and Sage pulled Tonya's head to her shoulder. River shifted uncomfortably in his seat, opting to keep staring at the will. Kara squeezed my hand as I pondered the enigma of Bill Crandall, the man who inspired such anger in his children but such love and loss in a woman unrelated to the past.

Wade returned. He seemed surprised to see Sage with Tonya, but he caught himself and set the portfolio on the table next to her, either deducing that she seemed the one more inclined to deal with it than River or doing so because she was closest to him when he came in. I guessed the former. "Thank you again for coming. I'm very sorry for your loss," he said, meaning it. "I'll be in touch." He turned to leave but stopped at the doorway. "Take your time here." And then he left. I appreciated that. I turned to River.

"You okay?" I said in a low voice.

"Not sure."

"You want to talk?"

He looked at me, a thin smile on his lips. "Not yet. Thanks. I think I'll wait outside." He collected his bottle of Coke, the copy of the will, and Ward's card. Still sitting, River slid it into the back pocket of his jeans

I clapped him on the shoulder and threw an imploring glance at Kara. She stood as River did.

"Same here," she said, following River out of the room.

Tonya stopped crying after a few more minutes and Sage handed her another tissue from the box. "Thank you," Tonya whispered. "Sorry."

Sage patted her hand. "Are you all right? Do you need a ride anywhere?"

Tonya shook her head. "It's funny," she said, wiping her eyes again. "I met Bill about two months after he moved here."

"When was that?"

"Four years ago, give or take. We hit it off, but he did have a problem every now and again with the bottle. He tried," she hastily added. "Went to meetings now and again and he'd be sober for a few months. I'm sure you know he had a problem with that." Tonya looked at Sage for confirmation, which she got as Sage nodded once. I wondered if I should stay and started to get up but Sage turned her gaze to me, almost pleading, and I remained planted in my seat.

"When I met him," Tonya continued, "he already had your names tattooed on his arms. He told me after we'd been seeing each other for about a month that he had done wrong by his kids and his first wife and he hoped some day he'd be able to truly make amends, but he said he hadn't reached that point in his program."

The muscles in Sage's jaw clenched. "My brother and I weren't close to him. We knew him as a different man and I'd be lying if I told you I loved and respected that man."

Tonya studied Sage's face for a long moment. "I know he wasn't a good father. But he did try to be a good partner to me and when he screwed up, he carried it inside for a long time."

I stared at my own copy of the will, trying not to intrude on this excruciatingly personal exchange, willing myself into invisibility.

"Did the police talk to you, too?" Tonya changed the subject.

"Yes. I don't know much beyond what they probably told you."

"He wasn't drinking when he died." Tonya said it with a certainty I'd heard all too often from the friends and families of addicts. I kept my eyes on the will.

Sage waited.

"He was in one of his sober times. He hadn't had a drink in a month. He lasted five months between fuck-ups." At that point, Tonya glanced toward the open door then back at Sage. She lowered

her voice. "He was worried about something going on at work."

I looked up.

"What, specifically?" Sage lowered her voice, as well.

"He said that there were too many accidents at the site, even for that kind of work, and that Ridge Star was doctoring reports and cutting corners to avoid paying for equipment upgrades. Bill said they were using old, out-dated machinery that wasn't safe anymore."

"Why didn't he switch companies?"

"He thought about it, but then a friend of his at the site got hurt in January and he didn't like the way Ridge Star handled it. He wanted to prove that the company caused it through their bad practices."

Bill was conducting his own investigation?

"Would you be okay talking about this more?" Sage asked, keeping her voice low.

Tonya nodded and Sage stood, glancing over at me. I picked up the copy of the will I had, grabbing Kara's and Sage's copies as well, and headed for the door, Sage and Tonya right behind me. We joined Kara and River on the sidewalk outside and Tonya picked up where she had left off.

"Bill started talking a little bit about Ridge Star around the time his friend got hurt."

"Do you know who the friend was?" I interjected, going immediately into research mode.

Tonya hesitated and Sage smoothed the waters. "Tonya--" she looked at her, uncertain, making sure it was okay to use her first name like that, then continued. "It's true that I didn't have much of a relationship with my father for most of my life. But if something happened to him that's related to this company, then I'd like to know what and I'd like to put this company on notice about it."

Tonya glanced at me, a little suspicious. Sage stepped in again. "K.C. is very good at collecting information and figuring out patterns."

I smiled, trying to put Tonya at ease. "Sorry. I can be blunt sometimes."

Kara snorted and Sage fought her own smile. Tonya relaxed and Kara handed me a pen. I glanced at it. A promo clicker from the law firm. I folded the copies of the will in half and held them in such a way that I could write on the blank back.

"Nestor Bodie."

I wrote the name down. It sounded Navajo. Bodie must've been the friend that Bill mentioned in his letter to River. "Does Mr. Bodie live in Farmington?"

"Yeah, for the most part, but he's got family in Shiprock.

Sometimes he's over there. Bill talked to him a few days before he..." she dropped her gaze.

We all waited a bit for Tonya to collect herself. Kara magically produced a small travel pack of tissues and handed it to her.

"Do you talk to Mr. Bodie?" I pressed gently.

"Only if I answer the phone when he calls. I met him in person last year, before he got hurt. Since that, he doesn't go out much anymore."

"Because of his injuries?" I held the pen against the paper, waiting.

She nodded. "He got hurt bad. Nestor was working the platform with Bill the day it happened. They had to pull the string up to check the drill bit and when you do that--when you pull the pipe out of the hole when it's down that deep--the pressure's really high. The cable on the pulley thing they use snapped and Nestor couldn't get out of the way in time. A section of pipe fell on him and crushed his legs. He can't walk very well anymore."

Damn.

"That got Bill mad. He said he'd lodged two complaints about the pulley and the cable and three other guys did, too. Ridge Star didn't do anything, though the complaints started two weeks before Nestor got hurt."

"So Bill started doing what?" River broke in. "I'm not getting why he didn't just go to another company."

Tonya regarded him for a while. "He must have done that a lot, when you were growing up." She didn't phrase it as a question.

River shrugged. "Roughnecks go where the money is and there's always some company hiring."

Tonya brushed a strand of her feathered hair out of her eyes. "Bill liked it here. He liked Farmington, he liked having a steady home, and he liked me. And he also liked Nestor."

So he had an epiphany? I wrote that down.

"He felt he owed Nestor for some things that Nestor had done in the past for him."

We all waited, watching her.

"A couple of times at the site, Nestor kept Bill from getting injured. Bill told me Nestor had some kind of power, that he could see things that others couldn't and he got Bill out of the way before anything happened. The day the cable snapped when Nestor got hurt, Nestor told him a couple hours before that something wasn't right in the energy and he wanted Bill to be extra careful on the job."

River's expression remained impassive, but Sage's eyes narrowed.

Tonya wiped her eyes with a tissue. "Bill went with Nestor to the hospital and he called Nestor's wife. He stayed with him until she got there. Ridge Star did shut down for the day after the accident and OSHA--that Occupational Safety board--did its investigation and what do you know, but the cable was so worn it was in violation of all kinds of safety regs." She blew her nose. "But all OSHA did was slap Ridge Star with a few-thousand-dollar fine. Nestor can't work anymore. He doesn't get any damn pension from them, because he was a contract worker. He and his family are filing a lawsuit, but it's not like they're made of money." She drew a shaky breath. "I don't know why, but somehow Nestor's accident changed Bill. He got real angry at Ridge Star, and he started documenting things."

I looked up from my paper. "How?"

"He wrote stuff down." She took another tissue out of the package.

"Do you know where he kept his notes?"

"I thought I did. But after he--" she cleared her throat. "After he disappeared, I thought maybe I'd better get his notebook and give it to the police, but it wasn't where he usually kept it. I tore the house apart looking for it, but I never did find it."

I glanced at Sage. She caught my eye and I knew she was thinking the same thing. Maybe Bill mailed or gave the notebook to someone. I wrote that down. And that meant he felt threatened. After all, why would he send a letter to a son he hadn't spoken to in years? And why would he entrust a notebook documenting wrongdoing at Ridge Star to parties unknown if he didn't think there was anything to worry about? I wrote "threats" and "who" with question marks. "Do you think Bill may have gotten any kind of threats from anyone about Ridge Star?"

"I know he did. He got beat up bad one night after work, about two weeks before he went missing. It wasn't the first time, either. He didn't say much to me about it, but a few times the phone at the house rang and he'd check the caller ID and he wouldn't answer it and then he'd turn the sound down on the answering machine." She tugged on a bit of hair that blew against her cheek. "One day, maybe a month ago, I got home early and he wasn't in yet. I saw there was a message on the machine so I listened to it and it was some guy who told Bill he'd better back off. I asked Bill about it and he said it was just a misunderstanding at work." She wiped her eyes again. "I wanted to believe him. But looking back on it..."

Tonya brushed her hair out of her face again in the late afternoon breeze. She checked her watch. "I'm sorry, but I have to go to work. Let me give you my number." She looked at me and I prepared to write it down. She supplied it and started to hand the packet of tissue back to Kara.

"Keep it," Kara said, smiling.

"Thank you." She directed that at all of us.

"You're welcome," Sage responded. "We have an appointment with Detective Simmons tomorrow morning. Is there anything you'd like us to pass along?"

"I told them about Nestor. And the notebook. They said they'd be in touch if they found anything out." She rolled her eyes, disgusted. She didn't think too highly of the investigation. Then again, maybe she just wasn't privy to what Simmons and Martin really were up to. "I guess I'll see you later." She turned and started walking away and I realized I hadn't asked her if she had a phone number for Nestor Bodie. Watching her, I decided not to bother. She'd dealt with enough today already. We stood in silence for a few moments until Sage broke it.

"We have a couple of hours before we talk to Shoshana's uncle. Anybody hungry?"

Kara and I nodded affirmatives but River shrugged. "I guess," he said. Then he offered a smile. "What the hell? Wash down the weird shit with a burger and fries." Sage smiled and glanced at me as he headed back to her car.

"Any ideas for food?"

"I think there's a brewpub over on Main. Why don't you guys follow me?"

"Cool." She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and gave Kara a hug before she walked to her car.

I looked over at Kara. "Is this whole situation getting a little freaky or is it just me?"

"Normally, I'd say it's just you, but there is definitely a weird vibe all around."

Validated, I motioned her toward my car.

Chapter Twelve

I'D NEVER CONDUCTED a group investigation like this. Or maybe I should have thought of it more as a group project, the kind I always hated to do as an undergrad. Kara had set this whole thing up, which made me nervous because of her history of flakiness. So as we turned down the rutted drive that would take us to Jamison Purcell's house, I cast a dubious look around, steering onto the ridges of earth that paralleled the narrow, water-carved trenches shaped by lots of tires before mine. Four-wheel drive, no doubt. With lots of clearance. On either side of us tall grasses obscured most of our view, but I caught glimpses of a green field beyond a sturdy fence on my right.

The road then smoothed, curved slightly left, and directed us beneath huge willows and cottonwoods for about fifty yards until we pulled up in front of a seventies ranch-style house that looked like it had gotten fed up with a California suburb and went searching for a little peace and quiet north of Farmington. A new front porch and patio were part of its makeover.

A dark blue Ford pickup was parked under a nearby cottonwood and two smaller vehicles--one a sagging white Chevy Nova that looked like it had towed the ranch house from California and the other a red Kia sedan--were both parked with front ends in the tall grass that edged the dirt parking area. I thought of cows grazing, their butts contentedly facing the house, which Purcell kept up nice. Or somebody did. Not a bit of peeling brown paint to be found, at least not in front. And the turquoise trim around the windows and on the eaves looked recent.

I studied the two large Rottweilers that stood appraising my car. One offered a few half-hearted barks but the other was the ringleader, from the way he sat imperiously watching us, his upper lip curled back, revealing a fang the size of an icicle. Alpha Maximus, I dubbed him. His head was about the size of a basketball.

"I'm not feeling the love from those dogs," I announced. River half-laughed but Sage, sitting next to me in the passenger seat, kept her eyes on the dogs. I glanced in my rearview mirror at Kara, trying not to morph into a disapproving older sister. But from the expression on her face, I failed.

"Chill," she said as she opened her car door. As soon as Alpha Maximus heard the click of the latch on Kara's door, he was on his feet, his upper lip curling again to reveal more teeth. He probably had a whole other set in there that came rocketing out of his throat, like the monsters from the movie Aliens.

"Kara--" I started. I looked around my car for something to use as a weapon though Alpha's skull was obviously forged from steel.

She ignored me and waited for Alpha to get a whiff of her. I thought of tiger maulings at the zoo. Shit. Where's a crowbar when you need one?

"Well, look at that," River muttered. I looked out the windshield. Alpha was rubbing up against Kara's leg like a giant cat, a goofy grin on his massive face.

Sage smiled and put her hand on my arm. "Chill," she repeated.

The security door on the front of the house opened and Shoshana emerged. She approached Kara and Alpha's smaller twin wiggled his back end like a puppy. "Hi," she said, greeting Kara with a smile and a quick hug before she turned and waved at me. "Glad you found it. Sometimes I don't give the best directions."

River and Sage exited the car the same time I did and the smaller of the Rottweilers threw himself at Sage's feet and rolled onto his back.

"Wow. He never does that with strangers," Shoshana said as she approached. "You must have some good energy."

Sage smiled. "Or maybe I'm just another nice girl to seduce." She bent and stroked the dog's head.

"That's Brutus." Shoshana motioned toward Alpha Maximus. "And this big useless bag of fur is Sam." She pointed at the dog worshipping Sage then smiled at me. "Hi."

"Hey. Good to see you," I said in my most polite tone. "Thanks for setting this up."

"Of course." She glanced at River. "You must be Sage's brother. River, right? I'm Shoshana." She offered her right hand and River took it, bobbing his head in acknowledgment.

"Yep. That's me. Thanks for taking the time."

"Anything I can do to help." She motioned us toward the house. "Come on in."

We followed her into the cool interior, through a foyer and on into a den toward the back of the house that retained its 70s California ranch house style, where a thin, dark-haired man sat in an armchair, a book open on his lap. He wore his hair long and it was pulled back in a ponytail. A trimmed goatee adorned his chin and upper lip. He looked like the kind of guy who should be doing art in a Santa Fe studio, with his faded jeans and paint-stained T-shirt. His hands were clasped over his abdomen and he studied us each as we entered, wary. He set the book on an end table to his right.

"Mr. Purcell," Kara said, moving toward him around an

overstuffed burgundy couch and extending her hand. "I'm Kara Fontero. Thanks so much for taking the time to talk with us."

He took her hand tentatively but the trace of a smile pulled at his mouth as Kara worked a little charm on him.

Kara gestured at each of us in turn. "My sister, K.C. And this is Sage Crandall and her brother, River."

"Bill's kids," Purcell said, nodding. His voice sounded raspy. Maybe he was a smoker, though I didn't see or smell anything that indicated such. "Sorry I'm not getting up. Got a little problem with the back."

"Old injury," Shoshana explained. "Make yourselves at home." She threw a little smile at Kara then left the room.

Sage shook Purcell's hand, as well. "Thank you," she said before seating herself on the couch across from him. River sat in a chair that looked like it was part of a dining room set that someone had placed next to the couch. Kara and I joined Sage, me between them. He didn't say anything until we had settled into our places and then he launched right into it.

"So you think maybe something's up," Purcell said, looking pointedly at Sage.

"Maybe," she said, without any kind of surprise that he had dispensed with formalities. "Maybe not. I'll be honest, Mr. Purcell. River and I didn't have the best relationship with our father. We didn't even know he was in Farmington until all of this happened."

Purcell didn't say anything in response. He just waited, studying her like a painter might a subject.

"But there are some suspicious circumstances with regard to his death, and they may or may not relate to some safety violations at Ridge Star." Sage stopped then. River was staring at the carpet, his forearms braced on his thighs.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Purcell said, gaze still on Sage.

"Did you work with him?" I asked, hoping to draw him out a bit.

"A few times." He adjusted his position in his chair, wincing. "He worked on the rig, usually with the string--the pipe that we threaded the drill bit down into the ground. He was good at it. Had a real knack for reading the tension right and knowing just how to adjust things."

"So he'd know if something wasn't safe," I pressed, treading carefully. This guy struck me as somebody who knew a lot more about a lot of things, but he'd never let on. Slippery.

He regarded me for a long moment and was about to respond when Shoshana reappeared carrying a tray of glasses filled with what looked like iced tea. She handed one to Purcell then offered the tray to each of us in turn. She set the tray on the tall narrow table that stood behind the couch and propped herself on the arm closest to Kara. Her presence seemed to loosen Purcell up a bit because his shoulders relaxed and he smiled at her.

"Yes," he said, looking at me. "Bill would definitely have known if something wasn't safe on the rig."

"What kind of options does a man have, if he knows things like that?" I rested my glass on my thigh.

"Two. He tells or he doesn't." Purcell's tone was flat.

"Who would he tell?" Shoshana this time, and though I hated to admit it, I was glad she stepped in because she seemed to have a calming effect on her uncle.

"Nobody at Ridge Star. At least nobody in management. We all knew who we could and couldn't talk to. If he told anybody, it would have to be somebody he trusted."

I wanted to follow up with that but Sage interrupted. "If I may-- why did you leave Ridge Star?"

Purcell's expression hardened and he took a sip of tea. "I hurt my back maybe five years ago on another rig with another company. I couldn't do much of anything for a year. Then I started working again, but only office stuff for a few companies in the area. The money's better on the rigs, though, as dangerous as they are." He paused for another drink. "I was okay for a year at Ridge Star. But the work is hard and my back started acting up again so I requested lighter duty. The injury was in my records, after all. They started putting me on harder and harder details and after a month of that, I quit." He shrugged and stared at his glass, which he held braced in his lap. "It's shit work, but there's that adrenaline rush..." his voice trailed off. "And the money is good, especially in places like this."

"Did Ridge Star want you to quit?" Sage asked in a tone that could make the most reticent person talk about secret things from childhood. I saw in his expression that the mystical Sage ju-ju was working on him.

"I can't prove it, but yeah. After I requested lighter duty so my back could have some rest, all my shifts the next week and the week after that were total crap. No way could I keep that up very long." He shrugged. "So I didn't."

"Did Bill know what happened?"

"I didn't tell him. Or anybody, for that matter. But word on a rig gets out and he asked me a couple of days before I left if Ridge Star was messing with me."

"What did you tell him?" Sage's demeanor was soothing, though I detected a little edge in her voice.

"The same thing I told you. I told him I couldn't prove it, but it sure looked like it. He asked if I'd be willing to go on record about it at some point."

We all sat in silence, waiting for him to continue. When he did, I exhaled. I'd been holding my breath.

"I told him I'd have to think about it."

Sage surreptitiously pressed her thigh against mine. My cue to continue the line of questioning. "Did he contact you after you left?" I asked.

"He tried to call me about a month after I left but I didn't get back to him." He dropped his gaze to his glass of tea. He wasn't saying something.

"Do you know what he might have wanted?" I tested the edges of his boundaries with a different tack and a neutral tone, a technique I'd learned watching Chris work.

"Probably to ask if I'd go on record." He kept staring at his glass.

"Do you think that Bill might have been doing some kind of investigation on his own time?" I put the onus of the question on Bill rather than Purcell, trying another angle.

He looked up at me. "I know he was. A lot of us did. He got real mad after Nestor got hurt."

"What about the other two guys who died?" River broke in. "The ones that Ridge Star kept quiet?"

Purcell shrugged. "I don't know what Ridge Star did or didn't do with regard to that. Not my problem."

River returned his stare for a long moment.

"Mr. Purcell," I said, breaking the tableau, "walk me through a timeline here." I pulled a small notebook out of my cargo pocket along with a pen. His eyes narrowed. "Just a timeline," I repeated. "When did you start working for Ridge Star?"

"March of last year. I did okay until around November when my back started up again. I tried some physical therapy and massage and all that, and it'd be okay for a few days but then it'd start up again. So this past April I asked for light duty. Didn't get it." His knuckles whitened around his glass. "I was gone by the end of the month."

"When did Nestor get hurt?"

"January."

Bill had said as much in his letter to River. He just hadn't named Nestor. "What happened to him?"

Purcell shook his head. "When you work the string, what you're doing is you're running pipe down into the hole that the bit's made. The deeper you go with the drill, the more pipe you run down that hole, and the more pipe, the heavier the load on the pulley system of the rig." He paused and glanced around at us, as if making sure we understood. "Bill was really good working the pipe, like I said. I know he'd been after the company men to check the cable on the pulley system. Bill said they hadn't been inspected in a while and he was worried about fraying."

"When was the last time they were inspected?"

"Not for at least a month. And when you're doing that kind of work, you need to keep up with that. The guys who work the string--the ones who have been doing it a while and have a feel for it--they know if something's not right. And Bill told one of the company men the day before that the cable wasn't right." Purcell relaxed his grip on his glass. "And all the company man did was say he'd look into it. Typical bullshit."

"Company man?" I asked.

"The guy in charge of organization at the site," Purcell offered. "The operations manager. He's also supposed to be checking safety and efficiency. Problem is, they're company reps."

I got his meaning. "Do you remember this guy's name?" I glanced up at him.

"Clint Monroe. He started working at Ridge Star about the time I came on board. He was still there when I left. Lives in the area, last I heard." He spoke dismissively.

I wrote that down. "So what happened when Nestor was injured?"

Purcell exhaled through his teeth, a sound like air hissing out of a tire. "Bill told him not to stand where he was on the rig, and Nestor adjusted his position. Bill said that the way the string was pulling, the cable could snap and Nestor was in the line of fire for falling pipe. Nestor and Bill--they were pretty tight. Then I guess the cable broke and Bill yelled at Nestor to move but it happened too fast and sure enough, the pipe fell at an angle, catching him just right. I wasn't on shift that day, but I heard about it. Same story from a few different guys..." he trailed off, pulling on his goatee. "A couple more guys got injured in March. And another one died in June. I was gone by then, though."

"Did you talk to Nestor after he was hurt? "No. I sent him a card and contributed to the collection the guys took up. Nestor's a good man. But I didn't know him very well."

I shot River a glance. His attention seemed directed at Purcell, unlike at the lawyer's office, where he spent most of the time staring at the table or the copy of the will. I looked back at Purcell. "How often did Bill complain to the company man about safety issues?"

He thought for a bit. "Hell, a lot. The guys kind of made him their unofficial spokesman and he was willing to do it."

Interesting. Bill became an activist. "Was it risky for him to do that?"

Purcell stared at me for a few seconds, with an expression that told me he was weighing how much to say. "Damn right it was," he said, making his choice. "But Bill had been around rigs a long time and he had a rep among roughnecks. He had his problems--" Purcell looked at Sage then River, "but at work, he stood up for the guys and he looked out for the weevils--rookies. And he never, ever brought his personal issues to the jobsite. I didn't interact with him too much, but the times I did, he came across as a man who meant what he said and who tried to do the right thing. And he knew his way around a rig. He was the kind of guy you wanted to work with because he'd tell you what was up with the equipment and he'd go to the company men to point it out. Not many guys had cojones like that in this industry."

River muttered something I didn't catch.

Purcell focused on him and said, "Rig-rats are expendable. Doesn't matter how many years on the job you have for a company. Somebody else can replace you." He looked back at me and Sage. "Bill was different, though. When he brought something up with the higher-ups, he never made a fuss about it and he always took the company man aside to talk with him about it. He never made accusations in front of the guys. I think he had respect from a couple of them." He shifted his position in his chair again. "Until Monroe."

I made a little note about that. "This Monroe didn't like him?"

Purcell shrugged. "Didn't like anyone. I heard the higher-ups brought him in from Texas to increase the 'bottom line.'" He sneered. "Which always means 'fuck the workers. We need more money.' Excuse my language," he said, glancing then at Shoshana and Kara.

"Was Ridge Star having money problems?" I followed the financial angle, tapping the tip of the pen on my notebook.

"Couldn't tell you. I do know that they don't have the best safety record." He smiled sardonically. "Not that the industry is the safest in the world to work in. Comes with the territory."

"Did something make them stand out, though, in terms of that?"

"Bill seemed to think so. It's one thing to have a run of bad luck. It's another to not do the standard safety ops or inspections or to replace fu--messed-up equipment. And it's another issue, to maybe try to cover it up," he finished, cryptic

Bill had talked with Purcell after he'd left but Purcell wasn't willing to go there. "Did Bill ever mention any kind of threats he'd been receiving?"

"No. Not in so many words. But a couple times after Nestor got hurt, he showed up at the jobsite with black eyes. Another time he came in and he was limping. He didn't say much about what had happened, but the rumors were that he'd been given a talking to about trying to dig into Ridge Star's safety records." He lowered his gaze back to his glass and his fingers tapped its surface.

"Mr. Purcell," I continued.

"Look," he said. "I'm real sorry what happened to Bill. I hope they find the bastards that did it--"

The front door opened and Brutus and Sam burst into the room, bee lining for Shoshana and Sage. "Hi," said the newcomer who appeared in the doorway. From her features, I gauged her as Indian, though her long dark hair alone might have indicated such to some people. Purcell's wife, then. Shoshana stood and gave her a quick hug. "Hi, Nan. These are the people I said would be stopping by." She introduced us all in turn and Nan gave us each a smile before she approached Purcell and bent to kiss him on the forehead.

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Purcell," I said, standing. "We really appreciate it." Brutus bumped his massive head against my thigh. I patted it and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

"Good dogma," Kara said. Shoshana laughed.

"Don't leave on my account." Nan's voice was an alto that belied her stature.

"We've already taken enough of your husband's time," Sage said. "Thank you. And thank you, Shoshana, for setting this up."

"If you have any more questions, just call." Purcell pushed himself out of the chair with help from Nan. He grimaced. "Shoshana'll give you the number. Good luck."

We headed for the front door, Brutus pushing against my thigh the whole way.

"I think he likes you," Sage observed, fighting a smile.

"Well, we don't have room in the car. There might not even be room in Albuquerque." I scratched his ear and he smiled. Which was a scary sight on a Rottweiler. River held the door for us and we exited, Brutus following. Kara lingered on the patio, talking to Shoshana. I frowned but jerked my gaze to River, trying not to behave like a parent with her.

"What do you think?" I directed my question to him and Sage. He leaned against the front of the car, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets.

"He's not telling us the whole story," River said.

"That's the feeling I got, too." I glanced at Sage. She was staring past River, thinking.

"He might be scared. Or he might be trying to stay uninvolved." She turned and looked back at the house. "Maybe the same people who kept messing with Dad messed with him, too."

"Seems that way." I stroked Brutus's head and swear to God, it looked like he was grinning. "I think we need to talk to Nestor." Something about Purcell was bugging me, but I wasn't sure what it was. I remonstrated myself. Bad researcher! Don't form judgments without evidence!

"I'll call Tonya and get the number." Sage caught my eye and smiled. "I think she's more comfortable with me." She leaned in around Brutus and gave me a tap on my shin with the toe of her foot. "As charming as you can be, I think your academic edge scared her."

I smiled back. "The truth is, nobody can resist you."

River started laughing. "She is a piece of work," he said, pushing off from the car. "The things she convinced me to do when we were kids--"

Sage smacked him on the arm.

"Hey, you kids. Knock it off. Damn. Can't take you anywhere. Get in the car, both of you," Kara said sternly as she approached, Shoshana behind her.

Sage stuck her tongue out at her then turned to Shoshana. "Thank you so much for your help. We really appreciate it." She gave Shoshana a hug, much to Shoshana's obvious surprise.

"Let me know if you need anything else. Kara has my number."

In more ways than one, I thought at the look Shoshana gave her. For some reason, knowing that Shoshana was attracted to Kara decreased my misgivings about her. I decided I'd try to like her. At least a little. "Thanks again," I said to her before gingerly moving Brutus out of the way so I could get into the driver's seat.

"You're welcome, though you might have to come back to visit Brutus. I think he's in love," Shoshana said as she grabbed his collar and pulled him out of the way so I could shut my door.

"He has good taste," Sage said. She smiled at her and waved as I started the engine. I backed up a bit and steered down the driveway.

"So how about we go back to the motel so Sage can call Tonya and get Nestor's number?"

I got three murmured assents and then nothing more on the drive back to town. Which I didn't mind, since I was busy sorting through some things as well. Maybe Nestor had the notebook that Bill had been using to document incidents. We also needed to call Detective Simmons, as well, and see if we could score a look at the autopsy report. And my note-taking compulsion had kicked in. I needed to write things down, organize them, and see where things fit, if at all yet. Every tidbit of information I collected, no matter the project, was part of larger patterns. Finding the ties between the tidbits was part of the investigative process, whether academically oriented or part of police work. That reminded me. I wanted to call Chris and bounce some things off her. Maybe after I talked to Nestor.

I glanced over at Sage. She was staring out the side window. I took her hand and interlaced our fingers and she smiled at me. I held on until we arrived at the motel.

Chapter Thirteen

SAGE SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the bed closest to the window with me as she wrote a phone number down on the little notepad that the Super 8 motel supplied for every room. "Thanks, Tonya. I'll let you know what we find out, if anything," she said. "You, too. Take care." She hung up and addressed me. "Let's see if we can set something up with Nestor tomorrow."

I looked up from my legal pad. "Sounds good. How's Tonya?"

"Hanging in there. She said she was going to look through Dad's papers again, see if anything jumped out at her."

"What about talking to Ridge Star?" Kara said from the one chair, where she was reading an environmental magazine.

"How so?" Sage asked.

"Call 'em. See if they'll give us a tour."

I remembered our conversation in the kitchen and shrugged. "Give it a shot. All they can do is say no."

"But they might not," Sage pointed out.

"Can I use your laptop?" Kara asked. "The websites list more phone numbers than phone books do."

I nodded assent and she got up to retrieve it from my briefcase at the foot of the bed. She took it back to the chair where she'd been sitting and set the laptop on the table.

Sage squeezed my thigh and opened her phone to make another call. I figured it was to Nestor Bodie, so I paused in my note transcription to find out when we'd be driving to Shiprock the next day. Instead, Sage called someone else.

"Ya-ta-hey," Sage said in Navajo greeting. Then she laughed at something the person on the other end said. Not a stranger.

I looked at her, questioning. She wrote something down on the notepad that held Nestor's phone number and showed it to me. "Ellen."

"She's well," Sage was saying. "Thanks for asking. How's Jim? Good. Yes, I'm in Farmington and things are strange, as I told you they would be."

I went back to my notes as Sage chatted with Ellen. I'd created three columns on my paper. One I labeled "Tonya Daniels," the second "Jamison Purcell." The third would be Nestor Bodie's, but for now, I listed things in Jamison's column and looked to see what matched and what didn't with Tonya's. Bill was being hassled by someone or someones, both Jamison and Tonya confirmed. Most likely someones, and most likely from Ridge Star. Bill was an okay partner and a good guy to his fellow workers. I tuned back into Sage's conversation.

"Nestor Bodie," Sage said to Ellen. "Based in Shiprock. He used to work at Ridge Star drilling until he was injured in January. Here's the number."

I looked up as Sage picked the notepad up with Nestor's number and read the digits to Ellen. "I don't know who his people are and I was hoping you would--" Sage laughed again at something Ellen said. "Yes, I need a Diné hall pass. Any chance you can have one ready in the next hour or so?" She listened for a moment and smiled. "Sure. I'll take care of it when I get back to Albuquerque." Sage smiled, listening again. Something in her voice bothered me. A warm intimacy with an underlying something that spoke of shared moments that weren't entirely platonic. "Thanks, Ellen. I'll talk to you soon." Sage hung up and sat for a moment, thinking. I bit my question back, which I was sure would have sounded like an accusation.

"The Navajo information express," she said to me, smiling again. "Ellen's going to do a little road-grading to get us in with Nestor."

I relaxed, but only a little.

"Take a walk with me to the car," Sage said, in a tone that meant she wanted to talk about something.

Uneasy, I complied, tossing my legal pad onto the bed with my pen. "Back in a minute," I said to Kara, who nodded as Sage and I left the room. I made sure I had a key card before I shut the door and followed Sage down the hallway to the stairs. A lingering odor of cigarette smoke wafted up the staircase from the floor below as we went down a flight and exited into the parking lot behind the building. Sage started walking toward her car, parked about thirty feet away.

I matched her steps, waiting for her to begin the conversation. She didn't until we arrived at the car. She leaned against the driver's side, back to the setting sun, and crossed her arms. I took a position to her left, leaning against the car as well, preparing myself for whatever Sage needed to unload.

"Six months after I moved to Albuquerque," she began, "I started seeing a woman I'd met at UNM. She was Navajo, doing graduate work in anthropology and we met at a lecture series the department was doing about Indian art and material culture. We were together maybe three months before she decided she wanted to date a guy in her program. Which was fine. At least she let me know."

I adjusted my position against the car but didn't say anything.

Sage would get to the point when it was time to do so.

"It was that woman who took me to the art opening in Santa Fe where I met Ellen." She turned then and looked at me, a troubled expression on her face. "I did something stupid, K.C., and I haven't told you this because I've been afraid that it would trigger some of your baggage with Melissa."

Oh, fuck. My palms started to sweat and I didn't even know what she was going to say.

Sage looked away for a moment, then back at me. "I slept with Ellen. She was engaged to Jim at the time, but they were having some problems and she and I--" She stopped then and gazed across the parking lot. "Anyway, it was one night. Ellen was in Albuquerque visiting relatives and called me to see if I wanted to have dinner. I didn't make the right choice after dinner." She looked back at me, expectant, waiting for my response. My stomach hurt.

"How long ago was this?"

"Almost five years."

My whole body exhaled. Five years. A while ago. "So...I'm guessing you still feel guilty?" I had no idea how to address this.

"Not so much anymore. I did try to justify it, like I'm sure Melissa did with you. I didn't talk to Ellen for a couple of weeks afterward because I was mortified and confused. I didn't want to be with her in a relationship like that, I didn't understand why I did it, why she reciprocated--I was a fucking mess. I'd never done anything like that." Her tone was both hard and fragile.

"But you and Ellen came to some kind of understanding..." I said, trying to stay focused on Sage and not think about the affair Melissa had that ended my relationship with her.

"We did. Ellen called after that two weeks and told me I needed to participate in a ceremony with her and I thought she was fucking crazy, telling me that. But she said it was a way for us to come to terms with what had happened and to help me let go of the bad feelings I was having." Sage kicked at a pebble. "I told her I'd think about it. Two weeks later, she called again and told me the same thing." Sage smiled wryly. "I told her I'd think about it."

"And two weeks later..." I raised an eyebrow, knowing how stubborn Sage could be.

"Yep. She called again, and said the same thing. But this time she told me that she had told Jim what had happened and they had come to an understanding and it was time for me to come to something like that with myself."

"And you said yes." I tried to imagine what Sage might have been thinking, after sleeping with Ellen and then finding out that Ellen had told Jim and wanted her to come visit.

Sage nodded, thoughtful. "I went up to Farmington on a

Wednesday and got back to Albuquerque the following Monday. It was my first Blessingway ceremony. Three days, Sunday as a recovery day, since it's pretty intense."

We were both quiet for a while, and I thought about Melissa's affair and how I'd bailed without giving her a chance to explain herself. If I had--if I'd approached it like Ellen seemed to approach what happened with both Sage and Jim, would things be different today? Sage's indiscretion was one night. Melissa's was more than that. Did it matter? I turned to look at Sage and caught her watching me. If things had turned out differently, I wouldn't be standing here with her. As shitty as breaking up with Melissa was, it pushed me to the next step of my life, which in turn showed me another until the road looped back to New Mexico.

"How were things after the ceremony?" I asked.

"Better. I felt like I had managed to purge some things and allow the good that came of that into my life--for whatever reasons, Ellen's been a mentor to me in some ways, both in an artistic sense and in some personal matters."

There was something she wasn't telling me. I saw it in the way she shifted her gaze toward the motel, then back to me, like she was debating whether to say anything further.

"What?" I asked, opening the door.

She looked at me, surprised. "Now who's the psychic in this relationship?"

"Maybe I'm just paying better attention."

She reached over and took my hand and I imagined warmth emanated up my arm from her grip. "Ellen was sort of a gateway for me, with regard to Navajo culture," Sage said. "I spent some time on the reservation with her and her family after the Blessingway." She paused and looked at me. "And I saw a few things that I don't understand. Many good things. But dark things as well. Bad. The kinds of things that you hear about in folktales and shit like that."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I fought an urge to turn and see if anything was watching us. She squeezed my hand, comforting.

"There are things that happen out on the Rez that can't be explained using western approaches," she said. "And don't think I wouldn't like there to be some kind of explanation, because I am, after all, from that tradition as well. But these things--" she leaned in closer to me and I was glad for it because I felt chilled, somehow.

"Like witches, maybe?" I chose to use the generic term, not sure why saying "skinwalker" aloud bothered me.

"The shape-shifting kind," Sage confirmed, also using a euphemism. "Like whatever was on the porch last week."

I stared at her. "You think that was--"

"You think the same thing. You're just trying to find an explanation that fits your ideological framework. And this is why I don't talk to you about things like this," she finished, with a resigned, almost tired tone.

"Okay, back up," I said, defensive. "I haven't even said anything."

"You're thinking it." She still held my hand, but tension crackled in the air between us.

"That's not fair. Yes, I'm trained in certain traditions and certain methodologies. But will you give me a little credit? I considered the possibility that what happened on the porch was something maybe I hadn't encountered before." I pulled my hand from hers, a little stung.

"And what conclusion have you reached?"

I glanced at her, trying to determine if she was being sarcastic. "None. I don't know what it was. All I know is I don't like how it felt and I don't like the effect it had on you and I don't like not having a hook to hang my understanding on." I pushed off from the car and started to pace when Sage grabbed my forearm.

"Honey," she said, tone gentle.

"I don't know what it was," I said, more emphatically. "I don't think it was a dog. Or any kind of animal. And I don't know what to do with that."

"K.C.," she said. "Come here." She pulled me into her embrace and held on until I relaxed.

"And maybe I'm kind of jealous of you and Ellen," I muttered against her hair. "Maybe that brought up some Melissa stuff, like you thought."

"I wasn't fair to Melissa," she said against my shoulder. "When you told me about her affair with Hillary, I said I'd never do that to anyone. But I sort of already did, to Jim. Even though he and Ellen were in a bad place and not really seeing each other at the time--I was being hypocritical."

"It's in the past." And I hoped saying that aloud would somehow keep it there, though I was uneasy because Sage hadn't brought this up earlier. "But please, talk to me about things. I don't want to fall into patterns that fuck things up."

She giggled.

"What's so funny?" I didn't conceal the frustration in my voice.

"You. Me. This." She pulled away and brushed my cheek with her fingertips. "I love you so much and I know how hard you work, trying not to repeat your past. I have a hard time with mine sometimes and I forget that you're not part of that, and that I can tell you things." She put her fingers against my lips and I kissed them before she trailed them down my neck, leaving warmth in their

wake. "I should have told you about Ellen sooner."

"Yes, you should have. Because it feels kind of creepy and dishonest that you didn't." And I did not like that. At all. I needed to think a bit about that. Was it worth it to worry about? Should I wonder what else she wasn't telling me?

She kissed my neck. "You're right. I'm sorry. That's something maybe I should work on."

"Yes, it is. And apology accepted." But I still wasn't sure how to process this information, or if I should at all. "Goddammit," I whispered. "I don't know what that thing was on the porch. I don't know what the hell your dad has to do with anything. I don't even know why the fuck we're here. I don't know how to fix any of this."

Sage tightened her hold on me. "You can't," she said. "All we can do is get through it. As for my dad--I don't know, either. Maybe I'm just trying to understand who he was as a person, rather than as a parent. Maybe I'm looking for part of myself in all this. Or some kind of closure." She touched my face. "I just ask that you suspend your logic about some things."

I nodded, thinking that walking through fire might be easier for someone like me. "I'll try. I'm trying now."

"I know." She kissed me and some of the unease I felt dispersed beneath her lips. "And I love that about you, too."

"I love you back," I said against her lips.

"I'm so glad," she whispered against mine as her cell phone rang. She sighed and pulled away. "That would be our Diné hall pass. Let's find out when we can go to Shiprock."

I LEANED AGAINST my car, waiting for the rest of my motley posse to finish up in the motel so we could head over to Shiprock. The late morning sun forecasted a summer day, but the breeze presaged fall, a crisp, cool undercurrent flowing down from Colorado. With one hand, I held a cup of Starbucks coffee and with the thumb of the other, I speed-dialed Chris. She picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, esa. I was just going to call you."

"Yeah, yeah. You say that to all the girls."

Chris laughed. "So what's up? Did you see the autopsy report?"

"Yes. This morning. Detective Simmons was very amenable, as you suspected." I set my cup down and rubbed my forehead for a moment, trying to stave off a headache. "There's some weird shit in it."

"Like what?"

I took another sip of coffee and set the cup back down on the hood of my car next to my legal pad, hoping the caffeine would help with my headache, since I hadn't had any yet and it was almost lunchtime. "Okay," I said, scanning my notes. "Bill's body was found off one of those unmarked roads near the Shiprock formation. Graded dirt, not used much. You know how it is out there. Long stretches of nothing but wind and sagebrush. The Medical Examiner estimates the time of death within about five days of his body being found. That would put his death around the Saturday after he mailed the letter to River, or maybe Sunday."

"What day did you see that newspaper article?"

"It was in Saturday's paper, a week after Bill disappeared. According to Simmons, his body was found on Wednesday morning but the story wasn't released for a couple of days as they started the investigation."

"Who found him?" Chris's questions were crisp and clipped out of long habit of taking reports and collecting concise information.

"Um--" I searched my notes. "A guy named Tom Manyhorses. Simmons talked to him and took a statement. She said he's an older rancher guy out there who was on his way to town on Wednesday. She's originally from that area. She asked him who else lived out there and he said two other families, but they don't need to pass by the spot where Bill was to get to town. The road dead-ends just past Manyhorses' place."

"So it's not beyond reason," Chris mused aloud, "that it would take a few days to find Bill's body."

"Seems that way. I think we're going to go out and have a look at the area. Sage and River both want to." Can't say I'm looking forward to that.

"Injuries?"

I looked at my notes again. "Consistent with getting hit by a car. The ME concluded that Bill was hit on his left side. From the way the bones fractured, the point of impact came from behind, so the car was traveling on the right side of the road, as it should've been, and its right front end hit Bill hard enough to knock him off the road and twenty to thirty feet away from the graded part. From the photos of the scene, it would have been easier for him to be walking on the road itself because both sides have that dirt pile from grading along the edges. And if it was dark, it would have been easier to just stay on the road."

"So lots of internal injuries and broken bones? Did he land wrong?"

"Yes and yes. His neck was broken. ME thinks he died quickly."

Chris was quiet for a moment. "The driver must have known he hit something," she said. "But kept going."

"Yeah. If it was someone from Ridge Star trying to keep Bill quiet, that would explain why he kept going. He ran Bill down and bailed. But if it wasn't, then Bill's death might have been accidental, and the guy we're looking for might be somebody who freaked out when he realized he'd hit somebody. So his death might not even be related to Ridge Star."

"That still doesn't explain what he was doing out there without a car and without ID."

"I asked Simmons about that, because I was trying to be Detective Thorough-pants like you, and she checked the crime scene notes and even called the guy who did the processing and no, no ID. Not even money in his pocket." I flipped the page on my notebook, which now was on the hood of my car. "Okay, more weird stuff. There was a length of rope around his left wrist, tied in a pretty good knot. The other end was frayed and kind of rough, like he'd rubbed it on a rock or something to cut it."

"Huh," Chris said, and I knew she was thinking about that.

I waited for her to continue.

"So maybe he was tied to something," she added. "He couldn't get the knot loose--was his other wrist tied?"

I took another sip of coffee. "No evidence of it. No marks, either."

"He couldn't get the knot loose, even with his free hand. So he did the next best thing and hacked through it with something. Maybe a rock, like you said."

"All right, scenario time," I said. "What if some Ridge Star thugs decided to scare Bill? Really scare him, since according to Tonya and his former coworker--this Jamison Purcell we talked to yesterday-- Bill had been getting beaten up and warned to quit digging into Ridge Star affairs and it wasn't working. So they took him out to the Rez, smacked him around, threatened him, threatened to do not-sonice things to Tonya, and then left him out there to 'think about it.' Maybe they had every intention of coming back to get him and see if the tactic worked. But Bill managed to get away and he got hit by a car, accidentally. The thugs go to get him the next day, he's gone, and they figure 'good riddance'. They check the usual haunts, don't find him, problem solved."

"Plausible," Chris agreed. "After all, why would they tie him up somewhere then let him go and run him down? I'm not feeling that angle. If they wanted to do that, they could have beaten the shit out of him, laid him out in the road, and finished him off. But that seems like a lot of work. Plus, wouldn't they have seen his body if they left him then went back?"

"True. And it is a lot of work. I'm wondering if maybe they thought if they took him out there and left him and something happened to him, Bill's rep as a drunk and sometime rabble rouser might point investigators in a different direction. Maybe whoever took him out there wanted it to look like he got drunk and pissed somebody off in a bar." I flipped through my notes again. "This is kind of a mafia approach. Get the guy, take him somewhere to scare the shit out of him, leave him for a while."

"If that's what happened. What kind of rope was it? Did you see a picture?"

"How is it I know you so well?" I asked with a long-suffering tone. "Because I did get that information. Plain ol' nylon. The kind of rope you can find in any hardware or Walmart-type place."

"I'm glad I'm rubbing off on you, chica," Chris said, a smile in her voice."The rope's not going to pan out as any kind of lead, then. What else? Did the perp do anything to his tattoos?"

"No. Which could mean whoever it was wasn't planning to kill him and thus make it hard to identify him." I re-read that section of my notes.

"Why take his wallet, then?"

"To make it hard for him to do anything if he managed to get away, maybe? No money, no calling cards, no ID, no credit cards. Unless the wallet fell out when he was hit. But the crime scene team didn't find it. They ID'ed him through dental records. He was going to one on a regular basis." I picked up my cup again. "None of this makes much sense. I'm coming up with more questions for every one I think I can answer. What the hell?" I swallowed my irritation.

"The nature of the beast," Chris said, trying to be soothing.

"Fuck. Speaking of beasts..." I told Chris what Sage had said about Ellen and the time she'd spent on the reservation. When I finished, Chris didn't say anything for a few moments. I sipped my coffee in the interim, waiting for her to tell me she was going to call the psych ward.

"Esa, this is a bit out of my jurisdiction," she finally said, in a tone I recognized as her "okay, I'll humor you a little" approach. "And I don't know much about Navajo beliefs. But you live here long enough, and no matter what culture you are, you eventually hear about things like skinwalkers. Did Sage tell you specifically what she saw on the Rez?"

"No," I responded, a little relieved that she wasn't dismissing me. "But I told you I looked some of this shit up, after that weird incident on the porch, and there are accounts of non-Native people seeing things that might have been a 'walker while driving across the Rez. It seems to happen at night, and the witches try to hurt people by scaring them off the road. Or whatever else they can do to make people get hurt. If this shit is true, it's creepy as hell." Though I was trying to avoid using the full term for "skinwalker," even talking about them in as benign a way as I was with Chris was making me uncomfortable. What's wrong with me? It's not even my belief system.

"All right," Chris said with what sounded like resignation, "since you're already on this road, I'll come with you for a bit. I did hear a couple of stories a while back from the state patrol. A couple of guys saw something out there, south of Gallup. Two separate cops. Both said whatever it was looked like it attached itself to their vehicles but then they realized that the thing was running alongside, keeping pace. Which would be consistent with descriptions of skinwalkers, since they're supposed to be really fast."

I took a huge swallow of coffee. Running alongside a car?

"I remember, too, a cadet in the academy with me from Grants said that most people know not to travel the Rez after dark. If you're new to the area, someone'll tell you that. I went to a training session in Gallup a few years ago. Three days, two nights. And even the guy running the session told us it wasn't a good idea to go onto the Rez after dark, but he said it was because it was isolated and if anything happened to you, it'd be difficult to get help. But one of the Indian guys said it was because weird shit happened out there."

When she finished, I had a bad case of the willies. Right there in the parking lot of the Super 8, in eighty-degree heat, and I didn't like the way this conversation was going. "Excuse me, Officer. I'm looking for Detective Chris Gutierrez. Have you seen her? Tall, dark, rational?"

"Haven't seen her. But if you see Dr. K.C. Fontero, I'm looking for her. Medium height, cute, logical. Sometimes she researches strange shit, though."

"Touché," I said and Chris laughed.

"Kase, you of all people should know the power of belief when it comes to human cultures. Your mom's an anthropologist, your dad does religious studies. And you're Ms. Sociology. Belief makes people do loco shit. It makes people see what they want to see, not necessarily what's actually there. I'm not saying strange things don't happen. I am saying that what people interpret as strange might not be so strange, but when there are beliefs in play, then stuff that isn't weird becomes weird because people want their beliefs validated. They want there to be weird shit because it's a cultural legend and it makes them feel part of something."

"Damn, Chris. You want my job? Since when did you start graduate work in cultural studies?"

"Since I've been hanging out with you. And I was a psychology major," she said with a "duh" tone.

"Thanks for the reality check," I said with a laugh. "But that doesn't mean weird stuff doesn't exist."

"I'm not saying it doesn't. I'm just saying keep a foot on the ground. So how'd the reading of the will go?" She changed the topic, much to my relief.

I got her caught up on what had transpired at the attorney's office and then at Purcell's house. When I finished, I took another swig of coffee, now lukewarm, and waited for Chris's take.

"Wow. Bill isn't the man we thought he was."

"I know. The go-to guy at work. The protective partner. And the guy who took it on the chin several times for his coworkers while he faced down the man."

"Has Simmons interviewed Purcell?"

"I didn't get that impression. She wasn't forthcoming, though." Neither was he, for that matter.

Chris didn't say anything for a moment and I knew what was coming. I braced for it.

"Esa, you know how I feel about this."

I kept quiet.

"You're poking around in a murder investigation."

"We're trying to find out more about Sage's father's death," I corrected, a little petulantly.

"And he may have been murdered. You need to bring Simmons in on this."

"Chris, this is investigative journalism we're doing. I'm going to call Simmons with my information after we talk to Bodie. If she comes with us, he won't tell us anything. You know how this is. People will talk to me, they'll talk to family members of dead people, and they might even talk to a journalist. But they will not talk to cops, especially if there's freaky shit going on with safety at Ridge Star."

"Dammit, this is bullshit, Kase. Simmons has to be there. You have to make sure this shit is admissible in court. Goddamn, this is going to be a clusterfuck of monumental proportions. And I am going to have to kick your stubborn ass." She swore in Spanish-- something she did with me when she was frustrated.

Great. Now my best friend is pissed at me. "Chris," I started.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? First paranormal shit and now you're screwing around in a murder investigation. Where the hell is your head? Where the hell is it?"

Ouch. "Dammit, I don't know!" I retorted, irritation and frustration welling in my throat. "I don't know anything anymore. My girlfriend's father is fucking dead and it's causing all kinds of crap between us. I'm trying not to lose my shit and run away from this whole fucking mess, trying not to be a patronizing logical asshole with her while she and River sort through the remnants of their messed-up childhoods, and I'm trying to balance all of this along with a legitimate inquiry into a death." I wanted to cry and scream and throw the phone against the closest car. Instead I kicked the rear tire on mine. Hard. Pain shot up my foot. "Fuck!" I yelled.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Tears stung my eyes and my foot hurt like hell.

"Kase," came Chris's voice.

"Goddammit," I said, choking on tears. "I'm fucking stressed out and I don't know what to do." And I probably broke my fucking toes. Fucking idiot. At least I was wearing my hikers.

"Kase, listen to me."

"And my fucking sister is bi and dating a woman that came on to me a week ago," I added for good measure. "Shit." I wiped at my eyes.

"I'm sorry," Chris said, and for some reason that made the tears come faster.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered. "I don't know."

"I'm really sorry, Kase," she said in a tone so gentle that it started a fresh round of tears. "I wasn't thinking about the stress you're under. You know how I get with cop stuff. When are you coming home?"

"I don't even know that." I sniffed and wiped my eyes on my T-shirt. We're talking to Nestor Bodie today and maybe swinging by Bill and Tonya's afterward. Sage has to be back by Thursday afternoon because she has a workshop to do. I guess when Sage is ready, we'll come back." I sighed. "This is so fucked. This whole thing." I started pacing, and flexed my toes to see if I had broken them. A little sore, but I could bend them. Not broken, then. Thank God. How would I explain that to the others?

"All right, when you're done with Bodie and you finish with Tonya, come home," Chris said after another uncomfortable silence. I knew she wanted to tell me again to bring Simmons in on the Bodie interview, but she kept it to herself. "You need to regroup."

That was the damn truth. I inhaled deeply then exhaled. "You're right. I'm sorry I lost my shit a little," I finished, contrite.

"If you can't lose it like that with me, then who can you lose it with? Do you want me to come up?"

I knew Chris would do whatever she had to do if she thought I was going to fly off the handle or if she thought I was in some kind of danger. "No, but thanks. I just needed to vent. I'll call you tonight to tell you about the interview." I scuffed the toe of my good foot on the asphalt, wishing Bill Crandall hadn't been so fucked up, wishing he hadn't been anywhere near Farmington or Ridge Star, and wishing none of this weird paranormal shit was clouding my rationality.

"Okay," she said but she didn't sound convinced. "You know how to find me. Watch yourself."

"I will. Thanks, Chris."

"De nada. Hope things go well. Later."

"Bye." I hung up and stared at the street, thinking.

"Hey."

I turned at Kara's voice.

"I talked to--what's wrong?" She regarded me in that way that sisters do, when they've caught you in a vulnerable moment.

"Nothing."

Kara shook her head in a way that said "you are such a liar." She crossed her arms and for a second, it was like we were in high school again, arguing about something that neither of us would remember even a week later. "Kase."

I sighed and managed a smile. "I'm a little stressed, is all."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I just did with Chris."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'll tell you later. How's that?"

"Y'know, you're not doing this sister shit very well."

"Kare, please. I need to spend some time with it. I'll tell you later, okay? Promise."

She relaxed and uncrossed her arms. "And I'll make sure you do. If you don't, I'll sic Chris on you."

I groaned.

"And Sage."

"Oh, God. I'm doomed." I shoulder-bumped her. "For real. We'll talk later. Just let me get through the day."

She opened her mouth to say something more but I interrupted her.

"So who'd you talk to?"

"The PR woman at Ridge Star here in Farmington," she said, triumphant. "We have an appointment tomorrow morning to chat with someone at the office about gas drilling."

"So who's going?" I looked past Kara at River and Sage, who had exited the back door of the Super 8 and were approaching us, River in his customary jeans, cowboy boots, and T-shirt and Sage in a light skirt the color of cornflowers and a plain tan tee. I gaped at her.

"Down, girl," Kara said, teasing me as Sage and River joined us.

I flushed. "Sorry. So who's going?"

"I am, because I've got the non-profit information-gathering lingo angle."

Sage slid her arms around my waist. "K.C. should go. She's good at information gathering, too." She kissed me on the cheek and I almost felt as if everything was right with the world.

"River?" I asked, but I had a feeling he'd say no.

"Not sure that's a good idea. I look like the old man." He didn't say it with any animosity and he had a point. He did look like his father. More than Sage did, though the similarities between them were obvious enough that most people would guess correctly that

they were siblings. Sage caught my eye and her expression confirmed what I suspected. River didn't want anything to do with Ridge Star, and though he did look a lot like Bill, he wasn't going with me and Kara tomorrow not because he was afraid he'd be recognized. He wasn't here to find any pieces of himself. He was here for Sage. I almost saw the discomfort emanating from him, like heat waves on a highway, and I hoped this trip didn't add to the baggage he lugged through the Montana wilderness.

"Tonya can't meet with us today," Sage said. "She's working. But tomorrow, she can. So while you and Kara go charm Ridge Star, River and I will go over to Tonya's and look through some of Dad's stuff. See if there's anything there we need to know about."

"Okay. Sounds like a plan." I hugged her tighter and kissed her forehead. "Ready?"

"Shiprock, here we come," River muttered as he got into Sage's car.

Chapter Fourteen

SHIPROCK SITS ABOUT twenty-five miles west of Farmington, and it huddles against a dramatic backdrop of desert buttes, mesas, and sage-dotted expanses of landscape. South of the town proper juts the huge formation from which the place gets its name. The rock floats in a sea of sage and dirt, a pinnacle of volcanic stone that nineteenth-century whites thought looked like a clipper ship in some respects. Hence, its name.

I studied it through the windshield, then glanced over at Sage as she slowed down at the Shiprock city limits. She turned south onto Highway 491, which ended up in Gallup, some eighty-five miles south, through mostly undeveloped reservation land. Shiprock is a crossroads, both for traffic utilizing the two major highways that intersect in it on their way to and through the Four Corners Area, and for the contact that comes when cultures rub up against each other. A Rez town, Shiprock was still considered part of the Farmington area, but its underlying flavor echoed much older roots that I could only imagine preceded the small frame houses and scatterings of trailers joined by dirt side roads, dust, and tumbleweeds.

Sage turned left off 491 and slowed down for a dog trotting across the road. "Fifth house on the left," she said as she maneuvered around a mudhole along the right side of the road carved by the last monsoon storms. It'd be days before the sun baked the moisture out of it. The desert held onto that as long as it could.

"And...five." Sage pulled into a driveway that was little more than a hard-packed dirt area that served as a parking lot, front yard, and basketball court. A teenaged boy wearing baggy black mesh shorts and matching tank was engaged in that pursuit as we pulled in. The basketball hit the netless rim of the portable basket that sat near the house and he went to retrieve it, keeping a wary eye on us as he did so. He stood, passing the ball back and forth from hand to hand, as Sage parked and we all got out.

"Hi," Sage said to him. He nodded once, suspicion in his body language. "We're here to see Nestor. I'm Sage." She propped her sunglasses on top of her head.

The boy relaxed. "Hold on," he said and he walked over to the small deck just off the double-wide's front door. He took the three steps up, though I noticed a ramp on the other side of the deck. Probably for Nestor, if he was in a wheelchair or had to use a walker.

The boy opened the front door and leaned in, maybe saying something to whomever was inside. I looked around, uneasy. Two older model pickup trucks sat in the drive, one with the hood up. A faded yellow Ford Fiesta was parked a few yards from the pickups, listing to the right. Beyond that I saw a charred pile of dirt, where the family must have burned its trash.

Sage brushed my forearm with her fingertips. I looked over at her and managed a smile. "What's on your mind?" she asked.

"Everything and nothing."

"We'll talk after this," she said, and I saw worry in her eyes.

"It's okay. I'm just a little stressed."

"I know. Which is why we should talk about it. That way it doesn't pile up."

She was right. I nodded just as the boy turned from the front door and beckoned to us. Sage led the way up the stairs to the door and the boy stood aside, holding it open. A lingering odor of roasted chiles and cooked meat hung in the trailer as we entered. Rust-colored carpet covered the floor and a variety of mismatched furniture--a couch, three armchairs, and four kitchen chairs--stood in a semicircle. Nestor had family and friends over quite a bit, I guessed. The place seemed homey enough.

A little girl I estimated to be four or five stood looking up at us as we entered, a grave expression on her face until she saw River, at which point she smiled. I glanced over at him and he was smiling back at her. He gave her a little wave and she giggled and raced over to a man I presumed was Nestor Bodie because he was sitting in a wheelchair, his back to a television in the corner of this, the living room. He wore his glossy dark hair short, cut over his ears. Had he been able to stand, he would've been just over my height, broad across the shoulders and chest. He still had both legs, but from how he was sitting, I doubted they worked very well.

"Mr. Bodie?" Sage inquired.

He nodded once at her.

"I'm Sage Crandall. This is my brother River, my partner K.C. and her sister Kara."

I held my breath, wondering what he'd say, if anything, about Sage calling me her "partner." Best to get that whole relationship to Sage thing out in the open. Otherwise, people we needed information from might not want to talk to just some "friend of the family." But if Nestor Bodie was a big ol' homophobe, then I had just ruined the interview.

He nodded once more and I relaxed. "Ellen Tsosie told me," he said in a low, gravelly voice. And then he smiled. "Welcome. Find a seat."

River dubiously eyed the nearby sagging couch, but opted to go that route anyway. He sat as close to the left-hand arm as he could and Kara sat next to him, on his right, sinking a little into the cushions. Sage moved one of the kitchen chairs close to the couch and I did the same. Nestor waited for us to settle in and then he wheeled his chair closer, the little girl following, her hand on one of the handles. He turned to look at her and she gave him a quick hug then skipped out the front door, closing it behind her.

"I knew you'd come," Nestor said. He braced his elbows on the armrests of his wheelchair and clasped his hands in front of him. "The police were here last week. I decided it was a matter of time before you found me." He spoke in the lilting accent of a man whose first language was Navajo.

"Police?" Sage glanced over at me and I took my notepad and pen out of the cargo pocket of my shorts. "Who?"

"A woman and a man," Nestor said, thinking. "She was the detective and he was the agent. I think their names were...Simmons and Martin. Her, I trust."

I glanced at him at the remark, and wrote it down, relieved that Simmons had already been here. I'd tell Chris and maybe she wouldn't be as pissed at me about this as she was earlier.

"They asked some questions," Nestor continued. "But maybe not the right ones." He looked at Sage for a moment then went back to studying his hands.

"Mr. Bodie--" Sage started.

"I was Nestor to your father," he interrupted. "I'm Nestor to you, as well." And he smiled again, the motion etching deep laugh lines near his eyes.

"Nestor," she corrected herself, smiling back. "I was hoping maybe you could help us figure out what happened to my father and why someone would want to kill him."

He nodded, thoughtful, and adjusted his position in the chair. "You were not close to him." He looked first at River and then at Sage.

"We weren't," she stated. "But who he was as a man wasn't necessarily who he was as a father. I'm here for the man."

I looked up from my notepad to see how Nestor would react to Sage's honesty.

"He told me he was not the father he should have been," Nestor said before the silence became too uncomfortable. He shrugged, a nonjudgmental gesture. "But as a man, I had respect for him." He lapsed into another silence. Kara moved, trying to get comfortable on the sagging couch.

"He died because of Ridge Star," Nestor said after a while. "But not because he was who he was. Ridge Star pressures anybody who questions their safety practices. It just happened that it was him who pressured the hardest and the loudest."

I noticed that Nestor wasn't using Bill's name and I wondered if Navajo tradition about not saying the names of the dead extended to everyone--whether Navajo or not--in someone's circle who died. I'd ask Sage about it later.

"Can you tell us who might have gone after him?" Sage was a little out of her element here. Maybe talking about her father with someone who knew him better than she ever did weirded her out a bit. She seemed stiff and uncertain. I moved my chair a teeny bit closer to hers.

"I think maybe I'll tell you some things about him as a person first," Nestor said. "And maybe you can find some answers there." He looked at each of us in turn then settled into himself. "He worked for Ridge Star for a couple of years. He stayed around because of Tonya, and because he decided he liked Farmington. I think he wanted to make better of himself, because otherwise he would've left for a different company. But then something happened to him." The hint of a smile hung at the corners of him mouth.

"He started to believe in something greater than himself."

Please don't tell me he found God. I tapped the tip of my pen against the paper and waited for the revelation.

"He liked how it felt, to fight for people other than himself. And he liked that for the first time in his life, he felt that he had a place in the world." Nestor unclasped his hands and rubbed his palms on his jeans. "The guys at Ridge Star were like family. You work rigs long enough, it's like being in the Army. There's a bond there between guys, and we look out for each other. For the most part." He shrugged again. "And maybe he wanted to make good for the guys because of his failings as a father. I don't know. But I think that was part of it."

River shifted his position then. I glanced over at him and he had sat back, arms folded across his chest.

"I know you didn't know him as either a father or a man," Nestor continued, directing his words at Sage. "But in his time at Ridge Star, he was a good man. He took it personally, whenever somebody was hurt on the job." Nestor looked at River then. "Your father was good at what he did. He had a lot of seniority, a lot of skill, and a lot of the guys looked up to him. And if he thought something wasn't right on the rig, it wasn't. He had a lot of intuition about that kind of thing. I used to tease him about it." He smiled. "I'd tell him maybe he had medicine in him, and he should start doing ceremonies."

Interesting, though I knew Sage probably wasn't thrilled to learn that Bill might've been more in tune with some things than others, like she was. Sure enough, she was bouncing her left leg a bit, something she did when she wasn't comfortable with a situation.

"How long did you know him?" she asked.

"I'd been at Ridge Star five months when he was hired on. I'm a contract worker, but the money was good there and close to home. So I stuck around. He tried to get me hired on permanently, but Ridge Star always had an excuse for why they wouldn't."

"Money?" River interjected. "Or because you're Navajo?"

Nestor regarded him, considering. "Maybe both, but more the first. I can't say for sure. He said it came down to money when he talked to the company men. But he always suspected it was because I'm Indian. Ridge Star had a lot of Indian guys working the sites. But I can't name one who was permanent."

"Did my father start investigating Ridge Star because of what happened to you in January?" Sage asked, and her leg stopped bouncing as much.

I wrote the question down and then in parentheses, added "Tonya," because she had said that Bill was pissed at the company after that.

Nestor laughed, a soft rumbling that sounded like wind in a canyon. "He took what happened to me personally. He didn't tell me what he was up to after I got injured, but he hinted that he was going to make Ridge Star own its part. That's how he phrased it. 'Own its part'."

"If I may," I said as I wrote the phrase down, "could you please tell us what happened to you? If it's not too difficult." I hoped he understood my meaning.

He intertwined his fingers in his lap and studied them for a while before speaking and I thought for sure I'd offended him. Shit. But then he started talking again. "I don't remember much about that day. I do remember that something wasn't right."

"In what sense?" I asked.

"All," he said, as if that was the most logical thing in the world. "Sometimes you can't explain things that aren't right. This was one of those things. The energy was off. I had a bad feeling all day. I told him to be careful on the rig because of it."

"What did he say?" I was writing so fast my hand hurt.

"He took it seriously. He always did. He was the kind of bilagaana that respected that kind of warning. So he checked all the equipment again and told me that the cable was dangerous. He was angry about that, because he'd told Monroe--Clint Monroe, the company man--that it needed to be changed out. He went to talk to the guy on duty that day. It wasn't Monroe. It was somebody else..." he trailed off, trying to remember. "Surano. Jimmy Surano that day." Nestor scratched his neck then looked down at his feet. His left was positioned in such a way that it could fall off the footrest. He reached down with both hands, grabbed the fabric of his jeans on either side of his calf, and picked his leg up to adjust it, wincing.

"Jimmy's heart is in the right place," he continued. "But his head isn't. Your father told me Jimmy put a call into the main office in Farmington about the cable while he was standing there. Jimmy told him they'd fix it in the next couple of days." He sighed. "Two days too late for me."

"Could Jimmy have stopped the drilling on that shift to replace the cable?" I continued with my line of questioning, trying to get a feel for what happened.

"Oh, sure. But he would have been fired. And Jimmy was scared of that. He had a couple of priors on his record and it was hard for him to find work."

I'd have Chris run a check on him. "Does he live in Farmington?"

Nestor nodded confirmation. "He's still with Ridge Star. So my sources say." He grinned, then continued. "So--" he looked at Sage. "Your father came back from talking to Jimmy and said we'd get no help that day from the higher-ups and he asked me if I thought we should walk off the site."

I looked over at Sage and she turned at that moment toward me, expression unreadable, before she looked back at Nestor.

"I asked him in return how he felt about running the string. He said it made him nervous, because of the cable, and he didn't want to put any guys at risk. So he asked all the guys working on or near the rig how they felt and they all said to just be careful, and they'd be on extra alert." He sat up straighter and glanced over at River again. "We made it almost the whole shift. And then I remember we were pulling the string up to change out the drill bit and something went wrong. He yelled at me to move. And when he said that, the cable must've snapped and all I remember is waking up in the hospital. He said later that they airlifted me. I don't remember any of what happened after the cable broke. I lost about a week."

"Did he tell you what happened?" River, this time.

"He asked me if I wanted to know and I did so he told me that the cable snapped and a section of pipe swung loose and knocked me onto my back on the drill pad. Then another section fell on my legs. Here." He pointed to about mid-thigh. "It rolled down past my knees. I almost wish the pipe crushed my spinal cord. At least then I wouldn't feel anything."

"What did Ridge Star do after the accident?" River again.

"Monroe came to the hospital to 'interview' me. He said tox screens showed I'd been drinking, so the accident was my fault."

Bastards. I checked on Sage. Her leg had stopped bouncing.

"It wasn't true. I haven't had alcohol in twelve years. My family and I hired a lawyer, and the hospital provided the tox screen, proving I hadn't had anything. But Ridge Star had its own lawyers and that OSHA group only fined them six thousand bucks. Compared to what the company makes in a month, that's nothing. But that's how it is in this industry. OSHA tells state employment agencies what to do and they don't fine too stiff. Maybe because of the money that comes in from production. Maybe there's not enough people to enforce. I don't know." He rubbed his palms on his thighs again. "I don't have the kind of money it'll take to sue Ridge Star. And not many attorneys around here are willing to work with me. Ridge Star employs a lot of people, so a lot of times locals just look the other way at safety problems." He looked at me, then. "Especially if you're Indian."

I didn't doubt him. "And after that, B--he started his own investigation?" I corrected.

Nestor pursed his lips and looked at the front door just as it opened. A woman entered, broad frame filling a gray T-shirt and jeans. She was holding a paper bag full of what looked like groceries. She wore her long black hair in a braid down her back and sunglasses hid her eyes.

"His kids," Nestor said to her, gesturing at Sage and River. "And other family." To us, he said, "My wife, Angie."

We all stood, uttering greetings. Angie smiled in return. "Let me put this stuff down." She turned right, into what I surmised was the kitchen, then returned to the living room and went right to Sage. "I never thought we'd meet you," she said, still smiling as she faced Sage. "He said it was his fault, what happened in the family, but he wasn't sure how to make it right."

The muscles in Sage's jaw clenched as Angie looked past her at River. "You look like a younger version of him," she said, and she stood studying his features. "Welcome." She turned to me, then, and I opened my mouth but Sage beat me to the punch.

"This is my partner, K.C. And that's Kara, her sister."

"Welcome to you both." She nodded at us each in turn. To Nestor, she said, "I'll be right back."

He smiled at her and she started toward the kitchen. "His notebook," he called to her and I jerked my gaze back to him. "Would you get it?" he asked Angie.

"Be right back," she affirmed, turning away from the kitchen and heading down the narrow hallway in the opposite direction.

"Notebook?" Sage asked.

"He mailed it to me," Nestor said by way of explanation. "I got it the day before that Friday he disappeared."

"Why didn't--"

"I give it to the police?" he finished my question. "Because I

think he wanted all of you to see it first."

"Did the police ask about it?" Sage caught my eye then turned her attention to Nestor.

"No. They just asked about the last time I had talked to him and who I thought might have caused him trouble at Ridge Star." A wicked little grin pulled at his lips. "They didn't ask about it, so I didn't tell."

River sat down on the couch again, Kara following suit. Sage and I took our seats again, as well.

"Is this his investigation record?" I asked.

Nestor nodded just as Angie reappeared, holding a black composition book. He gestured with his lips at Sage and Angie handed it to her. After doing so, Angie returned to the kitchen. Sage handed the notebook to me and I opened it, flipping through to get a sense of what it was about. A journal and log, from what I could tell. He'd dated every entry and included times on most of them. Lists of people he'd talked to. Alleged safety violations at Ridge Star, with descriptions of what he'd found and what he'd done to address the situation. A record of phone calls he'd made and received, including the notations "threat" next to several of the calls. And slipped into the back were folded copies of letters he'd apparently sent to Ridge Star headquarters in Farmington, listing potential problems with equipment, and requesting more inspections. He had handwritten the date he mailed them at the bottom of each, along with "Farmington main branch," which I assumed was the post office he'd used.

I closed it, turned around in my chair, and held it out to River. He took it gingerly and opened it, Kara looking on.

"He kept in touch with you after the accident?" I asked Nestor.

"All the time. He visited two-three times a month and he'd do a few things around the house if I needed help." Nestor's expression became wistful, then, and he looked like he might cry.

"Did he mention when he started getting hassled?" I asked.

"No. It's in the notebook, though. He didn't tell me things like that because he didn't want me to worry."

And he probably wanted to protect you. I wrote that extra thought down. "Did you read the notebook?" I glanced up at him.

"Some. There was a letter in the envelope with it. It's there, in the back--" he gestured with his chin at River, who took the folded pieces of paper out and searched through them. He stopped at a piece of lined looseleaf paper and opened it. After a few seconds, he handed it to me. I held it so Sage could read it, as well, not bothering to take it by the corners. It had passed through a shitload of people by now, so trying to preserve it as evidence seemed a moot point. I started reading. Bill had written it by hand in blue ink. He had dated it at the top. I did a quick calculation. Four days before the Friday that he didn't come home from work.

Hey Nes, sorry to dump this on you, but I got a bad feeling and I don't want this layin around anywhere. If anything happens to me, I know youll figure out what to do. Sorry man, dont want to make you worry, but I'm just being extra careful. Thanks. Can you maybe do a blessing for me? Later, Bill.

I handed the letter to Sage and looked at Nestor. "Did you do a blessing for him?"

He nodded, studying his hands, once again in his lap. "Didn't seem to help," he said, and the sadness in his voice said more than his words.

"I'm really sorry," I offered, thinking that such an expression sounded hollow.

Nestor shifted his gaze to mine. "He didn't tell me he mailed the notebook. The last time I talked to him was the Tuesday that week he disappeared. He called me up around six, and asked how I was doing and how things were. Nothing strange, but something in his voice didn't sound right."

None of us said anything. In the background, I heard a radio in the kitchen and Angie doing something with dishes.

"I asked him what was up, and he said he was a little stressed about work. He sounded pretty depressed about it and he said that he was in too deep to leave, that they'd find him, no matter where he went."

So he didn't even feel he could quit. "Did he say anything in that conversation you had on Tuesday that indicated any specific kinds of threats?" I'd been hanging around Chris too long, asking questions like that.

Nestor didn't answer at first. When he did, he kept his eyes on his hands, still in his lap. "In Diné belief," he started, "bad things happen because something is out of balance. There are many different reasons for this." He looked up at Sage at that point and she moved her hand to my thigh, resting it there. "I can't talk about these things, because bad things can be called, even if your intention is not to do so."

I stopped writing and instead stared at him, goosebumps erupting on my arms.

"We try to restore balance, and sometimes to do that, we have to hold ceremonies. But even then, bad things don't disappear forever. So we have to be watchful. Always." He adjusted his weight in the chair and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his armrests. "Your father spent a lot of time working in this area," he said to Sage before

directing his attention at River. "He came to know some things."

Sage dug her fingers into my thigh.

"People joke," Nestor continued, looking at me. "About the Rez and the backward ways of people who live here. And they laugh when we tell them not to go to certain areas alone, not to drive in certain places after dark." He raised a shoulder in a shrug. "Some don't listen. And they do the things we tell them not to." He glanced at Kara then me again. "Afterward, they stop joking." He sat back in his chair. "Right after I got hurt, five Indian guys--Diné--at the site quit. Two stayed on for another month, but they left, too. Your father told me he tried to talk to them, but all they would tell him was that they didn't trust Ridge Star. One worked a lot of night shifts and he said that there were things that weren't right, and that bad things watched, especially after dark."

"Bad things?" Kara's voice startled me.

Nestor shrugged again. "I worried, when I worked there. The money's good, and we need it on the Rez. I need it for my family. But the way drilling tears into the land..." he shook his head. "There is no balance. I'm not the most traditional guy on the Rez, but I've seen some things during my lifetime out here. And like you--" he looked at me again, "I don't understand them and I don't want to believe in them. But you see it enough--let's just say that I'm not so quick to ignore what people say about stuff like that."

"Did he say whether he'd seen anything there at the site?" I had stopped writing and instead remained focused on Nestor.

"He didn't say anything specific, but over the past couple of months, he said he didn't like the feeling there and he hated working night shifts but because he was one of the old hands, they put him on three to four nights a week in May. He worked a fourteen-fourteen schedule. Two weeks on, two weeks off. Twelve-hour shifts."

Not unusual for the industry. But Bill was in his fifties, and that kind of punishing work regimen had to take a toll. No wonder he hadn't given up drinking. I threw a sidelong glance at Sage, wondering if maybe she was thinking that, too. "Did he want to work that split?"

"Hell, no. He hated it. But in March, three more guys got hurt, and by April, Ridge Star had him on the fourteen-fourteen, though he'd been working a seven-seven split before that."

"Twelve-hour shifts on the seven-seven?" I asked.

"Yeah. When he told me his shifts had changed, I figured it was because Ridge Star was trying to shut him up or make him quit digging around. Or maybe they wanted to force him out."

Like what happened to Purcell.

"Do you know Jamison Purcell?" Sage asked, like she was reading my mind.

"Yeah, but not real well. He started at Ridge Star in March of last year, maybe? Back problem, I remember hearing. Is he still with them?"

"No," Sage said, taking her hand off my thigh. "He left this past April because Ridge Star increased his workload and put him in situations that would hurt his back. Or so he suspects."

"I wouldn't put it past them," Nestor said. "He came to see me once, after I was out of the hospital. Didn't see him again after that."

Oh, really? So Purcell had fibbed a little. "What'd he say?"

"He was sorry to hear what happened and if I needed anything to let him know. He has a couple of mechanic and contractor friends who could help me out around the house if I needed it. Said his wife has family in Shiprock. Turns out I know a couple of her cousins." Nestor rubbed the back of his neck for a moment. "Purcell asked if--" he glanced at Sage, "your father had said anything to me about looking into things. I figured as much, that he would. He just hadn't talked to me about it. I told Purcell that he hadn't mentioned anything."

So Purcell had been worried about what Bill was up to. I wrote that down with the word "why" next to it and two question marks.

Nestor shifted in his chair again, and grimaced. The guy was probably in constant pain. "Your father died because Ridge Star wasn't following safety regulations and because they were filing false reports about injuries and deaths. That's in his notebook. He got beat up a few times and threatened for it until finally..." he trailed off.

"I'm so sorry," Sage said, and she meant it. "He was a good man to you, and I'm sorry you lost him."

Nestor looked up at her then over at River. "I know he wasn't a father to you. And I don't know if he ever would have tried to be one. But here, in this part of the world, he tried to be a better person than he had been in the past."

The front door opened and the teenaged boy came in, carrying the basketball. The little girl was right on his heels. They headed into the kitchen.

Angie appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I hope you'll eat with us," she said.

I glanced at Sage, wanting to follow her lead. She smiled at Angie. "We'd be honored."

Nestor beamed.

"Great," Angie said with warmth in her voice. "Come on into the kitchen and grab a plate."

I stood and put my notepad and pen back into my cargo pocket, relieved at this break in the discussion. River stood as well and held Bill's notebook out to Nestor, who shook his head.

"It belongs with you," he said.

I looked at River, wondering if Nestor meant him specifically, or him and Sage. Or all of us. River shrugged and headed into the kitchen, holding the notebook, Sage behind him. Nestor wheeled his chair out of the living room and I turned to Kara.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Yes and no. This is just one major...something."

She smiled, trying to encourage me, and pushed me after Nestor. "Let's see how it all shakes out," she said, and as I watched her, I wondered if that was what scared me about this whole situation. Maybe I wouldn't like what we found. Forcing that thought into a far corner of my mind, I joined the rest of the household in the kitchen.

Chapter Fifteen

I STOOD IN the middle of the dirt road staring at Tse Bi dahi, the Navajo name for the formation I knew as Shiprock. "Rock with wings," Nestor had told us over the meal we'd shared not an hour ago, because in Navajo tradition, he said, a great bird flew the Diné to this place in northwestern New Mexico, landing on the earth and transforming into the massive rock silhouetted against the sky, seeming to hover above the ground in the late afternoon heat. A mile distant? Two? One of the weird things about Shiprock was that it always looked like it was floating, like its Anglo namesake, and no matter how close you thought you were, it always seemed the same distance away as when you started driving toward it.

"A whole lotta lonely out here," River commented, standing next to me, thumbs hooked on his jeans pockets.

"That's the damn truth," I said in response. Out here, random dirt roads linked far-flung Navajo households to each other and to main highways. The roads weren't marked and on a map, they were just lines scratched across the paper. Nestor had checked the directions Simmons had given us, clarifying a few things, and we'd come to this road, out here in an expanse of dirt and sky, east of Tse Bi dahi. Somewhere in the vicinity of where Sage had parked her car, Bill Crandall had died.

"Kase," Kara called. I jerked my head to my right, back toward Sage's car. "Over here," she said, motioning behind her at Sage, who was looking at something on the other side of the road, maybe twenty feet from Kara.

River and I headed over to Sage and as we drew closer, a flash of yellow drew my attention. Crime scene tape, maybe, tied to a wooden stake driven into the ground about six feet from where Sage stood.

"This is it," she said with a certainty that eschewed argument.

Kara looked over at me, shading her eyes with her left hand. I didn't need her expression to tell me what to do. I pulled Sage against me in a half-hug and stared at the tape. A black capital "M" and "E" were just visible on one of the torn ends. She leaned into me, saying nothing, and I tightened my hold on her. Some of the sagebrush plants near the stake were partially flattened, broken branches jutting at unnatural angles. The crime scene team had done a little excavating around Bill's body after it had been discovered,

then filled the area in. The ground appeared disturbed and loose, like somebody had dug a hole then threw shovelfuls of dirt in. No evidence of blood, and for that I was very, very glad.

I looked to my right--south--back toward where River and I had been standing. The road continued in that direction, past Tse Bi dahi, for another mile or so before it ended at Tom Manyhorses' spread. How far had Bill walked before he was hit? I thought about the autopsy report we'd gone over with Simmons that morning. Bill hadn't turned toward the vehicle, which hit him from the rear. If he had, his injuries would've been consistent with the front right side of his body, rather than the rear left. Why hadn't he turned?

I jerked my gaze back to the lone stake with the crime scene tape. Because he thought whoever was in the car was coming to finish what they'd started. And whoever was in the vehicle hit him, maybe even swerved to the right to clip him, if Bill had left the harder-packed surface of the road. Through sagebrush, rocks, cactus, and maybe the darkness of a reservation night. Unless there was a moon out. I made a mental note to check a calendar on that. What had happened to him? And was it related to Ridge Star or had Bill been in trouble in other quarters?

I glanced over at River but he was staring at the remnant of tape. Kara caught my eye just as Sage turned into me and buried her head in my neck. She clung to me as she cried, and I just held on, thinking how fucking confusing this was for her and River, how the past had a way of retaining its hold, no matter how far you moved beyond it. River came over and wrapped both of us in his arms, which made Sage cry harder and Kara moved closer so she stood on my right, her hand on my shoulder where River's arms didn't block her.

We stood like that for a few minutes until River pulled away.

"I don't even know why I'm crying," Sage muttered against my T-shirt when he did so.

"Does it matter?" I asked, stifling an urge to psychoanalyze and instead staying in the moment with her.

She didn't answer right away. "Maybe it's about a past I never had," she said after a while. "And for the father he never was."

I hugged her closer. "Maybe."

She kissed my neck and extricated herself, looking past me. "Someone's coming."

We all turned. Sure enough, a cloud of dust approached us from the south. "Maybe it's Tom Manyhorses," I offered. "The road ends at his place." I hoped it was. If he stopped, we could talk to him a little bit. The cloud drew closer, pulled by what looked like a white pickup truck. It was, and it slowed when the driver realized there was another vehicle out here and people standing around. A big truck, with dualie back tires and an extended cab. The kind of truck that inhabited rural areas like this.

The driver pulled over to the right-hand side across from Sage's car, passenger wheels off the graded part of the road, and turned off the engine. I saw him through the windshield, a man in sunglasses and a white cowboy hat. He took his sunglasses off and placed them on the dashboard before he opened the door and got out, pushing the brim of his hat back a bit as he approached. Dust from the road coated the toes of his cowboy boots and the hems of his jeans. He was built like a barrel with legs, and his arms seemed too long for his torso. He wore a faded denim shirt tucked into his jeans, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"Nestor called me," he said in a slow baritone. "Thought you might be out here soon. I'm Tom Manyhorses." He didn't offer his hand but he smiled, maybe a little sad. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, looking first at Sage then at River.

Damn. How does anybody get away with anything out here? I nodded at him. "K.C. Fontero. That's my sister Kara." I motioned toward her.

He braced his hands on his hips and addressed Sage and River again. "Nestor thought you might want to know what I saw," he said, voice rumbling up from his chest like distant thunder.

Sage crossed her arms over her chest and River put a hand on her shoulder. "I would," she said, and Manyhorses pursed his lips for a couple seconds then nodded again.

"It was Wednesday, almost two weeks ago. I had to go to town that day and I hadn't been since the Thursday before." He brushed at his face, as if trying to dissuade a fly. "I don't drive too fast on this road, since it's got some bad spots. He was wearing a red shirt, so I saw him--" Manyhorses motioned in the direction of the stake with his chin, and looked at Sage, checking to make sure she wanted him to continue. She didn't stop him, so he did. "He was...facedown. Looked like he'd been out here a while."

I didn't ask him what made him conclude that. I'd seen the autopsy report. Nor did I ask him if he'd gone over to Bill's body. Chances were, he hadn't, because of Navajo beliefs.

"I had my cell phone with me," Manyhorses said after a brief silence. "I called my nephew, who's with the tribal police, and waited for him to get here." He stood, quiet for a moment, looked at his feet, then back at Sage. "I went to Shiprock with the tribal police and gave another statement to the Farmington police. And the agent." He shrugged then and gazed out at the rock formation. "This road doesn't see many people," he continued, still staring toward Tse Bi dahi. "It's isolated." He turned back to Sage. "And not a place to be after dark."

Something in the way he said it brought the creepy feeling back that I'd gotten talking about witches with Chris. He rubbed his jaw, an almost pensive gesture. Kara glanced at me, expression unreadable.

"Is this a place you'd bring someone if you wanted to scare him?" Sage asked the question that was on my mind.

Tom studied Sage for a long moment. "This is a place where bad things can happen. Not a place to be after dark," he repeated.

"Mr. Manyhorses--" I started, then stopped, trying to decide how to ask my next question. "Did you--did you notice anything that you thought was strange when you saw him?" I avoided using Bill's name.

"I didn't get very close," Manyhorses said, and he sounded like he regretted not being able to help us more. "But from what I saw, he had all his clothes. And the way he was lying on the ground, I did see one of his arms. It had a rope tied on it." He shook his head. "Somebody brought him out here."

"You don't think he was already dead when somebody brought him out here?" I asked, pushing a little. Kara shot another inscrutable look at me.

He was silent, considering. "No. Because if this somebody wanted to make sure he was never found, he would've driven past my turn-off. This road ends there, but there's an old road that goes on past that--a two-rut path, anymore, that goes south for a bit then a couple tenths of a mile east. You can't drive it unless you have high clearance. And at the end of that, there's a wash." He pointed. "I find dead cattle there every now and again. And once, two coyote skins." His eyes were almost black, and he and Sage locked gazes and I knew what his meaning was. The wash was witch country, or at least the locals believed it to be so. "Not a place to be, after dark." He repeated his mantra and a little chill crawled up my back.

"What if this someone did take him down that road? Would you be able to tell?"

Manyhorses' gaze landed on me, then, and it was like staring at two pieces of obsidian. "Maybe," he said after a while.

"Does anyone go back there?" I had a hunch and I wanted to see how much Manyhorses would reveal.

He pursed his lips and set his hands on his hips. "No one with good intentions," he said vaguely, in a way that told me that yes, it was possible that someone might have taken Bill to a night-swept wash where Navajo witches sometimes gathered and shapeshifted and did whatever shitty things they were compelled to do. If that was what happened, and someone had tied him to something out there, maybe they were just trying to scare him into leaving Ridge Star alone. But maybe Bill got away, and he started walking, following a hint of a road back to the main route that would take him north to Highway 64. Three miles, give or take, from where he'd been hit. A long way to go, especially at night, especially when you were already scared.

I stared south again, back toward Manyhorses' place. Given the angle at which Bill had been hit, the vehicle had been behind him, approaching from Manyhorses' turn-off. His was the last house off this road. Which meant the vehicle could just as easily have originated at the Manyhorses spread. Or, the vehicle might have approached from the north. Bill saw it, and tried to hide. Maybe he was successful at hiding and the vehicle passed, and discovering that Bill wasn't at the wash where he'd been left, the driver then turned around, and went looking for him. Damn. We need that vehicle. Or a confession. Or something.

"What do you think happened, Mr. Manyhorses?" I asked, turning my gaze back to his face, almost as weathered and intractable as Tse Bi dahi.

He settled the brim of his hat lower over his forehead, shading his eyes. "Nestor told me there were some bad things going on at Ridge Star, and that your father--" he looked at Sage and River again, "was trying to correct them." He shrugged. "Someone didn't agree with what he was doing."

"But do you think that whatever he was doing would have driven someone to kill him?" I winced as Sage's hand dug into my shoulder.

"People kill for much less," Manyhorses said. He shook his head slowly and lapsed into silence. That was a cue, of sorts, for letting us know he was done talking.

"Many thanks for talking to us," I said, the impromptu spokesperson for this situation. "Much appreciated."

He grunted in response. "Sorry for your loss," he said again, and offered a brusque wave as he retreated to his truck and climbed in. We all stood aside as he started the engine and shifted it into gear. It rumbled past and he touched the fingers of his left hand to the brim of his hat as he passed. Dust swirled around our feet in the pickup's wake and we stood in continued silence, watching the tailgate until it was hidden by dust and distance.

River broke our silence. "I'm not real thrilled about going to that wash," he said, but I knew if Sage wanted to, he'd do it. The three of us turned to her and waited. Sage took her sunglasses off her head where she'd placed them and slid them back over her eyes.

"I don't think we should," she pronounced and I exhaled with relief.

"You think Mr. Manyhorses told Simmons or Martin about the wash?" Kara asked.

"I'll tell Simmons anyway." Sage turned to look again at the spot where Bill's body had been found. I wasn't sure whether I should offer comfort again or whether she needed some space and as I opened my mouth to ask, Kara's cell phone rang.

"Dang, you get service out here?" River looked at her, surprised, as she took the phone out of her pocket and checked it.

"Apparently. Couple of bars' worth." She opened it. "It's Shoshana," she said to me, though I wasn't going to ask her. "Hey," Kara said into the phone. "What's up?" She walked a few paces away, talking.

"That'd make a good commercial," River intoned.

I glanced over at him, and a little smile lifted the corner of his mouth before I turned my attention back to Sage. She was watching us both. "How about we head back to Farmington?"

River and I both nodded as Kara returned to the car, closing her phone. "There's a new problem," she announced, troubled.

Jesus, now what? I bit my lip to keep from making any comments I'd regret.

"Shoshana's uncle got a call today."

Nobody said anything, waiting for her to tell us.

"From a guy who made a threat."

"And?" I asked.

Kara locked gazes with me. "The guy didn't identify himself, but he said if Jamison talked to anybody else, he'd end up like Bill."

I stared at her. "How the hell did this guy even know Purcell talked to anyone?" I ran a hand through my hair, anxiety kicking around in my gut. "What the fuck?"

"Shoshana doesn't know, but she thinks somebody's been watching her uncle's place since Bill was found."

"But why?" This was so damn frustrating. "Why the hell watch his place and not Nestor's? Or Tonya's?" Oh, Jesus. Unless they are already watching those places. "And what do they want?"

"Maybe the notebook?" Sage put her hand on my arm.

Of course. The notebook. Somebody knew Bill had kept a record of what was happening. Nestor knew. Tonya knew. Jamison might have known. "So somebody at Ridge Star knows Bill was keeping track of shit. And maybe whoever it is, they're trying to figure out where Bill stashed his documents."

"So whoever it is probably knows what we look like." River made a little noise as he sucked air between his teeth. "Unless there's somebody else who's been out there." He looked at Kara for confirmation.

"I asked Shoshana that. Nobody since us."

River made the noise again. "What about before us?"

"Shoshana doesn't think so. Jamison seems to think the call referred to our visit because he told her he hadn't gotten any calls like this."

"So he says." River pulled on his earlobe for a moment. "We already know he didn't tell us the full story."

Silently, I agreed with him. We were going with what Purcell told us, after all.

"He's scared," Kara said, and it sounded defensive. I shot her a look.

"Okay, wait," I interjected. "I don't see the point of pushing him. Maybe Shoshana can talk to him and get a better feel for what's got him freaked out. That is, if she wants to." I waited for Kara's take but all she did was shrug. "I'll call Shoshana and ask her what she thinks we should do, if anything, to follow up with her uncle," I said, cautious, though it still felt like a boundary violation with Kara. "What do you think?" I asked her.

"Not sure. Let me think on that," Kara said, and I didn't press it.

"Next question. Do we take the notebook to Simmons?" I looked at Sage first.

"I think we should make a couple of copies of it and then take it to her." She kept her shades on, but I knew her gaze was directed at me.

"Good idea. Chris would be proud."

Sage smiled. "I say we do that as soon as we get back to Farmington."

River muttered an affirmative and Kara and I nodded. "Okay. Then what?"

"Tomorrow, River and I are going to Tonya's to have a look at Dad's things, but she can't see us until around noon because she has some stuff to do. So we can take the original notebook to Simmons before we do that."

"Sounds good. Kara and I are still on tomorrow morning for Ridge Star--" I raised my eyebrows at her and she nodded. "So we'll do that. Then how about we all go back to Albuquerque and see what Simmons can do with Bill's notebook and whatever else we dig up tomorrow?" I just wanted to go home. I wanted to forget this ever happened, that Sage's father had ended up dead on the side of a reservation road, and that there weren't potentially dangerous people watching us.

"Seems about all we can do," River said, and I thought I heard relief in his voice. "Plus, you have to be back for your Thursday thing." He directed the last statement at Sage, who nodded and then started moving toward the car.

"All right. Let's go make some copies." She opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.

KARA PURSED HER lips and regarded me from her chair next

to the motel room's door after I'd finished telling her everything about the weird things that had been happening since Bill had died. Actually, since I'd read that damn article in the Journal.

"So there's a little bit of tension between you and Sage," she said. It wasn't a question.

I sighed. "Yeah. I'm trying really hard to be supportive--I mean, she didn't like the guy, but his death still brings old shit up. But all this crazy stuff--witches? Dark forces? I don't know what to do with that. And the nutso thing is, something happened on the porch that night. I can't shake the feeling that this really is something I can't understand and it's somehow related to all the other stuff. But I don't know how." I was sitting on the end of one of the hotel beds, my feet on the floor. Kara was seated in one of the chairs next to the little table where my laptop sat. The chair was patterned in some commercial interpretation of southwestern Native style.

"And that messes with your little anal side." She wasn't being sarcastic.

"Totally."

"Well, I'm going to mess with it a bit more. Kase, you know there's stuff in the world that nobody can understand. Think about some of the stories Mom's told us about her work in Latin America. She told us she saw some stuff that logic couldn't explain."

"And then Dad would say it's just people creating what they want to see," I retorted, though I wasn't directing the comment at Kara. More at my own frustration with the whole situation.

She shrugged. "Dad's seen stuff, too. He just doesn't talk as much about it as Mom does."

Kara had a point. "So let's say that this weird stuff I've seen and been privy to is real and outside logical boundaries. What do I do with it?"

"Why do you have to do anything with it?"

I looked at her as if a third eye had appeared on her forehead.

She shook her head and her expression said to pity me. "Seriously. What's to do about it? Whatever this stuff is--whether it's Navajo witches or something your mind created in a moment of freak-out--why do you have to do anything about it?"

I studied the carpet, noting that its shade of blue brought out the turquoise splotches of Kara's chair. "I can't help thinking that it relates somehow to what's happening with Bill's death." I looked up and caught her eye. "And I hate that it's driving a wedge between me and Sage. I fucking hate that."

"Okay, wait," she said, leaning forward like a therapist might. "Let's say it is connected. We don't know how, yet, but forcing the issue isn't revealing anything except more stress--"

"So stop trying to force the issue." I finished for her.

"Something like that. And with regard to the wedge, that's a choice you make. If you let it create difficulties between you and Sage, then it will." She sat back, and her expression told me that she was waiting for me to respond with something typically K.C., like how I didn't need her lame counseling or existential observations. Instead, I smiled.

"You're right," I said, and it felt good to admit that.

"Oh, my God," she stage-whispered. "My older sister, the professor, just said I was right about something. I'm going to call Mom right now. And then nine-one-one." She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and waved it around dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," I muttered, staring at the floor again, a mixture of fatigue and stress clenching the muscles in my back. This is such a train wreck.

Kara set her phone on the table and joined me on the bed. "Hey." She put her arm around my shoulders. The gesture made me want to cry. I bit my lip to stop the urge.

"Hey," she said again.

A single tear escaped my right eye. Damn. I bit my lip harder.

"Kase, come on. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

I sniffled and more tears welled in my eyes. "You didn't. And some hotshot professor I am, huh?" I wiped my face with the hem of my T-shirt. "I can't fucking make sense of anything anymore."

Kara pulled me closer. "Anybody would have a hard time with this whole thing. There's no manual for how to deal with possible supernatural phenomenon and the death of a father your partner has baggage about. It's not like you can Google that and find a solution. Or research it."

"I know that logically," I said between sniffles. "But I can't make it work emotionally. I don't know what the hell to do. I can't make this situation better. I can't make Sage feel better."

"That's so not true. You've been a wonderful support system for her. And Kase, you can't fix this. Bill's dead. Sage has to work that out for herself. All you can do is offer her a safe space to vent and freak out about it. There's nothing logical about that. It'll happen on its own time, and she'll figure it out."

I wiped my face again with my tee. "But what if while she's working on that she decides she's not into being in a relationship with me?"

Kara didn't say anything for a bit, and I looked up at her. "Jesus, Kase," Kara finally said and the tone of her voice made me cry a little more. "Sage loves you and she's not the type to throw something like that away just because she's working through some stuff."

"That's not a guarantee." To lose Sage would be like cutting out a giant chunk of my heart and skewering it over live coals.

"Maybe not. But here's the deal. If you conduct your life worried that the worst is going to happen, no matter the situation, then you'll drive a lot of people away. And that tends to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, anyway. You just need to keep showing up, and not run away. Sometimes that's the hardest thing to do."

I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat, but couldn't because Kara was right, again, and I remembered when my relationship with Melissa had unraveled in a similar way, with both of us withdrawing and me dreading that she'd leave but isolating myself further until she did. "Do you think maybe I subconsciously try to drive people away?"

Kara gave me a squeeze. "I don't know. Maybe. I do know that if you set up a scenario like that--Sage leaving--you're on your way to enacting it. So don't. Talk to her. And don't hide." She said it with a slight warning, making me think about Melissa, and what Chris had said about me burying myself in my work.

I scuffed my bare toes into the carpet and winced because they were still sore from my earlier idiocy.

Kara tousled my hair. "Now get your ass over to her room-- wait. I'm coming with you. Just let me get my stuff." She pulled away and stood up and went into the bathroom where I heard her rummaging around.

"What are you doing?"

She emerged from the bathroom and flashed me a look. "Kase, sometimes you are so dense. I'm trading places with Sage tonight. You need some alone time with her and I don't have a problem sharing a hotel room with a guy. River's family, anyway." She put her toiletry kit in the duffle bag I'd loaned her for this trip.

"But she wants to spend time with him." Kara raised an eyebrow at me and shook her head. "You need her now. She needs you. Tell her that."

"But--" I stopped.

"What? You called Chris to tell her about the day, and you told me what was going on. You're done with processing anything else today. So get out of your damn head, go over to your woman's room, and tell her that you need her right here, right now, and you won't take no for an answer."

I stared at her, half-amused and half-stunned. "My woman?"

"Semantics. Whatever you call her. Partner. Girlfriend. Love monster. Shut the hell up and go get her," Kara said with a smirk. She grabbed the duffle bag and opened the hotel door. Without another word, I followed her down the hall, thoughts a jumble in my head, but one stuck out front and center. I did need Sage. And I needed to tell her that.

Chapter Sixteen

I WOKE UP before the alarm went off and opened my eyes, wishing for another few hours in bed. Hell, another few days. Or weeks. Maybe we could sleep through this fiasco. I sighed. No deal. I was lying on my left side, facing Sage, who was on her right side, head propped on one arm. She came into focus, watching me. She smiled.

"Hey," I said, smiling back. "What time is it?"

"Seven." She reached over and brushed my hair out of my eyes.

"How long have you been up?" I caught her hand with mine and kissed her fingertips.

"A while."

"You okay?" I searched her eyes, looking for clues to her thoughts.

"Much better than I have been in a while." She leaned in and kissed me. "Thank you."

I waited for her to continue, tracing patterns on her hip with my free hand.

"I know that you feel things that you don't always voice."

"True," I agreed.

"But I don't want you to think that you can't say things to me, no matter how pissed off you are or upset. Sometimes I can't reach some of your deeper levels, and you have to tell me when you want me to see them."

I nodded, thinking about how I'd shut myself off from Melissa, and how the relationship had disintegrated in the midst of Megan's addiction, both Melissa and me struggling to cope with that, trying to be a support system for each other but failing. I had escaped into my research while Melissa sought comfort from another woman.

"Are you thinking about what happened with Melissa?" she asked, stroking my cheek.

I smiled again. "Yeah."

"I'm not Melissa."

"No. But I'm still me and I need to not do certain things. I'm just not sure how."

"The answer might not be here," she said as she touched my forehead. "It might be here." She ran her fingers down my neck and stopped at my heart. Chris or Abuelita would say ¿Qué dice tu corazón? in a situation like this. And generally, they were right. If I couldn't find an answer in my head, maybe I should listen to what my heart was trying to say.

"It says I'm scared but I need you and I'll do everything I can to stay present and to not run away." I covered her hand with mine.

"I'm scared, too," she said, barely above a whisper. "And I need you more than you know." She looked at me, intent, and a strange, hot current seemed to flow between our hands, from hers to mine and back again, looping. I might have dismissed it as something I was imagining, but it had happened the week before, after the porch incident, and it had surprised me then. Now, as the sensation passed as quickly as it had begun, I felt comfort. I leaned in and kissed Sage, knowing that words were inadequate, and sometimes, letting things unfold was the best response.

The room phone rang and Sage groaned against my lips.

"Dammit. Our wake-up call." I sighed and pulled away, but Sage stopped me and kissed me again, long and gentle. The phone continued to ring. She nipped my lower lip as the kiss ended and the phone stopped ringing.

"I love you," she said. "Don't forget that." She stared at me for a while, until the phone rang again and she reached for it.

"I won't."

"Good." She flashed me a little impish Sage grin. "Good morning, Kara. K.C.'s about to get into the shower. We'll meet you at your room in a half-hour." She playfully nudged me with her foot to get out of bed. I planted one more kiss on her bare shoulder and threw the covers back.

"Tell her I expect a big, hot, cup of awesome coffee," I said as I headed for the bathroom. And a day that goes by without any freaky shit happening. I turned on the hot water and let it course over my skin.

"WELL, THAT WAS a fucking bust," I said as we left Ridge Star headquarters. I slid into the driver's seat while Kara got in on the passenger's side. We sat in silence for a bit, me both frustrated and relieved.

"Maybe not," Kara announced. "That's Clint Monroe."

I looked past her toward the entrance of Ridge Star headquarters, a bland cream-colored storefront on the eastern edge of town. A man wearing jeans and a light blue button-down shirt had exited the building and was getting into a big black pickup truck that was parked in front.

"You sure?"

"Yep. I found a promo photo of him on the web when I was looking for the Ridge Star phone number. And there's another picture of him on the wall in there."

"Guess he thought the coast was clear," I said as I put my sunglasses on.

"Must have," Kara agreed, but with an innocent tone that meant she was up to no good.

He backed the truck up and turned left onto the main road, headed east.

"Hmm. Now isn't that just a tad suspicious, how the receptionist told us he wasn't able to come in today after all." I started the engine.

"Just a tad." She shot me an expression that reminded me of when we were kids and Kara was about to propose something completely nuts that I'd nevertheless completely buy into. "Let's follow him."

I pulled into traffic, knowing that on any other day, I'd think this was insane. But given everything that had happened in the past week, it was perfectly natural to be tailing a guy with ties to an oil and gas company that just might be responsible for the murder of my girlfriend's dad.

"Hold up. He's turning again."

I slowed down, hanging back a bit as he turned onto northbound Highway 550, which would take him along the Animas River for a few miles through landscape that was a mixture of green river valley constrained within high desert buttes and hills littered with piñon trees, sage, and cactus. I turned as well, letting him get ahead of me a few hundred feet. "So what's your plan?" I asked after another thirty seconds passed and Monroe hadn't turned.

"I just want to see where he goes. Something's funky, since everybody back at Ridge Star said he wasn't going to come into the office today."

"Maybe it's the enviro-geek vibe you give off. They thought you might chain yourself to a rig out there on one of the mesas."

"Well, duh. Where else would I chain myself out here? A rock?"

"Save the rocks! Only three million years before they're worn to pebbles!" I said in a fake announcer voice. Kara smacked me on the thigh. "Ow. Damn. I'm trading you in on a new model."

"Good luck. I'm the prototype."

I laughed and directed my attention out the windshield, watching the tailgate of Monroe's truck. We weren't close enough for me to read the license plate, so I accelerated a little. "There's a little notebook and a pen in the glove compartment," I said as I closed the distance between my car and Monroe's. "Can you see his plate number?" I glanced over at Kara as she leaned forward and dug the items out.

"Not quite. Try to get a little closer."

"This would've been so much easier in the parking lot," I muttered as I pushed the gas pedal again.

"But then we wouldn't be able to play Nancy Drew. This is more interesting." She paused. "A little closer..." Kara opened the notebook and turned pages until she got to a blank one.

I sped up a bit.

"Yeah. Got it."

I slowed down, letting Monroe pull ahead again, still driving north on Highway 550. "I'm having a thought."

"Careful. Don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Jesus, little sisters are annoying. I'll bet Nancy Drew didn't have to deal with this shit."

"No, she just had to put up with Ned what's-his-name following her around making moony eyes at her."

The road narrowed to two-lane and the landscape closed in around the river to the east, on Kara's side, and my thought started shifting into a Very Bad Feeling. "I think he's going to Purcell's." My stomach clenched a little. If that's where Monroe was headed, I doubted it was for a social call.

Kara didn't respond. "Okay, let's go over the reasons he would do that," she said, concern lacing her tone.

I gripped the wheel a little tighter. "He knows something about Bill's death and he thinks Purcell does, too. Or, Monroe is responsible for Bill's death and thinks Purcell put us on his tail. Which isn't incorrect." We were about three miles from the turnoff that would take us to Purcell's driveway.

"But Purcell left Ridge Star before Bill died. He doesn't know much about Bill's death beyond what he told us."

"If that's true, why would he lie about seeing Nestor?"

"He's scared."

"Of what?" I was pushing her, which I knew was shitty, but on the other hand, she needed to come clean if Shoshana had told her something that had any bearing on Bill's death.

"Ridge Star. They forced him out and with the list of injuries and deaths on rigs, he decided to keep his mouth shut."

"So why, then, is he suddenly getting threats after we show up? What exactly does he know?" I steered around a curve and sure enough, Monroe had slowed at the turnoff that would take him to Purcell's driveway. He turned right and in my peripheral vision, I saw Kara pull her cell phone out of her pocket and push a couple of buttons. I drove past the turnoff so as not to tip Monroe off. Kara left a message for who I guessed was Shoshana. I turned into a dirt pullout about a quarter-mile past the turn that would take us to Purcell's driveway and stopped the car, though I left the engine running. "Do you have Purcell's number?"

"No. Dammit."

"Text Shoshana. Tell her what Monroe's doing and that she needs to call her uncle. Then call you." Hopefully, Shoshana was one of those people who carried her phone on her person all the time.

Kara did as I suggested, her thumbs flying over her keypad as I put the car in gear again and steered back toward Farmington. I slowed as we neared the turnoff Monroe had taken and before I could talk myself out of it, I took it, as well. Kara didn't try to talk me out of it, either. What the hell was I going to do if Monroe appeared, headed back to the highway? If he had been in Ridge Star headquarters when Kara and I had shown up that morning, he'd recognize us. And maybe he wasn't going to Purcell's. Maybe he himself lived out here. What an irony that would be, though it would make it easier to spy on Purcell. Or maybe he really was on his way to chat with Purcell. Offer him a nicer severance package. Yeah, that's it. Ridge Star's suddenly getting all interested in community service. And I sprout wings and a tail every full moon.

I decreased the car's speed as we approached Purcell's driveway. Shit. I couldn't see the front of the house from this angle because the driveway crooked to the left, between trees. The road we were on forked--left to Purcell's, a slight right to what I presumed were other houses. Lesser of two evils. I went right, taking a chance on my assumption that Monroe had gone left.

This road was in better shape than Purcell's driveway, indicating that it received more use and might even be owned by the county and graded regularly. Tall weeds and grasses lined either side, offering a bit of cover if someone left Purcell's house, stayed on the driveway, and then went right back to the highway. A break in the line of weeds on my left caught my attention and I slowed down even more. A green metal livestock gate beyond which vehicles-- probably the farmer who owned this piece of land--had etched twin tire tracks into the field. I pulled my car up to the gate, getting off the road.

"What are you doing?" Kara asked as I unbuckled my seat belt.

"This field runs close to Purcell's house. You can't see it from the house itself because of the trees, but I saw it when we drove in to talk to him." I opened my door. "I'm going to find out if Monroe's there."

Kara stared at me with the kind of expression people get when they realize their friends might be possessed by an alien life form. "And that's a good idea because...?"

"Because if he's there causing problems for Purcell, we're witnesses who can place Monroe there at this time on this day." I held my cell phone up. "And if he's there, I might be able to get a couple of photos of his truck." I put my phone back in the pocket of my shorts. "Evidence," I said as I got out of the car. I closed the door and leaned in through the open window. "The key's in the ignition. If I'm not back in twenty minutes--mark the time--call Sage and tell her to call Simmons and get her out here. If Monroe shows up on this road before twenty minutes are up, text me that and meet me at the top of Purcell's driveway."

"This is nuts," she said, grim, but I knew from her tone that she wasn't going to argue much.

"We haven't heard from Shoshana yet and if Monroe is at Purcell's, he might be messing with him. Purcell needs witnesses to that."

"Twenty minutes," she said.

I nodded and turned away.

"Kase--"

I looked back at her, waiting.

"Put your phone on vibrate."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." I did so, checked the time on it, then slid it back into my pocket, and in ten steps stood at the gate. The chain that held it closed was padlocked. "Shit," I said under my breath as I climbed over it. I had been hoping that I wouldn't have to deal with a lock. Or Monroe. What if he was positioned somewhere with a high-powered rifle and a scope? That thought freaked me out. I'd been shot at before, and it wasn't something I wanted to go through again. So that's why I'm climbing over a fence to sneak up on some guy's house and find out if the man who murdered Sage's dad is there. Way to avoid trouble, Kase.

Once on the other side of the gate, I started jogging down one of the tracks, which seemed to be headed straight for Purcell's. How convenient. I had worn my hikers today--lucky for me--because running in Birkenstocks is a bit like running in flip-flops and that might've proven a bit difficult to negotiate through the field. My toes still hurt from yesterday's kicking incident, but not enough to prevent me from jogging or, if necessary, sprinting for my life. Hell, if Monroe didn't get me, the person who owned this field might. I hoped it didn't come to either of those scenarios. Maybe Monroe wasn't even at Purcell's. Maybe he had gone down that other road to a drill site or something and Kara and I would laugh about this later. "Remember the time you climbed over that fence then took off across that field to go spy on Clint Monroe?" Yep. A good laugh. I hoped.

The track I was on led to an irrigation ditch that ran parallel to most of Purcell's driveway. The left-hand crook the driveway made was to my right, on the other side of the ditch. I crossed it, walking on the concrete mini-dam that helped control the flow of water into the field. The farmer could regulate what went through the grate in the dam with a flow control device. I held onto it--a metal steering wheel on a pipe sunk into the concrete-- as I crossed. Though it was probably near eighty degrees already, it would still suck to fall into cold irrigation water.

Once on the opposite side of the ditch, I went right, walking through weeds and tall grasses that tickled my bare skin. On my left ran the fence that separated Purcell's drive from this field and on my right ran the ditch. I had about ten feet between fence and ditch. The ditch itself was about four feet across. If I had to jump it on the way back instead of use the mini-dam, I hoped ten feet was enough room for a good running start. I could just see that. I'd come barreling toward the fence from Purcell's house, Monroe breathing up my ass, and I'd have to fling myself over a four-foot fence then run full speed at a ditch. Jesus. What the fuck am I doing? If Sage knew about this, she would throw me into the ditch then pull me out and throw me in again. Then she'd tell Chris, who would do the same thing. This is so nuts. Kara's so right. Regardless, I was out here now, so I might as well complete my mission.

I stopped at the point where Purcell's driveway jagged away from the ditch and toward the house. Though cottonwoods and willows obscured my view, I could see Purcell's house and a black pickup parked in front. I texted four words to Kara: "Monroe's there. Going closer." Only six minutes had elapsed since I'd left the car. It felt like sixty.

Now I had to figure out how to climb over this fence and get closer to the house without anybody seeing me. I went a bit farther downstream along the ditch, about twenty yards from where the driveway jagged toward the house, and inspected the fence. I'd climbed lots of fences in my day. This part was made up of four strands of barbed wire. I tested one of the strands for tension and smiled at my luck. It was loose and I could squeeze between two of the strands by pushing down on the lower and stepping through. I did so, careful not to catch my T-shirt on the upper strand.

I'm crazy, I reminded myself as I worked my way closer to Purcell's house through the underbrush, using the trees as cover. Every few steps I'd stop and listen. For what? Yelling? Gunshots? Dogs barking in a frenzy? I wasn't sure, but I did it anyway. I needed to get close enough to get a clear picture of Monroe's truck and his license plate and I had to do it without drawing any attention to myself. Fortunately, the rear of the truck faced me. New Mexico plates had to be on the rear of a vehicle, but they were not required on the front. That made my spying mission easier.

Thirty yards from the house, I stopped again, listening. This time, I heard voices. Purcell must've left a window open or the front door was open and I was hearing through the screen. I couldn't tell from this distance what was being said, but I recognized Purcell's voice and he did not sound happy. The other voice I figured was

Monroe's. I edged closer and stopped behind a tree. From here, I could get a good shot of the front of the house and the truck. I took my phone out and snapped a couple of pictures, but I needed to get closer to see the license plate. My stomach wrapped itself around my spine and my heart hammered in my ears. Holy crap, I cannot believe I'm doing this. I fought an urge to run screaming back to the car and instead crouched a little lower and moved to another tree, trying not to think about how badly I needed to pee.

I made it to the edge of the clearing that served as the parking area for the house. From my vantage point, the house stood to my right. Monroe's truck was parked about twenty feet away, right in front of me. I saw the Nova, but the Kia was gone. So was the blue pickup. But where were the dogs? No sign of either Brutus or Sam. I hadn't heard anything that sounded like a canine yelping in pain, but that didn't mean Monroe hadn't done anything to them. I hoped he hadn't, and that Purcell had them inside with him.

Hunkered next to the tree I was using as cover, I shot a picture of the truck, license plate visible, along with a bit of Purcell's house in the frame. I took another one for good measure. From inside I heard Purcell's voice, raised. Then another voice, lower. Damn. Still couldn't tell what they were saying. I checked the time on my phone. Fourteen minutes had passed since I left the car, so I texted Kara letting her know I'd gotten the photos and I was about to get the hell out. Until the front screen door opened and Monroe exited the house.

Fuck. I sank into the undergrowth, trying to melt into the tree bark. I'm one with the tree, I chanted in my head, watching through the tall grass as Monroe stalked around the front of his truck and opened the door. He climbed in, slammed the door, and started the engine. From the way he spun out, he was pissed. Dirt and rocks shot up from his rear tires as he gunned the engine and half-skidded to the driveway. I exhaled in relief and when I texted Kara this new information along with a request to call me, my hands were shaking. A few seconds later my phone buzzed.

"Are you all right?" were Kara's first words. She sounded worried.

"Yeah," I said, keeping my voice low. "Monroe's pissed. Purcell's in the house, but I don't see the dogs anywhere. Did Shoshana call?"

"Both me and Jamison. She called him a few minutes before Monroe got there. Maybe Jamison put the dogs in the house. Is he all right?"

I looked at the house, searching for signs of movement inside. "I assume so. Don't know for sure. Monroe stormed out of here, but I didn't hear anything like him opening a can of whup-ass or anything like that." I studied the house again, half my attention there, the other half on Kara. I needed to find out what Monroe had wanted, which meant I had to talk to Purcell. "Call Shoshana back," I blurted, interrupting whatever Kara was saying, "And tell her you and I are going to check on Purcell. Tell her to call him and let him know we'll be here in about ten minutes."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Just drive over. I'm right next to the house. It'll look like I was with you the whole time. Besides, he knows we're in the neighborhood since we already tipped Shoshana off."

"Shoshana can check on him," Kara countered. "She'll call him and we don't have to deal with it."

"Kare, we need to find out what the hell Monroe wanted from him. It's got to have something to do with Bill. Purcell knows something that he's not saying and the longer he holds out, the more fucked up this gets. Now get your ass over here."

"Goddammit, you are the most fucking annoying sister ever."

"You know I'm right. Now would you please call Shoshana and then get over here?"

She said something I didn't catch and hung up. I closed my phone and put it back in my pocket, and a piece of grass tickled my bare thigh, which made me think of bugs crawling up my legs. Especially ticks. I probably had ticks in my pants after running around in the grass like I'd been doing. Fuck. I shifted positions and brushed at my legs, a bad case of heebie-jeebies sending little chills up my spine. Great. Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever or freakin' Lyme Disease. Explain that to Sage. I brushed the back of my neck and my arms off, then went back to brushing my legs off.

The screen door opened again and this time, Brutus and Sam emerged. Purcell stood for a moment watching them, right hand braced on a cane, left holding the door open. He turned away and the door banged behind him as he retreated into the house. At least he was up and moving around. And at least the dogs were okay, too. Brutus and Sam were busy sniffing around the patio before they started investigating the place where Monroe's truck had been parked. I stayed still, hoping the breeze didn't shift and tip them off. My legs started to cramp and just when I thought for sure my thigh muscles were going to explode, I heard my car coming down the driveway.

As soon as it appeared, Kara at the wheel, I stood up and started walking toward her. She stopped the car in the same area Monroe had parked. Brutus and Sam started examining the car and sure enough, Sam peed on the front tire while Brutus bounded over to me, recognizing either the car, me, or both. He sniffed my feet and rubbed his bulk against my knees. I petted him, waiting for Kara to get out of the car. She did and took her sunglasses off, shooting me a glare. Just like old times.

"We'll argue about this later," I said. "Right now, let's go check on Purcell and see if we can get some info."

She glared at me again and in silence preceded me to the front door.

Chapter Seventeen

PURCELL SAT IN the recliner he'd been in two days earlier, staring at his legs, avoiding my gaze. "I don't know what he wanted," he said again, referring to Monroe's visit a half-hour ago. Why didn't I believe him?

"Mr. Purcell," I said as patiently as I could, "Monroe came out here minutes after we'd been to Ridge Star. Had we not set up that appointment, chances are he wouldn't have wasted your time today, either. Please help us understand what the missing piece is here." I tried appealing to his sense of duty.

He remained silent. Seconds stretched into a minute. I felt another of Kara's glares boring a hole into my skull.

"Look," I said, losing more of my patience. This was about nasty people who might fuck with me and people I loved. I wasn't in the mood to let him off the hook. "We know somebody's watching us. We don't know who and we don't know why. But whoever it is, they're watching you, too." I leaned forward from my position on the couch across from him. "And I think it has something to do with Bill's death."

He looked up at me then. "You're in over your heads. Just stop and go on back to Albuquerque," he said, sullen.

"You have no idea how much I want to do that. But I'd like to know who's watching us and what the hell they want. I don't want to have to worry about this crap there, too." This was going nowhere. It pretty much had hit a brick wall when he'd answered the door. I'd have had more luck pulling teeth with tweezers. After another minute of stony silence and yet another hole in my head from Kara's stink eye, I stood, trying to keep my temper in check. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Purcell. If you decide to help us or Nestor and Tonya in the future, I hope you feel you can call me or Detective Simmons." Kara stood as well, and I knew I was going to get my ass chewed once we left. Oh, well. I started walking out.

"What about Nestor?"

I stopped and turned back toward him. "You think these guys aren't watching him, too? Whatever Monroe came here for today, he'll go looking at Nestor's and Tonya's. It's just a matter of time before something else happens." I took a stab in the dark with that, but I knew Purcell had thus far lied about the level of his association with both Bill and Nestor, so maybe a little nudge on his conscience would shake a few things loose.

Purcell started fiddling with the top of his cane, which was lying across his lap. "Bill kept tabs on Ridge Star and wrote stuff down," he said. "They want the notes Bill took after Nestor got hurt."

"So Bill was doing his own investigation," I said, like I didn't know that already.

"Yeah," he answered. "But I don't know what all he found or where he kept it all. Monroe keeps talking about a notebook. I don't know where the hell Bill would put something like that. Maybe his old lady has it. Maybe he hid it somewhere." He sounded frustrated, and I suspected that Purcell really didn't know that Bill's notebook had ended up with Nestor.

"Why would Monroe want it?" I pushed.

Purcell shook his head. "I'm not sure. Now that Bill's gone, it's not like he can do any whistle-blowing."

But somebody else could, if he--or she--had the notebook. "Is Monroe worried that somebody else will use Bill's notes against the company?"

Purcell regarded me stone-faced for a long moment then a wry smile broke the impasse between us. "That's what I'm thinking," he concurred. "Can't say I'd mind if somebody else went to the press with whatever Bill had dug up." He ran his fingers over the smooth wood of his cane.

I watched his fingertips trace imaginary lines on the cane's surface. "You know, don't you?" I asked. He didn't look up. "You know who'd do that with Bill's notes, if they turned up." I was missing something. But what?

Kara moved closer to me, and her fingers dug into my shoulder and I took another shot in the dark. "Does Monroe have something to do with Bill's death?"

"Can't prove it," he said, still not looking up at us. "I've had my suspicions that he had it in for Bill after Nestor got hurt." His fingers stopped moving and he raised his gaze to mine. "Monroe's a company man. In the bad sense. He'll do anything to make sure the company looks good. Ridge Star pays him a lot of money to make sure their shit doesn't stink. 'Scuse my language."

Kara murmured something in response and smiled at him. She took her hand off my shoulder and my skin practically sighed in relief. "Would you say he does a good job at that?" she asked, and I knew that by engaging Purcell that way, she wasn't as pissed at me as she had been a half-hour earlier.

He half-laughed. "Me? Yeah, I'd say Monroe's a good propaganda machine. But he hadn't counted on Bill. Had Nestor not gotten hurt, I don't think Bill would've gone after Ridge Star the way he did. Like I said, Bill was tight with Nestor. Saw him as some kind of Indian healer and told some of the guys that if it wasn't for Nestor, he'd be a worse screw-up than he already was. I got the feeling Nestor helped Bill find some stability here. I think that Bill felt he owed it to Nestor to make sure he got something out of Ridge Star for what happened and he wanted to keep it from happening again." Purcell dropped his gaze to his cane again. "But it did happen again. And Bill kept digging, and he got the shit kicked out of him a few times for it, too. But he wasn't going to let the guys down. It was like he was on a mission."

I sat back down on the couch and Kara did, as well. "Did Monroe go after Bill himself?" I asked.

"No. He's the type who keeps his own hands clean," Purcell said, thoughtful. "He found a way to put pressure on Bill without any direct links to himself."

I'd figured as much. "Other guys at the site, then? Or did Monroe bring in outsiders?"

"Don't know. A few of us had our suspicions about a couple of the other guys at the site, but nobody said anything specific about that. And I was gone in April, so I don't know much about what happened after that."

"Who do you think called you yesterday with the threat?"

He looked up, surprised, then laughed. "Shoshana told you," he said. "I didn't want her to, but then I thought maybe she should let you know that somebody's interested in what you're up to."

"Do you have any idea who it was?" I tried again after his deflection.

He nodded. "Jimmy Surano."

I stared at him. Where had I heard that name...Nestor. Surano was company man the day Nestor got hurt. "What did he say?"

"That if I talked to anybody else, I'd end up like Bill."

"Talked to anybody else about what?"

Purcell didn't respond at first and I guessed he was picking his words. "I haven't been straight with you," he admitted.

No, really? Shocking. I bit that back and gave him room to continue. Kara avoided my glance.

"Bill and I used to hang out some, before Nestor got hurt. We'd have a beer every now and again and he'd help me out around the house when my back was bothering me."

I held my breath, afraid that if I moved he'd startle like a deer and stop talking.

"After Nestor got hurt, Bill changed. He was...I don't know. Like a crusader or something. He felt like he'd failed Nestor, and that by extension, he failed the other guys. He knew about Ridge Star's safety violations before Nestor's injury but he didn't do anything about it except complain with the guys after shifts. What happened to Nestor lit a fire under him, and it got kind of uncomfortable for a lot of us." He gripped his cane then released it. "Here's the thing. Most of us who work these jobs like the money. The work is hard and dangerous. But the money can be good, and it's not like a guy like me has a lot of options for a good-paying job. I dropped out of high school and screwed around for a while before I figured out that a man needs a job and money to put away for rainy days. Working the rigs messed me up physically, but I made good money and saved a hell of a lot. Most of the guys on the rigs are like me. Families to support, kids on the way, house payments, car payments, whatever. Fighting the man is a good thing, sometimes. But out here, where jobs are scarce--" he stopped and looked at both me and Kara, to see if we understood his meaning.

"Guilt by association," I said.

"Exactly. So when Bill started up with his investigating, he tried to get other guys in on it, tried to get them to help him and to pass along information if they had it."

"You were one of those guys he approached."

He offered me a little smile. "Yeah. And I was upset about what happened to Nestor, too. But it wasn't a battle I wanted to fight. My back was getting worse and I had to think about what I was going to do if I couldn't work the rigs anymore. And I heard what happened to Nestor, that Monroe said he'd been drinking the day he got hurt so Ridge Star didn't owe him a thing. I couldn't afford to get involved with Bill's snooping around, though I admit, I was glad somebody was doing it."

Something occurred to me. "Do you think that some of the guys Bill approached to help him might've beaten him up?"

Purcell shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I heard rumors that the first couple of times Bill showed up with black eyes it was because of that. But nobody mentioned any names and I didn't ask."

My stomach clenched. Maybe it wasn't Ridge Star that went after Bill. Maybe his fellow coworkers did, because they were afraid they'd lose their jobs if the company found out they were associating with Bill, someone who didn't make it a secret that he was angry about what had happened to a buddy of his on the rig. And maybe there were factions here, with some of the guys supportive of Bill, and some not, but both with a reason to either scare Bill enough to get him to quit investigating or to kill him.

Surano, for example, had a lot to lose if Bill's investigation ever came to light. Surano didn't check the pipe the day Nestor was injured. He was caught, too, between a rock and a hard place. If he had stopped work to deal with it, Nestor might've avoided injury. But Surano probably would've lost his job. Bill's investigations, however, also put Surano's job in danger. Nestor said Surano had a couple of crimes on his record, and it was no doubt tough for him to get employment.

I wanted Purcell's take on something else now. "Nestor said that after he got injured, some of the Indian guys at the site quit. Why?"

His brow furrowed in thought. "I do remember that. I figured at first it was because they were Diné and did it out of solidarity with Nestor. But a couple of weeks after Nestor got hurt, one of the other guys said that the Indian guys were saying that there was something bad at the site. They didn't like how it felt, and they said that the bad energy would call more bad things." He shrugged.

"What kinds of bad things?"

He gripped his cane again. "Evil spirits. The kind that Diné believe in."

"Do you know if--" I hesitated. "Did Bill believe in those spirits, too?"

"I don't know," Purcell said, dubious. "I guess it's possible, since he hung out with Nestor quite a bit and Nestor hung out with the other Indian guys. But I couldn't say for sure. It didn't come up in any conversation Bill had with me."

"Did any of the white guys at the site talk about this bad energy?"

Purcell thought for a bit. "While I was there, I did hear a few rumbles from some of them about the so-called 'crazy Indians' and their 'bad magic'." But then when more bad things started happening, a few of the white guys quit and went to other companies. They started talking about 'curses', which is basically the same thing as what the Diné were saying."

I thought back to Bill's chronology in the letter he'd sent to River. "You mean the injuries in March?"

"Yeah." He paused, thoughtful. "It does make you wonder about bad energy. Three in one month."

Not to mention the death in June and then July. "Mr. Purcell," I said as I stood up. "I'm sorry I was sort of pushy with you. I hope you understand why."

He smiled and started to push himself out of his chair with visible effort. Kara offered to help him but he declined. "This old war horse still has a few years left in him," he said, gaining his feet. "I'm not going to lie to you. I'm scared. I appreciate you giving me the heads-up about Monroe. I was able to bring the boys in before he got here, which gave me a bit of an edge, but I don't know where Monroe's going to take this."

"Do you have somewhere else you can go for a few days?" I asked, hoping to hell he did. "We'll give you a ride if you need one."

"Nah, I'm good. My wife's family lives in Shiprock. I called her before you got here and as soon as she gets in, we'll head over there."

Kara's shoulders relaxed in relief and my gut unclenched a bit. "Good. Would you be willing to talk to Detective Simmons again?"

"That's the woman?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Better attitude than the fellow she's working with." He limped as he escorted us to the door.

"You have her number?" I asked as Kara opened the door.

"Nan does."

"Good." I stood looking at him, trying to figure out what more to say but felt awkward. I instead offered my hand. He took it. "Thanks for all your help."

He squeezed my hand in a grip surprisingly warm and firm. In his prime, this guy had been seriously strong. "Thanks for yours. Oh, hey--" he looked out the door at Kara, who was stroking Brutus's head while she watched us. "Let me give you Nan's cell number."

"Excellent," Kara said. She took her phone out of her pocket and entered it as Purcell recited it to her. Then she read it back and he nodded confirmation. Satisfied, she then pressed some more buttons, probably adding Nan to her "contacts" list. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me, following Kara to the car. She tossed me the keys before getting in on the passenger side.

"Are we speaking?" I asked as I buckled up.

"You're not. But I am."

I looked over at her.

"I will now lecture you on how wrong this whole freakin' day was and your role in making it that way."

I started the car and steered away from the house. "I already know how fucked up it was," I said with resignation.

"Jesus, Kase. Who the hell knew my sister was completely insane?"

"Excuse me? You're the one who wanted to follow Monroe in the first place. You and all your Nancy Drew shit."

"You could've said no."

I guided the car around the ruts. "So could you."

"Dammit, this shit is not funny." She jerked on her seatbelt for emphasis.

"I know. I agree with you. It's not funny. At all. In fact, it sucks giant ass. So how about this? If you hadn't suggested we follow Monroe, and we didn't, something might have happened to Purcell and we'd never have gotten the info we did. Plus, he might have gotten hurt. Or worse."

"The ends don't always justify the means," she muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

I stopped at the main highway, preparing to turn left back to Farmington. Before I pulled onto the blacktop, I regarded her. "I'm not going to argue philosophy with you. Sometimes you have to make do with what you're presented. We got an opportunity and used it."

"And you barged in on an injured guy and demanded that he tell you shit," she said, exasperated.

I turned onto the highway, equally exasperated, and accelerated. "You're right. I did. And I apologized. And offered him a ride."

She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

We sat in silence for the next few miles, both stewing over our morning. Kara was right--I shouldn't have pushed Purcell. But on the other hand, I didn't feel I had much of a choice. Monroe going out to his place might have given us a little leverage with Purcell, though in my opinion, Monroe should have waited to go out there until he was sure Kara and I had left Ridge Star. Clearly, he hadn't read Nancy Drew. Or the Hardy Boys, for that matter.

By the time we hit the outskirts of Farmington, I hadn't managed to sort through all my thoughts, but I knew two things. I was drained and I felt badly about pushing both Kara and Purcell with regard to Bill's death. What the hell was wrong with me? I decelerated but didn't look over at her. "Kare, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry this happened. I'm sorry I pushed Purcell. I'm feeling a little edgy about this whole situation, as you know, and maybe a little desperate and I was a total bitch. Truce?"

She didn't respond for a few moments. When she did, she reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "Truce."

My shoulders relaxed and I imagined that the big black cloud that had been following me for the past couple of hours dissipated.

"So what's next?" she asked.

"I say we stop by the police station and see if Simmons is in."

"Okay," Kara said, wary, as if she was testing me to make sure I had all my marbles. "Sounds good. Then back to Albuquerque? I know we checked out of the motel already, but I'm sure there'll be rooms available for tonight. Not like Farmington is hoppin' right now."

I stopped at a stoplight, staring at the bumper of the car in front of me. "No. I just want to go home."

She didn't respond and I waited for the car in front of us to move when the light changed. I just needed to get on the road and away from this place, away from Monroe and Purcell, away from gas rigs and an industry that sometimes put profit before people, and away from dark forces and the beliefs that sheltered them. But first, I wanted to divest myself of information and put it in the hands of proper authorities. Chris was right. I had no business poking around in a murder investigation like this. I chewed my lip as I turned into the police department parking lot. No business at all. Well, here's me getting out of the business. I pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine.

Chapter Eighteen

CHRIS DIDN'T SAY anything for a while after I finished telling her about my day thus far with Kara. I winced, waiting for her lecture, which I deserved though I didn't think I needed at this point. I'd already kicked myself enough to feel a kinship with a soccer ball during the World Cup, but the years I'd known Chris, I could tell she was working up to a lecture. I imagined it forming in the long silence emanating from her end of the phone and I sank lower in the driver's seat of my car, bracing myself. I'd left the driver's side door open, and a breeze alleviated some of the eighty-five-degree heat.

"You know I should chew your ass," she said.

"Yes."

"And you know I want to kick that ass from Farmington back to Albuquerque."

I sighed and stared down at my feet, near the gas pedal and the brake. "Yeah."

"Shit, Kase," she said with a mixture of frustration and relief. "But knowing you, you've already been hard on yourself and dragged a cross up Tomé Hill and back again."

"Yep. Barefoot and half-naked."

"With the Penitentes flogging you?"

"Yep." I relaxed a little and looked out the windshield at the sand-colored structure of the police station and municipal court, sort of a mixture of faux-dobe and 1960s office box. Kara was talking on her phone outside, slowly walking up and back along the sidewalk.

"So anything I say is overkill," Chris said. "You know how I feel about this, but you told me yourself that you screwed up and you did the right thing when you went to Simmons and told her everything. Now will you please let her handle this?"

"Yes," I answered, like a kid pouting. I felt that way sometimes around Chris.

"Kase, come on. I have such huge respect for you and your work and how you go about collecting and interpreting information. Those are things you're good at and trained to do. But there's a lot more to police work than that."

Amen. "It's not like I wanted this situation to end up like this." I took my sunglasses off the dashboard and put them on. They were warm on my face from the afternoon sun. "Damn. I don't go looking for crap like this. And yes, it's been a monster cluster-fuck. As soon as I talk to Sage and find out when she plans to head back to Albuquerque, Kara and I are outta here."

"Okay. And you'll do what when you get back?" She sounded like a grade school teacher running her students through a lesson.

"Call Melissa so Sage and River can get that stock portfolio shit figured out."

"And?"

"And leave Bill's murder investigation here in Farmington with Detective Simmons," I said in a sing-song voice. Then, more serious, "And I'm leaving the police work to the trained professionals, like Detective Chris Gutierrez, who's my best friend and ass-kicker."

"Your ass included," she said, warmth in her voice.

"Fine. After all, if I can't let you kick my ass, who can I let do it?"

"Exactly."

"Thanks, Chris. I'm sorry."

"I know. And I'm sorry you've had to deal with all this shit. I'll take you to dinner when you get back."

"Can you have Abuelita whip up a freak-be-gone herbal mix?"

She laughed. "I'm sure she's got one in her stash. Oh, hey. That's my work cell. Gotta go. Call me when you get back, amiga."

"Will do. Bye." I hung up before she responded so she could take care of her other phone and waited for Kara, who was still engaged in a conversation with whomever she'd called. My stomach rumbled and I looked at the clock on my phone. No wonder. It was almost two-thirty. I speed-dialed Sage while I waited for Kara.

"Hi," she answered. "How'd it go?"

"Um, okay. I'll fill you in when we get home."

"What happened?" she asked, concerned.

"Do you know how annoying it is to be madly in love with Madam Knows All, Sees All?"

"About as annoying as it is to be madly in love with Madam Know It All," she teased back. "What happened?"

"It's a long story and I'll tell you all about it later. Suffice it to say that Clint Monroe bailed on his appointment with us this morning so we improvised. How are things at Tonya's?"

"We just got here. She called and said she had to fill in at work for someone for an extra hour, so we went and got something to eat and now we're outside the place, waiting for her. It's on the way out of town toward Shiprock."

"So how long do you think you'll be?"

"Don't know. I want to be on the road by six, though."

That would put them back in Albuquerque around 9.30. At least they wouldn't be traveling at night the whole way. Maybe an hour or so, since it would still be light around 8.30. "Okay. How about Kara and I hang out and wait for you and we'll convoy back together?"

"Sweetie, you don't need to do that. I've got River with me, after all."

I hesitated. Killing another three hours or so wasn't that big a deal. On the other hand, I wanted to go home as soon as possible. "You sure?"

"Yes. And I know how much you want to go home."

I smiled as Sage seemed to read my mind again. "How about this? Kara and I haven't eaten yet so we'll grab a late lunch and I'll check in after that to see where things are."

"Honey, it's okay. You don't need to wait. But do call me after you eat so I know what time you leave Farmington."

Again, I hesitated. I didn't like the idea of driving back separately but for the life of me, I had no logical reason for it. Just irrational. Like weird feelings, freaky ju-ju, and creepy occurrences. "How about we eat and then meet you out at Tonya's?"

"How about you call me after you eat and we'll see where things are? I think you might scare her a little," Sage said with laughter in her voice.

"I scare her? Jesus, she could kick my ass with one arm tied behind her back."

"Just call me after you eat."

"Okay," I grumbled, watching through the windshield as Kara hung up. "Talk to you later."

Sage spoke again. "K.C.?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Talk to you after lunch."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye." I hung up and sat staring at the phone for a moment, and a little chill zipped up my spine. I dismissed it, figuring I was just wigged from the whole day. Nothing to worry about. Sage and River would hang out with Tonya for a while, go through Bill's things, and then get on the road and we'd all be back in Albuquerque that night, and Detective Simmons would continue working the case. Some time in the future, she'd call us and tell us that someone had been arrested for Bill's murder or she'd call and say they were still looking. Either way, we were done with it. Kara opened the passenger door and plopped herself into the seat.

"Let's eat," she said as she buckled up.

I nodded and shut my door, refraining from asking her who she'd been yakking with for the past half-hour. Shoshana, I guessed. I buckled my own seatbelt and started the car. It's none of my business, I chanted in my head. If Kara wanted to date freaky art chicks, that was her gig, not mine. "Mexican okay?" I asked as I steered toward the parking lot entrance.

"Yum."

"Cool. I saw a place near the motel."

"Sounds good. So how about we talk about our other sister and her latest project? That was Mom, by the way." She shot me a knowing look that I caught out of the corner of my eye, letting me know that she'd busted me in Dad mode. "And no, I didn't tell her what you'd been up to today."

I grinned. "Thanks. And yes, please talk to me about Joely's project. I feel like I've been in the Twilight Zone for the past few days. Normal family weirdness would suit me just fine." And I settled back on the way to the restaurant, Kara regaling me with imitations of Joely lecturing our mom about the vagaries of her two wayward younger sisters. By the time we got to the restaurant, I was in a much better frame of mind.

I HUNG UP with Sage and waited for Kara to exit the food mart of the gas station. She emerged, carrying a bottle of water and a scrap of paper.

"What's that?" I asked, gesturing at the piece of paper as she got in.

"Powerball. Hello! The jackpot's around a hundred million."

I shook my head and fastened my seatbelt. "Good luck with that."

"I figure it's worth a couple bucks when it hits a hundred million or more," she said as she got settled.

"So ninety-nine million isn't enough?"

"Not quite. A hundred million or nothin', baby." She held the cold water bottle against my thigh, startling me.

"Quit it," I whined like when we were kids. "Or I'll tell Mom on you."

"Wuss." She took the cap off and took a swig then held the bottle out for me.

"No, thanks." I backed up.

"So are we going to Tonya's?"

I shook my head and pulled into traffic. Such as it was. This was Farmington, after all. "Sage said she and River are almost done going through Bill's papers. It's a lot of bank statements and pay stubs, but he kept things pretty organized. There's a small box of pictures Sage wants to go through, but from what she said, River's not too keen on it."

"He's pretty over it," Kara said before she took another drink of water.

"No, I think he just doesn't want to dredge up the past."

"Sometimes it might be a good thing to just let it go."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know." I glanced in the rearview mirror. "All I know is that Bill was a bastard when Sage and River were growing up and that's the way they remember him. He was never around and when he was, he was drunk and behaved like a total prick. And yes, maybe he behaved badly because of the alcohol. Yes, he was sick because of his drinking. It explains why he did the things he did, but it sure as hell doesn't excuse it." I eased off the accelerator, realizing that I'd gotten a bit worked up.

"I agree. But the fact remains that Bill drank, he was a dick, and now he's dead. Maybe River would prefer to just leave that in the past. The guy whose death he's dealing with now was a different man than the father he knew."

I shrugged, not wanting to get further into this conversation with Kara. Whatever demons the past nursed in River, I suspected that sooner or later he'd need to deal with them. For his sake, I hoped it was sooner.

"You want me to drive?" Kara asked.

"I'm all right for now." I glanced at the digital clock above the radio. Almost six. Kara and I had taken our time over our meal, for which I was glad because I wanted to hang around as long as possible. Maybe Sage and River would be ready to go by the time Kara and I were gassed up. No deal, but Sage said she'd call when she and River left. I couldn't shake the weird feeling I'd had since that morning. Everything would be so much better once Sage and River were back in Albuquerque. Just a few more hours. But it was a long drive through one of the most unpopulated parts of the state. That made me nervous, too.

"So what do you think about this whole Jimmy Surano-Jamison Purcell connection?" Kara broke my train of thought and I switched gears, glad for the chance to do some analysis and get my mind off other things.

"They knew each other because they worked together. I don't get the feeling they were buddies or anything. And if Surano's calling Purcell to threaten him, then they probably didn't know each other that well. What I'm not sure about is the Surano-Monroe connection. Surano has a hell of a lot to lose in this, if he's part of the shit. Nestor said he had priors, which means finding a job has got to be hard for him. Maybe Monroe is using that to get Surano to make threats to Purcell."

"But why Purcell? He doesn't know about the notebook."

I thought about it for a bit, seeing the notes I'd taken at our afternoon session with Simmons in my mind's eye. I wasn't too sure Purcell hadn't known about the notebook. I still wasn't sure how much we could believe from Purcell. While we had talked to Simmons, I added information to the lists I'd made on my legal pad.

It helped organize my thoughts with her, and it helped organize my thoughts now. "So maybe Monroe knows that now, but he's pressuring Purcell to put the squeeze on other guys who knew Bill. He's trying to flush game out of the brush. Monroe might want the notebook so he can get rid of it because if Bill collected evidence that'll stick about willful negligence resulting in injuries and deaths, Ridge Star is in a shitload of trouble."

"Maybe Monroe wants Purcell to contact Nestor," Kara mused. "Monroe knew Bill was tight with Nestor, but maybe it's easier for Monroe to get to Purcell."

I passed a truck that looked like a leftover from World War II, chugging up a hill. "Purcell's alone most of the day. And he's pretty isolated out there. Nestor at least is surrounded by other houses that might be owned by family members or at least friends." The insular reservation culture might have protected Nestor from an asshole like Monroe. "I don't know why, but I think there's something about Surano in all this."

Kara glanced over at me. "Well, Purcell's pretty sure he's the one who called him with the threat. Why would he do that, though? Why get involved in all this?"

"Because maybe he already is involved." I accelerated to the speed limit and put the visor down to block some of the sunlight. "Maybe Monroe--and whoever else--put Surano up to messing with Bill. Maybe he's even the guy who took Bill out to the Rez, thinking that he was just going to scare him into leaving things alone." And maybe that tactic went way wrong when Bill managed to get away. But why, then, hit him and kill him? Unless that part wasn't supposed to happen. I chewed my lip, thinking.

"Purcell said that Monroe's managed to keep himself pretty clear of this," Kara said before she took another swig of water.

"Not really. He was at Purcell's today acting like an asshole and Purcell's got other witnesses--that would be us--though Monroe doesn't know that. Purcell might come clean to Simmons, now." And with Bill's notebook, she's got some ammo to question Monroe.

"Okay," Kara said, but in a tone that suggested she wasn't convinced. "So let's suppose that Monroe just wanted to scare Bill off the investigation and maybe get his notebook. How did it manage to get so screwed up?"

I didn't answer right away, thinking. We crested a hill south of the town of Bloomfield, east of Farmington, where farmers had managed to coax fields of crops from desert plateau. I was struck again by the sight of pumpjacks chugging away on the edge of rows of corn. "I'm guessing they didn't figure Bill would be able to get away. What if Surano--because I don't think Monroe would get directly in on this--took Bill out to that wash that Tom Manyhorses was talking about and he left him there, tied to something? What if he knew the rumors about it and knew that Bill was sort of into Navajo beliefs because he hung out with Nestor? So Surano figured it would scare Bill to be out there and he'd agree to stop his investigating and to hand over his documentation."

"Huh."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kara nod. "But Bill got away," she said. "He managed to somehow cut through the rope and he started walking back toward the road. Maybe he was on his way to Manyhorses' place."

"But his body was past that. He didn't stop at Manyhorses' turnoff. He kept going." Why didn't he go up the road to Manyhorses' spread? I frowned, remembering the vast openness of the area. How far was Tom Manyhorses' house from the main road we had parked on to find the spot where Bill died? I hadn't thought to ask. Did Bill decide to take his chances on the main road rather than go up any side roads? Maybe that's what he was doing. He didn't want to go up any lesser roads in a dark, creepy area of the Navajo Reservation.

"How about this as a scenario," I said. "Bill is walking on the main road because he doesn't want to take his chances on those other roads. He doesn't know the area, but he knows the road they brought him in on. And maybe he sees a vehicle approaching but he's not sure it's friendly. So he finds a place to hide. Maybe he goes off the road a bit and hides behind some sagebrush or something. He was wearing dark clothing, after all. So the vehicle approaches and passes and it's the guy or guys who brought him out there and he knows at that moment that as soon as they find him gone, they're going to go looking for him."

Kara picked up my train of thought. "So he starts walking or running toward the highway. How fast could he go?"

"Not very, compared to a car. But he's scared. Adrenaline kicks in." I slowed down behind an RV, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. But that still doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't Bill stay hidden? All he had to do was go away from the road a bit and lie down behind some sagebrush. Chances were the driver of the vehicle wouldn't have seen him, even if he was looking for him, because he wouldn't know for sure when Bill got away or how far he might have gotten. What were we not seeing?

Kara reached over and turned the car radio on, but she switched it to CD and the world beat album I'd left in there started playing. She sat back and stared out the window and after a while, I figured she'd fallen asleep.

"Bill was into Navajo beliefs," she said, startling me.

"And?"

"And he was taken to a part of the reservation that has a rep for weird stuff."

"Ridge Star was trying to scare him. That's a good place to do it." I pictured Bill, being hauled out of a pickup in the dark and tied to whatever his captors had put out there. He had to know what was happening. He probably knew the guys who took him out there. Did he think they were going to kill him? Is that what they wanted to do?

"Think about it," Kara continued. "What if Bill was hardcore into Navajo beliefs?"

"All the more reason to try to scare the shit out of him out there. Maybe they just wanted him to give them his documentation and quit Ridge Star and they figured that was the best way to do it."

"Kase, you're not following up on the 'belief' part," Kara said. "When you really, really believe something, chances are you're going to attribute things that happen to you to your beliefs."

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Was that a part of this puzzle? Chris had said the same thing the day before, about how what you believe can make you see things. "Damn, you sound like Dad. I thought you weren't into all that religious studies academic crap," I teased.

"Whatever. You grow up in it, some of it gets stuck on you," she retorted. "Anyway, think about it. There's Bill out there by himself, tied to a stake or whatever, freaking out, and he sees something."

"Or he thinks he sees something," I corrected, grasping where Kara was going. "But it doesn't matter whether it was real or not." I stared out the windshield at the road, at the asphalt shimmering in the heat. "Because he believed he saw something."

"Exactly. And he's more scared of whatever it was he thought he saw than of the Ridge Star assholes and he busts out of the wash and takes off, freaking out the whole way."

"Of course," I said, half to myself. "Which is why he just went for the main highway. He thought something was chasing him." Something dark and scary, with bad intentions, from the nightmares of Navajo ideology. Something whose sole purpose was to cause harm to humans. But even if Bill was barreling down the road, thinking a skinwalker was after him, wouldn't the sight of a vehicle bearing down on him shake him out of it? For a moment, at least? There's still something else. Something I'm not seeing.

"I wonder--" Kara started. "Okay, let's just go a little further. What if they took Bill out there and tied him up to keep him there, in one place, so that they could do something specifically to scare him?"

"What do you mean?" I glanced over at her then back at the road. "Like, they were going to do something more to scare him?"

"Yeah. Like...I don't know. Dress up in some costume and try to scare him even more."

"That's kind of elaborate, don't you think?" I imagined Bill tied to a stake and Jimmy Surano or somebody coming up out of the wash wearing a couple of ratty coyote skins, making spooky noises. "And kind of lame. I mean, some guy dressed up in a weird outfit is going to scare another guy?"

"Why not?" she shot back, defensive. "Bill's already a believer. They leave him out there for a while to get all worked up. But maybe they didn't go too far. They drove away, then parked on the road to Tom Manyhorses' place and waited a while, then one guy gets out of the car and goes back to the wash with his outfit--"

"And scares the living shit out of Bill." I nodded. It was nuts, but this whole thing had been nuts. "So what happens is Bill breaks the rope or maybe he's been working on getting away since they left and this guy shows up imitating a Navajo witch and does scare him even more and he breaks away and takes off running."

"And the other guy chases him, but Bill thinks he's running for his life, so he's faster."

I chewed my lip again, mulling the image of Bill racing away from the wash. "I don't think even a guy running for his life is going to get too far out there."

"Agreed," Kara said. "He doesn't know the area so he'll stay on the main road. But he's scared out of his mind and they could have underestimated him." She handed me the bottle of water and this time, I took a swig and handed it back.

"So here comes Bill, like a bat out of hell, and he gets past Manyhorses' turn-off and he continues on but there's the bad guys' truck, parked up that road and the guy who scared Bill at the wash alerts the dude in the truck or car or whatever and that's how the truck ended up behind Bill." I decelerated behind a car pulling a camping trailer, chafing a little because I wanted to get home and call Chris and run all this by her. Not because I wanted to continue this investigation as a pseudo-private investigator, but because my analytical streak demanded it, needed some closure. And maybe I wanted her to talk me out of this insane scenario that Kara had helped plant in my skull.

Kara leaned back. "How far to Cuba?"

"Forty miles or so."

"Stop when we get there. I'm going to need to pee."

"Duh. Two glasses of iced tea and a bottle of water will do that to you." I flashed her a grin even as she stuck her tongue out at me.

"Now shut up so I can get some sleep." She adjusted her seat back and crossed her arms, assuming her dozing-in-the-car position. I adjusted the air conditioning and moved my own seat back a bit to give my legs a little more stretch for the drive. The landscape 550 was passing through showcased eroding desert buttes and hoodoo spires, the latter casting eerie evening shadows across the ground.

I adjusted my speed, not wanting to get nailed with a ticket, and thought about Bill's last hours of life, and the circumstances that took him to a darkened wash cloaked in ancient local fears. Did somebody dress up like a skinwalker and try to scare him? And if so, did they seriously think that a Halloween-style prank would put Bill off his investigation into dangerous working conditions at Ridge Star? Somebody felt Bill couldn't be fired, because he'd probably whistle-blow. So maybe they wanted to force him to quit. But even if they did force him to quit, so what? That wouldn't shut him up. Why the hell would a couple of guys set up such an elaborate scenario to scare him?

Around and around I go. Whoever it was had escalated the situation, from threatening calls to a couple of punches to kidnapping Bill and taking him out to the Rez. Why didn't they just tell him if he didn't do what they wanted, they'd go after Tonya? Christ, for all we knew, maybe they did and Bill kept it to himself, so as not to scare her. He might even have told them that if anything happened to her, he would go to the police or the news media. This whole thing could have been a game of cat-and-mouse with Bill and Ridge Star. Brinksmanship, until somebody blinked.

I spent the rest of the way to Cuba thinking about the man Bill was and the father he wasn't and that no matter where people ended up in life, they still had to unpack their pasts to build roads into the future. I thought about River, spending weeks--sometimes months-- in the Montana mountains, even when he wasn't guiding groups of hunters. I wondered if his demons followed him, or if he felt, at least out there when he was alone, that he could control them better. And then I thought about Sage, and how she carried her past with her, in the stubborn self-sufficiency that took her on photographic expeditions all over the world, and in the restless search for a place she could trust, that wouldn't be yanked out from under her feet. And I vowed, in the last ten miles to Cuba, that I'd work my ass off to be that place.

Chapter Nineteen

I SLOWED DOWN on the edge of Cuba, which supported maybe a thousand people within city limits, maybe twice that in the surrounding area. Highway 550 went right through the heart of it, becoming its main street for the few blocks that separated civilization from the surrounding piñon-populated hillsides. Once south of town, 550 would pick up speed on its way to Bernalillo, a sleepy village twenty miles north of Albuquerque that clung to a Spanish past even as the suburbs of Rio Rancho encroached on its back.

I pulled into a Circle K convenience store and parked in front. Kara unbuckled her seat belt. "Want anything?" she asked.

"Maybe some coffee." I got out and followed her inside and while she headed for the bathrooms in the back, I went to the coffee pots and poured a medium-sized Styrofoam cup of their "house blend." Three hazelnut creamers later, I went to the counter where a dark-haired heavyset woman rang up my purchase. "Thanks," I said when she handed me my change. She nodded and went back to reading People magazine and I returned to the car and set my cup on the roof. Another seventy miles and we'd be back in Albuquerque. I stretched, thinking about being in my own bed with Sage and little tingles of anticipation danced around my stomach. I just wanted all of this to be over.

I took my phone out of my shorts pocket and called Sage, wanting to know where she was on the drive home. No answer. I hung up without leaving a message, since she'd see that I had called. She was in the middle of driving, or she didn't hear her phone ring because she had the music too loud. I drummed my fingers on the roof of the car, not liking where my thoughts were going. Sage was a careful driver, and when she was in the car, the music was barely loud enough to make out the beat. I called again. Still no answer. This time I left a message, trying not to sound too worried. What the hell? She might have her phone's ringer off and just forgot to turn it on. We'd all done that. So why was I so uneasy?

"All right," Kara said as she exited the store. "Running on empty, thank God. Let's blow this pop stand."

I reached for my coffee and opened the driver's side door.

"Um, Kase?"

I looked across the roof of the car at Kara. "What?"

"There's a little problem." Kara pointed toward the right rear of the car.

Now what? I walked around the back to her side. "Oh, hell, no. Shit."

"I'm assuming you have a spare," Kara commented.

"Shit," I said again, glaring at the flat right rear tire. "What the hell? It felt fine driving here." Will nothing go right on this goddamn trip?

"Maybe you picked up a nail or something a few miles back and didn't notice anything right away because you pulled in here."

"I don't fucking believe this," I muttered as I opened the car's back door. I kept swearing as I hauled the spare out of its compartment and set it down on the ground next to the flat tire. "Can I just say that this trip has kind of sucked in some ways?" At least I had a full-sized spare. I wouldn't have to worry about driving forty-five miles an hour back to Albuquerque on a donut-sized tire.

"Sure. I won't argue."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically as I returned to the back and opened another compartment, from which I took the tire iron and the jack. I used the flat end of the tire iron to pry the hubcap off the flat tire, setting it aside to hold the lug nuts once I had them off. Five minutes later, I was swearing again and resisting a powerful urge to kick the tire and re-injure my foot.

Kara took a try at the nuts, but had as much luck as I did. They remained unbudged. "Damn," she said, stepping back.

"I hate this," I announced as I ran both hands through my hair. "They're probably machine-tightened." Which means I'd have to be Supergirl to get them off.

"Okay, so let's just call Sage and River and tell them what's up and when they get here, River can use his manly-man muscles."

I nodded, chafing that I'd need my sister's brother to get my damn tire changed. I dialed Sage's cell, but she didn't pick up. "Fuck," I said before I got bumped to voicemail. I left a brief message about the latest developments and told her to call me or stop at the Circle K in Cuba on her way home. Something wasn't right about that. Sage knew I was worried about her, and about the drive home. Why wouldn't she be answering? The clock on my phone registered eight-fifteen. If she'd left Farmington soon after Kara and I did, she should be near Cuba by now. Where the hell are they?

"They're on their way and out of phone range," Kara said, answering my unspoken question. "So we'll just hang out and keep trying to change the tire and they'll be along soon."

I managed a smile, since I hadn't thought about the lack of cell phone towers out here. That was it. They were just out of range. "Yeah. Let me drink some more coffee. Maybe the caffeine will give me super powers."

"Can't hurt." Kara handed me my cup. "I'll call Triple A, see what they say."

I sipped my coffee as Kara did just that. After about ten minutes, she put her hand over the phone's mouthpiece, irritated. "They can send somebody from Santa Fe but it'll be another two hours. I think I'll say no and we'll wait for Sage and River."

"That might be the best bet, since we can always go home with them and come and get the damn car later." Fucking hell.

"Okay." She returned to the phone call and thanked the operator then hung up. "Maybe we'll get lucky and somebody will show up before they do."

"Unless they're from a planet with a red sun, I think we're screwed."

"Pessimist."

"Mary Sunshine."

She flipped me off and set her phone on the dashboard. I turned and stared at the main street, hoping that Sage's headlights would round the slight curve in just a few minutes and everything would be all right and she'd tease me for worrying.

Thirty minutes later, Kara and I were still taking turns at the tire because nobody who could help had stopped at the Circle K, and Sage hadn't called nor had she and River come through town. Anxiety sat in my gut like a big, cold rock. Something wasn't right. I'd dialed River's cell phone a few times but got bumped immediately to voicemail, which meant his phone was turned off. I paced the Circle K parking lot for the hundredth time, frustrated and feeling helpless. The lights above the gas pumps buzzed in the night quiet and bunches of insects hovered around them, going about their business, not a care in the world except bouncing against a light bulb.

I had just ended up in front of the store near the payphone when a lowrider in various stages of repainting slowed at the turnoff into the parking lot and its driver pulled up in the parking space next to the passenger side of my car, where Kara was sitting with the door open. The lowrider vibrated with a heavy bass backbeat for a few seconds and then the music stopped and the driver opened the door and got out. He wore dark sunglasses and he'd tied a black bandanna around his head. It sat low on his forehead, almost touching the top of his shades. His goatee, white muscle-cut undershirt, and baggy gray trousers made him look like a throwback to the 1970s-era Chicano movement. Tattoos covered both arms, mixtures of gothic gangster writing, snakes, skulls, and pin-up girls. I saw a large cross on his inner right forearm and I guessed La Virgen was inked on his back.

"Hi," Kara said, smiling at him.

"Hey," I offered, trying to keep our options open. The guy was driving a lowrider that was in the throes of transition, given its primer coats. He was probably doing it himself, which meant he knew a little something about cars. Maybe he was feeling friendly toward a couple of strange gringas in a Circle K parking lot.

He glanced over at me then looked at Kara for a moment and I moved closer to my car. He then nodded at her and turned his head toward the spare tire resting on the pavement next to my tire iron. "You need some help?" he said in the sing-song accent of northern New Mexico.

"We do," Kara said, in a tone of voice I was sure got her dates from anybody she used it on.

He turned back to the lowrider and said something to its interior and the passenger door opened and another throwback to the Chicano movement emerged. He pushed his seat forward and another guy climbed out from the back seat. All were authentic visions of La Raza, tattooed with cholo and Brown Pride images on their arms and probably all over their backs and chests. The shortest guy--the one who had been in the back seat--had a beautiful grayand-black image of a smiling young man who looked to be in his twenties tatted on his right bicep. The letters "R.I.P." and the name "Diego" were etched in gothic script under the portrait.

The three guys went to my flat tire and studied it, offering comments about what might have flattened the tire, its gauge, and what PSI it might take. The driver was the only one wearing sunglasses, and he took them off as he bent down and examined the lug nuts. One of the guys picked up my tire iron and gave it a go at one of the lug nuts, visibly straining. The nut didn't move.

"Damn," the driver said, echoing Kara as he watched his friend. He straightened and looked at us. "That's some job you got done there," he said, a smile on his lips.

"And yes, we're pissed about it," she said, smiling back.

"Ricky, pop the trunk," the driver said over his left shoulder. The man with the Diego tattoo who'd tried to loosen the nuts snapped to attention and brushed past the driver to reach into the lowrider, down near the driver's seat. The other guy lifted the trunk's lid and rummaged around in it. He pulled out a black plastic case and set it next to my tire.

"Lemme get the extension cord," the driver said to Kara and he went into the store where I saw him through the glass front doors, chatting to the clerk behind the counter. She was laughing and left the counter to go to what I surmised was a back storage area. I turned my attention to Kara, who was talking to Ricky.

"Probably a nail," he was saying. "Hit it just right to empty it that fast. Where you going?"

"Back to Albuquerque," Kara answered. "My sister lives there." She gestured toward me and I smiled and nodded at our impromptu saviors. Ricky and the other guy nodded back.

"I got a cousin there," Ricky continued. "Owns Martinez Body Shop off Gibson. You ever need any work done like that, he's the best."

"Thanks. I'll pass that along." Kara grinned and Ricky smiled back. I was sure he was about to ask Kara to marry him when Driver opened the door of the Circle K. He carried an orange utility-style extension cord that he plugged into a socket near the payphone. The man who'd taken the black plastic case out of the trunk of the car opened it and took out what looked like a power drill but I knew was an impact wrench. I was never so happy to see one as I was at that moment at the Circle K in Cuba. Thank God for guys who work on their own cars. I got over my issue with having to ask a guy for help and moved so Driver could get past me and hand Wrench Man the end of the cord. Maybe next time Danica Patrick would be the one to stop and help. Wrench Man unwound the tool's cord and plugged it in. He attached something to the barrel of it and placed it over the lug nut closest to the tire's valve and pressed the trigger. Seconds later he pulled the wrench away and the lug nut fell to the ground.

"Yes!" I burst out. Wrench Man grinned at me, flashing a gold tooth, and returned to his task, adjusting the wrench so the nuts wouldn't come off all the way. Five minutes later, Ricky and Wrench Man had my car jacked up, the tires switched out, and lowered back to the ground on the spare.

"That is so awesome," I said. Finally. Something that went right. "Thank you." I turned to Driver and offered my hand, which he took and shook, bemused. Kara did the same just as Wrench Man finished tightening the lug nuts with my tire iron.

"Don't let nobody use the machine on these in the shop," he instructed, looking at both me and Kara as Ricky replaced the hub cap. "Or get a battery operated one." He held up the impact wrench. "I have one you can plug into your car lighter," he said as he unplugged the impact wrench and started packing it back into its case. "Works good as long as you check the charge a lot." Driver wound the extension cord up and took it into the store as Wrench Man put the case back in the lowrider's trunk and Ricky put my flat tire, jack, and tire iron in the back of my car, slamming the door shut when he was done.

"Thanks again," I said as Ricky and Wrench Man started toward the store.

"No problem," Wrench Man said. "Get your tire fixed soon, so you have a spare." He sounded like a dad might, though he couldn't have been older than twenty-five.

"Will do." I waved as he went into the store and Kara flopped into the passenger seat.

"Let's go," she said.

"Gladly." I went around to the driver's side door and just as I reached for the handle, my phone rang. I almost ripped my pocket trying to get it out and when I saw the caller ID, I nearly cried in relief. "Jesus, honey. I've been worried. Where are you?"

"K.C., it's River."

Something in his voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "What's up?"

"We had an accident--"

"What?" Fear clogged my throat. "Where are you? Are you okay?" I was suddenly freezing in the warm summer night. "What the fuck is going on? What do you mean?" Oh, Jesus. Please let her be all right. Please. Oh, God...

"Hold on. We're okay, just a little banged up--"

"Banged up? What--" I must have sounded hysterical because River interrupted me again.

"Calm down. Listen to me. We're in Farmington at the hospital. They're checking Sage over. She's got some cuts and bruises, but no broken bones. They just want to be sure nothing inside got damaged."

I stood, numb, listening to River, trying not to freak out.

"The car's in bad shape," he was saying, "and I called Detective Simmons. She should be here in a half-hour or so."

"Simmons? Why? What the hell--"

"Kase, this wasn't an accident," he said, his deep voice more urgent than I'd ever heard. "Some asshole ran us off the road."

Chapter Twenty

I TRIED NOT to glare at the emergency room nurse but failed, because she scowled right back at me. "Sage and River Crandall," I repeated, spelling "Crandall." "They were involved in a car accident about three hours ago and brought here for an examination."

The nurse made a show of looking at her computer monitor and typing something on the keyboard when Kara spoke up. "They may not have arrived by ambulance," she said, shutting me up so she could try to charm the nurse. "River called us and said that neither he nor Sage was seriously injured but they were here, at the hospital, waiting for Detective Maria Simmons."

That seemed to jog Nurse Attitude's memory because her expression changed to one of recognition. "Hold on," she said, before leaving her station and disappearing through a nearby door.

How the hell busy can an emergency room in Farmington be? I bit my tongue and forced myself not to barrel through the examination and trauma rooms, looking for my girlfriend. I was not going to be in a better mood until I saw her and touched her and made sure, for myself, that River was right and she wasn't badly injured.

"It's okay." Kara squeezed my arm. "She's okay. River's okay."

"No, it's not. Somebody tried to mess with my girlfriend and her brother. That is not okay," I said between clenched teeth, tired, stressed, and brittle in a way that left me cold and weighted with past baggage. Kara didn't say anything more, and I was glad for it because I would have started an argument with her. Events out of my control, the woman I loved in the middle of them in serious danger, and me helpless to do a damn thing about any of it. I felt trapped in my own skin. I wanted to find the bastard who did this and run his sorry ass off the road, then drag him out of his wrecked vehicle and kick whatever shit was left out of him. The depth of my rage scared me, but in a weird way, it kept me from wanting to run away.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and stared at the door the nurse had gone through, willing it to either open or to burst into flames beneath the onslaught of my gaze. "This is fucked up."

"Kase," Kara said.

Something in her voice made me turn toward her and in her eyes I saw worry and maybe a little bit of fear. I locked my retort behind my teeth at her expression.

"You're scaring me."

I unclenched my teeth, took a deep breath, and exhaled long and slow, clearing my roiling thoughts. "I'm scaring me," I admitted. "I'm sorry. I'm a little outta control right now. I just don't know what to do or how to deal with this."

"You need to be present." Kara crossed her arms, a barrier between us. "This isn't about you, and the control freak in you is pushing all your buttons."

"How is it not about me?" I demanded. "My girlfriend and her brother could have died."

She shook her head. "That's what I'm talking about." You're trying to make it your issue so you can feel like you have control. Sage isn't one of your research projects. Her father died. Her past is biting her in the ass. You're part of this, but it's not your issue." She stuck her lower jaw out a little, and it reminded me of when we were kids, challenging me or Joely. "Sage needs you right now maybe more than she ever has. She needs a partner to hold her hand and help her through this. She doesn't need a traffic cop to tell her what streets to take."

My gut knotted the way it does when I hear something I don't want to, and usually because I'm not ready yet to deal with one of my mistakes or flaws. "Fuck," I said just as Nurse Attitude appeared through the door. If she heard, she chose to ignore it.

"They're on their way," she said, expression bland, before picking up a manila folder from the counter and disappearing again only to reappear through a door that led into the nearby waiting room.

"Julio Torrez?" she said, and an elderly man who might've been a rancher pushed out of his chair and walked toward her, holding his left wrist gingerly against his midriff. They both disappeared behind the door and again I thought about charging through to find my girlfriend, but decided that Julio Torrez didn't need some half-crazed woman running wild in the various trauma rooms of the Farmington hospital.

I took several breaths, tried to calm my mind. Okay. Chill pill. God, I was tired.

"Hey," came River's voice and I looked up from the counter to see him ambling toward me from a different hallway, one I surmised led into hospital proper. "Sage is on her way." He smiled, but it looked forced. I hugged him and stepped back, looking him over. An inch-square bandage decorated his forehead over his right eye and dried blood stained the collar of his T-shirt. His left cheekbone looked swollen and already, I could tell he was on his way to a black eye. Kara also gave him a hug, but she was more careful about it.

"Shit," I said. "What's your prognosis?"

He shrugged, a little grimace accompanying the gesture. "Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing broken, no scary stuff going on inside."

"What happened?" Kara asked before I could.

River shook his head in a slow, Clint Eastwood way. "We left Tonya's around six-thirty. Sage decided to go through Shiprock and take 491 back through Gallup. Grab I-40 to Albuquerque."

"That's an extra forty or fifty miles," I said, my irritation obvious.

He nodded, another slow gesture that said as much as if he had spoken. "She gets a bug up her ass, not a damn thing anybody can do about it. Least of all me." He managed a little smile. "I love her to death, but you might as well try to cage water when she gets it in her mind to do something. Been that way all our lives."

I started to respond, but thought better of it. River's relationship with his sister was just that. His relationship with her. He knew Sage's stubborn streak. I'd just be preaching to the choir if I said anything more about how stupid I thought it was to drive 491-- especially at night. Formerly Highway 666, it had a rep that lived up to those numbers. "The Devil's Highway," locals called it, infamous for the accidents and weird stuff that garnished regional legends. It dropped south from Shiprock eighty miles to Gallup, through rugged Navajo country and given the crazy shit we'd already been dealing with...

"So you're on 491," I said instead, shoving myself into research mode. "How far did you get?"

"Maybe forty miles south of Shiprock. Not much traffic. Just the usual--local rancher-types and other area residents. A few semis." He stopped, thinking. "We picked up the asshole probably ten miles south of Shiprock, driving a dark blue pickup. It looked like an older model."

"So when did you think it might be an asshole driving?"

He offered a slight smile. "I'm kind of a suspicious guy. And when you spend a lot of time in remote areas like I do, you notice little things like stuff cars might do." He smoothed his T-shirt over his abdomen. "After I noticed the truck--"

"Wait. Were you driving?" That would seriously piss me off, if River was driving and they still took 491.

"No. But when I'm a passenger and if the car has an automatic mirror that I can control, I'll check out traffic. I'm kinda weird that way. I like to know what's following me."

Maybe not so weird, these days. "What was the truck doing?"

"Nothing that would tip off most people. Sage drives the speed limit or under it. A lot of people pass her when she's driving. This guy didn't. He got within fifty yards, maybe, but kept his speed at

Sage's. She was driving just under the speed limit. Now, if the guy was in an RV or something, I wouldn't get the heebies about it. But it was a pickup that looked like it could fit somewhere on the Rez and after ten miles of this, I didn't think the guy was just slowing for his turn-off. Sage noticed it, too."

"Did she speed up?" Kara now, moving closer.

He shook his head. "No. She wanted to see what would happen. She slowed down a bit, and the guy did, too. That's when we both knew there might be a problem."

I tugged on my chin, thinking. "What time was it?"

"Pushing seven-twenty or so."

I was about to ask another question when I spied Sage over River's shoulder, approaching from the same hallway he had. He must have seen my attention shift, because he turned as well. I started walking toward her and she sped up and threw herself into my arms. Neither of us said anything for a long moment and I closed my eyes, trying not to cry. "Goddammit," I whispered. "Please don't do that again."

"I'm sorry," she said, near my ear.

I pulled away so I could look at her. She was crying. "For what?"

"Taking 491. I know with all the weird stuff going on-- especially in that area--it was a dumb thing to do."

In spite of myself, I laughed. "Okay, I was a little pissed about that, but that's kinda stupid. It's just a damn road. If you wanted to go that way, then that's what you wanted to do."

She hugged me again. "I'm an idiot. I should have listened to you when you asked if you should hang around." She sniffled. "Now who's the psychic?" She wiped at her face with her left hand.

"It doesn't matter. You and River are safe."

She managed a smile and hugged me again. "I don't know whether the car's salvageable."

"Honey," I said, more forcefully, "it doesn't matter. You and River are safe. I don't give a shit about your car. That's replaceable. We'll deal with that later. Right now, let's go find a motel and get some sleep."

She nodded, uncharacteristically deflated, and I let go of her, though I retained my hold on her right hand with my left, worried. "Anything seriously banged up?" I asked, an afterthought. I'd almost crushed her in my hug.

"No. Just bruises from the seatbelt--" she gestured at her chest. "Some bruises on my legs from who the hell knows."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Here I was squishing you--"

She squeezed my hand and leaned into me. "I don't care. I needed you to squish me."

I almost started crying again, thinking how close I'd come to losing her. The rage that had flared earlier had settled into a hard, cold anger. If it was within my powers to do so, I'd find the driver of that truck. I'd find him, and I'd fuck him up.

"How about we get our stuff and find a motel?" River suggested. I looked at him, surprised. I'd forgotten for a moment about him and Kara.

"Stuff?" I looked from him to Sage then back to him.

"We got lucky. After the asshole ran us off the road, we got out of the car and went back up to the road. There must've been somebody behind the asshole--don't know how far away--but he stopped to help. He drove us to the hospital, too."

"Who?" Kara asked.

"Older guy." River touched the bandage on his forehead, as if making sure it hadn't come off. "Robert Bent or something."

Sage reached into the front pocket of her shorts with her free hand and pulled a business card out. "Bend. He does real estate and he was on his way to Gallup."

I took the card and read it. "Thank you, Mr. Bend," I said. "You'll be getting my undying gratitude. I'll even buy a house in Gallup from you. Where's your stuff?" I asked, looking at River.

"At the info desk in the other wing." He gestured down the hallway from which he and Sage had come.

"By the front? The main entrance?"

"Yeah," River confirmed.

"Okay. I'll go get the car and bring it around. I'll meet you all over there."

"Sounds good," Kara said as River nodded in agreement. But Sage wouldn't let go of my hand.

"I'm going with you," she said.

I almost told her no, almost told her that she didn't need to be doing much more, when I remembered what Kara had said earlier that night, about not being a traffic cop telling Sage what roads to take. "All right." I glanced over at Kara and River. "We'll meet you around front."

Kara was smiling at me. "Will do." She and River turned and headed back down the hallway while Sage pulled me toward the emergency room entrance.

As we passed the nurses' station, Nurse Attitude looked up from her monitor.

"Thank you," I said, and meant it. The flicker of a smile tugged at her lips and then Sage pulled me out the sliding glass doors.

I STUDIED SAGE'S Toyota from the highway, and though afternoon heat floated above its metal surfaces, I couldn't shake a chill that encased my spine. She and River had gone off the right side of the road, down a shallow embankment. The car was resting on an incline, front end down. A wooden fence post stood about five feet from the front bumper, part of a long series of wooden fence posts that stretched miles south and north, supporting strands of barbed wire.

"He got us from behind," River said. He was on my right, arms crossed. "A pretty good hit."

I looked over at him. He was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn't read what might have been in his eyes. He scratched his cheek before he started talking again. "Just plowed into us. I was thinking that Sage shouldn't brake. Weird, the shit you think about in a crisis." He sucked his breath through his teeth, making a whistling sound. "The dirt killed some of our speed, but the front end hit that little rise there--" he brushed past me and made his way to the passenger side of the vehicle, pointing toward the bumper. "That was a good jolt," he said, loud enough for me to hear over a passing semi.

I clenched my teeth together and pulled my phone out of my pocket, checking the screen. I had talked with Chris that morning for a good hour and managed to dissuade her from leaving Albuquerque to drive up and bring every pickup truck owner in a hundred-mile radius into the Farmington Police Department for questioning. She was "on call" with the situation, however, and I knew that meant she'd be texting or calling at "reasonable intervals" to make sure I was okay. I put the phone back in my pocket. No service out here. Maybe it was time to switch carriers. Of course, it wasn't like I made a habit of spending lots of time in remote areas of the country, trying to solve strange murders and locate pickup truck hitmen.

River scrambled up the embankment, his cowboy boots slipping a bit in the loose soil. He brushed his jeans off and glanced back at the car. "We sat there for a little bit after we stopped," he continued. "I asked Sage if she was okay, if anything was broken. She said no and we both got out then. It was still evening, so it wasn't like we had to do this in complete darkness. Fuckin' balls on that guy, running us off the road when it was still light out."

"Anything about the truck?"

"Dark blue. Maybe an early nineties model. I think it was a Ford. Lots of trucks look like that, unfortunately. But right about now, it'd have a bashed-up front bumper."

Which might make it easier to find him, if he's local. "Front plate?"

"Nope. Must be local. Unless he's from a state that requires those and he took it off."

He didn't sound convinced. I wasn't, either. "Did you get a look at him?"

"Not really. It was a guy, dark hair, dark sunglasses. I remember those. They looked like aviator sunglasses. From how he was sitting, I got the impression he might be a big dude. Light-colored shirt. Maybe tan. Maybe whitish. Seemed he's kinda broad across the shoulders."

Like he uses his upper body a lot? Like on a drill rig? No way was this a random act of violence. I glanced over at my car, pulled off the right-hand side some thirty yards ahead. In front of it sat Maria Simmons' police-issue car. She was standing between the two cars, talking to Sage. Kara lurked nearby, away from the highway. All three then started toward me and River. Dark blue pickup. Something about that stuck in my head, but I wasn't sure why.

"I'll take some photos," Simmons was saying as they got within earshot. "And get some numbers." She was carrying one of those distance-measuring wheels that survey crews used and she had a camera slung around her neck. She nodded at me as she passed, headed north, away from Sage's car.

"The tow truck driver should be here in about a half-hour," Sage said, coming to stand next to me. She put her hand in mine and I squeezed it.

"How are you doing?" I asked, wanting again to find the driver of that truck and make sure he knew what it meant to mess with someone I loved.

"Okay." She chewed her lower lip, which meant she was working up to saying something more. I gave her room to do so, knowing it might not come for a while, and watched as Simmons walked toward us, rolling the measuring device in front of her. She stopped and I held out my free hand. She transferred the handle of the measuring wheel to me and opened a small notebook and wrote something down, which I presumed was the distance from where she estimated Sage's car started leaving the highway. Simmons was dressed casually today, wearing faded jeans, plain blue tee, and hikers. Her hair was tied behind her head in a ponytail. Like all of us, she wore sunglasses.

"Thanks," she said, putting the notebook in her back pocket and taking the wheel from me. We all moved aside and watched her click off the distance from the highway's edge down the embankment to the Toyota's rear bumper. Simmons leaned the measuring instrument against the fence behind her and made another notation in her notebook. She then took several photos from various angles of the car and its surroundings, then she took photos of the embankment, photos of the highway in both directions, and photos of the car from the highway, writing in her notebook after each one. Thorough, this Simmons.

When she finished, she retrieved the measuring device and peered into the car through the driver's side window. "Hey," she said, looking up at us. "There's a note in here."

"Son of a bitch," River said. "Left us a calling card." He started down the embankment, the rest of us on his heels.

"Don't touch it," Simmons ordered. "Let me go get something to put it in. And don't touch the door handles," she added as she started toward her car. I looked through the windshield. A piece of white paper about six inches long and four inches wide lay on the driver's seat. A message in what might have been black Sharpie was hand-printed on its wrinkled surface.

Kara leaned close to the driver's side window.

"What does it say?" River tried looking over her shoulder.

"Wait...oh, shit." She straightened and looked at Sage. "It says 'go home. Don't do anything with the notebook. We are watching. Next time you won't be so lucky.' "

"Son of a bitch," River repeated.

Sage's expression boded ill for whomever had left the note. I'd seen it when she talked about facing down Megan's white supremacist boyfriend, and I'd seen it when she talked about standing up to her father's abuse and alcoholism. If whomever left that note wanted to scare her, he'd ended up doing the exact opposite.

"Excuse me," Simmons said, breathing heavily from jogging back. She held a fingerprint kit and a manila envelope. We got out of her way as she dusted the car door and handle--something I'd seen Chris do quite a few times over the years. She then dusted the passenger door on the driver's side and the front passenger door before closing her kit and setting it on the car's hood. Then she opened the rear passenger door on the passenger's side and reached around the driver's seat so she could pick up the note with tweezers.

Smart, I thought. The asshole might've used the front passenger door or the door behind the driver's seat to put the note in there.

In this awkward position, Simmons looked at the paper then maneuvered it into the manila envelope. From my discussions with Chris, I figured she didn't want to put it in plastic until it had been processed. Moisture built up in plastic bags, Chris had explained, and could ruin fingerprints. Simmons withdrew from the car and shut the door then looked at Sage. "I'd like the car towed to the station so I can have a lab tech go over it."

Sage nodded her assent.

"When you get there, come in and ask for me. I'm heading back right now." To demonstrate that, she picked up her kit. "I'm sorry about all this. As if you didn't have enough to deal with." She looked at each of us in turn, then went back up to the highway and walked to her car. We all stood in silence for a few minutes until Sage broke it.

"It's time to go home."

River, Kara, and I turned to look at her on one accord, like in a cartoon.

"We need to be back in Albuquerque." She hugged herself as if she had caught the same chill that had sunk into my bones earlier. "It's not safe for us to stay in Farmington."

"I'd agree," River said. "How do you want to work it? You want to all leave at once?"

"No, because I have to finalize things with my car."

Which meant calling the insurance company, having someone come out and appraise it and say, "Well, Ms. Crandall, the damage sustained exceeds the current Blue Book value of your car."

"But I don't have to be here for that," she continued. "I just need to make sure the car's where it can get looked at, unless the police want to hold on to it for a while."

"Okay," Kara broke in. "How about this? River and I will take K.C.'s car back to Albuquerque and you and she can do a one-way rental from here. In the meantime, River and I will hold down the fort and field phone calls and mail and keep an eye on things there. Kase, will you call Chris and give her my number?"

I nodded, thinking that it was a good plan. Kara must've learned something about organization with her enviro-groups. "Yeah. Give me your phone and I'll program her cell in."

"So you guys leave today, after you drop us off at the motel," Sage said while I took a few moments to figure out Kara's cell then put Chris's number into her contacts list. "And K.C. and I will come back tomorrow sometime, once we get a car rented and make sure my car is in a place where I can leave it for a while. If we have to, we'll stay another day." But her tone told me that another day was one too many. I handed Kara's phone back to her just as the tow truck pulled up.

"Good plan." River nodded once, touched the bandage on his head, and started up the embankment, Kara behind him.

"You okay with this?" I asked Sage, searching her face for any sign of what she might be thinking.

She hugged me. "I'm so tired. I'm tired of all the shit Dad's death stirred up, I'm tired of Ridge Star, tired of shitheads trying to scare us, and I just really need to be home with you."

I held her close for a few moments. "Then let's go home, honey." And let Detective Maria Simmons take it from here. I released Sage as the tow truck driver, a gregarious young cowboy-type, came down from the highway to assess the situation. In another day, we'd finally be out of here.

Chapter Twenty-One

"YOU SURE YOU don't want me to drive up?" Chris asked over the phone. "Maybe we could have a dance party in your motel room, lighten the mood. It's your last night in Farmington, after all."

I smiled, rubbing my forehead with my free hand at the same time. "Tempting, but no. Enterprise is picking us up tomorrow at eleven and we'll leave around noon. Simmons told us we could leave Sage's car in the police parking lot until the insurance guy tells us what we already know. But it's got to be official and shit for the claim. Plus, the police report needs to accompany the claim for responsibility and all that." I sighed and leaned back on the bed, listening to the water running in the bathtub. I heard Sage moving around in the bathroom. She had said she was a little stiff and sore and wanted to soak.

"Shit, esa," Chris said, echoing the frustration that I still felt. "I don't know what the fuck to say or do."

"That's a first," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nice. I see you haven't lost your edge."

"And which edge would that be? The one on my ass? Or the four that come together to form the point on my head?"

Chris laughed. "It's good to hear this side of you. I've been worried about you."

"Same here. Did you get Abuelita to fire up her candles for us?"

"Maybe," she said. "Dayna's doing it."

"She's not even Catholic," I retorted with a laugh.

"Since when do you have to be Catholic to enjoy a good jar candle? With a kitschy picture of a saint? I think that shit appeals across all kinds of boundaries."

"What about you, mujer? Got a candle going for us?"

"I have La Virgen fired up. What else do you want me to burn?"

"Saint Jude. He's always good for stuff like this. Lost causes and all."

"I'll call Abuelita, make sure she has one," she said. "On a more serious note, how are you really?"

"Shaken up. Tired. Pissed. Relieved to be going home. But also a little worried about what these assholes might try next. Chris, for real. Are we going to spend the next few years looking over our shoulders? Should Sage and River have police protection?"

She didn't answer right away. When she did, she was in copserious mode and I knew whatever she would say might be scary, but it would be an honest assessment based on her experience. "I can't say definitively, but let's look at the situation. The guy who did this to Sage and River most likely knows something about Bill's death. Hell, he might even be responsible for it. That means chances are, he's tied in to Ridge Star and thus a local boy. Guys like that can't just leave their jobs to go set up harassment central in a city over a hundred miles away from base."

"But it's a possibility," I said.

"Yes. It's a possibility that this cabrón will try to find you in Albuquerque. However, if he wanted Sage and River dead, he would've taken care of that last night."

Jesus. Chris--"

"I'm not saying that to be callous. You know that. But if this guy was interested in more than just a warning, he would've gone back to the car after he ran it off the road and finished the business."

Holy shit. An image of a broad-shouldered man in aviator sunglasses aiming a pistol at Sage jumped into my brain. I wanted to scream but instead I clenched my teeth together so hard my jaws hurt. In the bathroom, I heard Sage get into the water. Had the fucker done what Chris said, I would never have heard another sound from her. I jerked my focus back to Chris.

"I think he wanted to scare all of you. It worked. But I think he and whoever else is in on this--I'm leaning toward Clint Monroe-- would prefer that this all just go away and as long as they think they've got you running scared and quiet, it will. They don't know that Simmons has Bill's notebook, after all. And the guy who ran Sage off the road had to have searched the car last night, looking for it."

"So what's next? I don't want to have to hire bodyguards to follow us around all over hell and gone."

"I don't want you to, either. Simmons knows how serious this is and she struck me as a competent cop. She's got Bill's original notebook, she knows where things stand, and if she didn't think going back to Albuquerque was a good idea, she'd tell you."

"I know," I said. I'd thought about all of that, and concluded that Simmons wasn't a Keystone Kop and sure as hell wouldn't throw us to the wolves. But sometimes, the wolves get past the fence.

"And classes start soon for you. As fucked up as this is, life goes on in other quarters and I doubt this guy's going to follow you to Albuquerque. This is local shit, and bringing it to the big city opens them up to a lot more bullshit and a lot more risk they'll be caught."

"I guess. But if they still think we have the notebook, they might still think we're going to go public with it."

"Are you?" She sounded cautious.

"Fuck, I don't know. It was Bill's damn notebook and now it's Sage's and River's. If they want to go public, then they will. Or Sage might burn it and have a healing ceremony, which might put this whole fuckin' thing to rest."

"My advice?"

I knew she was going to tell me, no matter what I said.

"Keep it under wraps."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say."

"Think about it. When Simmons breaks this and gets a suspect in custody, that guy's going to spill it all. At that point, all the shit at Ridge Star is going to start going public anyway, without anybody's help. Bill's notebook will be used as motive for his death, and what's in it will also go public. Maybe not right away, but it will. Which reminds me, I've been thinking about your scenarios about what happened out there."

"Yeah? So what's the verdict? You think I could write a book?"

"You already have," she said, teasing me.

"But not about stuff like that. I could call this one 'Weird Shit on the Rez'."

"Catchy," she said. "Anyway--"

I shut up.

"I think you might be on to something with that whole scaring Bill scenario."

"The one where Kara thought it was possible a guy dressed up and went back to the wash?"

"I'm not sure I'm going to buy that part yet, but I do think they didn't want to kill him. I think they wanted him to keep quiet and leave things alone and they may have used Tonya as a threat or even threatened to go after Sage and River."

Whoa. I hadn't even thought of that. After all, Bill had their names tattooed on his forearms. He talked about his kids to some of the guys, like Nestor. And working a roughneck crew like that, word spread.

"But things got out of hand," Chris continued, "And Bill died and now whoever started this ball rolling is trying to do damage control and they're hoping you're scared and you're going to drop this thing like a hot rock."

"For once, mujer, I want to."

"That's good news. But the events are now beyond you and Sage and River. Monroe and his guys escalated this and Sage's car is now at the police station. Maybe they didn't think Sage and River would talk to the police--yes, I know. Stupid," she said, interrupting me like she read my mind before I started talking. "But most murders are crimes of passion. Sometimes they're accidental. In either scenario, they're not thought out. And that means the aftermath is not thought out. So right now, these guys are trying to get things under control. They may not know yet that they can't, but I think it's a good idea that all of you are going back to Albuquerque. Let them assume that you're backing off and you're not going to remain involved. They'll relax, maybe even say stupid shit in a bar. And that's when they'll get caught."

Chris always sounded so logical. And in my gut, I knew that in most cases, that's how it happened. The law of probability was leaning in that direction. But the uneasiness that had been hovering at the back of my brain since the day River called Sage to tell her that he'd gotten a letter from their father remained.

"Esa?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Drifted off there."

"You weren't planning on going ninja again, were you?" Chris asked in her cop tone.

"Nuh-uh. Just thinking that I hope you're right."

"I am. And if I'm not, you'll be in Albuquerque where I can kick the asses of anyone who messes with you and yours. Speaking of, how're Sage and River? And Kara?"

"Kara is still my little sister but in a weird way, she's also this other adult who's been around and I will say that it's helped me a lot, having her on this wild hair fiesta."

Chris laughed. "Make sure you tell her that."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled. "Moving along, River's River. Mr. Stoic. Physically, he's banged up but he uses that mountain man mystique to let us all know that it's just 'a little bit of bruising' or whatever. Emotionally, I know he's really upset that Sage was with him and got hurt. And that's why he was so relieved when she said she was ready to go home. I have a feeling he's going to stick around for a while, to make sure she's okay. Sage, on the other hand..." I took a deep breath then exhaled. "She was pretty freaked out but the note in her car pissed her off. However, I think she's ready to move on and she's hoping Simmons can figure it out. But there's something else there, and I'm not sure what."

"Are you pushing her?"

"No. But I'm not hiding, either."

"Good job, amiga. You've got your game plan in order," Chris said, and I heard warmth in her voice, coupled with relief. "She'll tell you when she's ready. And you'll know when to push a little bit. Stick with it. And get your ass back to Albuquerque where I can keep an eye on it."

"You want to watch my ass? Is Dayna okay with that?"

"Of course. The two of us will. We've got lawn chairs and binoculars. We'll sit across the street from your house."

I laughed. "Scary. All right, mujer. I'm gonna go do some mindless TV-watching. I'll call you tomorrow when we're back for sure."

"Muy bien. Get some rest, too. Hasta."

We hung up and I set my phone next to the lamp on the shelving unit that passed as a bedside table in these motels. I heard a muted slurping as water drained out of the tub and I smiled before turning on the TV with the remote, going to the Weather Channel. Stretching out on the bed, I settled in to watch one of the meteorologists explain a weather pattern in the Midwest and for the first time in a couple of weeks, I almost felt relaxed.

"How's Chris?" Sage asked as she emerged from the bathroom wearing a baggy pair of shorts and an even baggier T-shirt. She joined me on the bed.

"Glad we're coming home." I told her what else we'd talked about and Sage snuggled next to me, throwing her right arm over my abdomen.

"I don't have any plans to go public with the notebook," she said when I finished. "River thinks it's stupid and dangerous, even after someone's caught. It is, but it's also bad ju-ju. It'll come out. I don't want to be the catalyst for it. I just want to get through this." She paused. Then, "I have no idea why the hell I thought I wanted to know more."

I didn't answer right away and instead stroked her hair, still damp. "Because it's the kind of situation that people need to try to understand. Maybe it's some unfinished business between you and your dad."

"Mmm," she responded. "I do think, however, that what my father found should go to some kind of oversight agency. Not that it'll change anything. But it might. Maybe there'll be a class-action lawsuit down the line." She sighed. "I'm tired of this, honey. And I know I've put you through a lot." She stroked my bare arm.

"It works both ways. I just need to know that we can talk about things." I waited then, sensing that Sage was going to tell me what had been on her mind earlier. She continued stroking my arm and her lips brushed my neck.

"I thought maybe going 491, I could get a better sense of what happened out there," she said after a few minutes had passed. "I don't know why. Maybe because it feels closer to where he died and the reservation as a whole." Her fingers stopped moving on my arm and she sat up so she could look at my face. "I thought there might be answers out there. But I realized that I don't even know what the questions are."

I stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"And when that fucker bashed us from behind and we were going off the road, I thought about River and that I'd fucked up with him because I'd wanted to go 491 and then I thought about you and how upset you were going to be if this was it. And I thought how awful it was, and that all I really wanted was to see you again."

I cleared my throat but the lump in it made it difficult. I fought the tears building in my eyes.

She offered a half-smile. "And I knew you'd be thinking 'why the fuck did she go that way'?"

I smiled back but kept my mouth shut.

"And at the hospital, I was so sure you'd say something like that. But you didn't. I brought it up. You didn't. And that's when I knew how hard you've been working to change the way you do things, and how hard you've been working to be supportive while trying to keep yourself from flying off the tracks."

A tear slid out of my eye before I had a chance to stop it. She wiped it off with her fingers.

"I think I could have handled this better," she said. "I think I could've been more open with you about my feelings and things I was trying to figure out, and I realized that because of my past with my father, I don't know how to do that."

My gut churned. What was she going to say? Was she done? Oh, no. Please, no...

"Honey, it's okay," she said, soothing, recognizing my freak-out body language. "Did you just jump to the absolute worst-case scenario?"

"Um," I started.

"We'll talk about that later." She smiled. "And we'll talk about things that I should have told you already. What I realized is that I need to get some shit together. So I'm going to find a therapist when we get back to Albuquerque. I need to work through some of my baggage with Dad and with Mom, too. I don't want the habits I developed in the past to fuck things up in the future. Or at least I want to be able to deal better with things as they happen." She wiped another tear off my face.

"Wow," I said. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, not yet. I need to do this stuff alone first and then maybe if we feel we need to, we'll find someone to go to as a couple." She rolled her eyes. "But you know how I am. It'll take me a while to find someone I can work with," she said before putting her fingers on my lips. "But I'll keep looking until I do. Even if I have to drive to Santa Fe a few times a month, this is far too important. You're far too important." She kissed me and a pleasant jolt raced through my stomach down to my toes, suffusing me with the warmth of certainty and hope, and for the first time since River got Bill's letter, things were right with the world.

"So how about a romantic dinner of Papa John's pizza with extra garlic dipping sauce?" I asked when Sage pulled away.

"You sure know how to impress a girl," she teased.

"Well, as I recall, you seduced me with a burger."

She grinned. "Hmm. I did. It had green chile on it. Maybe it was the green chile." She moved away, freeing me. "Order the pizza," she said in a tone of voice that made me ache in deep parts of my body. "Extra green chile."

I reached for the phonebook.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I FINISHED TRANSFERRING our duffle bags to the trunk of the silver Chevy Cobalt I'd just rented, declining any help from the young, strapping guy who looked like he lived to pump iron when he wasn't repping and shuttling for the car rental company. We only had two duffles, both of which probably weighed less than one of the dumbbells he no doubt used for preacher curls. My laptop I'd sent home with Kara.

"Got a little butch thing going on?" Sage asked as Mr. Junior Universe drove away.

I gave her an "I'm so sure!" look. "I didn't want him to have to wear himself out before the day's over. Poor thing."

Sage giggled and got into the passenger seat of the car. I closed the trunk and slid into the driver's seat, where I put my seatbelt on and looked over at Sage. "You ready to blow this pop stand?"

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Yes. Let's get the hell out of here."

I grinned and guided us out of the lot toward Main Street. Once there, we turned left, headed toward New Mexico 550. "You know, I found out about a great body shop in Albuquerque if the insurance company thinks your car can be salvaged."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Martinez, down on Gibson. I met his cousin a couple nights ago. From what he and his friends were driving, I'm thinking you could get an awesome lowrider out of this."

"A lowrider Toyota. Not sure I've seen one of those," Sage said with a laugh. "Not sure I want to, either."

"Just sayin'." I smiled at her and reached to turn on the radio just as her cell rang. I withdrew my hand before I pressed the button, waiting for her to take the call.

"Hey, Tonya," she said. "What's up?"

Oh, no. I gripped the steering wheel as a Very Bad Feeling stomped on my previous good mood.

"What? Slow down." Sage glanced at me. "Honey, pull over," she ordered.

Fuck. I slowed at the entrance to a strip mall and pulled into the parking lot, listening to Sage talk, hearing a building anxiety. The Very Bad Feeling was sitting on my shoulder, laughing. I knew it was. It was laughing at me and saying, very quietly in my ear,

"Thought you were outta here, huh? Sucker!" My stomach sank.

"Who?" Sage was asking Tonya, urgency making her grip my arm. "Are you sure? Lock the doors. Now. And call nine-one-one. No, don't do that. Lock the doors. Don't go outside. No, don't. Lock--" Sage released my arm. "Tonya?" She hung up and stared at me, a mixture of fear, anger, and resignation in her expression. "We have to go to Tonya's."

"What?" I stared back at her. "No way. Call Simmons. Tell her there's something up at Tonya's, it's an emergency."

Sage didn't say anything, instead just looked at me.

"Goddammit," I fumed. "This isn't our battle. Let the professionals handle it." But even as I said it, I was already turning west, away from 550, and toward Shiprock.

"She got a phone call late last night from a guy who said that if she didn't give him the notebook, he'd make sure she ended up like Bill, and he'd come for it today. She was getting ready to go to work and she opened her door and there's a guy in a pickup sitting at the end of her driveway."

"Pickup?" I glanced over at her then back at the road. Maybe I did need to go to Tonya's. Because if the guy sitting in her driveway was the guy who messed with Sage and River, I was going to break his kneecaps.

"Dark blue."

And his elbows. Then I'd leave him tied to a stake near a lonely desert wash so skinwalkers could finish the job for me. I sped up. "Does she know who it is?" I gripped the steering wheel so hard my hands hurt.

"She can't tell from her window. She was scared but pissed and said she was going to go out and tell him to fuck off."

"Holy shit." Tonya might be ballsier than the guy in her driveway, sitting out there in broad freakin' daylight. In his dark blue pickup. Dark blue. Why did that keep digging at me?

"I'm going to call Simmons now."

I nodded, more to myself than Sage, and forced myself to drive the speed limit. What the hell was I racing for? What the hell could we do once we got there? The guy might have a gun. At the very least, he had a big truck and he wasn't afraid to use it. I glared out the window, imagining laser beams shooting out of my eyes.

We reached the western edge of Farmington and I sped up, thinking I was crazy to go racing toward this situation, crazy for not trying to talk Sage out of it, and crazier still for wanting to race out to Tonya's and break some guy's legs. I am not behaving logically. Then again, had Logic's girlfriend been run off the road by a thug in a pickup, Logic might fly out the window, too, jump into her car, and go looking for whoever messed with her girlfriend.

Sage hung up with Simmons and addressed me. "Tonya's about halfway between here and Shiprock. Turn left at the Hogback Trading Company. It's not far down that road, near the canal."

"What'd Simmons say?"

"She's on her way."

I didn't add anything and instead mulled possibilities and courses of action, none of which involved pulling over or turning around. "So," I said after a while, "if this guy thinks Tonya's got Bill's notebook, why did he run you and River off the road?"

"Because he thought River and I had it. When he didn't find it in my car, he decided to put some pressure on Tonya."

"But why now? Why wouldn't they pressure Tonya sooner, like a couple of days after Bill's body was found?" I sped up to get around a truck hauling a flatbed trailer piled high with bales of hay.

"Maybe because there wasn't a murder charge yet."

That made sense. Why call attention to a death you're responsible for if nobody else is saying anything? "Good point. But they had to be watching her. Maybe the asshole who ran you off the road knew you and River were there yesterday and figured she gave you the notebook. Maybe that's why they went after you. Were you carrying anything when you got in the car?"

"Shit," Sage said after a pause. "Yes. River was. That box of photos I told you about on the phone before you left. Tonya said they were photos that pre-dated her, so she figured we'd have more use for them. So somebody might have been watching us then," she added, echoing my thoughts.

"Do you remember if you saw anything or anybody that didn't look right? Or if you maybe saw the pickup that ran you off the road when you headed out?" Holy hell, I sounded like Chris.

"Let me think..." Sage stared out the windshield for a while, tapping her cell phone against her thigh. "No. I don't remember," she said, frustrated.

We drove in silence for a few more minutes before she spoke again. "I have a copy of the notebook in my bag."

I glanced at her, then back to the road, not sure where she was going with this information.

"I can give it to the guy at Tonya's house. After all, he didn't say that he wanted the original. He might not even know there is one. For all he knows, Dad made several copies of it and mailed them out to news agencies all over the country."

"And how do you propose we give it to him?" I asked, envisioning Sage marching up to the pickup and yanking the driver's side door open and saying something like, "Hey, asshole. Here's what you're looking for. My girlfriend is now going to break your kneecaps. You'd better call someone to drive you home."

"I hadn't gotten that far," she admitted with a little grin that made me laugh, a mixture of insanity, stress, and the fact that once again, I was headed toward trouble instead of away from it. Sage stared at me for a second then she, too, laughed, and it felt good to share that with her in the midst of all this craziness.

"Okay, honey, slow down. We're coming to the turn-off," Sage said, grabbing my arm. I did so, and as I turned off the road, her phone rang.

"Hey, are you okay?" she answered.

Must be Tonya, I thought, slowing down even more.

"You did what?" Sage said into her phone.

I glanced over at her, then back at the road. A car passed, going the opposite direction, and I turned onto the dirt road Sage had indicated before her phone rang.

"Pull over," she said to me, and the urgency in her voice made me pound the brake, bringing the car to a stop in a cloud of dust.

"What's going on?" I gripped the steering wheel, foot still on the brake, holding the car in position.

Sage stared at me, eyes wide in disbelief. "You're not going to believe this."

I waited, stomach knotted.

"Tonya shot him." She hesitated. There was more. There had to be. I released my death grip so I could take her hand. "But he got away," she added.

I groaned and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel.

"ON THE PLUS side, he's got to get medical attention," Kara was saying over the phone as I stood in the driveway of Tonya's double-wide, uneasily watching the dirt thoroughfare that had brought us here. Maybe thirty yards separated her front door from the road that would take us back to the highway. Although if the guy came back, he might think twice, seeing two police cars parked out front.

"If it's serious. It might not be. Tonya doesn't know for sure how much damage she did."

"But she got his license plate, too. It's just a matter of time now, Kase."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the beginnings of a headache, and still thinking about the dark blue pickup. The wind had kicked up and dust swirled around the driveway, coating my legs. "I'm so fucking tired," I said, half to myself, half to Kara.

"Okay, tell you what. Take the car back to the rental agency and I'll drive up and get you."

"Nah. By the time you got here, it'd be practically six and we'd end up staying the night. And if I spend one more night here, I'm going to go certifiably insane."

"Okay...are you sure?" She sounded worried.

"Yes. I'm so over this. How are you guys? Everything normal down there?"

"Please. I'm a Fontero. How could things be 'normal'?"

I smiled.

"If you mean, is everything as it should be, yes. No weird phone calls, no threatening letters, no blue or black pickups cruising by the house. I'm thinking that Chris is right, and once you get out of there, the nutjobs are going to stay up there and self-destruct."

"Let's hope." I turned toward the house. Somebody had added a covered porch to the front, along with a deck that went the length of the trailer. I wondered if Bill had done that. Sage was still talking to Simmons, who had brought Martin with her. He stood just behind her, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses on. He looked like secret service. Sage nodded and said something then shook Simmons' hand. "Looks like things are wrapping up here and we'll be on the road in a few. Hey, have you heard anything about Purcell?"

"Yes. Shoshana called a couple of hours ago and said he was still in Shiprock with relatives. I'll let her know what happened with Tonya so she can pass it along to him. I don't think it's necessary to call Nan."

Something jogged a memory. Nan. Pickup. Dark blue. It clicked. Purcell's driveway. Dark blue Ford. "Don't." The word was out of my mouth before I had a chance to consider it.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't tell her just yet."

"And your reasoning behind that?" she asked with a hint of petulance.

"Just a feeling. It's not about her. It's about Purcell."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You've talked to him twice. What the hell is your issue?"

"Something's not adding up." Chris always said that good instincts meant you'd been paying attention, whether you recognized it or not.

"Like what?"

"How many people live at Purcell's? Him and Nan, right? Nobody else?"

"Why would I know that?" Kara sounded irritated.

"Maybe Shoshana mentioned something about it. Think about it. It's just him and Nan there, maybe friends and relatives stopping by to visit. Right?"

"I have no fucking idea where you're going with this."

"If it's just him and Nan, and if Purcell doesn't drive--" "Not much. He does on occasion. So what?" "The truck, Kara. The fucking truck." Oh, my god. That's it. The link.

"What?"

"The first time we went to talk to him, there were three cars in the driveway, including a dark blue pickup."

"Oh, hell no--"

"Hear me out. The second time we talked to him, when I went over there to see what Monroe was up to, there were two vehicles missing, including that truck. Nan probably drove one, and I'd bet she drives the sedan, but who was driving the truck?" The thought jumped into my skull. Surano. He was driving it. Surano's the guy who ran Sage and River off the road.

"You are fucking crazy," she said, dismissing me. "Purcell probably loaned it to someone who was moving or something."

She had a point. I chewed my lip and stared again at the road.

"And if he's in on any of this, why the hell is he in Shiprock with his wife's family? He received a threat, after all."

"Did he? Or is that just what he told Shoshana?" I countered. After all, I thought, we can't prove the threat. It's what he told Shoshana. Because he knew it would get back to us. Oh. My. God. All we had to go on was what he told us. After all, we hadn't checked out any of his stories. We hadn't checked out his relationship with Monroe. Maybe they were buddies and Monroe was over at Purcell's warning him or telling him stuff about me and Kara and they got worked up trying to figure out what to do next. He's been playing us this whole time. I was almost positive that was the case. But why?

"That's it. I don't want to hear any more of this bullshit. You've been weird about Shoshana since she came on to you."

"Jesus, Kara. This isn't about her. It's about a guy that she's related to. It has nothing to do with her. If he's been feeding her crap, why would she think that it's crap? He's her uncle, after all. Why wouldn't she believe him?"

"I don't want to talk about this. I'll see you when you get home."

"Kara--" Too late. She had hung up. "Fuck," I said under my breath. I'd have to deal with her wrath later. Right now, I needed to follow up with Jamison Purcell and Jimmy Surano. I dialed Chris's personal cell but got bumped to voicemail, so I waited for the beep. "Hey, mujer, it's me. Listen, can you do me a favor and run a check on a Jimmy Surano? He might be listed as James and I think the last name is spelled S-U-R-A-N-O. He's employed at Ridge Star. I need to know if there's a connection to Jamison Purcell. Thanks. Oh, and Sage and I are about to head home. Catch you later." I left her with the assurance that we were, in fact, leaving Farmington before I hung up. I walked over to Tonya's front door, where she stood still talking to Sage and Simmons. Martin hovered behind Simmons, implacable.

"Excuse me," I interrupted, looking at Tonya. "Do you have a Farmington phonebook?" I figured she had to have one. Phonebooks were still around, especially in rural areas like these.

"Sure," she said. "Let me get it." I waited as she retreated into the house, Sage looking at me and raised an eyebrow.

"Does she have someone coming to fix the door?" I asked, deflecting.

"Yes. And what do you need a phonebook for?"

So much for deflecting with Sage. "A hunch. I'll tell you later."

Simmons started to say something but Tonya reappeared with the requested item. "Thanks," I said, taking it. I walked over to the porch railing and set the phonebook on it, flipping through the letter P as the conversation behind me resumed. Three different Purcells, but only one Jamison, and the address listed was his house. I programmed the number into my phone and closed the phonebook, which I handed back to Tonya with another thank you. She took it and managed a smile.

"We'll make sure somebody keeps an eye on the house," Simmons was saying. "In the meantime, if you notice anything strange, or if the truck comes back, call me. Here's my direct cell phone number." She handed Tonya a card. "Same goes for you," Simmons added, this time looking at Sage, who nodded and put her sunglasses on.

"Thank you so much for all your help," Sage said.

"You're welcome."

"And thanks, Tonya, for the photos."

"I think he would've wanted you to have them," Tonya said, a catch in her voice.

Sage paused. "Call if you need to."

Tonya smiled and nodded and Sage took my hand and pulled me down the two porch steps to the driveway. "Let's go," she said under her breath, squeezing my hand as we walked toward the rental car. "It's time."

We got into the car and as I pulled out of the driveway onto the dirt road that would take us back to Highway 64, I thought that yes, it was time to leave Tonya's. But maybe not quite time to leave Farmington. Yet.

Twenty minutes later, I had briefed Sage on my suspicions and pulled over at a convenience store where I went in to get something to drink, which was a large Diet Coke from the fountain. As an afterthought, I grabbed a bag of beef jerky off a rack. I paid and went outside to the payphone in front where Sage was waiting and I handed her my beverage. I leaned into the car and tossed the jerky onto the driver's seat and took my cell phone out of my pocket to look up the number for Purcell that I'd gotten out of the phonebook. Once I had the number ready on my screen, I dropped two quarters into the payphone and dialed. One ring. Two. Three.

"Hello?" Purcell answered.

Gotcha. He's at home. Okay, think fast. Make something up. "Uh, yeah," I said in a fake Texas accent. "I'm tryin' to reach Mark." My famous wrong number with a fake accent ploy, useful when calling people on a land line to see if they're where they say they are.

"Sorry, nobody by that name lives here."

"Geez, sorry about that. Thanks." I hung up and looked at Sage. "Busted. He's for sure not in Shiprock, like he told Shoshana." Who then told Kara, because he knew that'd get back to me and Sage. He'd been playing us this whole time.

She nodded, lips set in a tight, grim line.

"Call Simmons and tell her this interesting little bit of news. And tell her there might be a connection between Purcell and Surano and that she'll probably find that the dark blue truck's license traces to Purcell."

Sage took a sip of my drink and handed it to me. "I will. And maybe we should go by on our way out of town, see if he has any visitors," she said, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"I don't think so," I said, worried. "We know he's lying, which means he's tied in to this deeper than we think. Besides, some asshole just ran you off the road."

"And?"

"And I think it's best we just get home. Once Chris gets a lead on Surano, we can pass it along to Simmons. Or Simmons might get that lead herself."

"It's a perfect opportunity to see if there's a connection between Purcell and the guy who was at Tonya's. If she did manage to shoot him, and he is somehow connected to Purcell, he might go there first. And if you're right about the truck, then he may need to ditch it there for safekeeping. Get it off the road."

I chewed my lip, debating. What could it hurt? We'd just drive out there, keep a safe distance, and see if the dark blue truck was in the vicinity of Purcell's house. Then we'd call Simmons and drive back to Albuquerque. After all, we were in a rental car so even if Purcell or Surano--I was willing to bet money that the asshole who ran Sage and River off the road was Surano--saw us, they wouldn't recognize us.

"We'll just do a quick look, honey," Sage said in a tone that could get people imprisoned in places like Mexico. "Just one more tequila shot, honey..."

My better judgment warred with my research-gathering compulsion. I did want to see if the truck was back at Purcell's and, if possible, see who had been driving it. "All right," I acquiesced as I got into the car. "But call River and tell him." Just a quick look. And then I'd get Sage home.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I TOOK THE proffered binoculars from Sage and panned them across the clearing in which Purcell's house sat. "I love that your brother has all kinds of gear," I said, adjusting the focus, thinking, too, that spying on people with my girlfriend, in most circumstances, might not be considered a perfectly normal thing to do.

"And that I forgot to give these back to him before he and Kara left."

"Good thing." I trained the binoculars on the dark blue pickup parked in front of Purcell's house. Unfortunately, it was positioned in such a way that I couldn't tell whether the front bumper was bashed up and from our vantage point--standing at the mouth of Purcell's driveway--I couldn't see the license plate. Damn. I lowered the binoculars and handed them back to Sage. "What do you think?"

She took a turn with them and I glanced to my left toward the car, about fifty feet away, pulled as far off the dirt road to the right as possible, pointing toward the highway in case we had to make a quick getaway. Chris would so kill me if she knew what I was doing right now. Then Kara would kill me again, just on principle. But Sage might be able to talk them both out of it, if I was lucky. I licked my lips, anxious. Quick look, my ass. We'd been out here for twenty minutes already.

"It looks like the truck that ran us off the road," Sage said, lowering the binoculars. "Wish we could see the front of it." She put them back to her eyes again and I scanned the road then glanced at my watch. Not yet three. I hoped Nan worked regular hours and wouldn't be showing up until five or six.

"Somebody's coming out of the house," Sage said.

"Purcell?"

"No. Wait--Purcell's behind him."

"What are they doing?"

"Talking out in front...now that's interesting," she said. "The guy's got something wrong with his left arm." She handed me the binoculars and I aimed them at the front of Purcell's house. I saw Purcell, who was blocked a little by the size of the other guy. He was broad across the chest and shoulders and he had dark hair, like what River had described. I focused on his arm. Sage was right. The way he was holding it--close to his side, like he wanted to keep it from jostling, like maybe somebody had shot him earlier.

He turned and gestured toward the truck with his right hand, but if this was the man Tonya had shot a couple hours earlier, he had changed his shirt. No big blood stain or gore marred his shirt, a yellow tee. Bad color, I thought, if he wanted to keep a low profile. Of course, he could have changed out of the old shirt. Maybe he borrowed this one from Purcell. I looked at Purcell again. He was nodding and then he pointed at the man's left shoulder but the guy shook his head.

"So Tonya shoots him and he heads right over to Purcell's. Call me nuts, but that's just a tad suspicious." I gave the binoculars back to Sage.

"Not the first thing I would do if I'd just gotten shot," she concurred, tone dry. "Unless I was doing shitty, illegal things like threatening people, running them off the road, and maybe killing one."

"Of course. If I'd been doing those things, I'd totally head over to a friend's house to chat about it. Hey, bro, would you patch me up? I got shot when I busted into somebody's house. No biggie."

Sage laughed, still watching the front of Purcell's house. "They're still talking--now they're looking at the front of the truck. Purcell's not happy."

"Huh," I conjectured, sarcastic. "Maybe he's a bit pissed that his pal bashed up his truck."

She made a noncommittal noise in response and I looked to my left again, toward the highway. A black pickup was turning right, onto the road toward Purcell's driveway. "Um, honey?"

"Mmm?"

"We're about to have company. Back to the car." I grabbed her arm and started pulling her.

"What--"

"That looks a lot like Clint Monroe's truck," I said on the way to the car. "Open the doors on your side," I instructed as the pickup drew nearer. Only a couple hundred yards between us now.

Sage did as I asked and took the tourist map of New Mexico that Mr. Junior Universe had insisted she have out of the glove compartment. She opened it up on the hood of the car. "Come here and act like you're lost," she said, pointing at the map.

I ran a hand through my hair and feigned irritation, pretending to look over Sage's shoulder just as the black pickup was passing. The driver slowed down and I looked up, glad I had put my sunglasses on after my last look through the binoculars because Clint Monroe was indeed the man behind the wheel. He, too, was wearing sunglasses and he seemed to look right at me, but if he had any idea who I was, it didn't show on his face but he slowed even more and every muscle in my abdomen clenched until I realized he was turning down Purcell's driveway.

Maybe he thought we were just a couple of ditzy tourists. I fought an urge to run back to the driveway and watch him. As it turned out, I didn't have to because Sage did just that.

"Honey, wait," I called after her. "Give him time to get there."

"I did," she shouted back over her shoulder. "Come on," she entreated, waving the binoculars.

My girlfriend is insane. Maybe I'd take her to another doctor in Albuquerque to check her head again. I ran after her, catching her at the edge of the driveway, binoculars to her eyes.

"Didn't you say he and Purcell had a big fight day before yesterday?" she asked.

"Yeah. Monroe was shouting at Purcell, but I couldn't tell what he was saying."

"And Purcell gave you the impression that Monroe had threatened him." She lowered the binoculars and looked at me.

"Yeah. And he said that the phone threat he'd gotten was Jimmy Surano--" I stopped, realizing where this might be going and held out my hands for the binoculars. I trained them on Purcell's house and there stood Monroe, talking earnestly to both Purcell and Surano. I looked at Sage and shook my head with an "I'll be damned" expression. I'd been right. "Yep. Purcell played us. Shit, he's been playing us all along. He's been in on this with Monroe and Surano from the start."

"What, specifically?" Sage lowered her sunglasses over her eyes. "I don't think he killed Dad."

I thought about that for a bit. Purcell was a sneaky bastard, but was he a killer? "Okay, maybe he's playing Monroe for something." But what? "The notebook," I blurted. "That's it. Purcell says he was driven out of Ridge Star because of his back injury. What if that's true? And what if he knew what Bill was up to with the notebook, so Purcell thinks that maybe he has a shot at getting his job back or getting a settlement of some kind." "It's not like a guy like me has options for good-paying jobs..." He'd said that to me and Kara. He had told us what his motive might be for getting caught up in something like this.

Sage nodded and took the binoculars back. She pulled her sunglasses off again so she could watch the proceedings at Purcell's.

"And Bill shows Purcell his notebook," I continued, picking up steam. "So Purcell decides he's going to call Monroe and--hell, I don't know. Blackmail him. Or maybe he tells Monroe he knows where the notebook is and for a certain amount of money, he'll produce it. Then he hits up Surano to help him get the notebook. With Bill gone, Purcell thinks Tonya might have it. Maybe Nestor. But then you and River show up, and Purcell thinks maybe you have it, after visiting with Tonya yesterday. And that's why Surano went after you."

Sage turned back to me. "But why Surano? Why is he invested in this?"

"He has to be. He was on duty the day Nestor got injured. He didn't check the string. He's culpable and Nestor said he has a criminal record. He needs to keep this job. And if he's in on what happened to Bill, he's desperate. Besides," I added, "he's got some kind of connection to Purcell beyond former coworkers. Purcell must have something on him, too." I stared toward the house, but without the binoculars, I couldn't see much. "What are they doing?"

"Talking."

"Just talking? No arguing or yelling?"

"Nope. Purcell's on the phone. Oh, now Monroe's going to his truck. And Surano--if that's him--is following. He's getting in, too."

"Jesus." I grabbed her arm again. "They're leaving. And so are we."

She didn't need any urging and we ran back to the car, tearing out of there in such a way that our tires kicked up a dust cloud. So much for inconspicuous. I accelerated.

"Go back toward Farmington," Sage ordered when I stopped at the point where the dirt road intersected with the highway.

I started to tell her what I thought of that nutso plan but she cut me off. "Chances are, they're going back into town. Let's see if they do and at some point, let them get ahead of us so we can see where they go so I can call Simmons and tell her."

I turned left, back toward town.

A STAKEOUT. THAT was the only way to describe what we were doing, parked between an abandoned mobile home and a rundown suburban-style home that looked like it might not have any residents, either. We were positioned about the distance of a block from Nestor's place. A sagging brown station wagon that looked like it hadn't been driven since the early 1970s hunkered on a patch of hard-packed earth near the trailer's front door, the right back wheel missing. A white van of similar vintage was pulled up behind the station wagon, where it rested on two flat front tires and two bald rear ones. Most of the glass was broken out of its windows.

I had parked the rental car parallel to the van, backing in next to it in such a way that the nose of the car jutted just a bit past the back of the van. If we leaned forward, we were able to just see Monroe's truck--driver's side toward us--which stood in front of Nestor's house. No other cars were there, so I guessed that Nestor had been alone when Monroe and Surano came calling. That may have been the phone call Purcell had made--to see if Nestor was alone for a while.

"This can't be good," I said for the tenth time. I chewed on a piece of beef jerky for something to do that might ease my anxiety. My window was down and so far, we hadn't heard any shots fired or loud noises that might indicate somebody slamming against a wall inside Nestor's. I scanned the mixture of houses and mobile homes, looking for signs of life beyond a couple of ratty dogs snuffling a ripped-up bag of trash in front of the house across the road. Did nobody else live down here?

"It's not," Sage concurred. "But until they actually do something bad or questionable, Simmons can't do much." She toyed with her phone. She had called River again, right after we left Purcell's, but didn't get him so she sent him a text message as well, just to cover her bases.

I leaned forward again, watching Nestor's house. Almost six. We'd been out here for over an hour. I wondered if Chris's stakeouts were this boring. Speaking of which, I checked my phone, which I'd turned to "no sounds," to see if I'd missed any messages. Nope. She was probably thinking I was already back in Albuquerque and she'd stop by the house with the info. And when she saw I wasn't there, she'd call. River could run interference for us. I chewed my lip yet again, thinking. Kara hadn't called, either. Still pissed, I guessed. I sighed and shut my eyes, trying to keep calm though my stomach was tied into a bunch of different knots.

"Something's happening," Sage said as she leaned over me. "That's Monroe."

I turned my head. Clint Monroe was indeed standing on Nestor's front porch. He lit a cigarette, and it reminded me of a cheesy crime drama because he looked so furtive doing it. He took a drag, tapping his other hand, all nervous, against his thigh. Surano appeared in the doorway behind him, his frame almost filled it. Monroe looked at him and nodded and Surano disappeared again, leaving Monroe smoking on the porch. Less than a minute later, Surano appeared with Nestor, the latter's left arm over Surano's right shoulder. Nestor sagged against Surano, his head hanging. I couldn't see his face, thus. Only the top of his head. Surano moved awkwardly, favoring his left arm, and maneuvered Nestor to the porch steps.

"What the fuck? What are they doing?" I leaned forward even more, but Monroe's truck blocked my view though I could tell that Surano was half-dragging Nestor down the front porch steps.

"Looks like they're putting Nestor in the truck," Sage responded. And indeed, Monroe tossed his cigarette onto the ground and went to the driver's side of his truck. He opened the door and leaned in, pulling on something, from his body language. I guessed it was Nestor he was helping haul into the cab. Satisfied, Monroe climbed in and shut the door and Surano did the same on the passenger side. I heard the truck start and Monroe backed it up.

"Get down," I commanded, slipping down in my seat and leaning across the car toward her. She did the same, leaning toward me, and I held my breath, hoping that Surano wasn't sitting high enough to look down over the dashboard of the car and see us trying to hide. Monroe's truck rumbled past and Sage started to sit up but I threw my arm over her, preventing it. "Hold on." I counted to twenty, let go of her, and we both sat up.

"Okay, now what?" I asked, buckling up and starting the car.

"I'm going to call Simmons again."

I started driving, my thoughts going a mile a minute. My gut told me that Monroe and Surano were up to No Good, and that they were going to perpetrate No Good on Nestor, if they hadn't already, given how Surano had brought him out of his house. If something was wrong with Nestor--and that's how it looked--were Monroe and Surano just taking him to a doctor? Sure, Kase. That's what they're doing. They stopped in to have a cup of coffee, Nestor wasn't feeling well, and now they're taking him to a doctor. Without his wheelchair. I stopped at the highway, not sure which direction to go. And monkeys are going to fly out of my butt.

I turned right on 491, north toward Shiprock, not sure why, but something in my gut was telling me to do it. Sage was leaving a message for Simmons, saying she wasn't sure where the bad guys were headed, but we'd try to find out and call her back. I arrived at the junction of 491 and 64 and turned left onto 64, headed west toward Arizona.

Sage had hung up and sat staring out the windshield. She checked her phone. "River hasn't called back. Dammit. I hate when he does this." She speed-dialed him, but got his voicemail, from her tone. "Hey, it's us. Something's freaky here. I already called Simmons and I'm waiting for her to call back. Monroe and a guy we think is Jimmy Surano took Nestor somewhere in Monroe's truck. I think maybe they might be trying to scare him like they did Dad. We're going to see if we can figure out where they went and I'll call Simmons and let her know if she doesn't call first, so don't worry. We're not playing sheriff here, so you don't have to, either." She hung up again. "What do you think?" she asked me.

"I don't know," I said, meaning it. I slowed and turned left onto the dirt road that would take us to where Tom Manyhorses had found Bill. I stopped the car. "Do you think they'd take Nestor to that wash?"

"Yes." The conviction in her voice was absolute.

I nodded. "Call Simmons and tell her that."

"I did tell her."

I looked over at her. Of course she had. I licked my lips, nervous, and gazed down the road, at Tse Bi dahi, its dark jagged surface foreboding, even in the soft evening light. On either side of us, swaths of desert held in place by grasses, cactus, and sagebrush stretched for miles, broken by distant buttes and arroyos, interrupted briefly by a house or two. "Okay." I took my foot off the brake. Sage squeezed my thigh, a comforting gesture, and we headed south, toward the wash.

After what seemed like an hour though it was only fifteen minutes, I stopped the car where the road ended and melted into the two-tire track to the wash. No way was I taking a rental car down there. Besides, the undercarriage's clearance wasn't high enough to traverse some of the ruts. We both got out and studied the track. Hard-packed earth, for the most part, but a couple of spots a few feet away from us were softer, probably from the seasonal monsoon rainstorms. In these spots--deep ruts--water was slower to evaporate and slow to sink into saturated earth.

I studied these ruts, noting that the soil therein was more like mud, with a surface latticework of cracks that mud gets when it's drying. Anybody driving to the wash would have to come into contact with one or both of these ruts and that would leave either a partial or complete tire tread or the mud would be disturbed. I looked over at Sage. Monroe and Surano hadn't brought Nestor here.

"Not yet," she said aloud.

"You think they're still planning to bring him here?"

"It makes sense." She took a few steps farther down the track.

"Sage."

She stopped and turned toward me.

"Don't." I beckoned her back to the car, not sure why I felt so strongly that she needed to get the hell off that track and back into the car. To my relief, she complied and opened the passenger car door. I reached for the handle of the driver's side door, opened it, and froze, staring down the track toward the wash. Encroaching dusk didn't hide the figure that stood a few hundred yards distant. What the hell?

"Get in the car," came Sage's voice.

"But there's somebody there," I said, straining to make out the figure's relevant features though every hair on the back of my neck was trying to jump out of my skin and a Very Bad Feeling had infiltrated my brain. The figure looked human, and it seemed to be wearing a light-colored shirt and dark pants. I relaxed, but the hair on my neck didn't. Just a local rancher, I tried to convince myself and the hair on my neck. Out looking for cows. Didn't Tom Manyhorses say that he'd found some cows down at that wash? Of course, they'd been killed...

"K.C., get in the goddamn car now."

The figure moved, dropped into a crouch, and seemed to dart to its left, off the track. I saw it do that. I saw it jump off the track and then...it disappeared. Holy Mary, Mother of God.

"K.C., now!"

I threw myself into the driver's seat, slamming the door and ramming the car into reverse at about the same time. The back tires caught in the softer dirt beyond the surface of the road we'd come in on and spun, kicking up rocks and adding fuel to the Very Bad Feeling. "Fuck!" I eased up on the accelerator, stomped the brake, and shifted into a lower gear.

"Lock the doors," Sage ordered, and though she wasn't shouting, the tone of her voice carried far more warning than if she had. I reached for the buttons on the armrest of the door and clicked one of them, automatically locking both doors just as something landed on the roof of the car. A heavy, meaty thunk. Like a body.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I swore, and a surge of adrenaline blocked any rational thought I may have had as I gunned the engine and spun out of the soft spot, fishtailing to the left then the right as all the car's tires gained purchase on the main dirt road and shot forward. Sage's fingertips were embedded in my leg and she was saying something that I didn't understand and in the rearview mirror, a figure stood in the middle of the road, getting smaller as we gained speed and put more distance between us. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, holy shit, oh, my God," I said over and over, matching the cadence of whatever Sage was saying as we sped toward the main highway, my teeth rattling in my skull as the car's tires skipped across the washboarding.

And then things went from bad to worse. Or maybe, more appropriately, worse to bad. Regardless, our situation had not improved. The vehicle approaching us in the growing darkness was Clint Monroe's truck.

"Keep driving," Sage said, assessing the situation. "But slow down. "

And act natural. Freaky shit notwithstanding. I eased up on the accelerator and turned my headlights on. Acting natural. That's me. "Can you see who's in the truck?" I kept my eyes on the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel, thinking I needed either to cry or throw up.

The truck passed and I forced myself not to look at it, not to give Monroe any reason to think that he'd seen us earlier. Please don't slow down, I silently begged. He didn't. I saw his tailgate recede in my rearview mirror.

"All three." Sage pulled her phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. "Shit. I don't get service out here."

"Me neither." I still held the steering wheel like I was going to choke it to death.

Sage squeezed my thigh. "Just keep going back to Shiprock. We'll be all right."

I nodded and fought another urge to cry. Another pair of headlights appeared, again from the highway. What was up with all the traffic?

Sage leaned forward, peering intently out the windshield. "I don't fucking believe it." She started laughing, and her relief washed over me, too. "Honey, stop the car. It's River."

"Are you sure?" I was not thrilled to stop out here, after what had happened with the weird figure on the track to the wash. And what the hell was River doing out here, anyway?

"Positive."

I took my foot off the gas pedal and braked. Before I had the car in "park" Sage was out of the car waving her arms and I exhaled, letting myself sag in my seat for a few seconds as River's familiar truck also stopped, next to ours. The way we'd parked, we pretty much took up the whole road. Well, so? Not like anybody else was going to show up. I hoped. River got out and I did the same.

"Dude, are we glad to see you," I said, walking toward him.

"Same here." He grabbed Sage in a fierce hug then released her, turning to me and giving me a quick squeeze. "Had a bad feeling. Kara did, too." He gestured with his chin at the cab of his truck and Kara took that as a signal to get out and join us. I hugged her before she could start ragging on me for anything. It must have surprised her because she didn't say anything.

"After Sage called from Purcell's, I just had a feeling something was fucked up. So what's the update?" River took his baseball cap off and ran his hand through his hair before replacing it on his head.

"Weird shit at the wash--" I started then remembered the roof of the car. Oh, hell. I glanced over at Sage to take over, since I wasn't sure what I'd say. "Oh, and this skinwalker showed up and jumped onto the car and then we had to bail like bats out of hell..." Sage could handle this conversation better than I could. Skinwalker. Was that what it was? I glared at the car. What else could it have been? I inspected the roof, looking for dents and scratches, wondering where to file "supernatural occurrences" in my logical, rational world. I ran my hands over the roof. Even in full dusk, enough light remained that I could see pretty well, but I checked with my fingers as well. I stepped back, staring at the roof. Nothing. Not a mark, no dents. Everything as it should be. "What the fuck?" I muttered.

"K.C." Sage's voice broke my ruminations.

I turned away from the car, frustrated and puzzled. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to call Simmons on Kara's cell. Hers gets a signal out here. We're about a mile from the highway and River thinks we should stay here and wait for her."

"Are you sure? Maybe we should go to the highway and just wait near the turn-off." The thought of hanging out here in the darkness with--well, with whatever that was--and Monroe and Surano appealed to me about as much as running naked and blindfolded through the desert did. And maybe we should just buy two one-way tickets to some unknown island in the South Pacific, where skinwalkers weren't part of the indigenous traditions.

Sage seemed to consider my suggestion for a few seconds. "Let me call Simmons first before we do anything."

The rest of us nodded and waited while Sage dialed Simmons' number. Please pick up, I concentrated, trying to will Detective Maria Simmons to--just this once--answer a phone that registered a number she might not know.

"Hello? Detective Simmons? We've got a situation."

I took a deep breath, and every muscle in my body relaxed. I turned back toward the wash, toward Tse Bi Dahi, now just a darker outline against nightfall.

"So you had a weird experience out there." Kara's voice, near my right shoulder.

"Something like that. I don't want to talk about it for a while. And definitely not right now." Don't want to call the damn thing over here. I chewed my lip. Christ. Just like a believer, to think that.

"I'm sorry," Kara said.

"For what?" I didn't turn to her, instead kept my attention focused south. Would I be able to see a skinwalker if it moved? Would it use the road?

"For acting like that about Shoshana and Jamison."

"I'd probably do the same thing." What was that? I strained my eyes, trying to pick out different shapes in what little light remained. "Kind of rude, for your sister to diss your new girlfriend's uncle, after all." My eyes were woefully human, seeing things that moved when there probably weren't things moving at all. Maybe I was having a bad dream. A two-week nightmare. I wanted to go home, call some Navajo healer to do a ceremony, and get on with my life. Or at least wake up from this giant freak-out.

"You didn't. And I just wanted to tell you I was sorry."

I wrenched my attention away from the road and focused on Kara. "Thanks." I managed a smile. "Now please help me convince Sage and River that it's a very bad idea to stay out here."

Kara squeezed my shoulder. "I'm with you on that."

We both turned back toward Sage, who was still talking to

Simmons. River stood very close to her, protective. "So for real," I said to Kara. "What made you guys come back?"

"Weird feeling. River told me what Sage said when she called from Purcell's and I felt like a total ass because you were right, and it wasn't about Shoshana. He and I talked about it for a little bit and he said he wasn't feeling good about what was happening and he wanted to come back up and make sure everything was okay. Very guy-like." She laughed a little. "But I thought it was a good idea. So I came along. Mom would kill me if I didn't keep an eye on you."

"Well, it's much appreciated. Sorry for dragging you out here again."

"Um, hello. It was my decision in conjunction with River's. You're my sister. It doesn't matter how far I have to travel to make sure you're okay." She poked me in the stomach. "You didn't drag anybody out here. Except maybe Sage, and in this case, I think it's the other way around."

I laughed. "Bingo."

"Okay, Simmons says she's on her way with Agent Martin and a couple of other people. It'll be another half-hour or so," Sage reported as she hung up and handed the phone back to Kara. "I told her to call your number if she needs to."

Kara nodded and gave the phone back. "Then you should hold on to this."

Sage looked at her, then at the phone. "Okay."

"Is she bringing an ambulance?" I asked. "Or somebody with medical training?" I hoped Nestor didn't need either of those, but given what we'd seen at his house, it was a good idea to have someone on hand who could take care of him.

"She said she'd call the Shiprock service and see if they could be on standby."

"So how about we all go wait at the turn-off?" I pleaded. "And maybe we could send Kara for burgers or something."

She smacked me on the arm.

"Hey, come on. I'm weak with hunger. I haven't eaten anything but a couple of bites of beef jerky since before lunch. Could you get me a Diet Coke, too?"

She smacked me again and for a moment, things were almost normal. Almost.

"Quiet." River pushed between me and Kara to stand a few feet away, listening. Sage moved next to me and took my hand in the dark. I pulled her closer and her body against mine both calmed and comforted.

"What?" Kara asked after we'd given River a minute.

"Shh."

I sensed rather than saw him raise his arm toward us in a "stop" motion. We all shut up, and I listened, too, trying to figure out what he'd heard, categorizing sounds of a desert night. The remnants of a wind as the air cooled, the rustling of dry grasses. Distant engine noise from one of the highways... and something else. Yelling? I listened harder. "What the hell is that?" I whispered.

"Sounds like somebody's shouting," came Kara's response in the dark.

"In a bad way," Sage added, pressing against me harder.

"I'm gonna check it out." River moved toward his truck, and I heard his boots in the dirt on the road.

"Nuh-uh." I let go of Sage and grabbed his arm as he passed. "If that's Monroe, they might have guns. And I am not going to let some asshole shoot my partner's brother's butt off. Besides, we have to wait for Simmons."

"River, don't." Sage took over the conversation. "K.C.'s right. It's not just Monroe you need to worry about." Her words were low and barbed. I winced, all too familiar with a sibling showdown. "You said yourself you didn't want to go to that wash the last time we were out here. Why the hell do you want to go now, in the dark?"

He said something I didn't catch and Sage said something back. I moved away a bit, giving them space, and picked Kara's light-colored T-shirt out of the darkness. She was standing where River had just been.

"Something's going on out there," she said. "Do you hear that?"

I shoved my hands into my pockets and concentrated on listening, on picking out different sounds. More faint shouting and then something that sounded distantly metallic, like a car door closing. Too far away to know for sure. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, growing more uneasy by the second and the Very Bad Feeling had started hovering around my head again, like a vulture circling roadkill. "We need to get out of here," I whispered. I pulled Kara with me, back toward the vehicles. "We're all leaving," I announced. "We'll wait at the turn-off."

Sage started toward the rental but River didn't move. Kara stood next to me, and I sensed her hesitation.

"Nestor's out there," River protested. "We can't just leave him."

"We're not," I corrected. "Help is on the way."

"We owe him some support," he argued.

"And we're giving it to him." I shifted into rational mode. Sage had told me once it was my most stubborn manifestation and I used it now, with extra rational juice. "The police are on the way and they've got much more experience than we do dealing with a potential hostage situation. This isn't a goddamn movie and we're not the freakin' X-Men. Let the experts handle it, because if we try to help Nestor without them, we might make things a lot worse for him." I opened the driver's side door of the rental car, adding finality to my pronouncement. What the hell did River think we could accomplish, pulling some crazy Lone Ranger stunt? "Pardon us, Clint. But do you mind if we just take Nestor to the hospital to get checked out?" I started to get into the car, hoping Sage would follow and River would see the error of his ways and drive Kara back to the highway. If he didn't, then Kara could go with us. But then, he'd be out here by himself and we couldn't leave him alone. Dammit.

In the glow afforded by the dome light over my head, a standoff ensued. River, arms folded over his chest, glowering at me. Sage, frustrated, glaring at River. And Kara, worried, not looking at any of us but rather, staring into the darkness toward the wash. The Very Bad Feeling sank its talons into my shoulders.

"Guys," she said. "Someone's coming."

I got out of the car, but I left the door open, ready for a quick getaway.

River strode over to Kara and stood with her, peering down the road. "Sounds like it." He turned abruptly and went back to his truck, where he rummaged around behind the seat. I looked over at Sage, seeking clarity. Or at least reassurance. From her expression, both were in short supply.

"It's a car engine," Kara informed us. She sounded relieved. After all, dealing with bad guys driving cars was easier than dealing with something that may or may not have supernatural powers. Humans and cars I understood. Navajo witches I didn't.

I listened for a few seconds. Definitely an engine. And revved up, coming closer. No headlights. What was up with that? Was the vehicle even on this road? Or was it on the highway and we were just freaked out and assumed it was on this road?

The noise increased in volume, like it was coming closer. Still no lights. The Very Bad Feeling urged me to get into the rental car and drive very far away, in the opposite direction. "Okay," I said, "If it's on this road, the driver's got no lights on and might not see us." And thus will plow right into either the rental car, River's truck, or both. And all of us, as well. That scenario did not please me. River flicked on his headlights and left his door open so that his dome light was on, as well. His headlights lanced into the night, but nothing beyond the road and slices of desert on each side broke their field. The noise of the approaching engine was much louder. Definitely on this road and headed right for us.

"It's almost here," Kara stated in a monotone I recognized as her "I'm trying not to freak out" tone.

River joined us, holding a rifle in such a way that it pointed at the sky, resting against his right shoulder.

"Holy shit," I blurted. "What are--"

"Get out of the way," he shouted. "Everybody, move." He grabbed Kara with his free hand and yanked her off the road, pulling her past the rental car and into the desert.

Chapter Twenty-Four

SAGE GRIPPED MY arm and dragged me after River just as two headlights lasered past the boundary River's had established. I tried to watch over my shoulder as Clint Monroe's truck barreled straight for our vehicles and an inane thought flashed through my mind, that I wished I'd bought the optional insurance coverage at the rental car place. Fuck. And then I tripped and stumbled, trying to regain my footing in the soft dirt beyond the road. Sage let go of my arm as I fell onto something sharp that jabbed me in the right thigh. No time to deal with it. I started to get up and Sage's hands were on me again, hauling me to my feet but I didn't run. I stood, staring, waiting for Monroe's truck to slam into the rental car, bracing for the sound of metal on metal and the explosion of glass.

Instead, Monroe's truck went into a full skid as the driver tried braking then it veered off the left side of the road, barely missing the front end of River's truck. Dirt and rocks flew through the air, swirling in the glow of River's headlights, obscuring my view. I thought Monroe's truck was airborne for a second as it sailed off the berm that separated the side of the road from the desert before I heard it slam to earth in a cacophony of groaning and rending metal mingled with the scrape of rock, dirt, and brush and then an aftermath of grating, crunching, and wounded creaks as the truck settled into its own wreckage like a dying animal.

Dust and dirt billowed over River's truck and then the rental car, dissipating before it engulfed us. Nobody moved. Instead, we all seemed to be holding our breaths, waiting for something to happen. Long moments passed and I thought maybe we'd end up finding a dead guy behind the wheel of a bunch of mangled metal that had once been a vehicle.

"Goddamn--" came a voice from the direction of the wrecked truck. "--Christ..."

I exhaled in relief. Good. One live guy, at least. River started moving in the direction of the wreck, brandishing his rifle like someone who'd had long experience with it. Visions of a shootout flashed through my head, with River braced against the bed of his pickup, his rifle trained on whoever had been driving Monroe's vehicle.

Kara, Sage, and I followed him. He stopped at the front of his truck, waiting. I peered past River's pickup, my gaze drawn by a lone headlight pointing north, toward the highway we'd come in on. From what I could tell, Monroe's truck rested on its side, driver's door to the sky, maybe a hundred feet from us. Had he rolled the truck? Or did his momentum tip it that direction after he skidded, hit the berm, then landed, still traveling? And speaking of the driver, what was he doing?

"Hey," River called, into the darkness. "You okay?"

We all kept quiet, waiting for a response. Something that might have been scrabbling in dirt caught my ear. "Sounds like he's opted to keep quiet," I muttered.

River tried again. "Driver! You all right?"

Silence. River adjusted his stance, which made me even more nervous.

"Guess we'd better go check on him," he said.

I licked my lips and stared hard at the shape of the overturned truck. What if Monroe had a gun? What if Surano was with him and they both had guns? I glanced at Sage, who was looking at me, a question in her eyes. I shrugged, not sure what to do.

"They don't know who we are," Kara said. "We're just concerned Samaritans, wanting to lend a hand." She looked over at me.

"True," I said. "Flashlight?" I asked River.

"Yeah. Hold on." He leaned into his truck.

"You okay?" I asked Sage.

She nodded. "He's going to go over there," she stated, pissed.

"Probably. I'll go with him." I said it before I'd even thought about it. "Excuse me?" my rational self asked. "You're going to do what? Why don't you just throw yourself off a cliff?"

"Ready?" River held up the flashlight--a big, heavy Maglite-- and I took it from him. "Maybe you'd better stay here," he said to Sage. "Simmons'll be here soon."

She frowned.

"Look," he continued. "If they're hurt, we're assholes for not helping. And if they don't know who we are, then we'll be okay."

Sage looked at him with an expression that I swore I'd seen in a movie, on Godzilla right before he fried something.

"Nestor could be over there." He was almost pleading, a younger brother trying to get his implacable older sister to agree with him.

"River's got a point." Kara inserted herself between River and Sage. "Somebody's got to check on the truck, and somebody's got to stay here in case Simmons comes. I don't think anybody should go over there alone, and I don't think anybody should stay here alone. So River and K.C. can check on the truck and you and I can stay here, running interference."

"This is messed up all around. But that's the most logical solution." I looked at Kara to avoid Sage's Godzilla eyes and flicked on the flashlight. "We'll be right back," I said, then started walking. Please don't let that be my "famous last words" line, I thought, as River joined me and we started picking our way around the sage and cactus toward Monroe's truck.

"Be careful," Sage called after us.

"We will," I called back, thinking that I really needed to pee, that I wished I'd never heard of Farmington, and that I had super powers. I thought of Chris, then, and hoped that when this was all over, she'd still speak to me.

"Anybody there?" River directed the question to the truck, a dark hulk looming about thirty feet distant against the night sky. "Hello?" He was holding the rifle in such a way that he was prepared to use it. I swallowed hard and shined the flashlight's beam on the truck. It was, indeed, lying on its side, driver's door to the sky. The roof was facing us, so we couldn't see into the cab.

"Shit," I muttered. We'd have to go closer so we could look inside the cab through the windshield. I shined the flashlight over the back. No sign of anyone, and that creeped me out far more than if I saw a body.

"Hey," River tried again. "Anybody in there?"

We both stood, waiting. Something that might have been a soft groan greeted us.

"Nes--" River started.

I smacked him on the arm, preventing him from tipping either Monroe or Surano off, if they were in the truck.

"Ow."

"No names," I said in a voice just loud enough for him to hear.

"Anybody?" He called.

Another groan, this one louder.

I clenched my jaw and glanced back at Sage, who was silhouetted in the headlights of River's truck, watching. Please don't let anything else happen, I thought. I re-focused on the truck and River and I walked toward our right so that I could shine the flashlight into the cab. The beam picked up what looked like a crumpled heap of clothing in what would have been the passenger side, except now it was lying on top of the passenger side window, given the position of the truck.

The clothing moved and I suppressed an urge to run. And then the clothing grew a head. Or rather, the person wearing the clothes moved a little and in the flashlight's beam, I recognized the yellow tee. Surano. I shined the flashlight on the truck's steering wheel. No driver. Maybe Surano had been the driver and he wasn't wearing a seatbelt. No sign of Nestor, either.

"Hey," I said, moving a little closer, ignoring the growing urge I had to pee. And flee. Kara called it the "pee and flee response." I had it now. In spades. "Can you hear me?"

Surano groaned. "I'm hurt," he said.

"Can you move?" River pushed past me and squatted outside the windshield, trying to get a better look at Surano's position.

He groaned again and untangled his arms. Blood smeared his forehead and splotched his shirt. Not a good day for Mr. Surano.

"Does the truck have a back slider window?" River asked me.

"I think so..." I checked anyway, in case my memory was off. "Yeah."

"We can bring him out that way." River handed me his rifle and assessed the back window. "It's open," he said aloud.

I tried not to freak out, the smooth wood of the gun's stock in my palm. I held it by the butt end, my right fingers looped through the cocking lever and I had it pointing at the ground, which only made me feel marginally better. Had River cocked it? Jesus, I hoped the safety was on. My stomach lurched and I breathed through my mouth, positioning myself so I could shine the light on the window so River could see what he was doing. Why was it open? Would Monroe have been driving down this road with that window open? It was a new truck. He'd use air conditioning, and he wouldn't want Nestor yelling for help. Had Monroe been driving and bailed through the window?

River put his head and shoulders through the opening and tried to help Surano maneuver into a different position. Somebody else had to be in the truck with him when it crashed. My money was on Monroe, who seemed to have extricated himself and...and what? Where the hell did he go? Keeping the light trained on the back of the truck, I surveyed the darkness around the vehicle. And if he did get out, why would he keep quiet?

Carefully, and with a whole lot of grunting on Surano's part, River pulled him out the back window, his hands under Surano's arms, crossed over his chest.

"Shit," Surano swore. "Fuckin' hurts." River lowered him to the ground. They both rested a moment and I shined the light on Surano's chest, just underneath his left shoulder, where I suspected Tonya had shot him. The bloodstain on his shirt glistened. "Hit the goddamn windshield," he said, touching his forehead.

River stood and I handed the gun back to him, like it was a live snake.

"Thanks." Surano was sitting down, legs in front of him, leaning against the truck's cab. He tried to get up, winced, and settled back down. "Gotta get out of here," he managed. "Might need some help walking."

"Help's on the way," I said, not relishing the idea of Surano draped either on me or River. Or both of us.

"Still gotta get away from here," he insisted, trying to get up again. "Before it comes back."

It? I looked at River, but he was focused on Surano. "Was there somebody in the truck with you?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Where'd they go?"

Surano braced himself on the cab and with a mighty effort, gained his feet. He stood now, but he still leaned against the truck. "Don't know."

"He's shocky," River suggested, sounding uncertain.

"Who was driving?" I pressed.

Surano touched the blood on his head again before responding. "Clint. Bastard. Left me with that...thing runnin' around out here. Ran us off the road. Fast fucker, that's for sure."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up again, but I did not want to pursue any line of questioning that dealt with a fast thing running around in the desert. So instead, I asked, "Where's Clint?"

"Don't know. Doesn't matter. I'm not going out there to find him."

River adjusted the rifle's weight.

"That won't do much good against whatever it was back there." Surano pointed at the gun then slumped back against the truck.

"Against what?" I had another Very Bad Feeling.

"Fuckin' thing. Chased us..." his voice faltered. "Not feelin' so good. Fuckin' Clint."

River stepped closer until he was a foot from Surano. "Where's Nestor?"

"Back there." Surano gestured in the direction of the wash. Then he seemed to realize what River had said. "Wait. Who the fuck are you?" He glared at River and in the beam of the flashlight, Surano's face appeared downright malevolent all of a sudden. I looked around, even more nervous.

"What the hell did you do to Nestor?" River asked again as he took a step closer, and Surano drew himself up a bit.

"He's okay," he said, defensive. "We just wanted to scare him a little."

"Like what you did to Bill?"

"River." I grabbed his arm.

"What the fuck? Who are you?" Surano's tone had turned belligerent.

"I'm about to be your worst goddamn nightmare," River said in a tone that I'd never heard him use, and he shoved the barrel of his rifle under Surano's chin.

Holy shit. "Hey--" I put my hand on River's forearm. "Don't." I turned, looking for Sage. Maybe she could calm him down. I couldn't see her, though. She must've been standing between the two vehicles on the road.

"Hey, hold on, man." Surano said through clenched teeth. "I swear, we just wanted to scare Nestor. He's back at the wash, probably on his way here now."

"Funny guy, aren't you, considering Nestor can't walk too well. What about Bill?" River must have pushed on the gun, because Surano's head moved back a little. "Just wanted to scare him, too?"

Surano didn't respond.

"River, knock it off," I said, this time with more force.

"Fuck that," he said between clenched teeth. "This asshole is the reason I'm here, the reason you're here, the reason we're all fucking here." He got right up in Surano's face. "You like hitting guys from behind? Big man, aren't you, when you're behind the wheel." He leveraged Surano harder. "You like running people off the road?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." He was staring straight up now.

"Not such a big man now." River's teeth were still clenched and in his tone, I heard years-old rage and frustration and childhood wounds torn open, and I knew that if I couldn't get him to stop this, River would be in as much trouble as Surano. "Not so big now, are you?" River asked softly, dangerously.

"C'mon, man. This is bullshit," Surano said, but he was straining to talk from the pressure of River's rifle barrel.

"Bullshit? Running people off the road is bullshit? I know that was you. Wanna know how?"

Surano's head was all the way back now.

"River," I repeated, trying to stay calm. "Back off." The last thing we needed was River losing his temper and doing something really, really stupid.

He ignored me. "That was my sister's car, you son of a bitch."

Surano said something unintelligible.

"It's different, isn't it, when you're on the receiving end? Are you scared now? Like Bill was? Or Nestor?" River put more weight on the gun and Surano made a little noise that sounded like a squeak mixed with an exhalation.

"Enough." I didn't have any love for Surano, but I wasn't going to let River create more problems than we already had. "Simmons is going to be here any minute. Let her handle this."

River shook my arm off.

"Dammit, stop it." I gripped the barrel of the gun and pulled and as it cleared Surano's chin, he surged forward, knocking River off balance. I let go of the rifle just as Surano's left elbow caught me in the jaw, rattling my teeth and right eyeball. Pain shot through my skull as I staggered backward, dropping the flashlight. I thought I heard Sage yelling, but I wasn't sure. I tasted blood and hoped my teeth were intact.

The flashlight had fallen so that it pointed at Monroe's truck, casting enough light over the scene to lend it an extra eerie veneer. Surano and River were both standing, grappling for the rifle, pushing and pulling like a couple of bull elk, horns locked in battle, clouds of dust suspended in the flashlight's beam, their shadows shifting like demons on the truck's dark metal. Surano outweighed River by a good fifty pounds, and even injured, he was pretty strong. Plus, the realization that he'd been busted made for good incentive to try to kick somebody's ass, grab the gun, and bail. None of which were appealing scenarios. I had to help River. Head still swimming with pain, I did the one thing that entered my mind. I hurled myself onto Jimmy Surano's back and was immensely surprised when I stuck there. He grunted when my weight hit him but didn't release the rifle. I might as well have been a jacket, for all the impact I made.

"Get the hell out of here," River ordered, through his teeth.

I'd love to. Fat chance now, though. I wasn't positioned correctly to pound on Surano's wounded pectoral where Tonya had shot him, so I instead grabbed his hair near his forehead and pulled. He howled and let go of the gun. Mission accomplished. Except now he focused on me. He gripped my hand in one meaty palm and squeezed. "Let go," he said menacingly. "Or I'll break your fuckin' hand."

He meant it. The bones in my fingers started screaming.

"Let go," he repeated.

"No, you let go," River said, and surprisingly, Surano released my hand. I slid off his back in relief and stumbled out of the way, River holding him at bay with his rifle. "Fuck," he muttered and the three of us stood staring at each other, panting. My jaw, head, and hand throbbed. I touched my lower lip. It felt like a couple of marbles had been shoved into it. My fingertips came away with blood.

"K.C.--" Sage was at my side. "Oh, my god. What are you doing?"

"Not sure," I said, and whatever else I was going to offer froze in my mouth as a long scream split the desert air, a cross between a wild animal and a man in pain. Every hair on my body tried to run, but my body itself remained in place. Nobody moved or spoke for a few seconds, not even to pick up the flashlight. Kara was closest, but she, too, remained immobile. Whatever had made the sound, it wasn't very far away. Past the overturned truck, out there in the desert. Maybe it was Monroe, I thought, going through the possibilities and avoiding the memory of a strange, feral human-like creature dressed in jeans and a light-colored shirt. Maybe Monroe fell on a cactus out there. I hope it hurt like hell.

Another sound, like someone running. Panting and footfalls on dirt, coming closer. River pointed the rifle at Surano and Kara picked up the flashlight. "Who's there?" River hollered, keeping his attention on Surano.

Kara stood near the rear of Monroe's truck with Sage, sweeping the desert with the flashlight's beam. "Monroe," she announced. Surano glanced at her. He must've been wondering how she knew his name.

"Get down," River commanded Surano, who laced his fingers behind his head but did nothing else.

A flash of red in my peripheral vision caught my attention. "Simmons is here," I said to nobody in particular. Surano turned and at the sight of the approaching vehicles, lights but no sirens, he deflated. "Give it up," he shouted into the night. "They're armed."

River started to say something in response, but thought better of it, maintaining his stony glare.

"Don't shoot," Monroe said as he materialized from the darkness. He was panting from exertion and his T-shirt was splotched with blood and dirt. He had his hands up. "I'm hurt."

"How bad?" Sage asked, like she was going to perform surgery on him right there. Or maybe she just wanted to know so she could torture him later. My head hurt and I closed my eyes.

"Don't know. Bashed up in the wreck..." he eased himself into a sitting position on the ground, back against the roof of his truck. "Some kind of animal out there," he continued. "Jumped me."

I opened my eyes and looked over at Sage. Her expression was inscrutable and she moved closer to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. For some reason, the feel of her palm seemed to ease the throbbing in my jaw and head.

Surano licked his lips and looked around, nervous. "What kind of animal?"

"Don't know. Didn't get a good look at it. Coyote, maybe." Monroe didn't sound convinced of that. He braced his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. "Pretty big, though. Never even heard it coming."

I leaned over again, my hands on my thighs. Would a skinwalker attack a group of people like this? Or would it just watch and do things to scare us? Damn, I thought. That must've been a good whack on the head, to make me assume it's a skinwalker. Sage tightened her grip on my shoulder just as Simmons approached, carrying her own flashlight.

"Looks like I missed all the excitement," she said. "Clint Monroe, I presume?"

He nodded.

"James Surano?" she looked at him in turn, but he didn't respond. She half-shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough." She stopped a couple feet from River, her demeanor expectant but patient. He lowered his rifle and handed it to her. "Thanks," she said. "Ambulance'll be here in a bit." She directed the comment to all of us as a couple more police officers arrived, both male. "Mr. Monroe, where is Nestor Bodie?"

"There's a wash a couple miles down the road." He gestured with one hand, sounding like he didn't care anymore what happened. "He's okay."

"Let's hope so," she said, and in her clipped tone, I heard her unspoken "and you'd better hope so, too."

I tuned her out. I was just too tired. And hungry. I hadn't eaten much since breakfast. What the hell time was it, anyway? I heard more cars braking on the road and doors slamming. More voices. Lots. I didn't look, though. I just leaned into Sage and Kara stood on my other side. We were surrounded by newcomers and more flashlights. I wanted to sleep. I just wanted to lie down and sleep for a month, but instead I looked up, watched Simmons and another cop questioning River and Surano. This whole freakin' mess might make sense some day, I thought, as a female EMT-type talked to Monroe. Sage beckoned another EMT over, this one a wiry guy with a flattop haircut.

"What happened?" he asked around the flashlight in his teeth as he snapped gloves on.

"Took an elbow to the jaw," I said.

Sage said something that sounded like "I'll kick his fucking ass" but I wasn't sure.

"Ouch," he commiserated. "Any teeth loose?"

I hadn't noticed. I ran my tongue around my mouth, tasted more blood. "Don't think so."

"Can you walk? We'll have a look at you where there's more light."

"Yeah." I started moving, and my legs felt like noodles. I waited a few seconds to get my wits back and looked over at Monroe. He was on his knees, pulling his shirt up to show the EMT something on his back. She shined the flashlight on him and I stared, not sure I was seeing what I thought I saw.

"C'mon," Kara said, walking on one side of me while Sage walked on the other. We headed back to the road, behind the EMT guy.

"Hang in there, baby," Sage was saying in my ear. "I'm right here."

I smiled, though it hurt. Yeah, some day this all might make sense. Even though I had seen three long parallel tears in Monroe's skin, from his right shoulder down across his back to his left hip. Like what claws might do. I shivered, though I wasn't cold, and gripped Sage harder. It still could make sense, after a few weeks or months. Maybe years.

But I doubted it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I PUT KARA'S bag in her car and closed the trunk. "Call me?" I looked over at her, standing on the sidewalk outside the house chatting with Chris.

"Duh." She stuck her tongue out at me. "Somebody's got to keep you out of trouble. And clearly, it's not going to be Sage."

Chris laughed. "She has a point, esa. Though I can always loan you an ankle bracelet so I can keep tabs on you."

"Funny. You're both so damn funny," I retorted, making a face. "For real. Call me when you get to Tucson." I joined them, and Kara gave me a bear hug.

"You sure about this?" she asked, for about the thousandth time since last Friday, after what I called "the desert nuthouse."

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't ask you."

"Sage might've talked you into it."

Chris hid a grin behind her hand and I shot a mock glare at her.

"I'll own that," I said. "But in this case, I actually think I like you."

She punched me on the arm.

"Ow. Why does my sister hit me all the time?"

She did it again. "Duh. We're sisters."

"When's Jeff moving out?" Chris asked, trying to distract us.

"End of August...shit, next month." I shook my head with mock sadness. "Another bachelor bites the dust and succumbs to the wiles of women. That leaves you, mujer." I waggled my eyebrows at Chris.

"I'm not a bachelor anymore," she pointed out.

"No, but you do still have a pretty nice bachelor pad, anal retentive cop that you are."

"Now that's the pot calling the kettle black." Kara turned and hugged Chris. "Thanks for taking care of K.C. all these years. She should pay you."

"I admit there are days I wonder why I drag this cross around," Chris said with a long-suffering sigh. "Like this past week or so, for example." She glanced at me over Kara's head and I gave her an "oh, please" look. "But I kinda like her."

Kara gave me another hug. "Don't do anything else that's stupid," she remonstrated, but she was smiling. "And thanks for everything."

"You're welcome. And thanks for helping out. Be safe and I guess we might see you next month, if you're into hanging in Albuquerque for a while as you try to--you know. Find yourself and all. And seriously, Kara. If in the next month you decide to do something else, that's fine, too. We'll find someone else for Jeff's place. Let's talk about it in a couple of weeks. See where you are." I meant it. If Kara flaked out on this, it was fine. That was part of who she was, and besides, when the shit hit the fan, she had been right there, every step of the way. She was entitled to a little flakiness now and again, I had decided in the past few days.

"Thanks." She pulled away and studied me for a moment. "You okay?"

I touched the spot on my jaw that was still tender, now a light yellow from the fading bruise. "For the most part." The physical would heal. The emotional--different story. I still had a lot to process, and I wasn't sure how to go about it.

"Take care." She moved to the driver's side of her car and threw a wave before she climbed in. As she pulled away from the curb, I knew I'd miss her and that surprised me. Strange, how things worked out. I waited until she turned the corner before I addressed Chris.

"I think I might take you up on one of those ankle bracelets."

She put her arm around my shoulders as we headed back into the house. "How about a beer instead?"

"You drinking with me?"

"Yes."

I retrieved two bottles from the fridge, popped the tops, and handed one to Chris. "Front porch?" she asked and I nodded, not wanting to sit out back, preferring instead the front, where I could see traffic and pedestrians and feel like the world was okay, and that things were normal. I followed her and we sank into the chairs on the porch. Chris sat looking out over the street, sipping from her bottle. She hadn't lectured me about what had happened with Monroe and Surano, hadn't even said anything along the lines of how crazy I was or how I needed to leave that kind of shit to the professionals. She hadn't needed to, I guessed, because she read me pretty well.

"Melissa called this morning," I said after a while.

"And?"

"She'll be coming by this weekend to help Sage go through the investment portfolios Bill left."

"Does Sage want you in on that?"

"Yep. She also wants to set up an art scholarship at Diné College in Shiprock."

"Good. On both counts." Chris took another sip of beer. "How's Nestor?"

"Beat up. But he'll live. We gave him a copy of Bill's log and of

Bill's correspondence and Nestor wants to spearhead a class action against Ridge Star. Melissa said she knows an Indian lawyer in Denver who'd be interested in helping out." I watched the neighbor across the street pull her car into her driveway. "I'd like to see something like that. Though Bill was kind of a jerk in the past, it seems he tried to do something right. And Ridge Star could use more than a fine or a little slap on the wrist. These are real people working for them, after all."

"How's Sage taking all this?"

"She goes back and forth. But she wants to deal with it. She grieves, but she's not sure what for."

"What could have been, maybe. Or it could be she's releasing anger that way. The two aren't unrelated, after all."

I laughed. "I forget, sometimes, about your counseling background."

"That's not it. I'm just wise beyond my years." She kept a straight face for a few seconds before grinning at me. "Anything going on with River?"

I sighed. "Simmons isn't saying anything about the gun incident. His permit's in order, given what he does for a living, and his gun is legal. As far as she's concerned, he acted thinking we were threatened. She'll keep us posted, after the initial courtroom crap with Surano and Monroe. If Surano doesn't say anything or press charges against him, River'll be in the clear. Simmons thinks that even if that does happen, a good lawyer will help him out."

"Dayna--"

"No."

She looked at me.

"Not because I don't think she'd be awesome," I hurried to explain. "Sage and I talked about it and we both agree. We don't want her put in a bad position if something fucked up happens and River has to deal with legal ramifications. Bill's lawyer offered to help out. One of his colleagues does that kind of work and it's not like River can't afford it, with the investments Bill left." I shook my head. "He lost it a little, Chris."

"But not too much. It's fixable."

"I hope so. As if this situation wasn't already off its axis."

She reached over and squeezed my arm. "You're alive and okay. So is Sage, so is River. I'd say you came out all right."

I stared at her like a horn had just popped out of her forehead.

She stared back. "What?"

"Holy shit, where's my best friend? The one who puts her cop suit on and tells me that I need to let a professional deal with situations like this?"

She turned toward me then, and looked at me with an expression I wasn't sure I recognized. "You already know that. And sometimes situations are beyond control. You didn't want to go running around out there from the beginning. But you did it because you knew it was something Sage and River needed to do, and you figured you could help. Was it the right thing to do?" She took my hand. "I don't know. The end doesn't always justify the means, but in this case, it worked out, messy as it was." She squeezed my hand and released it. "You don't go looking for trouble, but you're not afraid of it when it presents itself. For that, I have a great deal of respect for you."

I wiped my eyes. "Jesus, Chris. You're making me cry, here."

"Tú eres familia. And that will never change. Did I think what you did was a good idea?" She grinned. "I had my reservations, but you saw it through to the end, and you're owning it." She held her beer bottle up and I clinked mine against it. "I love you, Kase. I'll tell you when you fuck up, but I'll also tell you when you don't. And, mi amiga, I'm honored that you're still in my life after all my lectures."

"God, I'm such a baby," I muttered as I used the hem of my T-shirt to wipe my face. "And you know I need your lectures sometimes," I said through the cloth before I released it.

"Like I need yours." She leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. "So how about we all go out to dinner tomorrow? Dayna wanted me to ask."

"Sounds good. I could use a wild night out. With no freaky stuff happening, no dark and scary roads, no assholes."

"Speaking of, who's claiming responsibility for what happened to Bill?"

I made a disgusted noise. "Heard from Simmons about that yesterday. Purcell did try to get a little blackmail action out of Monroe, but then Monroe said he'd take him down with him if anybody ever found out about Bill."

"So we've got three guys playing off each other in the wake of an accidental death."

"Seems that way. For now. Monroe claims he just told Surano to 'shake Bill up a bit,' and that he didn't know Surano would take it that far. Surano agrees that Monroe told him to do the whole scare tactic thing, but he's also saying that Monroe told him that if anything worse happened to Bill out there, it'd be a good idea. Surano had Bill in his own truck and Purcell drove his truck out before they put the plan in action and parked on Manyhorses' road."

"Nice to have a cousin like that," Chris said dryly. "Always willing to help you move the bodies."

"I think Purcell used a little blackmail on Surano, too, family ties notwithstanding. Anyway, so Purcell parks out there, just another truck on a ranch road. Once Surano had Bill tied to the stake, he left and parked where the road to the wash meets the main road. Purcell met him there and Surano says he drove Purcell halfway to the wash and let him out, that Purcell was dressed in some kind of furry, scary outfit." Kara had been right about that. "So Purcell and Surano both go down there, making weird noises but Bill had already managed to free himself and he took off running." I studied the label on my bottle.

"He was running so fast he outran Surano, who's in good shape. Purcell isn't all that great on his feet, so no problem for Bill there. Surano says that Bill took off, but Purcell yelled at him so Surano went back to get the stake, thinking they'd just pick Bill up in a minute. After all, where was he going to go out there?"

"So when did they say that the other thing showed up?"

I looked over at Chris, trying to gauge whether she was teasing me or not. She wasn't. "Surano claims something was out there, and at first he thought it was a coyote. He pulled the stake and said he yelled at the alleged coyote, and threw a couple of rocks in the general direction that he heard it--remember, it was dark out--and then started back to Purcell. They got back into their respective trucks and Surano went first. He said they weren't two hundred yards from the wash when something jumped into the bed of his truck."

Chris raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"He freaked, and started swerving around, trying to dislodge it. He said that he thought he had, and he sped up, but then something banged against the left side of his truck. All this while he was driving forty-five to fifty on that road." I remembered the thing that had chased me and Sage, and the sound it made when it hit the roof, and I wondered if I was just as crazy as Surano.

"He's not denying that he hit Bill, and Simmons has Surano's truck. They're going over it for physical evidence and I'm sure they'll find something in there. Or on there, as the case may be." I envisioned the right front of Surano's truck slamming into Bill's back and I grimaced. "But Surano said he didn't mean to kill him, that something was chasing him and he didn't see Bill."

"So he hits him and doesn't think he did?" Chris was skeptical.

"No, he said he knew he hit him, that he saw Bill in his headlights, but too late to avoid him."

Chris didn't say anything for a long time and I didn't offer any comments, either. She took another swallow of beer before speaking. "And he and Purcell kept going."

"Surano admits he freaked and that he should have stopped."

"But he didn't."

"No."

"Why didn't Bill just leave the road and continue through the desert?"

"I don't know." And maybe we'd never know.

"What do you think?" she asked after another pause.

"I don't know that, either." I took another swallow of beer. "I don't know what's out there, but something happened to me and Sage. And Monroe. I don't know if we can call it collective psychosis or a group hallucination, but something chased me and Sage and something scared Surano that night Bill died. And something attacked Monroe. Maybe it is just a nutty feral dog. Or a coyote with a really bad attitude. I don't know. The worst part is, I don't think we'll ever know what happened out there, either last Friday or the night Bill died." I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated all over again.

Chris nodded, thoughtful. "Maybe some things you don't want to know," she said. "Abuelita tells me sometimes that some things are beyond our understanding. Maybe there is a logical explanation, and it's a coyote gone crazy." She shot me a sidelong glance. "And maybe it's not."

"You ready to take me to the loony bin?" I wouldn't blame her if she did.

She smiled and squeezed my shoulder. "No, esa. No estás loca. Not in a bad way. You, of all people, know that people can do fucked-up shit. And you know that people can make themselves believe anything. But I think now you're coming to understand that sometimes, we may not know the answers. Not right away. And that is never a bad thing. Knocks you off your academic pedestal, maybe." She winked and took another sip of beer.

I stared at her again. Oh, my God. "Something weird happened to you, too," I said accusingly. "And you've never told me."

She smiled again and shrugged.

"What? Dammit, Chris, you owe me."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You've given me total shit for the skinwalker stuff."

"Maybe I was in denial."

"What the fuck? How long have we been friends? And you haven't told me everything?" I stood and placed my hands on my hips, almost indignant.

"Be grateful I've spared you some of that." She raised her eyebrows at me.

"I don't believe this. My best friend has been holding out on me. That is so not fair. I don't think you deserve another beer," I threatened.

She looked at me, plaintive, and I glared at her in return, trying to maintain a fierce expression. It didn't work. I started laughing. "Dammit, I can't be mad at you."

"I know. And I'll tell you eventually. But right now, I want

another beer. And I think you should have one, too. Down time?" I didn't disagree.

"HOW'S YOUR JAW?" Sage asked, voice soft in my ear.

"Not bad." I pulled her closer as we danced, something slow and sexy on the CD player, pools of candlelight splashed across our living room floor.

"How's Chris?" The question meant, "Did she lecture you and if she did, was it warranted?"

"Good. Surprisingly good." Which meant that she hadn't lectured me.

Sage sighed with relief and we danced a bit longer before she spoke again. "Did you read Ellen's e-mail?"

I pulled away a little. "No. When did she send it?"

"This afternoon. She CC'ed you. Did you not check yours?"

"No. What's up?" A little twinge of angst ricocheted in my gut.

"She asked if we'd be interested in a Blessingway ceremony next week, at her family's place on the reservation."

"Yes."

She looked at me, surprised. "You're sure?"

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that I don't think about what you told me and it doesn't make me a little insecure sometimes. But you and I, we're in the now. You'll always share a past and a connection with Ellen, whether I was here or not. I need to just accept that. Besides, I think maybe a ceremony like that will..." Will what? I searched for words, found them. "Clear bad ju-ju." Yep. That's exactly what it would do.

Sage kissed me on the cheek and held my gaze with hers and in it, I saw conviction. A shared journey. I saw us, and for the second time that day, I felt like crying.

"And Kara?" she asked. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there today to see her off."

"No worries. She may soon be living nearby, after all. Or not. But if she does, there'll be plenty of time to see her, then. Whether you want to or not."

She giggled. "Did she say anything about Shoshana?"

I ran my hands down her back. "Nope. And no, I didn't ask."

She pulled back so she could look into my eyes. "Well done."

"Maybe it's a summer romance. Or just a weird one. She did say it messed with her a little, that Shoshana's uncle was involved in--" I hesitated.

"Dad's death," Sage finished. "I wondered how that might make her feel. Not that Shoshana is responsible in any way for what her uncle did or does."

I nuzzled her neck as the song changed to something as sexy and slow as the previous one. "It's Kara's gig," I said. "If she wants to talk to me, she will. Until then, I think I should focus on you and me."

"I'll do the same." She kissed me, long and deep, and sparks flowed from my lips to my toes, along the current between us. "I can't guarantee I won't drive you crazy," she murmured against my mouth.

"Ditto."

"I can't guarantee that as I unpack my baggage I won't be an impossible bitch," she continued, lips grazing mine. My heart sped up.

"I know. And I can't guarantee that sometimes I won't be an insufferable, arrogant, academic asshole."

"Mmm. True." Her eyes sparkled and I thought about unexplored rivers, and how the same things can look different when light changes, and that life wasn't always a spectator sport.

"Can we at least guarantee we'll talk about things?"

"I will gladly make that guarantee." She put her head on my shoulder and I breathed in her scent, thinking that as difficult as the last couple of weeks had been, in some ways, it had brought us closer together, and whatever we faced down the road, I felt confident that we'd face it and get through it, somehow. I closed my eyes and swayed with her, delighting in the feel of her body against me, her heat beneath my palms.

"How about we put the processing on hold for a little bit?" She nipped my earlobe and I no longer had coherent thoughts.

"Please."

She smiled at me in a way that took me back two years, to the first night we ever shared. "I love you," she said, and I read truth in her eyes.

"I love you back." I kissed her until both of us were breathing hard and as she led me to the bedroom, I understood, in that moment, that some things I might not ever be able to explain, but that was okay. Things like love, laughter, pain, life, death, and everything in between. Things that needed no explanation, and searching for one might perhaps blunt their effect, and make us lose sight of the essence of living.

"You're processing," Sage whispered as she tugged at the button on my shorts.

"Damn psychics," I whispered back.

"So what have you determined in the past few minutes?" She eased my zipper down.

"That I'm crazy about you."

"And?"

"And that's it."

She stopped, pretending to be shocked. And then she pulled me close, using my shorts as leverage. "Live this moment with me," she said, her hands slipping to my hips, lips brushing my chin.

And I did. Gladly.

'Til next time...

About the Author

Andi Marquette was born in Albuquerque and grew up in Colorado. After completing a couple of academic degrees in anthropology, she returned to Albuquerque where she completed a Ph.D. in history. She fell into editing in 1993 and has been obsessed with words ever since, which may or may not be a good thing. Currently, she resides in Colorado where she edits, writes, and nurtures a fascination with New Mexico chile.

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Table des matières

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five