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SOUTH of Ajo, Arizona, fifteen miles south of the Mexican/American border, A
Rogelio, it seemed, had talents A
It was a home. A
Desert rolled away in four directions. Small mountains, sharp and scattered like broken teeth, bit into the blue horizon. Everywhere the mysterious and, to A
Under an unrelenting sun, temperatures one hundred and ten to one hundred and fifteen during the heat of the day, the landscape was still: a green and gray graveyard with fantastically shaped tombstones stretching away over the desert pavement-the flat rocky, lifeless soil. But in the cool of the evening and under night skies, life crept out from beneath every stone, from the boles of trees and cacti.
In this harsh and fertile cradle A
She'd been there ten days when Rogelio asked if she would marry him and she knew it was time to leave.
He leaned on the door of her Rambler. In the light of the setting sun he was impossibly beautiful. The wide-set hazel eyes reflecting the afternoon sun were nearly amber, his cheekbones high, hollowed by shadows.
"Can I come back?" A
"I want to be more to you than that, A
"Can I come back?" A
"You can come back," he said finally. "But I don't know for how long. Or how many times."
Through the cool of the night, she drove. The roads were nearly empty and the desert glowed with a moon two days past full. By the time the sun began to heat up the day she was out of the hottest part of the country, heading into the tangle of freeways that cut the heart out of El Paso. Her mind had churned the night away mixing Zachary and Rogelio, Harland and Murder, Christina and Lions into a great aching lump of thought that, by sunrise, had settled at the base of her skull.
More than once, since she'd fled New York, A
Had there been a murder? Had mysterious clues appeared? There was such a thing as coincidence. Once A
Why did she see such evil when no one else could? Sheila was dead. No one had cared desperately about her. Not even Christina. People wanted to go on with their lives and jobs and plans. To see a murder would interfere. A
People wanted the "disruption" to be over.
As A
Just before ten o'clock, she pulled the Rambler into the employee parking lot behind the Administration building. There was only one slot left. Every vehicle in the park was jammed into the usually half-empty lot. Sensing bad news, she tried to rub the grit of nine hundred miles out of her eyes. It crossed her mind to go home, face whatever it was after a bath and some sleep. But she was already here. And she wanted her mail. Taking comfort in the fact that if it were a wildland fire-and the Southwest was ablaze from the drought and dry lightning-her collarbone would prevent Paul from sending her out with one of the crews to fight it, she climbed stiffly from the car.
Christina was not at her desk. Marta looked up when A
"You've got a phone message," Marta called after her. A
Head bent over a sheaf of papers, Christina Walters walked out of the copy room almost into A
Christina looked up. She looked strained, tired around the eyes, but her smile was warm and welcoming.
"What's happened?" A
"Come on," Christina whispered back. She walked down the carpeted hall. A
"Welcome home," Christina said.
A
"Who?"
"Maybe Craig."
Equal parts relief and guilt washed over A
"Remember that space alien hunt he was going to go on?"
A
"Well, he went. The moon had to be full for these creatures to visit or something. He went five days ago-took all his snake stuff with him. He was going to kill two birds with one stone, I guess. Anyway, he never came back. Nobody even knew he was missing till today. Yesterday and the day before were his lieu days. What with the two accidents, Cori