Long moments with threads of ideas swimming through my head. Finally, “Shopping. Pheasant Lane Mall. A few other places.” I feigned excitement. “Want to come?”
His burst of laughter sounded sweeter than Mozart to my ears. I cringed.
“You know I don’t,” he said. “I hate malls.”
I smiled, a fake one, so I didn’t look right at him. “I know. But, well, I thought maybe this time . . .”
“I will if you’d like. If it’ll make you happy.”
I kissed the tip of his nose and rubbed his slight Buddha belly. “No, hon, it wouldn’t. Because you’d hate it. I’ll go it alone.”
I was still cursing my lies as I boarded the plane for Albuquerque.
On the flight, I tried to recall all that I’d seen and heard over the past month.
Delphine’s head and Didi’s homicide. The governor and his aide’s death. And Enoch. I couldn’t forget him. What a waste. For what? That’s what I didn’t get.
Virgil Izod man and his search for the blood fetish. The one they used. I wished I understood what he’d meant. The governor’s son did. Or so Governor Bowannie had said. I wished that wonderful man was still alive.
And what about the stuffed rattler? Threatening Delphine? Why? What was the deal there?
And who’d blown out my window?
It was all connected, and it all had begun out West. The source, which was exactly where I was headed.
I deplaned feeling groggy. Beneath the bandage on my face, my cheek throbbed where Izod had cut me. I guessed I’d slept on it.
I walked toward baggage claim, past shops and sculptures and the buzz of humanity going somewhere, anywhere. The clack of cowboy boots surrounded me. The West was different—tall Stetsons and concha belts and rattler earrings for sale.
I loved it out here—the people and the food and the art and land and the Southwestern seas of sand. I bought some Tic Tacs and water at a news store. I was parched and itchy. Hungry, too. But for what?
What I was doing was a little bit crazy, flying cross-country for a position I didn’t intend to take with New Mexico’s ME’s office. At least I didn’t think I intended to take it. Okay, it had appeal. A new start. A new life. Newborn.
I was hungry with interest.
Except I loved Hank, and he’d just moved to Boston. I hadn’t asked him to move. I felt trapped in a tangle.
Carmen hadn’t liked it when I’d told her where I was going. To Hank, Gert, Kranak, and Addy, I’d said nothing. They’d be less pleased than Carm.
I handed the pretty brunette cash for my purchases, picked up a paper and added that, too. “Thanks,” I said.
She smiled. “Sure. You look happy.”
I tilted my head. “I . . . I guess I am.”
Had to be the strange sense of freedom and joy at the prospect of learning the truth. Or maybe it was simply no counseling the families of homicide victims. No tears. No anger. No feelings of betrayal. No looks asking me to fix things that were unfixable.
I shook my head, unwilling to accept that a part of my life might have ended with a sharp slice to my face. The cut was a defining moment, I now believed. But I had to fix this thing with Delphine and Didi, had to find the skull before I could move forward.
The governor had wanted me to look for the skull. He had felt it mattered. I did, too. I just wish I understood better.
At the luggage carousel, I wedged between dozens of other travelers jockeying for their bags. After a long minute, I had my rollie bag and the carry-on, which I slung over my shoulder along with my purse and my Mac laptop.
Cripes, I felt like a camel.
“Let me help you with that,” said a soft voice.
I turned to see a medium-sized woman with butternut skin and classical Pueblo features smiling at me.
“Um, thanks so much, but I really can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can, Dr. Whyte, but I’m here to pick you up.”
Huh? “Pick me up?” I definitely hadn’t had enough rest.
“Doc Joe plans to woo you, I guess.” She bowed at the waist. “So here I am, your Girl Friday. Doc Joe’s waiting for you at the Office of the Medical Investigator. I work there. My name’s Natalie. I’ll also be your tour guide during your stay.”
Good god. How to get out of this kindness by Dr. Philip Joe? “Gee, Natalie, thanks. How lovely. But I’ve rented a car. I’m doing some other vacation stuff, too.”
“We can come pick your car up later,” she said. “I bet you’re exhausted.”
I ponied up a smile. “Not so bad.”
She shrugged. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the office.”
I followed, and with each step my load grew heavier. My bags clanked together, and I swayed. This was stupid. “Natalie, hold up!”
She pivoted and tried to bury her I-told-you-so face beneath a smile. She reached for my shoulder bag, which easily weighed twelve tons. “Feel better?”
Glorious relief. “Yes. Absolutely. But, y’know, I would really like to have my car with me. How about I follow you?”
She nodded and grinned. She snagged my large rollie bag. “You’re a determined one, aren’t you? That’s what Doc Joe said. So let’s get going.”
Natalie’s purple van was easy to follow in my white Toyota, which blared rental! I wished rental companies didn’t do that. Buildings only half as tall as Beantown’s ringed Albuquerque’s fabulous blue sky. I cranked up the AC, but the soft dry heat seeped into my bones, lightening them.
I saw Spanish and Pueblo and Anglo souls mingled on streets shiny with newness. Unlike Boston, the streets were straight and the hills were far in the distance. You could see long, long away out here. One of the things I loved about it.
Natalie wove between traffic with a smooth skill and knowledge I admired. OMI wasn’t far, according to my reckoning. It was located on the UNM campus, which I found odd. I never really got that, other than the Chief Medical Investigator had access to all sorts of outstanding researchers.
Like Massachusetts and Maine, New Mexico had a statewide system. A good thing.
Natalie’s blinker came on, and she turned left. As I did the same, a lightbulb seemed to switch on in my brain. Something wasn’t quite right about our conversation. But what?
Well, hell. I’d see ghosts at a petting zoo. I was being ridiculous.
An elderly woman dragging a rolling cart stepped off the curb. I jammed on my brakes and stopped just in time to avoid hitting her. She didn’t even look up, but continued across the road. I plucked a tissue from my purse and wiped the sweat from my face.
So close. I spotted Natalie’s van hovering just beyond the turn. I waved and began the turn. What was it that . . . Right. Natalie had called it the Office of the Medical Investigator. Except everyone I knew out here called it OMI.
So why had she referred—
Glass shattered, and I was flung toward the passenger side and suddenly the pop of airbags, the screech of wheels, the sound of metal crunching and . . .
Darkness.
I tried to open my eyes, except they were leaded with pain.
I sighed, and even that hurt. A moan. Mine? Then a soothing voice in a language I didn’t know sang to me.
I sank back into the hazy world of shapes and songs and scents of sage.
I awakened with a start. The air felt crisp and clean on my body. When I moved, I ached, but at least I was mobile. I seemed mobile, anyway. No searing pain. A good thing, since that pain felt too familiar.
I didn’t understand. The darkened room enveloped me. A slice of light from outside cut across a linoleum floor covered by scatter rugs. The room was cool, and the blanket that lay over me was soft and fuzzy and comforting.
I massaged my hands, stiff from inactivity.
Why didn’t I hurt more? A memory poked inside. I saw with horror a vehicle slamming into my driver’s door. I couldn’t tell, car or truck. But after that . . .
Where was Natalie? Had she led me to the accident or wa
s she a victim, too? Damn. Pleasant as it was, I needed to know who’d helped me, where I was.
I groped around the low bed. Someone had watched over me. I’d drunk, yes, I remembered that. But by the rumbling in my stomach, I hadn’t eaten. Now I had to pee.
I slid my legs over the side of the low-slung bed, and a sweet stab of pain shot through my thighs. I moved my hand lightly over what I pictured as splotches of black and blue. I moved a bit, so I caught some of the light. A few bruises had already evolved to a sickly yellow. How many days had I been here? I rolled my ankles, cracking the stiffness out of them. They hurt, too, but not so bad.
I forced myself to remain silent.
A thump, and then a flood of light blinded me.
“Hello?” I said.
“You feel better.”
The voice was low and melodic and female, with an odd cadence that I’d heard before. But where?
“I do,” I said. “At least, I think I do. Um, where am I?”
“Have some water.”
My eyes adjusted, and a small, square woman bent over me. She held a red Alsop’s mug in her hand.
“Thank you.” I emptied the mug. The warm water cleared my throat. I longed for a cold Diet Coke. “How long have I been your guest?”
“About two days. Maybe a little more.” She set a pitcher on the floor.
“Is Natalie here, too?”
“I’ll return.”
“But I . . .”
The door curtain flipped back, and it was dark again.
Was I in a mess? A captive? Being helped? I didn’t understand. Not at all. And, dammit, I still had to pee.
I stood, wobbled, and staggered through the curtained doorway, across a large, darkened living room. I opened the front door and peeked out.
“Ohmigod.” Above, a vast and cloudless bluebird-blue sky canopied my head. I stood on a small rise surrounded by mud-and-stone buildings. Straight ahead was a mesa—all orange and gold—that seemed perched on the edge of the world. My memory felt foggy, teasingly elusive. Had I been here before? I felt a coming-homeness, yet I couldn’t quite anchor myself.
The wind gusted, and fine granules of sand brushed my face and bare legs. I looked down. My feet were bare, too, and showed what was left of that silly peach polish I’d applied on my and Carmen’s toenails what felt like eons ago. My hand brushed the soft, brightly colored cotton skirt that I didn’t recognize. It billowed in the wind. And a T-shirt. Yes.
I plucked at it. The shirt was peach, like my toes, and complemented the skirt’s flowers of turquoise and red and yellow.
My face . . . !
My hands felt rough, my fingernails cut short as I ran them across my face. It ached, in a way that said I was black and blue. The tip of my nose felt rough, and my fingers skittered across a bandage on my forehead. Cotton gauze. My cheek bandage felt different, too. Someone had replaced it.
I leaned on the door frame and shielded my eyes with my hand. I saw no one. Nothing.
A scruffy red-and-white dog with a wagging stub of a tail and a black short-haired pup gamboled on the path in front of me. They spotted me, and I sat on the wooden steps as they trotted over. I let them sniff me. The rough-haired one licked my toes, tickling me, and I laughed and felt a good kind of release. I scratched them behind their ears. Each woofled in turn. Dogs could make the world right, at least for a moment.
I had to get out of there, but I had no idea how. My brain felt like it was made of cheesecloth. Nothing seemed to be sticking. My toes dug into the warm earth. Yet there was a chill in the air, which I didn’t associate with Albuquerque. I rubbed my arms, climbed the wooden stairs, and went back inside my prison with no bars.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I awakened with a start. Singing? Chanting? I felt better. I ached, yes, but at least I wasn’t zombie-girl.
I had to find a bathroom. I sat up on the low bed. No one was in the room. I was alone. At least, it felt that way.
I walked through the living room and found a blue-tiled bathroom. The room was small and narrow, the light dim. I peed, washed my hands, and splashed water on the parts of my face where there were no bandages, a disturbingly small amount of real estate. I looked in the mirror. Whoa. I was a sight. My right eyelid was swollen almost closed, and the rest of my face unlandscaped by bandages was either blue or a sickly yellow.
I still felt out of sorts and dizzy, but I needed to get out of there. I’d been sleeping on a cot just off the living room in a small alcove. The dining area was behind the living room and on each side was a bedroom. The kitchen was off the dining room. There I found a back door.
The home had a strange fifties aura, decorated with linoleum and Formica and avocado appliances and plywood kitchen cabinets with curlicues over the sink window.
I tried the back door. Unlocked. I guessed I was only sort of a prisoner. I leaned against the old-fashioned hutch made of maple, the kind you’d find back home in shops selling retro antiques. Maybe I’d stepped into a time warp or something.
Back in the living room, curtains hid all the windows, and so I inched open the front door. That gave me enough light to hunt for my shoes.
After a half hour of futile searching, I was exhausted. And I sure as hell couldn’t fit into the size fives I’d found in a closet in the large bedroom. Effective, I guessed, as a way to keep me inside, given I was somewhere in a village in the middle of the desert.
Exactly what desert remained a question.
I began a hunt for my other things—my Mac, my purse, my bags, the magazines I’d bought for the plane. Anything. I found zip. Nothing. Not one thing.
I walked back to the low bed and sat on the edge. I felt naked and alone and afraid.
That girl, Natalie. She’d led me into a trap. She’d known what was going on. Natalie, like the woman who’d given me the drink, was American Indian. Same tribe? I had no clue.
Seemed to me I had two choices. I could sneak out and run away and try to find what Anglos termed “civilization.”
Or I could try to figure things out first.
I liked option number one better. Get away. Get safe. Except it struck me as stupid. I didn’t think these people wanted to kill me. I suspected I was in a village or a pueblo, say, Acoma, Zuni, Hopi, Cochiti, San Ildefanso, Navajo? Except Navajo weren’t Pueblo Indians. I sighed.
Even funnier, I had no idea where any of them were actually located.
Sure, the governor. He was Zuni. But this could be any Indian reservation in the Southwest. And why was I here? Who’d brought me to this place? Changed my clothes? Bandaged me and . . .
The door opened with a whine, and sunlight splashed in. A man stood before me. Bare chested, jeans, red ban-dana tied around his head. His broad, chiseled face was Indian, and he had a blade of a nose, high cheekbones, and tight thin lips.
I stood. “Yes?”
He turned and left.
That really wasn’t so cool.
“Hey,” I said. “Hey!” I followed him out. “Look, what’s happening here? Have I landed on Mars? Am I time traveling?”
He turned, looked at me, crossed his arms and said nothing.
“C’mon, talk to me,” I said. “There’s no one around. I was in a lousy car accident, and I’m feeling really uncomfortable about all this. So what’s the deal? And where’s Natalie? I’d like to know where that girl is.”
I cringed. I sounded crass and unappreciative, haranguing this guy who kept looking at me with unnerving passivity.
He shrugged and walked away from me.
Well, dammit, I wasn’t about to return to that room like some little sheep. I followed him.
Stones bruised my feet as I walked the hard-packed dirt path after the bare-chested man. Sweat poured down his back, even though the chill in the air had deepened.
He was bronzed and well built, and if Hank weren’t around, I’d be sizzling. I’d acted revoltingly. I might be scared, but Veda would have shot me for such poor manners. Hey, Vede, you’d lo
ve this pickle I’m in.
My eyes teared up at the thought of my dead foster mother.
A presence behind me. I whipped around, but all I saw were the two dogs trotting after me.
This is stupid.
I paused and stepped behind the adobe wall of a church. I slid my hands into the pockets of the skirt. I didn’t know what I was looking for—money? Right. That made no sense.
But, wait a minute. If I were in a town, there must be stores, cafés, something for commerce. Maybe my brain was functioning again. I stopped following Mr. Silent, and turned back the way I’d come. I began to wend my way higher up the slight hill. There had to be something with all the homes around. I’d find it and get out of here.
The hill wound between trailers and small adobe houses and sheds made of wood and metal. When I looked behind me, a whole village was spread out in a small grid. The bell in the church tower clanged.
I could go to the church. Except it might not have a phone. I needed a phone. I sure as heck didn’t have my cell anymore.
Beyond the homes lay that mesa I recognized. But from where? When? Damn.
I shook my head. No time now to think about it.
My feet hurt from the stones. What the hell, I could live with it. Everything else about me was banged up, why not make it a complete package with my feet?
Voices chattering in the distance. I widened my strides and sped up. As I crested the hill, a car zoomed by on a highway that apparently bisected the town. I stepped back. Fast. The main drag, as in many Western villages, went on forever in both directions. I saw a few stores on each side of the highway and diagonally across from me, a small, narrow adobe restaurant or cantina with a gas station attached.
I ran across the highway, up the steps and through the narrow door that slapped behind me. Two dozen Indian faces and a few Anglo ones looked up. I smiled, mouthed sorry, and walked to the counter. I hoped no one noticed my bare feet.
I slid onto a blue vinyl stool and forced myself not to twirl. People, humanity—I was thrilled. A woman in bangs and a white More Cowbell T-shirt was wiping the worn Formica.
“Hello,” I said. “I need to use a phone.”
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