“That’s disgusting!” Rosa cried. “I’m glad I’m from New York.”
“ ‘Thank God I’m a country girl,’ ” Fiona teased.
The men laughed, but Rosa said, “God save me from local humor.”
“It’s not Dorothy Parker,” Dominick agreed.
“Where do you think that park ranger is from?” Fiona asked suddenly.
“Mexico?” said Greg.
“No, I mean where he works. He might be a good one to ask if there’s been anything unusual going on around here.”
“But we’re not there yet, are we?” Rosa asked.
Not if you believed in psychics. Fiona sipped her coffee restlessly.
In the next moment, a strong odor of cooking oil spread across the table. Looking up as her plate was lowered, Fiona saw that it was not from the home-fried potatoes and onions she had envisioned, but a pile of golden French fries. Her stomach turned over.
“Catsup?”
Greg grinned at the waitress. “Sure thing, honeycakes.”
Oh, please. Fiona hoped she would slap him down, but when she returned with the red plastic bottle she was all smiles. “Y’all staying at the lodge?”
“Which lodge?” Fiona asked.
The waitress met her eyes, surprised. “You know, that hunting and fishing place over on the lake. That’s where everybody stays. The motels and campgrounds are up around Fort Garland.”
Greg preened at her. “Any motels you especially like?”
At that moment Fiona became aware of a thumping sound that seemed to be coming from everywhere. Turning, she saw that the men at the counter had begun banging their coffee cups in unison again the wood. They were unsmiling, and her heart began to thump along with them.
But the waitress grinned. “More java, guys?” she called, moving toward the coffee urn.
“I’m glad I’m from the East,” Rosa said firmly.
“Leaving early was smart,” Dominick said. “If anyone’s following us, they won’t know where to look.”
“They will if we’re lucky,” Fiona said.
“What the hell does that mean?” Greg demanded.
“It means,” Dominick said with a sigh, buttering a biscuit half, “that it doesn’t matter to them where we are as long as we’re not where we shouldn’t be.”
“Well, shit!” Dark eyes wild, Greg looked close to a tantrum. “That means we’re shooting fish in a barrel. Leave me off; I’ll make my own way back.”
“It’s not like that,” Fiona reassured him. “We just have to be careful.”
“I knew I should have stayed in Santa Fe.” His scowl didn’t lift until the waitress returned, and even then his smile was forced.
“Y’all want anything else?”
“Maybe. What have you got?” But his heart wasn’t in it.
She slid a green rectangle onto the table as if it contained a secret message.
Everyone’s hands reached for it. But when Fiona turned it over, it was only the check. “I’ve got this,” she said. Then, noticing the line at the cash register, she said, “I guess you pay over there.”
“The locals probably just tell them what they had,” Rosa agreed.
The locals. She imagined how conspicuous her group must look.
AS SHE WAITED for change, Fiona saw the tourist father approaching the ranger. She had not paid much attention to the family who had looked, to her morning-jaded eyes, like models from a JCPenney catalog, but now she decided to speak to the ranger too.
When she finished paying, she approached them. The father had flip-up sunglasses and thinning hair with large freckles on the dome of his head. “But when we got there,” he was continuing, “they chased us away. They said it was private property, so we didn’t get to see anything. They wouldn’t even let me take pictures!” He had an earnest, educated voice that was now a whine.
“And that was for the whole town? It’s possible someone bought up the old buildings; they’re not worth much. News to me though.” The ranger’s white teeth flashed in his mahogany face. “Maybe they want to build condos.” The smile widened. “Ghost town condos—that’s a thought.”
The tourist looked as if he had suggested destroying the Grand Canyon. “They can’t do that! That town is history. Marysville is important. To think of destroying it . . . ” He straightened up, the short wide sleeves on his cotton shirt flapping. “I’m not leaving till I see that church. Who can I contact about this?”
The ranger, ducking his head for a last swallow of coffee, looked back up with his engaging smile. “It’s north of my area, but I wouldn’t worry about it, sir. Probably they’re shooting a movie or some commercial. There are lots of good ghost towns north of here. If you stop at the Fort, they have literature about them.”
He turned his gaze skillfully on Fiona, signaling the end of the conversation. “Are you worried about Marysville too? Have a good vacation, sir,” he called as the man edged unhappily away.
“Oh, no,” Fiona told him. “I just wondered if you’d heard about anything unusual happening—a plane in trouble around here, anything like that. Not a 747 or anything,” she added, seeing his incredulous expression. “Just something different, not quite right.”
The ranger gave her his wonderful smile. It made him seem pleased simply to be in the world. “So you’re looking for trouble.”
“In a way.”
“Nothing I can think of,” he said cheerfully. “That’s oh for two. I’d better get back to the Fort, where I know what I’m talking about.”
Fiona laughed and went back to her table where the others were standing, waiting for her.
“We need to get up high and look for something big,” Greg was saying. “Maybe something silver that shines in the sun.”
Which of them was he expecting to sprout wings?
“What we need is to rent a helicopter.”
“Do you know how much that costs?” Fiona asked. “It’s hundreds of dollars when Lee has to rent one for aerial shots. Not that he’s the one paying. Maybe when we get closer to the Sand Dunes we can think about it.”
“It might be cheaper out here than New York,” Rosa said. “Lots of people out here seem to have their own small planes.”
How in the world did she know that? It made sense, but still . . .
Rosa bought two packs of Camels at the register, and they left.
Perhaps because it was on the driver’s side, Dominick was the first one to notice the flat tire.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
CHANGING THE TIRE cost them valuable time. Greg was furious. “Who’s fucking idea was this anyway?” He kept complaining until Fiona told him to just shut up and help. First they had to grapple with an unfamiliar jack and overtightened lug nuts, then look for a place to have the old tire repaired. Even Rosa admitted it would take too long for AAA or the rental car company to send someone.
They found a filling station back in San Jackson, a yellow stucco structure with three pumps holding an unfamiliar brand of gas. Next to it was a small weathered house, its porch crammed with discards. As they pulled in, Fiona saw that it was a secondhand furniture shop, opening at noon. Would anyone really buy a dresser missing its bottom drawer?
But at least the mechanic knew what he was doing. He showed them where a metal butterfly had been pressed into the tread, a time bomb designed to expand against the inner tube and cause a slow leak. He also found an identical device in the left rear tire.
Dominick shook his head. “God help us if both tires had gone at once.”
Rosa shuddered. “We would have been stuck in the mountains miles from anywhere. And probably without cell phone coverage.”
While they waited for the patching equipment to heat up, Rosa and Fiona walked down the road. “Look at that.” Rosa pointed to an oversized statue of two bronze figures rising out of the rock, staggering under the weight of a massive cross. “Centuries of symbolism from one strange image.”
Fiona sighed. “I know how they feel.”
; Somehow, without her realizing exactly when, her hope of finding Lee alive had quietly slipped away. Now she only wanted the truth.
THEY SET OUT for Fort Garland again, with Rosa reading the map. “Las Animas de Purgatoire. That means ‘Souls Lost in Purgatory.’ ”
It did not cheer anyone up.
“Northeast of here used to be the Goodnight Cattle Trail from Texas,” she continued. “They had such marvelous names for things.”
Marvelous names, but the country they were driving through was desolate.
Greg ducked to see out the front windshield and gestured at the mountains ahead of them. He was finally animated again. “That’s Little Bear! Blanca Peak is just behind it.”
“Greg, that couldn’t be.” Rosa pressed her finger to the map. “It’s miles from here.”
“I don’t know how far away it is, but I’m telling you, that’s Little Bear. I’ve seen too many photos not to know it when I see it. Is Penitente Canyon anywhere around here?”
“Penitente?” Rosa frowned through her reading glasses.
He turned around to look at the map with her. “It’s near La Garita. There!”
“But that’s west of here. I wonder what garita means anyway.”
Fiona slumped back against her seat and closed her eyes. So much fun traveling with you two. It was mean to begrudge them any pleasure, but she was starting to believe that the search was hopeless. All they had to go on were hints and murmurs about mountains and “something happening.” What if the note from the receptionist had just been another Day Star ploy to send them down a wrong track?
You couldn’t trust anyone.
She shifted as the motion of the road collided with her breakfast and made her nauseous. Maybe Greg was right to suggest chartering a helicopter. Even if it cost thousands of dollars, they could buzz the mountains day and night until they found something—if there was anything to find. That way they would have an outside witness and not be in any danger themselves.
“So where are these Sand Dunes?” she demanded, opening her eyes again.
Rosa looked. “They’re just north of the mountains and the Fort.”
“We should be asking more people more questions.” Residents in these one-traffic-light towns would certainly be sensitive to anything unusual. Assuming the worst had happened and people had somehow died on the plane, what could an airline do with a collection of bodies? Would they take them to local funeral homes and make up a cover story—or dig a mass grave and leave them? Maybe they should be looking for a large mound of disturbed earth.
“You know what?” she said. “I think we should rent a helicopter and fly over the area.”
Greg shifted in his seat, resting his chin on his knuckles as if to see her better. “When I said that, you shot the idea down. Let me remind you that we already have a plan. Not my plan; some psychic’s plan. You insisted I come along because of the mountains, and I finally agreed. The Great Sand Dunes. Little Bear. Blanca Peak. Do any of those names ring a bell?”
“Yes, Quasimodo, they do, but it’s not like they’re the only mountains around. Paolo Recchia didn’t use any of those names. Colorado is littered with mountains.” She held out her hand. “Let me see that climbing book.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “It’ll just make you sad.”
“Fiona, we have to start somewhere,” Dominick said reasonably, tilting his head to try to engage her in the mirror. “This is what you suggested last night.”
“I know, but—that was before I saw how big everything is. We could spend months hiking around here.” It hadn’t seemed this daunting when she had flown over it on the Day Star plane.
“You’re too much, you know that?” Greg raised his head. “Now that you’ve had an epiphany—‘It’s all so bi-ig’—you expect us to drop everything and change course. Who made you Alpha Dog?”
To her surprise, she laughed. “It’s that bad?”
“Worse.”
“It is overwhelming country,” Rosa defended her.
“No, it’s not that. I mean it is, but we don’t know what we’re looking for or even the right place to look. All we know is that people are missing and ‘something happened’ between Taos and Denver. Supposedly around here.”
“Because a psychic said so,” Greg broke in.
Dominick turned to look at Fiona. “I say we just go on to Denver and ask questions there.”
“Wait a minute. What about the mountain? I didn’t come all the way up here not to summit. I’m not just here for your delightful company,” Greg said.
“Which mountain were you thinking of?” Fiona asked. “I guess the tallest would have the best view.”
“They’re all about the same, fourteen thousand feet. Blanca’s the tallest. But pick one.”
“How do we get to them?”
Next to her, Rosa crinkled the map. “We go through Fort Garland and pick up 150 North.”
Fort Garland was dominated by the military post that had been built by Kit Carson as a defense against the Ute Indians. Fiona was reassured by the large American flag sticking out of the adobe. It was a reminder that even here the laws she had grown up with were still in effect. They were laws that made covering up wrongful death a crime.
They turned left. The mountains were on their right now, with flat range land in between. Fiona was chilled by the sight of so much unforgiving stone, but this time she said nothing. The tree line ended two-thirds of the way up, giving a clear view of the mountain tops. Any plane landing here would be seen from the highway.
“We want Route 150,” Greg told Dominick. “It’s probably the next right. Okay,” he added, checking his guide after Dominick had made the turn, “clock about nine miles.”
Dominick shook his head but kept driving.
Most of the dirt roads they passed had swinging triangular fences with locks. Then, across the way from a sign identifying a bison ranch, Greg said, “Stop! Turn in here.”
The road sloped slightly downward, sheltered by trees. At the base of the mountain, it turned right and started to rise. Maybe we could drive to the top, Fiona thought hopefully. She had seen those bumper stickers, “This car climbed Mt. Washington.”
Just after the three-mile marker a dirt road cut off to the right. “This should be Lake Como Road,” Greg said.
Dominick signaled unnecessarily and turned onto it.
The road was a nightmare. Uneven and cratered, it jounced the Explorer hard. The shape of the small tan boulders along its sides reminded Fiona uncomfortably of strewn luggage. As the map slid off her lap, Rosa clutched the grip on the door and the back of the front seat to steady herself. She sucked in her breath noisily as Dominick, avoiding a boulder shaped like a hatbox, scraped the front tire against granite.
Fiona, eyes now closed, was focused on keeping her stomach calm.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be driving on this,” Rosa gasped. “I’ve been on mountain roads in Italy, but nothing like this!”
After another few minutes of inching along, careful not to let the truck slide into the dense green underbrush, Dominick stopped. Shifting into Park, he removed the key. “This is as far as we go.”
“Are you kidding?” Greg said in protest. “This baby’s a four-wheel drive.”
Dominick gave him a look. “And what happens when we slice open the radiator? Or another tire gives way? I’m not going to try to explain why we drove a rental car up this mountain!”
“Obviously they thought of that when they mined the tires,” Fiona said. “They knew we couldn’t risk it with only one spare.” It would be even worse trying to back out. They never should have come in this far.
“You think the airline did that?” Greg asked skeptically.
“Well, it wasn’t some cowpoke pissed off because his java was late.”
“No? I kinda thought it was. They’re pretty touchy out here.” He consulted his guide. “We’ve got about a mile hike in to the lake, then level on a pack trail. Another two miles
up the west face.”
Rosa groaned.
Greg looked up. “I guess we’re not all going.”
There was a thoughtful silence.
“Only one of us has to get up high and look around,” he said finally.
“But you shouldn’t go by yourself,” Fiona said.
“So come with me.”
She turned to Dominick. She was probably relying on him too much.
“Don’t worry about me,” Rosa said briskly. She made a sweeping motion with her hand. “Go! I brought plenty with me to read. I’ll be fine.”
As if it were just a matter of whether or not she would get bored.
“No.” Fiona remembered Paolo Recchia’s warnings. “None of us should be alone.”
“I’ll stay,” said Dominick. “I’m no climber.”
Later, Fiona would be haunted by how casually they had made the decision of who would go up the mountain and who would stay behind.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“HAND ME MY pack,” Greg commanded and Fiona reached into the luggage well behind her. She wrested the red backpack up to him, shocked by how heavy it was. When they got outside, she said, “You’re bringing this whole thing?”
“I always do.”
“But why?”
“It’s got what I need.” Flipping back the top, he loosened the drawstring and tilted the pack so she could peer in. “Rope, runners, chalk bag, harness, hammer, chocks, and ’biners. Climbing boots, camera. Clothes for heavy dates in Santa Fe.”
“I don’t see the boots.”
He pulled out something that looked like laced dance slippers, with black rubber covering the top and far up the heel.
“But I don’t have anything like that!”
“You won’t need it for here. You’ve got on sneakers, and that’s fine.”
So why are you taking your fancy shoes along? But she realized it was a matter of security, to prevent possible loss if he left them behind. As if you could prevent losing anything, she thought, shaken by sudden fury.
The noon sun burned as if radiating off metal. As soon as she and Greg started along the path, she had to strip away her sweatshirt. But that gave more territory to the tiny irritants that buzzed her face annoyingly. Maybe once they reached the snow on the mountain it would be cooler and insect free.
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