by Aimée Thurlo
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For Aimée
The love she had for storytelling is now a gift to be shared forever with our readers.
— ACKNOWLEDGMENTS —
To Peggy, Pete, Nicole, Jackie, Sydney, George, Herman, Isabel, Vivian, Herb, Melissa, Peter, and the others who were there for us not only during those final days, but for me in the weeks beyond.
— PROLOGUE —
18 MONTHS AGO
Kurt Vance had cheated on his wife, stolen thousands of dollars, and lied to almost everyone—and almost no one knew any of that. Everyone thought he was just a regular guy, and today he was doing a regular guy thing, going hunting with friends and coworkers.
He stopped beside a big piñon tree, standing very still, rifle ready, scanning the area for mule deer moving uphill from the orchards below. It was barely dawn and the steam from his breath rose in the cold air. He was in the center position, with a fellow hunter on both flanks, each about a hundred yards away. All three of them were wearing bright orange vests—no sense in having some nearsighted jerk mistake anyone for a deer and start blasting away.
Kurt yawned, wishing he’d taken that second cup of coffee. Though he and the guys had spent most of the night talking, he’d still managed to get out of his sleeping bag around 5:00 A.M.
If they got their deer on opening day, he’d be home by dark, maybe even in time to take Leigh Ann out for dinner.
He smiled to himself. He loved Leigh Ann. His affairs meant nothing, and after all, he’d always come back to her. A few times he’d thought of coming clean and telling her about all the women he’d screwed and asking her to forgive him. Yet something told him that owning up to what he’d done would be a huge mistake. His conscience would feel better, but his wife sure wouldn’t. He’d blow his marriage sky high for sure.
Shaking off those thoughts, he squinted into the tree line downslope, looking for movement. He checked his rifle for the third or fourth time: barrel up and safety on, his mantra to Leigh Ann each time she’d gone to the range with him. A small-town Texas girl, she was a natural with a rifle.
Many years had passed since Leigh Ann’s days as head cheerleader and prom queen, but she was still drop-dead gorgeous. Him hooking up with other women … that wasn’t about her. He wanted to prove to himself he still had what it took. He’d been the high school quarterback, the guy everyone had envied. Now … not so much.
He watched the far slopes as the sunrise slowly spread over the mesa. A few minutes ago, the light had been just a glow on the crest. Now the shadow line was halfway down.
It was so quiet he could hear his own breathing. Then he heard a snap from somewhere behind him and to the right. Close. Maybe a buck had come up undetected and was passing between him and Wayne.
He reached down slowly with a gloved hand and slid off the safety on his rifle. A slow turn was best, and less likely to spook the animal.
Suddenly there was a loud boom and his chest exploded in pain. Kurt felt his legs go weak as he fell backward. Lights flashing in his brain, he tried to understand what had just happened.
Seconds later, vaguely aware that he was on his back on the cold ground, he felt something warm flowing across his skin and realized he’d been shot. Karma. It had all finally caught up to him. He heard footsteps and a form loomed over him. He stared up, trying to see who it was …
— ONE —
THE PRESENT
Leigh Ann Vance stood beside the cash register and gave silent thanks that she still had a job. Business wasn’t booming, but at least it was steady, and it beat the hell out of that waitressing job she’d had five or six years ago. Here at The Outpost, she’d never once had a beer spilled on her by a drunk or been groped by some horny cowboy.
The only plus back then was that the job got her out of the house and gave her spending money that didn’t require her to justify the expenditure to Kurt. Life was definitely better now.
Waving at the last customer of the day as the woman stepped outside, she sighed. It was 6:00 P.M. and she’d been here since six in the morning. Although she was in her mid-thirties, at the moment, her energy level was down to zero and she felt ancient.
“You know that you don’t have to put in such long hours, don’t you?” Josephine Buck said with a weary smile as she double-locked the door and flipped around the closed sign. Jo owned The Outpost Trading Post, which was located just east of the border of the Navajo Nation in San Juan County, New Mexico.
“You can use a hand,” Leigh Ann said. “Your workdays are even longer than mine.”
“That’s true, but I can’t afford to pay you for the extra hours. The trading post is doing better now, but business is still not up to where it was before the recession.”
“I don’t mind helping out. Working here is better than going—” She stopped speaking abruptly. As friendly as Jo was, she was still the boss, and there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
“It’s your home, isn’t it?” Jo said softly. “You don’t want to live in that house anymore, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Leigh Ann admitted in a quiet voice. “I can make ends meet since my sister Rachel is paying her share of the rent, utilities, and food bills, but I hate that place now. Every time I walk in the door, I think of Kurt, our screwed-up marriage, and his accident. He cheated with other women and left me nearly penniless, but I still feel guilty for not being able to mourn him. I’d sell the place tomorrow if I could, but with the housing market in this area what it is I wouldn’t be able to get what it’s worth.”
“It’s tough to make these decisions alone,” Jo said with a nod, then glanced in the direction of Ben Stuart’s office. Leigh Ann was using it now as Jo’s only salaried employee, but she knew it would always be Ben’s office. Before that, it had belonged to Ben’s father, Tom Stuart, the late owner of The Outpost. He’d left the trading post to Jo, but she and Ben now ran it together.
“You really miss him, don’t you?” Leigh Ann said quietly. “How long has it been now, six months since his unit touched down in Afghanistan?”
Jo nodded. “Six months and eight days. We Skype a lot, but seeing his face sometimes makes the separation a lot tougher. He’s right there on the screen, so close I can reach out and touch him, but still so far away.” Jo shook her head. “At least he’s alive and well, and that’s all that matters.”
“It’s really nice that you two found each other again,” Leigh Ann said, giving her a bright smile. “On that note, I better get going. I’ve got to climb into the attic, and I don’t like going up there after dark.”
“Problems?”
“You sure it’s a squirrel?”
“Pretty sure. I haven’t seen any signs of mice yet, but squirrels are running everywhere in the yard. Rachel swore she was only feeding one, but I guess it brought its friends and relatives.”
* * *
Leigh Ann drove home slowly in her old Jeep. She envied Jo. The young Navajo woman had ties to her culture that would sustain her no matter what the circumstances. She had rediscovered her relationship with Ben and had a wide circle of friends and a solid support system in place at the trading post. Ben had even helped her pay for the construction of a small hogan behind his house next to The Outpost, a place he insisted could be her medicine hogan someday.
Leigh Ann’s own life was vastly different. She’d been alone long before her husband had died in a hunting accident more than a year ago. Their marriage had been nothing more than a sham. Even though she was now sharing her home with her sister, Rachel, they weren’t close and mostly went their own ways.
She parked in the driveway and walked past the ADT sign in the front yard. She could no longer afford the security service, but she’d left the sign up, hoping it might deter anyone thinking of breaking in.
As she stepped into the small foyer, she saw Rachel coming down the stairs wearing pink sneakers, white exercise shorts, and a light blue, sleeveless, crop-top T-shirt. Rachel had dyed her beautiful ash-blond hair a garish shade of red that made Leigh Ann cringe. The color didn’t do a thing for her, but Rachel loved it.
“You’re home earlier than usual,” Rachel said, leaning against the banister. “I picked up some takeout. Just pizza, but there’s plenty left in the kitchen.”
Leigh Ann forced a smile, looking down at her own jeans and turquoise knit Outpost polo shirt, complete with store logo. The jeans were feeling a little tight around the waist today.
She’d told Rachel she was trying to lose a few pounds but, as usual, Rachel couldn’t remember anything that didn’t directly affect her. “Thanks, I’ll pass on that, but before you start your exercises, I’d like you to hold the ladder for me while I go up into the attic.”
“Why? There’s no telling what’s up there—spiders the size of your fist, and maybe even mice. It’s just not safe. Remember when I helped you store Mom’s things? Except for that one spot, there’s no flooring, just insulation and the Sheetrock ceiling. You can’t put weight on that without falling through.”
“Kurt placed some flat boards on top of the rafters to create walkways and more storage space. Otherwise his fishing gear and golf clubs would have fallen through ages ago.”
Rachel gave her a wan smile. “Come on, Leigh Ann, it’s really hot and creepy up there. Why do you care if the squirrel set up a nest? Let it.”
“They chew through stuff and might eventually short out some electrical wiring. It’s a fire hazard. There’s way too much junk up there anyway, and I need to clear some of it out.”
“Are you thinking about selling the house?” Rachel asked quickly, a touch of panic in her voice.
Leigh Ann knew that Rachel was saving a lot of money by living with her. By sharing expenses, they could afford this large, three-bedroom home instead of being stuck in one-bedroom apartments in Kirtland or Farmington, farther east.
“No, I’m not selling. This isn’t a good time for that, but that’s not the point. Besides the danger to the wiring, we don’t want to provide homes for creatures who might bring in the plague or hantavirus.”
“Okay, but you hate closed-in spaces and creepy crawlies as much as I do. Let’s get someone else to do it.”
“We can’t afford an unnecessary expense like that, and I’m through putting this off. Something’s been running back and forth up there. If it’s a squirrel, then I have to find out how it’s getting in and out, and see what damage it’s already caused. If it’s mice or rats, then we need to set traps.”
“Okay, okay. How can I help?” Rachel said with a sigh.
“Stay close by in case I need you.”
“Once you’re at the top of the ladder, I’ll hand you a broom. If anything gross is dangling down from a spiderweb, you can swat it away.”
Leigh Ann smiled. “You recall that cabin we squatted in the summer Daddy lost his job?”
“That place was beyond creepy. No windows in the bedroom, and you could hear things moving around at night in the walls and under the floor,” Rachel said, and shuddered. “Remember that huge, hairy spider that crawled onto the pillow between us that night? Man, did we scream.”
“To this day, I still can’t stand spiders,” Leigh Ann said. “That’s why, as a general rule I’ve avoided the attic. Kurt and I made a deal. I cleaned the house and he was responsible for the garage and attic.”
“It looks like it’s our job now,” Rachel said with a smile.
A few minutes later, at the top of the ladder, Leigh Ann aimed a flashlight around the hot, dusty attic. After a moment, she hoisted herself up the rest of the way, stepped onto a board, and pulled the long dangling chain connected to the single-bulb fixture. The confined space was suddenly flooded with light.
The place was so dusty it made her nose itch, but at least there was no damp, musty smell. The roof had never leaked. Of course they were in the middle of a drought and rain was as rare as unicorns.
She studied the layers of insulation and the simple board walkways, and looked closely at the electrical wiring and metal conduits that supplied the heat, air-conditioning, powered the ceiling lights and the various circuits. At least it seemed to be in good shape. Fitted together sheets of plywood placed across the rafters supported plastic containers filled with Christmas decorations, a metal book stand, fishing tackle boxes, and several fishing rods. Fine dust and spider webs covered everything.
Close by was a stack of long, flat boards. After a moment’s thought, Leigh Ann realized that Kurt had probably used them to create temporary paths across the rafters. One false step onto the Sheetrock or insulation could be dangerous or fatal.
Farther across the attic where the pitched roof sloped down to the walls, she saw another makeshift plywood platform. Several cardboard boxes and one made of metal, maybe a toolbox, were nestled in a pile of fluffy insulation that must have been pulled loose. A couple of black plastic trash bags covered a long object, maybe another fishing rod. The loosened insulation seemed like a potential squirrel hiding place.
“Whatcha see?” Rachel called from below.
“Mom’s stuff and a bunch of man toys. I’m going to check out a place I think the squirrel was interested in. I don’t think it’s there now, but I’ll take a look and make sure nothing’s damaged. Then I’m going to bring back some junk and hand it down to you. It’ll be dusty, so be prepared to sneeze.”
As she spoke, Leigh Ann laid one of the long, wide boards across the rafters in the direction of the possible nest.
“Want the broom, just in case?” Rachel asked.
Leigh Ann felt something brush against her leg and tried not to flinch. “Good idea. I can probe the insulation without putting my hand into … whatever.”
Two minutes later, on hands and knees, Leigh Ann inched along the first board, broom and extra boards beside her across the rafters. As she moved, she’d pick up another board and position it in front of her as she created a path toward the boxes. Soon, she’d placed the last board in position and was less than five feet away.
She extended the broom toward the pile of loose pink insulation, then gingerly touched it to the top of the material. She cringed, hoping the squirrel wouldn’t leap out and run right down the board.
Nothing. She wiggled the bristles of the broom around a little. All she saw was a little dust and some pink fibers drifting up into the light.
“So far, so good. Nothing’s in the nest,” she called out.
; “Good!” Rachel said, her voice suddenly much louder.
Leigh Ann looked back toward the ladder. Rachel’s head was sticking up into the attic. “Joining me?”
“Uh-uh. Sorry, Leigh Ann. This is as far as I go.” Rachel seemed to study the situation. “Hey, maybe the squirrel is underneath those trash bags. Stir it up a bit.”
“Not funny, what if it attacks?”
“Nah, it’ll run toward the wall or a vent and maybe we’ll see how it’s been getting in,” Rachel said.
“I don’t want to get any closer until I’m sure it’s not hiding somewhere.” Leigh Ann inched forward, straining for a closer look. “I wonder what’s in that gray metal box?”
She shifted the broom to the top of the box, pressed it against a small handle, and tried to pull it toward her. When she realized there was a string attached to the handle, she tried to break it away with the broom.
An enormous flash and boom shook the entire attic, yanking the broom right out of her hand. Stunned, Leigh Ann ducked, clapping her hands to her ears, and nearly rolled off the narrow board. Her ears ringing, she peered through the cloud of dust and debris, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
“Leigh Ann. Are you okay?” Rachel’s voice seemed to floating in from the distance. “Leigh Ann? Leigh Ann!”
Leigh Ann shook her head, backed up a couple of feet, then turned around, looking at Rachel, who was halfway into the opening now. “Umm, I’m okay, but something just blew up.”
“What did you do?”
“I don’t know. I hit a string with the broom, then something exploded.”
Rachel pointed. “Over there. Is that a fire? I see smoke.”
As Leigh Ann turned, she saw shattered fishing gear and shreds of cardboard littering the top of the insulation batts. One of the truss beams that braced the connection between the roof and rafters had been peppered with holes and was shattered in half. Farther to the right, she glimpsed something she finally recognized. Sticking out of one of the black plastic bags was a big gun barrel. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the muzzle. “Nope, no fire. I smell gunpowder, though.”