The Desert Behind Me Page 4

I struggled for composure. “Where’s your friend? Where’s the guy you were talking to?”

  Patricia caught up to us, questioning me with her eyes.

  “Did she leave with him? Did he give you his name? Say where they’re going?” I was scaring the taller girl, though the shorter one showed signs of recovering. She hardened her face, narrowed her eyes, and shut her mouth. One corner of her lips rose in a sign of contempt.

  I gave her my cop tone. “This is serious.”

  A slow smile built on her face. “What’s crawled up your butt?”

  Patricia stiffened and pulled up a tone she, no doubt, used with her children. “Can the attitude. One little girl has already gone missing.”

  I reached out and closed hard fingers on the short girl’s wrist. The blood pumped under my hold, young, alive. “This isn’t a joke.”

  As if she’d waited all her life for her starring role, she flicked her hair with a shake of her head. “You have no right to touch me. I’m a minor and this is harassment.”

  I squeezed her wrist. “Tell me. Where is she?”

  Patricia laid a gentle hand on mine, signaling me to let go of the girl.

  A woman’s sharp-toned voice interrupted us. “What’s going on here?”

  The taller one shrunk into herself and cast a hopeful look at the confident girl.

  The ringleader’s eyes rounded; her whole posture changed to one of contrition. “Ms. Turner, this officer came after us. I don’t know what she wants but we didn’t do anything wrong. We were just at the game.”

  Ms. Turner looked to be in her thirties, decked out in yellow and black booster gear, complete with sequined ball cap. She frowned at me. “I’m squad sponsor. What’s the problem?”

  Patricia introduced us as politely as if we attended a reception, and added, “Arizona Rangers, patrolling the tournament.”

  I couldn’t match her elegance of style. “They were talking to a man. One of the girls left with him. He’s a lot older and I….”

  Patricia’s surprised expression didn’t mask irritation that I hadn’t told her about this.

  Blood drained from Ms. Turner’s face. She turned to the shorter girl. “Megan, is this true?”

  Megan’s faked look of shock shouldn’t fool a seasoned teacher. “Absolutely not! I mean, I wasn’t. I got a Coke at the concession stand, then Jen and I left the ball park. You said to be back at school right after the game.”

  Ms. Turner still didn’t acknowledge the blonde. “Was Cali with you the whole time?”

  Megan’s look of guilt stunk. “Um, well….”

  Right now, I wasn’t interested in Ms. Turner and her investigation. I butted in. “Is Cali the blonde? Where is she?”

  Jen, the girl with acne, opened her mouth. “You think Cali’s in trouble?”

  I barely kept my voice steady. “Do you know where she was going?”

  Megan pulled Jen close to shut her up. Her focused jumped between me and Ms. Turner. “Cali’s not in any trouble. And we didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Ms. Turner’s eyebrows v’d; she let out a long exhale. “You three have pushed me far enough. Between showing up at practice late and disappearing midway through the last inning—”

  “Jen started her period and she didn’t have any tampons and Cali said she had some in her car.”

  I wasn’t concerned with these girls earning demerits. I broke in again. “Cali. Did she say where they were going?”

  Ms. Turner glanced back at the ball park, maybe looking for reinforcements, or giving herself a moment to contain her temper.

  Megan took the opportunity to shoot me a derisive sneer.

  I fisted my hands and bit my lip. A rusted white Honda Civic pulled up to the curb. The tinted window of the driver’s side slid down, revealing a blonde ponytail held in a yellow and black bow, then worried blue eyes. Cali asked sheepishly, “Are we in trouble?”

  Megan smirked at us. She whipped her hair from her face, stupidly confident. “No. But Officer Butthead will be if she doesn’t stop harassing us.”

  Jen looked uncertain. Megan brushed past me and sashayed to the passenger side, hips swinging.

  Ms. Turner rested a hand on Cali’s window. “Okay. I’m not sure what all went on here, whether there was some guy flirting with you. I suspect Officer Butler is right. But no proof. I do know you ditched the game. For that, and for your disrespect of the officers, you’re all on suspension for the rest of the tournament.”

  Megan’s protests erupted. Cali immediately broke into sobs. Jen’s mouth dropped open.

  “I expect you to be at practice this evening, as usual.” Ms. Turner nodded at Patricia and me and stomped back to the ball park.

  Jen slid into the backseat of the Honda and Cali’s window started its smooth rise. Blinker on, slow and careful U-turn, the Civic joined the procession away from the ball park.

  From the passenger side, Megan’s hand slithered up, middle finger raised.

  My stomach soured at the warning in my head.

  “You’re a moron. What happens now is your fault.”

  5

  I trudged toward the park. The girls were safe for now, but my icky hairs stayed on alert. Recriminations rang in my head. Clearly my intuition was faulty.

  Patricia fell in beside me.

  I couldn’t help defending myself. “The guy nosing up their skirts had to have been in his thirties. It could have gone wrong.”

  I heard Frank again. “It is going wrong, moron.”

  She nodded and kept her eyes on the sidewalk. “Always good to trust your gut. I only served on the force a few years before I quit when I got pregnant, but even then, I developed that sixth sense. How long were you on the force in Buffalo?”

  First Grijalva, now more probing. I considered what to reveal. “Went into the Army straight from high school and to the academy when I was discharged.”

  “Your whole life, sounds like.”

  She had no idea.

  She shook her head, pony tail wagging from the back of her Ranger’s cap. As a teen, she’d probably looked similar to Cali. The image stabbed at me.

  Patricia chattered as we walked. “I like taking shifts with you. Some people want to talk and don’t let me keep an eye out. But, honestly, after the other day, I feel like you know me way more than I know you. So, you were military. What else?”

  Possible replies, everything from a polite “not much to tell” to “get screwed” flew past me. They always ran the gamut, challenging me to pick appropriately. I chose a reasonable reaction. “Good thing about starting with the force early is getting to retire young enough to enjoy life.”

  “I agree. That was going to be my plan until I got the baby urge. Now volunteering for the Rangers is the closest I’ll get to a law enforcement career. But I love being a mother.”

  My throat closed and I couldn’t answer. My feet kept pounding on the sidewalk, taking us closer to the field.

  Patricia seemed determined to be friendly. “I’m guessing you’re happy about your move to Tucson.” Her comment sounded winded and I realized I’d been striding out. I slowed.

  “Desert’s nice after the winters in Buffalo.” I used to be good at small talk. The details of others’ lives created curiosity. I could talk easily about how my daughter’s teething kept me up for three days straight and I fell asleep standing up. Or how she’d organized her kindergarten class for a parade one afternoon when her teacher had taken a student to the nurse’s office. Now, I struggled for anything to say to keep a conversation light. I could only fantasize about finding a sense of humor again.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been a desert rat all my life.” She kept at it. “What prompted you to volunteer for the Rangers?”

  The last hope of salvation. An effort at redemption, though it was impossible. “Seemed a good way to help out.”

  She agreed. “I understand. On the force, we served and protected. Saved lives. Now, we wander around in uniform as glorified crowd control.
Scan folks at the courthouse, play sit and fetch for the real law.”

  I stopped and quieted the roar in my head. “Maybe I over-reacted with those girls. But something felt off and I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  Patricia held up her hands. “Whoa. I’m not saying anything about that. I wasn’t there. I know this whole thing with Zoey Clark has me jumpy. Maybe you are hyper-vigilant, too.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” First my icky hairs sent false signals, then I bristled up and got defensive. I couldn’t blame Patricia if she quit trying to know me.

  We made it back to the ball field. “The next shift is due about now. Let’s go wait by the parking lot. Deon is supposed to pick me up there.”

  We wove through the crowd. Pete surveyed the area without looking directly at me. “Thanks for being there. Deon said you rode with me and told the EMTs about my diabetes. How did you know?”

  She’d probably think I was a stalker or weirdo. “You drink juice or soda at regular intervals, or you suck on hard candy. I saw you down one of those pouches a few months ago.”

  She frowned. “I’m usually careful about anyone seeing me do that.”

  I shrugged. She didn’t need to know how closely I observed everything around me now. She glanced at me. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone else about it.”

  I didn’t tell anyone more than they needed. “Sure.”

  “If the guys know about it, they’ll think I’m not up to the job, you know? And I need this gig for my sanity.”

  I understood her desperation to keep her position with the Rangers. With her confidence and diligence, no one would doubt her. “I won’t say anything.”

  A tall, broad-shouldered Latino in a khaki deputy uniform rounded the corner of the concession stand. My heart thumped.

  Patricia broke into a grin. “Rafe, twice in two days! You’re like stink on a dead cat.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her greeting, then turned his gaze to me, a smile growing in his eyes. “That’s a hell of a welcome.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t be so sensitive. What are you doing here?”

  “Deon said you were patrolling the game and I wanted to check up and see if you’re okay. Now I’m rethinking that courtesy.”

  Patricia lowered her voice. “We saw the posters for Zoey Clark. She was in our class at Kino yesterday. Do you have any word?”

  Though he didn’t have a change of expression, his eyes conveyed deep concern. “Not yet. Department’s got all hands trying to figure out what happened. She was supposed to go to a neighbor’s house after school but never showed up.”

  I inhaled, pulling myself closer, trying to keep from flying apart.

  Patricia blinked and swallowed, then bent to type a text.

  Rafe turned to me. “Jamie. How’re you doing?”

  “Damn it.” Patricia stuffed her phone into her pocket. “Deon’s meeting is running late.”

  “I can take you home.” It popped out before I thought about it.

  “Really? You wouldn’t mind?” She whipped her phone out. “Deon thanks you. I thank you, too, because now I won’t have to listen to him bitch about it.”

  While she thumbed a text, Grijalva shook his head. “Deon does not bitch. He dotes on you like a lovesick teen.”

  She waved Grijalva off. “He never says anything but I know he’s got more important things to do than wait on me.”

  A reply beeped from her phone and she set about typing again.

  Grijalva stepped toward me. “I’m glad to see you again.” He held his phone up. “I found some pictures from a hike I did three years ago in the White Mountains. Thought you might be interested.”

  I leaned closer to the small screen. His scent of soap and warm skin didn’t make me want to pull away.

  The first shot showed a broad valley floor. “This is the drive up there, leaving the desert and heading into the mountains.” Sun-speckled leaves and sandy soil along a trail featured in the next. My stomach tightened. Grijalva pointed a finger with a clean, trimmed nail. “See that guy? A collared lizard.”

  I focused on the rainbow colors of the lizard. “He’s gorgeous.”

  The next picture was of a small clearing surrounded by leafy trees, branches on muddy ground. The area looked trampled but empty. Remote. Cool. Dank. The memory slinked past my defenses before I could stop it.

  The musty smell of damp earth mingles with the sweet scent of lilac. Clouds hang heavy with rain that had fallen off and on for three days. Carcasses of vehicles crowd around us, leaving a narrow path. Their hoods gaping, engines picked over by mechanic carrion. The light is dim even though it is probably the middle of the day. Time stopped meaning anything in that impossible interim. Hope that started bright has faded. My feet gather mud, growing heavier as I search deeper in the gloom.

  The picture on Grijalva’s phone was the in White Mountains. It only took seconds to ground myself at the ball park. Neither Patricia nor Grijalva seemed to notice my hesitation. “That’s pretty.” My voice sounded steady. Surprisingly, I didn’t have the strong urge to bury myself under the bleachers.

  “That was a good trip. I’ve really been wanting to go back.” Grijalva slipped the phone into his shirt pocket.

  “I’d like to get up to the Grand Canyon before it gets too hot.” Planning something in the future, even a short backpack trip, was something Tara and I thought would be good for me. I didn’t tell Patricia and Grijalva I’d also tried to get up there before the snows fell on the rim last fall. That hadn’t happened.

  “You can do the North Rim all summer long,” he said. “It’s a great trip. Fewer people and more trees than the South Rim. Have you done Picacho Peak?”

  “Not yet.”

  He sounded excited. “You should do it soon. But start at daybreak so it’s not so hot. It’s a challenge—there are cables you use to pull yourself up. I’d be happy to go with you anytime.”

  Patricia cleared her throat. “Hello. I thought you came to see me.”

  My face flamed, probably turning as red as Grijalva’s did. He stepped away from me. “You look fine. I’d better get back on the mean streets.”

  She scoffed. “Not all the taco trucks along Valencia need inspected.”

  He walked toward the parking lot. “That’s harsh, Sanchez.”

  “Thanks for checking up on me, Rafe,” she said to his back and he waved. She winked at me and murmured, “Even though I think he was here to see someone else.”

  That wasn’t good. Or was it? It might be pushing myself too fast. Or it could be what I needed.

  Our replacements arrived and Patricia bantered with them.

  “I’ll bring the car.” I skirted them and hurried to the lot. Nervous about driving across town, trapped in the car with Patricia, and maybe running out of conversation, I needed to talk to someone.

  I pulled out my phone but Frank didn’t have a number and I didn’t need to dial. I spoke into the device, and Frank’s reply sounded as if he stood next to me—a solid, weighty voice with no physical body.

  He didn’t want to talk about Grijalva and Patricia and making new friends. Uncharacteristically short winded, he only said, “If you weren’t such a moron, you could have stopped it. Just like last time.”

  6

  The trip across town went by quickly. Patricia chatted about her two daughters and the conflict between the teacher and some parents. Typical life for a woman with kids. It didn’t set off any stomach clenching. My thoughts swirled around Cali. Too kind and soft to be hanging around with Megan and Jen. She singled out the misfits at the school yesterday and showed concern for Patricia when she’d had her seizure. I couldn’t help worry, especially after Frank’s mystic messages. I knew the good and kind were the most vulnerable. And I couldn’t save them.

  Patricia invited me in for iced tea but I turned her down. I didn’t tell her that taking her home was no inconvenience for me. It took me closer to my next stop.

  Tara’s office oc
cupied a suite in a collection of whitewashed adobe office buildings with red tile roofs, surrounded by a sea of palm trees. The whole scene soothed in a quiet, upscale way.

  I liked my seedier south side of town, way more Mexico than suburbia, though my house was in a neighborhood aspiringly called Sonoran Ranch Estates. Drive five miles and the stores’ intercom made announcements in Spanish, roadside vendors popped up with everything from oranges and honey to garage sale items. No well-tended landscaping in the shopping centers and medians. Taco trucks far outnumbered fine dining restaurants.

  In north Tucson, everything felt like a resort. Mom wanted me to live here, close to Tara’s office.

  The outer lobby, with its tasteful southwestern art, water cooler, and comfortable chairs, made for a pleasant place to wait. A light, located by the door and behind whomever sat on the couch inside her office, would alert Tara of my presence. In no time Tara appeared, inviting me inside.

  “Glad you didn’t have to miss today’s appointment. I know you like the Rangers assignments, but I don’t like when you cancel appointments.” she held the door open for me. “Especially now.”

  Most of the time I didn’t mind that Tara kept the leash tight. “Sorry about missing yesterday, but I handled the school assignment well. The job tomorrow is in the afternoon so I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’m glad you seem to be dealing with this time of year much better than last year. The Rangers might be good for you.”

  I wish Mom felt that hopeful about it. “It keeps me busy.”

  All soft femininity, Tara wore a pastel, gauzy dress and strappy sandals. She settled herself in her usual stuffed chair, tucked her dark hair behind her ear, and reached for her notepad, all the while holding me with a welcoming and open face. “That’s a good thing?”

  More comfortable on her couch than I’d been two years ago, I still felt that tug-of-war between total honesty and wanting to appear strong. “Getting out of the house is helpful, I think. Though Mom thinks maybe I’m overdoing it.”

  She nodded. “Why would she think that? Are you tired or upset?”