Chapter Five #2
The Desert Star “Campground” was really a misnomer.
Michelle’s glamping operation consisted of fifteen canvas-sided huts elevated off the ground on wooden platforms. The units came equipped with hot showers, toilets, electricity, and phone chargers.
For these people, roughing it meant walking fifty yards to a giant yurt, where they could purchase lattes and breakfast tacos, along with a rotating dinner menu that included craft beer and wine pairings.
The central yurt went dark as Michelle shut down for the night. Leanne continued to stare out her window, swigging water as she watched her friend’s black silhouette tromp across the grounds to her house.
A clattering noise outside caught her attention.
She walked to the back door and switched on the porch light, but nothing happened.
The bulb was out. Leanne stepped onto the concrete patio and looked out.
She and Michelle were at the rear of the twenty-acre property, backing up to what had once been a working ranch but was now a dusty wedge of land dotted with sotol and prickly pear.
A steep mesa rose in the distance, a black line against the purplish night sky.
Unlike Michelle’s carefully cultivated yard, Leanne’s consisted of a couple of weedy beds.
The previous tenant had left behind a plastic chaise lounge, and Leanne sometimes used it on the rare occasions when she allowed herself to sit under the stars and think.
But those nights were few and far between, especially since the tourist season had ramped up.
Leanne eyed the row of tents in the distance.
All but three were dark now, including Nine.
She pulled the door shut behind her and ventured out into the campground, surveying the barbed-wire fence as she went.
The fence had gaps in places, and it wasn’t much of a deterrent for trespassers of the animal or human variety.
Michelle had signs posted all over about locking cars and securing valuables, but people were careless on vacation, and electronics had a way of disappearing.
Snick.
Leanne whirled around. A shadow moved in the brush. She took the mini Maglite from her pocket. Aiming it at the noise, she illuminated a spiny hechtia.
Snick.
Turning, she scanned the ground. An armadillo darted behind a cactus.
She switched off her light and traipsed back to the house. When she reached the doorstep, her path was blocked by a skinny white cat.
“Hey, Gus.”
He blinked up at her. One of his ears was torn, which gave him an advantage when begging for handouts.
“Don’t give me that look. You ate already.” She opened the door and waited for him to go inside. He belonged to Michelle, but he slept wherever he could find the warmest bed. He sniffed the air for a moment before sashaying off into the yard.
Leanne gazed out at the darkened landscape.
The throbbing at the base of her head was back again, stronger now.
Her muscles felt heavy, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep.
She’d be up roaming. Or worse, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the crushed skull and mutilated face.
That was someone’s daughter, someone’s child, left out there to rot and get feasted on by scavengers.
This one’s all you.
Leanne looked up at the sky and felt a pang so strong it took her breath away. Her eyes burned. If only her dad were here to talk it through.
She stopped the thoughts before they could spiral. It didn’t matter.
And anyway, if her dad were here, she wouldn’t be. His death had sucked her back home. That and her dysfunctional family. But her dad’s death was the catalyst, the thing that had thrown everything into chaos, and sometimes she resented him so much it was a white-hot coal in the center of her chest.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed a shower and a good night’s sleep. She needed a drink, too, but she knew that wouldn’t help.
She looked at her phone as the craving set in. It slid into her mind and made its way down, prickling nerve endings along the way. It had been twenty-nine days, almost a month. Her thumb started to move, scrolling, scrolling.
This won’t help, either.
Her brain knew that, but her fingers didn’t. She tapped out a message.
RU up?
She stared down at the screen, waiting.
“Come on,” she murmured.
A gray bubble popped up, and she held her breath. Then a word appeared.
Yes.
Her breath whooshed out. A heady combination of relief and excitement filled her, and her pulse started to thrum.
I’m working though.
Leanne blinked down at the words. For the second time tonight, she felt a flush of embarrassment. She squeezed her eyes closed. Twenty-nine days, blown. Some New Year’s resolution that was.
She tapped out another message and pocketed her phone. Then she went inside her house and locked the door.
· · ·
“I got her.”
Silence.
“You there?” Max held his phone in his hand, waiting for a response. In the background he heard highway noise, and he pictured his boss at a motel somewhere, probably trying to get laid.
“Yeah, copy,” he finally responded. “Is she alone?”
“Yes.”
Max stared at the little adobe house and waited. Patience was both a skill and a weapon, one that he’d honed to a sharp edge over the years. But right now patience was a challenge, even for him.
A light went on at the side of the house. The bathroom. It had a pocket door leading to the bedroom in back, the one where she slept. The front bedroom was full of moving boxes.
“She’s getting ready for bed,” Max said.
“Wait until tomorrow.”
“You sure? I can—”
“Not tonight. Wait.”
Max gritted his teeth. Tonight was better. She was alone, and he was ready. They had a limited window, and it was closing.
“Tomorrow, Max. You copy? We can’t afford to get this wrong.”