Me, I had help that night. Headlights on the road. They came from the north. I stood up and thought about the Winchester Jocko had given me. I didn’t know if there were cartridges already in it. If not, I knew I wouldn’t have time to load any before whoever was coming was on me. I simply waited. Still as a man wrapped up in barbed wire.
The vehicle slowed as it approached. The headlights kept me blind. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that my heart had crawled away from my chest and taken up lodging in my throat, which was as dry as the dust I stood in. The vehicle, a pickup, drew abreast of me, the headlights no longer glaring in my eyes, and I could see again. The driver’s window slid down. A man who was probably my own age, wearing a red ball cap, studied me. In the backsplash of the headlights, I could see that his skin was shades darker than mine and the irises of his eyes were large, black seeds on white pillows.
“You okay, friend?” he asked.
“Fine, thanks.”
“Just enjoying the night sky?”
“Something like that.”
He peered up at the heavens. “Makes you believe in God, don’t it? Lived here all my life and looking up at that sky never gets old. Also never ceases to make me feel small and humble and grateful all at the same time, know what I mean?”
I did. And I told him so.
“You’re not from around here,” he said.
I told him no.
“Just a heads-up, friend. Truck like yours stopped along a back road like this, well, it might be interpreted by a lot of folks as an invitation to a particular kind of trouble.”
“You stopped.”
He said something to me in a language I didn’t understand, but from the tonal quality and cadence I figured was Native.
“What’s it mean?” I asked.
“It’s Apache. Roughly translated, it means “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” He smiled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your reverie. Just wanted to offer a hand if you needed it. Have yourself a blessed night.”
He drove on.
I got back into the pickup and returned to my journey.
Angels come in many forms.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
The Harrises’ home was a blaze of lights in the great dome of night. Frank came out to meet me long before I reached his doorstep.
“Saw your headlights,” he said. “Thought it might be you or Jocko. Cork, I’m so sorry.”
A long shadow crossed the glare from the porch. I looked up and saw Jayne coming from the house. When she reached me, she threw her arms around me in a warm hug.
“Oh, Cork, I don’t know what to say. How are you doing?”
“Holding up.”
Around us, illuminated in the porch light, were a thousand winged creatures, darting or hovering. The desert might have looked dead by day, but by night, it was insect Grand Central.
“Come inside,” Frank said, batting at something in front of his face. “We can talk there.”
In the house, Jayne said, “Can I get you something cold to drink?”
“Nothing, thanks. The sheriff’s people were here?”
“Just one deputy,” Frank said.
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That a few minutes after you flew out, I came back home. Everything was fine when I left Jocko’s. I worked on the winepress for a little while. I want to make sure we’re ready to go for harvest. Then Jayne and I had dinner and settled down to watch a video. That’s when the deputy came knocking on the door. He didn’t give us a lot of details. What exactly happened, Cork? All we know is that Rainy has disappeared.”
“She was gone when Jocko and I came back. All we found was blood and her cell phone.”
Jayne closed her eyes, as if trying to block out the image, and put a hand to her mouth.
“Did you tell them why Jocko took me up?” I asked.
“Told them you wanted to get a better sense of the lay of the land.”
“Good. Pretty much what we told them, too.”
Jayne’s eyes shot open, and she gave me and her husband a suspicious look. “But that wasn’t the real reason you were up there?”
“Part of it,” I said.
She hesitated, as if not sure she should ask what was next on her mind. “And the other part?”
Frank didn’t jump in—his reluctance, I remembered, to bring his wife into the business of the Desert Angels—so I did. “It had to do with Peter.”
She appeared to consider asking more, then must have decided against it.
“Whoever it was that took Rainy knew we were at Jocko’s,” I said. “Did either of you mention it to anyone?”
“I was glued to my computer,” Jayne said. “I didn’t even get any phone calls, which is unusual but always welcome. Lets me work uninterrupted.”
Frank shook his head. “Except for Jayne, I haven’t talked to anyone.” He looked beyond me. “By the way, where is Jocko?”
“His ranch house. I told him staying there might not be safe, but he insisted.”
“Stubborn old coot,” Frank said.
“These people probably know that I’ve talked with you two. And they certainly know that you employed Peter. How secure is this house?”
“It’s not just coyotes roam the hills at night,” Frank said. “We’re pretty well bunkered here.”
“Do you own a firearm?”
“This is Arizona,” he said as answer.
“All right. If you hear anything or think of anything, let me know.”
“Absolutely,” Jayne said. Then offered, “Would you like to stay here tonight?”
“That’s kind, but no thanks.”
“You’ll let us know if you find out anything?”
“Sure,” I told her.
I left them together in the cool of their big house and drove down the lane to the main road. I killed the engine and stared back at the glow from the Sonora Hills Cellars. Against the hard, black night, which was the natural state of affairs in a moonless desert, it seemed a terrible and somehow menacing brilliance. About Rainy’s disappearance, Frank and Jayne Harris claimed to be ignorant. But someone had let the bad guys know where Rainy was. I thought then about what everyone in Coronado County had been telling me from the beginning: Be careful who you talk to and even more careful who you trust.
Things were quiet when I rolled into Cadiz. I cruised down the main street. Only the bars were open, and judging from the vehicles parked in front, the business they were doing that night was just so-so. I drove past the church and the parsonage, keeping my eyes open for anything that might stand out on my radar. Both structures were dark and seemed no more threatening than empty pews. I drove down side streets, looking for someone who might have parked in walking distance. Or rifle range. Although I was satisfied that no one was waiting to ice me from the dark, I parked one street east and approached the parsonage from the rear. I unlocked the back door and went in. I didn’t switch on lights but used the flashlight app on my cell phone to find my way around and drew all the shades. Only then did I turn on a lamp.