“I would imagine.”
She drew in a deep breath and looked up at me, her eyes fogged with tears. “I need to talk with her.”
“I bet.”
“No, I mean now.”
I glanced at Henry, sitting on the Dodge’s grill guard with his back to us as though he weren’t paying any attention. “Well, we can cover your duty while you go run her down. It won’t take very long to catch that beater.”
She glanced around, unsure of herself but finally making a decision. “No, I need to stay here in the canyon. Can you go and get her? Bring her back so I can talk to her?”
It seemed like a strange streak of logic. “Tonight?”
“Now. I need to talk to her now. Please?”
“Okay.” I glanced at Henry, who had turned and was looking at us from over one shoulder. “Let’s go.”
We piled into my truck and drove north in the direction that the Toyopet Crown had headed, the flurries seeming serious all of a sudden, and I hoped this was not going to turn into one of those spring blizzards. I wondered why Rosey had insisted on staying in the canyon but figured she wanted to in case the radio transmission came through again.
“Why do you suppose she wants to stay there?”
“I am not sure—maybe she is expecting another radio call?”
I flipped on my windshield wipers. “But why does she care at this point? We heard it, so she knows it’s not a ghost—so why does she feel compelled to stay there?” I thought back about something I’d heard, something someone had said. “There was something Jim Thomas said about Mike Harlow—that he made mention that no one ever really got out of the canyon, so why not stay?”
“Perhaps Rosey has fallen prey to the same psychosis.”
“You think there’s a geographically specific psychosis?”
He glanced up at the towering granite walls. “It is a unique place, and it is possible that people are responding to it in a particular way.”
Hustling through the curves, I spotted lights up ahead. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
There were a pair of dim headlights, but the vehicle looked too large to be the Toyota and, with its lights pointed toward us, it was going the wrong way. As we slowed, I could see that it was the Coleman oil tanker, the driver probably pulling over to cool his brakes.
The outlaw was out of his truck and was kicking something underneath the tanker, maybe trying to eke out another couple of miles from the old Diamond Rio.
Figuring he wasn’t my problem at the moment, I accelerated through the turn and could see the taillights of the vintage car heading around the next curve. I hit the gas and caught up with Sam in the next straightaway. Switching on the emergencies, I blipped my siren and pulled them over near the rock wall between the reflector posts.
Jumping out, I slammed the door behind me and moved through the eighth of an inch of slush that was trying to decide if it was going to turn to ice or melt. I got up to the driver’s side and tapped on the window. Sam cranked it down and looked at me. “Rosey wants to talk to Kimama.”
“What about?”
I leaned down to look across at her. “She thinks you might’ve been her nanny when she was young.”
Lowering herself over the center console, she squinted at me. “Bucket, have you been drinking?”
“When she was a child, she lived here—well, down in Riverton—and she told me that she had a nanny who was called Butterfly, who used to call her Little Mouse. Does any of that sound familiar to you?”
Her eyes widened, and her hand came up to cover her gaping mouth as she leaned across the car to look at me closer. “The flat-hat, she was a child here?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure—thirty-five years ago?”
Her hand fumbled across Sam as he reached out and steadied her. “Kimama, are you all right?”
“The flat-hat, where is she?”
I nodded due south. “Back at the tunnel. Why?”
“I must go to her.”
I stepped back. “C’mon, you can ride with me.”
Sam held fast. “No, I will bring her. You go ahead, and we will follow.”
“Okay.” I started to go but then turned and pointed a finger at both of them and spoke in my authoritative voice. “Hey, put on your seat belts.” I carefully jogged back to the Bullet, where Henry was waiting. Closing the door, I started the ten cylinders and turned back south. “Why’d you stay in the truck?”
“Because I could not get out—you lodged it against the cliff.” He looked at the old Toyota. “What did Kimama say?”
“She knows her. Has to—it’s too much of a coincidence. The names, the timing, and she said she needed to see her immediately.”
“The same thing Rosey said.”
I turned on my emergency lights. “Yep.”
“Thirty-six years.”
“Kimama said thirty-five but close enough.”