water and sunscreen, etc. But Jarred, apparently making a last minute decision to head out into the desert, had not. In fact, he was completely unprepared. So halfway down the trail, the town historian went back up to fetch some of Willie’s water from the truck.
“Willie’s water?” I said.
“That sounds funny, huh.”
“Yes,” I said, but ever the professional, I continued on. “And Willie gave Jarred the keys to his own truck?”
“Yes.”
“Where the extra water was?”
“Yes.”
“And Jarred went alone?”
“Yes.”
“How long was Jarred gone?”
She thought some more. “As long as it takes to hike halfway up the trail and back down again. We were at the site by the time Jarred came back.”
I had been on that same trail. In fact, I had been shot at on that same trail. Altogether, it was about a half mile straight down a narrow rocky path. I mentally calculated how much time it would take to climb halfway back up and then down again.
“Thirty minutes?”
She shrugged. “He might have been gone a little longer. Maybe forty-five minutes or more. Willie and I were nearly done examining the site by the time Jarred returned.”
Fifteen minutes unexplained. Long enough to sabotage a vehicle?
I said, “And when he returns he’s suddenly helpful and friendly.”
“It was the strangest thing. But yeah, he’s answering questions and offering information.”
“Quite a change.”
“Yes, I was happy to see it,” she said. “Finally, he was being nice.”
“So then the three of you leave in separate vehicles.”
“Yes.”
“Except you and Jarred made it back to Rawhide and Willie doesn’t.”
She sucked in some air. Tears rapidly filled the corners of her eyes. The wetness amplified her eyes and made them look bigger than they were.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “When we left, I looked back a few times to make sure he was following us.” Tears were coming freely down her face. She had caught the attention of some people in the shop. She continued, “At some point we lost him. Because when I looked again, he was gone.”
“Where were you when you lost him?”
“On Burning Woman Road. We rounded a bend and suddenly he wasn’t there.”
Burning Woman was the single lane road that eventually connected to the I-15. A very long stretch of highway. Very long and very lonely.
She continued through her sobs. “I thought maybe he had pulled over to make a phone call, or turned around to go back to the site on his own.” She shrugged. “Or maybe he knew of another way out of there. I’m not exactly sure where Burning Woman heads off to.”
“So what did you do when you saw he was gone?”
“I told Jarred to go back.”
“And did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He said Willie was fine, that he had probably gone another way home, and that we had things to do at the museum.”
“I thought you said you had a day off.”
She nodded. “Jarred said we had a shipment come in last night, and he wanted me to catalogue it for display later in the week.”
“Hardly pressing.”
“Nothing at the museum could be considered pressing.”
“Did you see Willie with a cell phone?”
“No, but he had called earlier to let me know he was running a little late.”
“Did he call you while driving?”
She nodded again. “He was just heading off I-15 toward Rawhide.”
“Do you still have his cell number?”
She reached and opened her purse and removed her wallet, from which she removed a white business card. The cell number was hand-printed on the back of it. She handed it to me. “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Knighthorse.”
“What’s that?”
“If Willie had had his cell phone, why didn’t he call for help.”
I smiled encouragingly. Go on, my smile said.
She continued, “And if his cell phone had worked earlier in the desert it probably would have worked from Burning Woman, too.”
I let her keep talking. She seemed to be on a roll.
“So the question is: what happened to his cell phone?”
“The million dollar question,” I said.
Chapter Forty
After my meeting with Patricia, I bought myself a 12-pack of Bud and checked into the Desert Moon Motel near Barstow’s big outlet mall, which, coincidentally, had prices similar to regular malls.
The motel room was ordinary, although this one came with a bonus double bed and a lot of stuffy air. Now forced to make a decision, I stood in front of the double beds, thinking. Finally, with the air conditioner only managing to sputter semi-cool air, I opted for the bed closest to the window.
Once settled, I had Domino’s deliver a large cheeseburger pizza. I found a college football game and drank much of the beer and eventually ate the whole pizza, tossing the empty box on the carpet between the two beds, along with the empty beer cans. Gluttony at its best. The game droned on. I drank on. Cindy called a few times and each time I tried to hide the fact that I had beer breath, until I remembered she was a hundred miles away. Still, I think she knew, although she didn’t say anything.
Just watching the game was making my leg hurt. So I turned it off and limped across the room and over to the window and looked out across the black expanse of desert. The motel was on the fringes of town. I cranked open the window. A hot wind touched my sweating face. The wind was infused with sage and desert lavender and probably muskrat turds. I pulled up a chair, put my feet up on the windowsill and cracked open another beer.
I awoke the next morning in the same straight-back chair with the window open and the air conditioner chugging away, still holding a half-full can of beer.
So I finished the beer, looked at my watch. It was just before 9:00 AM. The Rawhide museum opened at 10:00. I had just enough time for a McDonald’s McGriddle!
I found Jarred’s address in the Barstow phone book. He lived in a condominium off of Somerset Street, in what would be considered downtown Barstow. At half past ten, I parked across the street.
My windows were down and my shades were on. The day was blistering. Heat waves rose off my hood. There was another sausage McGriddle in the bag for the ride home. I could hardly wait. Hope it didn’t spoil in the heat. A chance I was willing to take.
I stepped out into the heat, opened my trunk and returned to my front seat with a plastic case. From the
