Of all the attendants on the lot that afternoon, Bobby Salazar was uniquely qualified to recognize the ill- concealed stain for what it was-blood. He had seen bloody carpet before, and he had tried to clean it up with a similar lack of success.
One of his ex-roommates, Kiki Rodriguez, had been home alone when he had gotten bombed out of his gourd on Ever-clear. Nobody ever knew, because Kiki couldn’t remember and couldn’t tell them exactly how he had broken the glass that cut his hand so badly. What was clear was that he had wandered aimlessly around the apartment, bleeding like a stuck pig and leaving a trail of blood everywhere, before he finally passed out on the couch. Bobby had been the one who came home and found him there. He had called 911. The EMTs had taken Kiki off to the ER, leaving Bobby to deal with both the cops and the bloody carpet. He wasn’t sure which had taken longer, answering the cops’ questions or trying to get the damned blood out of the carpet. He had tried everything, including calling in a professional carpet cleaner, but when he had moved out of the apartment two months later, the stains had still been visible enough that Bobby had lost his security deposit.
Concerned, Bobby got out of the car and gave the rest of the front seat a thorough examination. There was no visible blood anywhere else-not on the seat or the steering wheel or the door handle. The stains were on the floorboard and nowhere else. The guy had obviously walked in it. What if he hit something? Bobby wondered. A deer, maybe. Or a dog. Please, God, not a person!
Bobby walked to the front of the vehicle and studied the bumper, looking for damage. He was relieved when he found nothing-no dents, no dings, no sign of a collision with anything, living or dead.
Two more renters had pulled into Bobby’s lane. Their luggage was already unloaded, and they were waiting impatiently for him to come check them in as well. He knew if he mentioned the presence of blood in the vehicle to one of his supervisors, there would be hell to pay. Questions would be asked. Forms would need to be filled out and filed. More than likely, Bobby would be late for class. Not only that, if he took that long with one vehicle, the guys who tracked productivity would no doubt give Bobby a black mark for slowing down the return process. You were supposed to check in so many customers per hour-or else.
Waving to one of the drivers, Bobby sent the Ford off to be washed, then turned and approached the next waiting customer. “How’s it going?” he said. “Hope you had a good trip.”
Late in the afternoon, Ali drove back to the Andante Drive mobile home, which had been left to her by her mother’s twin sister, Evie. Permanently set on a concrete footing that had been carved into the steep hillside, the place boasted a very un-mobile-homelike basement that included Christopher’s studio and Ali’s late second husband’s extensive wine collection.
Ali had lived there for the better part of a year and a half, most of that time with her son as her roommate. She hoped that by the time she finished the remodel and moved on to Arabella’s house, Chris would have married his steady girlfriend, Athena, and Ali would be able to pass the mobile home along to them. Both Chris and Athena were public high school teachers whose low salaries wouldn’t stretch very far in Sedona’s stratospheric real estate market. Not having to buy a home of their own would give them a big leg up in starting married life together. Ali liked the idea that Aunt Evie’s legacy to her would stay in the family.
Ali had never been a particularly capable cook, and she knew that what she brought home from Basha’s deli section wouldn’t be nearly as delectable as whatever Leland Brooks might have “thrown together.” She had suggested hosting the Thanksgiving festivities primarily because she knew she would have him there to backstop her. For this Monday-evening dinner, she had raided Basha’s deli counter for some enchilada casserole and a selection of salads and veggies.
When Ali walked in the door, Sam, her impossibly ugly sixteen-pound, one-eared, one-eyed tabby cat, trotted to the door to greet her, complaining at the top of her lungs that she was starving. Since Chris’s Prius was already parked outside, Ali knew the cat was lying. For a time, her adopted kitty’s weight had mysteriously edged up. It was only when the vet complained about the weight gain that Ali discovered that Sam had routinely cadged two evening meals by pretending she hadn’t been fed. Once Ali and Chris had realized they were being suckered, they hatched the plan that whoever came home first fed Sam, no matter what the cat said to the contrary.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Ali told the noisy animal. Knowing full well the kitchen counter wasn’t Sam-proof, she stowed the casserole in the microwave and deposited the evening’s salads in the fridge. Then she headed into her room to shower and change clothes.
When she came out half an hour later, she was surprised to see that Chris had set the table-for three rather than two. The table was decked out in his mother’s good china, complete with crystal wineglasses. He had also heated the casserole and opened a bottle of Paul Grayson’s high-end wine-a Corton-Charlemagne from Cote d’Beaune.
“What’s the occasion?” Ali asked.
Chris shrugged. “I invited Athena to come to dinner,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
When Ali had first heard about Athena Carlson, she had been a little dismayed. Athena was several years older than Chris and divorced. She was also a double amputee, having lost part of her right arm and most of her right leg, compliments of an exploding IED during a Minnesota National Guard deployment to Iraq.
Ali had always hoped her son would find the “perfect” girl. Initially Athena hadn’t quite squared with Ali’s idea of perfection. Over the months, though, Ali had come to see Athena really was perfect. Her midwestern small-town roots and rock-solid values provided just the right counterpoint to Chris’s artistic temperament and occasionally unrealistic enthusiasm. And Ali had nothing but respect for the way Athena focused on what she could do rather than on what she couldn’t. One of the things that fell in the “could” column was her ability to play a mean game of one-handed basketball.
“You should have called me,” Ali said. “If I had known we were having company, I would have picked up something a little nicer than enchilada casserole.”
“That’s all right,” Chris said. “Athena’s not picky.”
Ali knew that to be true, and as far as she was concerned, it was another mark in Athena’s favor.
The doorbell rang, and Chris hurried to answer it. Athena stepped into the house. Underneath a pair of slacks, her high-tech prosthetic leg was all but invisible. The complicated device on her right hand was more apparent. Smiling and laughing, she entered the room and kissed Chris hello. When the two of them turned to face Ali, Athena’s face was awash in happiness. Without a word, she held up her left hand, showing off a respectably sized diamond ring.
“He gave it to me last night,” Athena said as Ali stepped forward to admire it. “I didn’t wear it to school today. We wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Congratulations!” Ali exclaimed, giving first Athena and then her son a hug.
“You’re sort of the first to know,” Chris admitted. “It’s actually Aunt Evie’s diamond. Grandma gave it to me so I could have it reset. But Grandma and Grandpa haven’t seen it this way yet, and they don’t know I’ve given it to her. You really are the first.”
Ali couldn’t help feeling slightly provoked that her parents knew more about her son than she did. Some of the irritation must have shown on her face.
“You’re not upset about that, are you, Ali?” Athena asked warily.
Ali pulled herself together and laughed it off. “Not at all,” she managed. “My mother always seems to know exactly what’s going to happen long before anyone else does. I’m thrilled for you both.”
Chris and Athena exchanged relieved looks. Obviously, they had been concerned about how Ali might react.
Ali moved over to the table, picked up the wine bottle, and began to pour. “How about a toast to the newly engaged couple?” she said enthusiastically. “I think you both deserve it.”
Dinner was a lighthearted, fun affair. Athena, more radiant than Ali had ever seen her, was full of plans for the future. No, they hadn’t set a date yet. Most likely, they’d get married after school got out at the end of May, possibly early in June.
“A small wedding,” Athena said. “Maybe outside, with red rocks in the background and just family and a few friends in attendance. I already had the whole full-meal-deal church wedding with a white dress, half a dozen attendants, and a reception that cost my dad a bundle. Unfortunately, we all know how that one turned out.”
For the first time that evening, a shadow crossed Athena’s smiling face. Her husband had ditched her while she was in Walter Reed, recovering from her injuries. And since he and his second wife were now living in what had once been Athena’s hometown, Ali understood completely why Athena had no desire to go “back home” for a
