think he was crazy. Hell, maybe he was. But it was a benign form of lunacy, the kind that allowed a man to live at peace with himself.
At first light he went for a five-mile roundabout hike that eventually brought him back to the Jeep. By then the day’s heat was just beginning to seep through the night chill. He drove out of the canyon to Stovepipe Wells, a smaller food and lodging settlement on the desert flats; filled the Jeep’s gas tank and then went into the restaurant for coffee and a plate of eggs and toast.
Will Rodriguez called as he was about to start the thirty-mile drive to Furnace Creek Ranch. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday, amigo. I couldn’t get hold of a couple of people until this morning.”
“What did you find out?”
“The woman seems to’ve told you a straight story. She brought a legitimate kidnapping charge against her ex- husband four months ago. Still outstanding. He and the kid have dropped completely off the radar.”
“What about the theft charge against her?”
“There isn’t one,” Will said. “No warrant of any kind.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“So Vernon Young didn’t file a complaint after all.”
“Why wouldn’t he? Two thousand bucks is two thousand bucks.”
“He may not know yet that the money is missing. Or if he knows why she took it, maybe he feels sorry for her.”
“Or she has some reason to lie to you about the theft.”
“She have any history with the law I should know about?”
“No. Clean slate.”
“The husband, Court Spicer?”
“Court short for Courtney. He’s another story. Three arrests, one for aggravated assault-bar fight-and two for drunk and disorderly. The most recent D &D was six months ago, right before the custody hearing. One reason why the judge ruled against him, probably.”
“Casey told me he hid assets before the divorce, that that’s how he financed his disappearing act.”
“Could be, but it didn’t come from his job.”
“Musician, right?”
“Right. Piano player-solo lounge jobs or with small jazz groups.”
“What’d you find out about the detective, Sam Ulbrich?”
“Operates in San Diego under the name Confidential Investigative Services,” Will said. “Former police officer like most, in business for himself about fifteen years. Brought up before the Department of Consumer Affairs five years ago for overcharging a client. He claimed it was bogus; the judge agreed and his license wasn’t suspended. Otherwise, he seems to have a decent rep.”
“Okay. Anything else I should know?”
“That’s the whole package. So what’re you going to do?”
“About Casey Dunbar? I’m not sure yet. Depends on her.”
“Well, whatever you do, just don’t all of a sudden drop off the radar yourself.”
Casey was waiting for him in her cabin, with the air conditioner cranked all the way up to near chilly. Dressed in clean clothes, her hair washed and brushed, her sun-blotched face and arms greasy with burn ointment. The deep cracks in her lips had already begun to scab over.
“Feeling better this morning?” he asked.
“I suppose so.” She seemed to mean it; the dull, hopeless look had faded. Not exactly glad to be alive, he thought, but no longer wishing she weren’t. “Had breakfast?”
“No. I didn’t want to go out looking like this.”
“You can get room service here.”
“On your money? No, thanks.”
“You need to eat,” Fallon said. He went to the phone, put in an order for a light breakfast without consulting her about the contents.
“You’re pushy as hell, aren’t you?” she said when he hung up. There was spirit in the words, but no rancor. She wasn’t angry at him, but at herself and what she saw as the hopelessness of her situation.
“Sometimes. When I need to be.”
“How long are you going to keep it up? All this Good Samaritan stuff.”
“As long as you’ll let me.”
“What would your wife say if she knew?”
“I’m not married. Not anymore.”
“So you say.”
“I can prove it to you, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Okay, so you’re unattached and full of the milk of human kindness. And you expect me to believe there’s nothing in all this for you?”
“There’s something in it for me.”
“Uh-huh. Now we get to the bottom line.”
“The bottom line,” Fallon said, “is I might be able to help you find your son.”
The hazel eyes widened. “What’re you talking about?”
“Just what I said. Find your son, get him back to you.”
“… You can’t be serious.”
“Never more serious.”
“My God. Then you must be out of your mind. Weren’t you listening when I told you about the money I stole?”
“I was listening. You’re not wanted by the police, Casey. Vernon Young hasn’t filed theft charges against you.”
“He… how do you know his name?”
“Does it matter?”
Reflexive headshake. “Are you sure he hasn’t filed charges?”
“I’m sure.”
She bit her lower lip, grimaced because her teeth caught one of the scabbed places.
“If he knows the money is missing,” Fallon said, “he understands why you took it. He may be waiting to hear from you, hoping you’ll decide to pay it back. It’s only been a few days. Grace period.”
“But I don’t have it, I can’t pay it back.”
“Not right away. Arrangements can be made.”
“What do you mean, arrangements?”
“Monthly payments. Or if necessary, a loan to pay it back all at once.”
“Nobody would loan me that much money.”
“I might,” he said, to see what she’d say.
“What are you… oh, come on. Two thousand dollars?”
“I can afford it.”
“No. I wouldn’t feel right accepting that much money from you.”
“We could have a legal paper drawn up and notarized.”
“How do you know you could trust me?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, but you’d be willing to take the risk.”
“Maybe. If it comes down to that.”
“If you think it would get me into bed with you-”
“Oh, Christ. What kind of man would I be if I expected that, after all you’ve been through?”
“I don’t know what kind of man you are, not really.”
“I’ll say this one last time: I don’t want
“Right.” Edge of sarcasm in her voice now. “You saved my life, a stranger, and now you’re willing to loan me
