questions about what you remember.”
“Go ahead, don’t mean I’ll answer, though.”
Lots of yelling. No one moving.
So Tess yelled too. She asked him if he knew of any mountain lion around here, or had heard of one.
“No mountain lions around here. That’s bullshit. I’d bet my bottom dollar on it.”
Then he paused. “Except for the one that’s up at the animal sanctuary.”
“Animal sanctuary?” Tess said, as they drove out of the yard. Dave Mullet had yelled, but he’d turned out to be helpful, and they had returned to the car with all body parts intact. “He gave directions, but do you know exactly where?”
“Near Black Star Canyon. On one of those back roads. I don’t know that area.”
“I’ll find it,” Tess said.
It was going on noon when she drove into the old mining town of Sylvan. She stopped at the first coffee shop she came to. As she waited for her lunch, she called the expert on mountain lions, June Hackler.
Hackler was in and happy to talk to her. Tess sketched out the story she had so far.
“There could be a mountain lion in Asteroid Canyon,” Hackler said. “As part of its range, it has running water, woody areas, and plenty of game. But it’s highly unlikely it would attack an adult human being. The only reason would be to protect its food source.”
She explained that after eating, a mountain lion buried the rest of its prey and would come back to it later.
“So you think it’s unlikely.”
“Very unlikely.”
“Peter Farley was partially eaten—most of his heart, some of his lung, and bone marrow. And it was a mountain lion.”
There was a pause. Hackler said at last, “That is unusual. The animal would have to be starving, and there’s plenty of prey in that canyon.”
Tess paid her check and walked out into the sunshine. A beautiful Southern California day. She drove up canyon looking for the motel.
A low hum seemed to start up in her stomach when she saw the sign up ahead on the curve, tucked into the hillside.
The low hum spread up through her chest and into her ears.
The Starbrite Motel. She’d chosen it specifically, after googling motels in Sylvan. It had its own website, had been described as a “hideaway off the beaten path.”
The Starbrite Motel had been built in the early sixties. The rooms levered out into the wedge-shaped parking lot like a fan. Glass and frame and old wood.
Tess loved old movies. Especially the old noir movies, like
There was something sexy about them. Not just sexy, but forbidden. The people in those stories set one foot on the road, the wrong road, and things went to hell from there.
Tess went back and forth about what she was doing.
She knew she was skating at the edge. She knew she was flouting an unwritten rule.
The motel was anchored by a coffee shop. The coffee shop wall was faced with rocks, a mosaic of colored rocks taken from the mines.
Narrow cursive spelled out STARBRITE COFFEE SHOP in turquoise.
Tess parked and got out.
The shade was cool but the sun was warm, and the enormous cottonwood tree split the difference. The sky was an aching blue. It ached and she ached. She could feel it building.
Tess had always prided herself on being a straight shooter. In Albuquerque, her nickname was “By the Book McCrae.”
A breeze funneled through. The bright green cottonwood leaves shifted, catching the sun and shining silver.
She felt like one of those women in the old movies. Where were the scarf and the dark glasses? For a moment she felt playful, thought about signing in under a fake name.
But this was the age of credit cards, and she had no cash on her.
The man who accepted her credit card didn’t look at her. Didn’t smile. Hardly said a word.
Her room was cool despite the floor-to-ceiling expanse of window.
She set her suitcase on the floor. Felt exhilaration but also guilt, mixed equally.
She’d paid for the room herself.
Bonny had given her a voucher. What would she do now? Give it back to him? Already she was screwing up.
She was no femme fatale. If she’d had a scarf and dark glasses, she would have had to turn them in on the spot.
Tess didn’t think Bonny suspected. He was a straightforward man and he expected his people to be straightforward.
But Tess knew what she was doing was unprofessional. It might even get her in hot water, if it was found out. Ethically: Did she really need to stay here overnight? Could she have concluded her business in one day? If she’d put her case first?
But there was the animal sanctuary. She had to follow that path and see where it led. The idea of the place lodged in the back of her mind, part savior, part mystery.
She’d go looking for the animal sanctuary later this afternoon. And if she found anything, if there was anything to find—she’d follow it to the end of the trail.
But first, she made her phone call, and settled down to wait.
A motorcycle pulled in to the parking lot. Tess looked out the window. A man swung off and removed his helmet.
The man’s hair was short and looked like it had been cut by one of those places you just walk in to, like Supercuts—the cut was simple and kind of dorky. He wore faded jeans that somehow made him look chunky (how did he do that?) and the jeans were boot-cut over scuffed desert boots. His knit polo shirt, untucked, was horizontally striped. He hooked the helmet on the motorcycle and headed her way, elbows slightly out from his body, as if he was used to lifting grain sacks all day—just kind of stumped along. She noted a clunky turquoise- loaded sandcast Navajo bracelet and a watch that looked cheap even from here. His wallet made a huge square in his back pocket, and a cheap duffel bag, old and used, was slung over his shoulder. He could have been a construction worker on his day off.
She opened the door. Max Conroy leaned against the doorjamb and gave her a cute blue-collar grin and said, “Hello, sweetness.”
The first time it was two people tearing off each other’s clothes, urgent—no, more than that, lunatic
As if they could not be apart for one more moment. Nothing mattered but the need to join together, to try as people had for centuries to somehow become one.
The sweetness was painful. A starburst that took a long way to burn down.
