Grande. The arroyo was dry, since no measurable rain had fallen in the area for several months. The monsoons should have started in September and people were getting nervous that the territory would have another fire season like the year before.
As Nick drove over the fallen boulders in the dry creek bed, Josie couldn’t help smiling at the night. The sun had faded and a fresh scattering of stars cast light across the sky. They were driving along slowly enough to catch the whirring sound of the night insects in the cottonwood trees at the top of the arroyo. In spite of the unpleasant nature of the trip, she relaxed into the night and breathed in the smell of juniper and creosote, a pungent earthy scent like perfume to Josie.
She felt Nick’s hand rest on her own, lying on her thigh.
“You like this, don’t you? The rough desert?” he asked.
She took a minute to respond. “I do. It’s strange to think back, how I grew up in the Midwest, but I never felt at home until I moved here. It’s like my body was meant to be here, with the heat and the wide-open spaces.”
In the failing light, Josie could barely make out the turnoff that Nick pulled onto from the arroyo.
“How could someone in trouble ever make it out here?” Josie asked. “It would be impossible to find.”
“That’s the beauty of Señora Molina. To get here is a feat in itself. It’s not like some kid who had a bad day at school would make his way over here for help. You have to seek her out to get here. And she recognizes that. She’s a pretty amazing lady.”
“Have you worked with her often?”
“She’s helped me with a few negotiations. She has a network of contacts that would rival any police department’s.”
“Why don’t the police use her? I’ve never even heard of her,” she said.
“I’m not sure how to explain her,” he said. “She doesn’t have allegiance to the police, or to anyone, for that matter. She wouldn’t put up with the police coming to her for information, especially as an informant.”
Josie nodded.
“She told me once that her life’s work is heartache and trouble.”
They rounded a bend and Nick pulled the SUV to a stop. Josie stepped outside and stood still to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark. She smiled and breathed in deep the sweet smell of wood smoke from a fire, and then heard the river flowing before she saw it, a dark swath cutting through the high bank on the U.S. side of the river. A jagged silhouette of rocky outcroppings and clumps of salt cedar were visible above the bank. As she turned away from the river she saw the stone house, barely visible against the low canyon wall that ran behind it. Tucked back under a narrow front porch was a door with two windows lit up on either side of it.
The house was stacked stone, with the rock most likely collected from the low-lying mountains around it. Ruins of old stone homes could be found throughout West Texas, but there were still people who fought the critters and the occasional cold winters to live in them, enjoying the centuries-old way of living. Glass lanterns glowed in the deep windowsills and let off a warm orange light.
Nick knocked on the door, which resembled an old barn door with long wrought-iron hinge straps that held the wooden slats together. Josie could see thin strips of light between gaps in the wood. Nick hollered through the door, “Señora Molina. It’s Nick Santos. I’ve come to check on you.”
Nick had said he always came with a small gift of appreciation, something to help her get by, so Josie found herself holding a loaf of French bread that she’d fortunately picked up at the grocery to have on hand for her mother.
They stood quietly at the door until it was finally pulled open. Josie realized Sergio hadn’t been exaggerating about the woman’s age. She was stooped over at the waist so far that she had to lift her head up to see Nick. Gray wisps of hair stuck out from under a faded blue bandanna tied
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