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Jerry looked up again. “Yes, I went down, but that was because he pushed me. I was trying to help him. Was he hurt? I … I’m not sure. Maybe he was. Was there a cut on his face? I don’t know. Maybe. I think he had wrecked or something, but he didn’t want my help. That’s what I got. I don’t know.”

“Okay, so you said motorbike. Two wheels or more, like an ATV?” I asked.

He looked confused for a moment. “I’d’a said two, but now that I think about it, I don’t know for sure.”

“What else?” Calloway asked. “Take your time.”

Jerry fell into thought again but only frowned when he looked up this time. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s great, Jerry. Really great,” Calloway said.

Jerry smiled, pleased to be helpful.

We left again, and I said to Calloway, “A cut on his face, like Verro has?”

“I don’t know, and the timing isn’t right.”

“I know, but Jenna mentioned Verro’s motorbike?”

“Lots of people have those, Hazel.”

“I know, but …”

“Yeah. I’ll look into it.”

I trusted that he would. On the way to the car, I realized how devastated I’d be if Jerry’s outcome had been different. What if he hadn’t made it? When he got home, I wasn’t going to let another big swath of time pass before I brought out some whiskey, and we got drunk under the stars.

CHAPTER

29

“THAT’S THE SPOT. Yes, turn there,” I told Calloway.

“This is a good half mile back from the shack.”

“Right. Not easily accessible. Can’t see it from any road other than one we’re on, if you could call it a road.”

The ruts and divots kept me holding on tight as Calloway kept the Tahoe under ten miles per hour or we’d risk damage to the vehicle and us. We were headed toward half a boulder that stuck up from the ground. Getting to it was next to impossible. It was one of those high school dares, a place kids try to hike to without getting bitten by something or legs being stuck with cactus needles. I’d never been much of a part of any high school group, but I’d heard all about the things kids did around town to try to make Black Vulture a little less boring. The view was apparently great.

Frequently, the trips turned into someone needing some sort of medical attention, so I figured I hadn’t missed much.

But I had heard about the red dirt. And the boulder was at the foot of the Tumacácori Mountains.

There was a tinge of red to the brown desert floor in this area, but in this part of Arizona the iron-rich red that could be found in and around Sedona was rare.

Somehow, though, millions of years earlier, the boulder pushed some up from the depths that must have been replete with it.

When we found the boulder, I said, “There it is. Oh my God, Calloway, there it is.”

“I’ll be damned. Be careful.” He parked the Tahoe and we got out.

It was still treacherous walking to reach the spot. Red dirt surrounded the stone, about ten feet all around.

The dirt was stirred up, as if it had been dug recently.

“Shit. This must be the place.” Calloway looked up to the boulder, at the rock face of the mountain not far away. “What do you suppose happened out here?”

I said, “I don’t know.”