8

Nina sat at the kitchen table, her hands covering her face in horror while Gretchen broke the news. Tutu and Nimrod, temporarily forgotten by their caregiver, ran roughshod over the house. Gretchen heard a warning hiss from the bedroom followed by a yelp, and both dogs bolted back into the kitchen. Tutu sported a fresh claw mark on her nose, and Gretchen measured the extent of Nina’s anguish by her failure to even notice.

“This is a nightmare,” Nina wailed. “Slap me. Wake me up.”

Gretchen would have gladly followed Nina’s instructions if she thought a slap would help. Wasn’t she the one who should be crying on Nina’s shoulder, not the other way around? What had happened to her cool, mystical aunt?

“Call Steve,” Nina said through broken sobs. “We need a lawyer.”

“Steve’s a divorce attorney. He won’t be able to help us. Matt said the most important thing is to find her and bring her back.”

“Matt who?” Nina asked through a space between her fingers.

“Matt Albright, the detective.”

“Oh, suddenly he’s Matt. What happened to Detective Albright? You’re forgetting who the enemy is.”

“No, I’m not.” Gretchen handed Nina a box of tissues. “He’s right. She has to come back and explain what happened. He isn’t the enemy. Martha’s killer is the enemy.”

“What are we going to do?” Nina blew her nose loudly. “Caroline better have something to say for herself. How could she become involved in anything like this?”

“We need to find out who really killed Martha.” Gretchen paused to absorb the scope of what she was proposing. “And we need to find out why my mother was on Camelback Mountain. What happened up there?” She chewed the inside of her cheek while she thought about the possibilities.

Nina slammed her hands on the table. “Let’s go. I can’t stand just sitting here.”

She rounded up her dogs, stuffing Nimrod in his purse and bundling Tutu in her arms.

Gretchen nodded. “Let’s go find the elusive Nacho.”

Nina drove like her life hung in the balance, and Gretchen realized for the first time how close her mother and her aunt really were. She, too, fought against a growing pressure around her own heart, the physical pain of life gone awry. Losing her job seemed insignificant now. Even her issues with Steve seemed petty.

“Slow down,” Gretchen called. “We won’t be much help to her if we’re dead.”

“Where did April go?” Nina asked, easing off the gas a little. “April didn’t say anything to me about going away.”

“It’s to our advantage. I didn’t tell Matt about the shawl and picture and was worried that she might.”

“I think she knows more than she’s letting on. Maybe she wants to beat us to the doll. Remember, it was her idea to keep it a secret.”

Gretchen gripped the dashboard as Nina took a sharp right turn. “You might be overreacting. April seemed harmless to me.”

“She hated Martha. You saw her reaction. She even admitted it. She could be our killer.”

Gretchen considered April-enormous, lumbering April. “How could she have climbed up the mountain to push Martha? She can barely manage a porch step.”

“You’d be amazed at how limber large people can be when they want to,” Nina said, turning onto Thirty-fifth Avenue and continuing past the Phoenix Rescue Mission.

“There it is.” Gretchen pointed, and Nina swung over and found a parking space. She left the car running and cool air continued to circulate.

Gretchen and Nina stayed inside the car and looked at the church.

St. Anskar’s Parish was set back from the street. Its whitewashed facade gleamed in the sun, and a large gold cross glistened above a small courtyard leading to the massive front doors.

“We’re a little early,” Gretchen said, impatiently checking her watch.

Fifteen minutes later people began to arrive at the church. Most of them came alone, shuffling slowly down the street, silent and weary from the heat, motivated by the promise of a free meal. Each turned in to the courtyard and followed a walkway that led around the side of the building. Gretchen and Nina watched from the car.

“Should we wait here until he comes by?” Nina asked. “Or go inside?”

“Let’s wait here and confront him on the sidewalk,” Gretchen said. “We don’t know how he will react, and we don’t want to create a scene inside. When he comes, I’ll get out and stop him.” She glanced at the dogs in the backseat. They panted heavily and smeared saliva on the back windows.

Gretchen watched an old man limp past, wearing more clothes than should be bearable.

“Well,” Nina said. “I hope he comes along soon, or the car is going to overheat.”

Gretchen turned slightly in her seat and peered down the street in the opposite direction. “We’re in luck. Here he comes,” she said, clutching Nina’s arm.

He wore the same clothes he’d worn last night and carried the same black garbage bag tucked under his arm. As he approached, his gaze fell on Nina’s red Impala, and he froze in place.

“What…?” Gretchen began, confused by his response. He was reacting to the car as though he knew it. She jumped out when she saw him running away.

“Stay here,” she commanded, slamming the car door and breaking into a run. He turned a corner, and she followed. Gretchen’s pulse throbbed as she gave pursuit. She was in excellent condition from hiking and jogging and could keep up with almost anyone. But he had a wide lead that she would have to close.

Her eyes were riveted on the man ahead. He glanced back over his shoulder and increased his pace. Gretchen’s legs pumped faster.

Nacho cut across the street against the lights. Horns blew. Someone shouted out a warning.

Gretchen’s eyes never left the fleeing man as she raced across the street behind him, even though she realized the danger in crossing a busy street. She heard her name called out and instinctively turned her head.

Nina cruised next to her in the Impala with the window down. “Let him go,” she called. “It’s not worth it.”

Gretchen looked ahead just as he left the sidewalk and disappeared between two commercial buildings. Ignoring Nina, she gave chase. Nacho was the path to her mother, the key to Martha’s murder. She felt sure of it. This might be her only chance, and she wasn’t about to blow it.

He ran like a desert coyote, like his life depended on it, his arms pumping hard, his eyes, when he glanced back, frightened.

Gretchen remembered the alcohol on his breath the night before and wondered where his stamina came from. Maybe his fear was greater than hers, and his fear drove his momentum. In spite of having nothing material to show for his life, he might have more to lose than she did. If that was possible.

She began to gain on him. Closer and closer. She could hear her breath, usually controlled when she ran distances, pounding in her ears. Now it came out ragged, and she struggled to establish a rhythm. The sweltering heat beating down from the desert sun was unbearable.

He vanished behind another building, and Gretchen rushed after him. Rounding a corner, something shot out at her from a Dumpster against the wall and struck her below her knees. Gretchen felt herself falling. She lurched forward, trying to recover from the fall, but it was too late. She put her hands out in front of her to break the fall and felt a sharp pain in her left wrist as her body slammed into concrete.