Land of Entrapment (23 page)

“Wow,” I breathed.

“Her work is excellent.”

I turned my head to look at him. “I’m not sure that word captures it.”

He smiled. “I’d have to agree. Anyone who comes in here and sees her photographs is usually sucked right in.”

I looked again at the slot canyons. There was something deeply intimate about the two images.

Paired, they were like lovers, at once reflecting the other but also staking out their individuality.

Complementary but solitary. Five hundred dollars for both, framed.

“The canyons. I’ll buy them both.” They spoke to me. No, that wasn’t a strong enough word. They reached out and grabbed me by the throat. I found myself thinking that whatever happened with Sage, I would have these mementos of her and for some reason, that was comforting.

He grinned. “Ah. So she spoke to you.”

I looked at him sharply. He motioned me over to the counter. “I’ll write up a receipt. If it’s okay, they’re on display for another month or so.”

“No problem. I’ll check back.” And I’ll check with Sage, I found myself thinking as a weird light-headedness suddenly washed over me. Sage was in those images. She wasn’t visible, but there was a part of her in each one. And I wanted to have her near, no matter what form. The thought shocked me with its intensity. I took a credit card out of my wallet as he wrote up a ticket.

“Don’t lose this. It’s proof of purchase.” He handed the form to me, took my card, and slid it through the machine. “How did you discover her work?” He gave my card back.

“I met her.”

He nodded slowly. “She has that effect on people.”

“Compelling,” I said wryly.

“Sage carries a rare spirit,” he continued, keeping his eyes on mine. If he was Navajo, he had clearly adopted some white ways. “Uninhibited, I think, might capture it in English.” He handed me the proof of purchase and the credit card receipt for my signature. I signed it and handed it back.

“Thank you so much.” I wasn’t sure how traditional he was so I hesitated about extending my hand. He noticed.

“Joe Montoya.” He offered his right hand. I clasped it, relieved.

“K.C. Fontero. Thanks again.”

He handed me one of his business cards, which he kept in the pocket of his shirt. I took it and slid it into one of the cargo pockets of my shorts. “See you in a month or so,” he said.

“Definitely.” I left and returned to my car.

By the time I got back to Megan’s and parked just around the corner, it was nearly five. I grabbed the wine and crossed the street, doing a quick scan as I approached, in case Cody had come back today. He probably hadn’t. He probably went back to Edgewood and bitched Megan out because the locks had been changed on her door. Or he’d blame her for giving him the wrong key. Maybe he didn’t realize the locks had been changed. I let myself in and put the Blue Teal in the fridge, then turned some music on and stretched out on the couch, listening to the hum of the swamp cooler and the sounds of Central in the distance. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number but figured it might be Mark, calling from work.

“Hello?”

“Hi, K.C. This is Mark Aragon, with APD.”

“Oh, thanks for calling. I guess you got the CD.”

“I did. This is some serious shit. I’m guessing the photo was taken right after Talbot was shot. I don’t see a gun, but the fact that these two guys were there at the scene of a murder without informing authorities looks mighty suspicious. Where’d you find it, again?”

I went through the story again and this time, I explained what my relationship was to Megan and Melissa Crown. I included Cody’s relationship to Megan. It took about fifteen minutes. When I was done, Mark was quiet for a bit. Then he spoke. “So what were you planning to do when you located Sorrell?”

“Nothing. Tell Melissa. She said she would then hire a PI to deal with it. Probably follow him around or something.”

“Why didn’t she do that initially?”

“She couldn’t find one who was entirely comfortable dealing with white supremacists. And she couldn’t really gum up APD with it because Megan’s an adult. Plus, she can’t prove that Sorrell’s done anything illegal.”

“True.” His tone was thoughtful. “This changes that, though. We now have probable cause to get involved. I’m going to check this photo out and see if we can find Watkins and put a tail on him. We might get lucky and find Sorrell, too.”

“So what does this mean with regard to Megan? I mean, I found the photo here, at her house. The envelope wasn’t open, though. And it’s dated after she left.”

“We’re dusting it for prints. Hopefully, hers won’t be on it. I’ll have Chris swing by to dust some of Megan’s things that only she might have touched so we can run a comparison if necessary. We’ll be checking the envelope for trace as well. I’m really hoping that she has nothing to do with this and that Sorrell hid it there without her knowing about it. In the meantime, stick around. This is getting complicated.”

“Yessir.” We hung up and I groaned, trying not to stress out just yet. I sank back into the couch and was staring moodily at the blank TV screen when Melissa called. Quickly, I told her what I had found. She was quiet for a bit before speaking. When she did, her tone was subdued.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think she knows about it. But they’re checking the prints. They’ll find mine and hopefully Cody’s. Maybe Raymond’s.”

“I can’t—I can’t think about this right now.”

“Don’t. There’s nothing we can do until the results come back. I’ll let you know as soon as possible. Just finish your day and do some packing. Maybe get some sleep.” I paused for a moment. “I’m sorry about this, Meliss’.”

“It’s not your fault. Thanks for telling me, even though it’s really shitty news.” She sighed. “All right.

Let me know what they find out. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hung up and continued staring at nothing. For some reason, I believed that Megan didn’t know about the photo. I clung to that and tried to focus on dinner with Sage.

Chapter Thirteen

“HELLO? SAGE?” I entered her kitchen and noticed a couple of pots on the stove. Damn, it smells like Indian food. Music emanated from the stereo in the living room. Alana Davis. Nice. Sage was probably in the bathroom or something, so I’d open a bottle of wine. I pulled a couple of drawers open, found a corkscrew on my second attempt, and set to work on the Blue Teal, sniffing it when I pulled the cork out.

Oh, yeah. Good stuff. Sage might actually have glasses on the table, since she seemed like such an organized hostess. Sure enough, when I poked my head into the living-dining room, the table was already set. I retrieved the two wine glasses and took them to the kitchen, pouring them each three-quarters full. I didn’t hear her approach.

“Hi.” She stood in the doorway that led into the living room and oh, my God, she was radiant. I never really understood how that word worked when you applied it to women until that moment. She had tied her hair back, which unfortunately for me exposed her most excellent cheekbones and the unbelievable planes of her face. She wore a loose faded red tee and a black wraparound skirt stamped with African-style fish and gazelles in cream and light blue. A leather anklet with small cowrie shells graced one of her legs.

She was barefooted. God, even her feet were gorgeous. I needed to think about something else.

Right now.

“Hi. Sorry. I kind of made myself at home.” I handed her a glass of wine.

“I wanted you to make yourself at home.” She smiled and took the glass, clinking it gently against mine. “Thanks for coming.”

“The amazing smells lured me out of my cave.

You look really nice,” I added.

She flashed a grin and took a sip of wine. “Thanks.

You’re not so bad yourself.” She gestured with her glass. “Hey, this is really good.”

I pointed at the open bottle. “I like to drink local.”

She peeked under the lids of the pots. “Your timing is perfect. Go sit down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I mock-saluted and headed for the living room, giving her a wide berth. What the hell is wrong with me? I barely know her! I took one of the seats that had a plate in front of it and stared at the candle in the center of the table. The room was awash in gentle, muted light from a lamp on an end table near the front door and several other candles, all lit.

God help me. On the plus side, I had a feeling Sage just liked candles. From the looks of these, she fired them up fairly often. She emerged from the kitchen and picked up the plates.

“Be right back,” she said softly.

She’s going to kill me. Or maybe I’ll just die. I took a swallow of wine. She reappeared with the two plates, loaded with food. She set one down in front of me and the other at the place to my right. I was facing the kitchen doorway. She went back to the kitchen only to appear seconds later with a basket full of nan . I am in such deep shit right now.

“I hope you like Indian,” she said, obviously reading my thoughts.

“I love it. I cannot believe you can cook this stuff.

Amazing.” I mixed my chana with the rice, into which she had stirred cardamom pods. I’m in the deepest shit ever. Chicken tikka masala, nan, and raita. I was in heaven. At least I’d die well-fed. “This is unbelievable. Thank you so much. Wow.” I relaxed, letting go of the day.

She smiled and dropped her gaze to her plate, shy.

How many layers were there to this little mystic? I stood. “More wine?”

“Please.”

“I’ll just bring the bottle. How’s that?”

“Good idea.”

I returned and refilled her glass, asking her about her day. She was teaching a photo workshop that would meet for the last time the following week. She had me laughing at her descriptions of some of the students, two of whom she said had talent. I liked the kindness I heard in her voice.

“And you? How’d it go last night?”

I gave her a brief run-down of my dinner with Melissa. It didn’t bother me that Sage asked. I didn’t mention the gallery visit, however. I needed to keep that close for a while longer, maybe because I wasn’t sure what this thing between us was all about.

“So overall, how do you feel about dinner with your past?” she said, watching me.

I hesitated, trying to find the right word.

“Peaceful.”

“Sometimes you need to debride a wound before it can heal.” She took a bite of nan and looked at me.

“Are you still angry with her?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. I thought I was, but I guess I haven’t been for a long time. I guess I just wanted to hear what her reasons were for doing it.” I took a sip of wine. “I’m part of the equation and I’m not entirely sure how that plays out, but it’s done. I can’t change it.”

“You should let things go. Otherwise they build up and when they spill out, it can be ugly.”

“Yeah,” I softly agreed. I then told her that Megan had called and that I had talked to her. Sage looked at me sharply. I told her how the conversation went.

“She’s in Edgewood?”

“She says she is. I don’t think she’d have a reason to lie about that. I think she wants to get away from Cody and the group but she’s afraid.”

“I will so remove his arms from his body,” Sage said firmly. “What’s your next step?”

“Actually, I have a cell phone number for our door-bustin’ buddy and I’ve been calling him. He’s not answering and if he doesn’t tomorrow, I’ll leave a message. I’m going to get a temporary cell phone. I’ll tell him I’m interested in the movement and find out if he’ll meet me somewhere.” I decided not to tell her about the photo I had found in Megan’s desk. Not yet.

Sage’s eyes widened. “And that’s a good idea because?”

“If I can get him away from Megan, I might be able to use him as an informant or something. My friend Chris can help with that, since she’s hooked into law enforcement.”

Sage took another sip of wine. “She was here the other night.” She sounded thoughtful. “She has good energy.”

I looked at her, debating what that might mean.

“I can tell through you. She cares about you and you’ve known her for a while.”

I decided not to go there. Sage was either really perceptive or part of some other-worldly group that used ESP to lure unsuspecting researchers like myself to awesome home-cooked meals. I finished every bit of food on my plate. She did as well. “More?”

“I’m great right now. Just right.”

“Good. It’s not healthy to stuff yourself.” She picked up the plates and returned to the kitchen and reappeared just as quickly. She wasn’t going to clean up just yet. I poured more wine and we continued to chat, sitting at the table companionably.

“Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“I’ve always had a knack for it. I started working with Asian cuisines when I moved to Albuquerque.

Much easier to get ingredients.”

I wondered at this other side to her. A much softer, introspective side. “Tell me about Sheridan.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Let’s see—I was born there, actually. I’ll be thirty-one in a few months.” She pinned me with her gaze though a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. I kept my expression neutral.

“My brother was born two years later.”

I didn’t tell her that I’d Googled her. I wasn’t ready to admit that I could very easily find myself in a compromising situation with her. I wasn’t sure what was happening here, but I was both excited and scared.

She regaled me with a variety of tales, including descriptions of running out to the outhouse in the dead of the Wyoming winters. “Hell, sometimes we had to roll burning logs from the stove through the snow to melt a path.” Her eyes sparkled when she teased. She talked about how hard her mom had worked to make her father’s paychecks last as long as possible. She spoke of the wind that howled across the grasslands. She told stories about antelope and elk, hawks and eagles. She and her brother learned how to hunt and fish. “I’m still a damn good shot.

That’s why I know I could kick Cody’s ass,” she said matter-of-factly.

She talked about her realization that she was different. Not like the other girls. At ten, she’d made up stories about rescuing a classmate from dragons, about rescuing her. In high school she kissed her first girl. At the University of Wyoming she started dating women seriously. Her longest relationship was three years with an older student. It ended two years ago. It bothered me a bit that I might be part of a pattern. On the other hand, maybe she was just a lot more mature than many of her peers. I changed the subject.