insurance, so you wonât get stuck with the bill.â
âIâm an ER nurse, not an admitting clerk,â she snapped. Then she relented. âLook, you need to take it easy with that arm. Youâre lucky the wound didnât involve major tissue damage, but the doctor still wants you to stay overnight for observation. He doesnât like that bump on your friendâs head, either. You said she lost consciousness for a while?â
âMy headâs as fine as itâs gonna get,â Rosella said. âWe need to drive back to Phoenix.â
â Not advisable!â The nurseâs jaw jutted forward in an expression that probably cowed most of her patients. But not us.
âAdvisable or not, weâre leaving.â With that, I wrapped my blood-spattered vest around me in a tardy display of modesty, and headed out of the cubicle.
As we neared the exit, Rosella nudged me. âIs the Santa Fe still drivable?â
âAs long as you donât mind a little breeze.â
âShit, Lena, youâre as crazy as I am. But weâd better take care of some business first.â Over the ER nurseâs loud complaints, she veered toward the admitting desk, me behind her, waving an insurance card in my good hand.
***
It would have been foolish to take the same highway back, where Prophet Shupeâs God Squad probably lay in wait, so Rosella plotted a different route. After brushing away most of the safety-glass-turned-powder, she slid into the driverâs seat, and soon we were taking the long way back to Phoenix, detouring southwest on I-15 through Las Vegas, where, as everyone knows, nothing bad ever happens to anyone.
Just before noon, after making several stops to guzzle coffee and orange juice, and once, to buy me a new black tee shirt, we rolled into Phoenix. It was a good thing Rosellaâs bump hadnât turned out to be serious, because my arm had stiffened to the point it could hardly bend. Given the number of street lights in the city, Iâd have a rough time driving the Jeep, with its standard transmission, back to Scottsdale.
As if reading my thoughts, Rosella asked, âYou sure youâre okay to drive?â
âJust creaky, thatâs all. A couple of hours with an ice pack and Iâll be fine. Hey, didnât you just pass the house where KariAnnâs staying?â
âI want to clean up the Santa Fe first.â
Given our situation, such finicky behavior seemed odd, but then I remembered that as KariAnnâs loss of vision increased, her sense of touch became more acute. Rosella didnât want to alarm her daughter. âYouâll never get all that powdered glass in the back seat. And the new air-conditioning system from the blown rear window? Better borrow my Jeep. I can take a cab home.â
She shook her head. âAfter you prove to me youâre okay to drive, Iâll pick her up in the Camaro. I finally got it runninâ.â
Like her house, Rosellaâs beloved â76 Camaro was in the process of restoration. Sheâd rescued it from a wrecking yard somewhere back in the Stone Age and with the help of a couple of mechanically-minded neighbors, was giving it new life.
But as we turned onto Rosellaâs street, we discovered that the Camero was now beyond saving. So was her house.
Both had burned to the ground.
Chapter Seven
Rosella stared at the smoking ruins of her house, her Camaro. âThey found me.â
Why bother trying to convince her she was wrong? Beside the stench of burnt wood and scorched metal wafting to me on the cool morning air, I could smell gasoline.
Arson.
Incongruously, birds still sang and, in the playground at the end of the street, children still laughed. My Jeep, parked at the curb, although now several yards away from where I thought Iâd left it, was untouched.
Rosellaâs neighbors stood in front of the one remaining fire truck. Upon seeing her step out of