Free Dark Moon Crossing by Sylvia Nobel Page B
Authors: Sylvia Nobel
silent, ‘Oh, my God!’ as I drew alongside them and Lupe
shifted her gaze to me. Her usual burnished copper skin tone had faded to
ashen gray and I prayed that I was the only one who noticed that behind her
expression of subservient impassivity lay a hint of panic. Filled with an
awesome dread I waved and parked my car in front of hers. Stay cool, I
cautioned myself as I got out and strolled towards them. And be prepared to
lie your head off. “Is there some kind of a problem?” I asked, keeping my
voice light, my face impassive. He couldn’t hear my heart thundering, could
he?
“Afternoon. Do you know this woman?” the man asked, inclining his
blonde crewcut towards Lupe, while absently flicking what looked to be her
driver’s license between his fingers.
“Sure do. She’s a friend of mine.”
“And how do you know each other?”
“We work together at the Castle Valley Sun newspaper.”
“Is that so?” His close-set green eyes reflected profound doubt. “And
what’s her position?”
It irked me that he continued to talk about Lupe as if she weren’t
standing right next to him or was a person of so little consequence that he
could not address her directly. I swallowed my annoyance. “She works in our
advertising department.”
One sandy brow crept higher. “Full time?”
“Yes, sir.” My gaze strayed to his nametag that read Hank Breslow, and
then back up to meet the unwavering suspicion in his eyes.
“And you are?”
I issued him a bright smile even though my mouth was as dry as
cornstarch. “Kendall O’Dell. I’m the editor of the paper. So ah…what’s going
on?”
“You tell me.”
I edged a glance at Lupe who stood silent as a stone. I wasn’t sure
what kind of a game he was playing and I didn’t really care for his impudent
attitude, but I knew we were treading on quicksand. “We came down to do a
story on the…um, rally in Arivaca this weekend.” I silently thanked Walter and
maintained an expression of stoic calm.
Some emotion I could not fathom flickered behind his steady gaze.
Wordlessly, he lowered his eyes to study the driver’s license again. The wind
sounded awfully lonesome whistling through the tall straw-colored grass and I
was very conscious of our isolation. Suddenly, I felt resentful towards Lupe
for putting me in the position of having to lie for her, but then a twinge of
guilt chilled me. Hadn’t I voluntarily injected myself into this situation?
“Where did you say you were born again?” the agent asked, finally
shifting his attention to Lupe.
“Florence, Arizona.” The falsehood slipped out with practiced
ease.
“And your mother?”
“Hermosillo.”
His eyes bored into hers. “Have you got a copy of your birth
certificate with you?”
At that, I had to bite my tongue to keep from jeering, ‘Oh, come on.
Who carries their birth certificate with them in the car?’
Never flinching, she fished something from her wallet and extended it
to him. “I have my Social Security card. Will that help?” The slightest inkling
of indolence surfaced in her smoky almond-shaped eyes. She knew she’d won. So
did Agent Breslow.
He made a show of studying her card, just to keep her on edge, I think,
and then handed it back to her along with her driver’s license. “You ladies have
yourselves a nice day,” he said, squeezing out a synthetic smile. A glimmer of
skepticism still persisted in his eyes as he climbed into his Chevy Tahoe,
slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, revved the engine, and then ever so
slowly cruised away.
When he was out of sight, I turned back to find Lupe’s show of bravado
dissolving as she slowly slid to her haunches and took in great gulps of air
before pinning me with a look of terrified rage. “Where were you?” she
screeched.
I felt foolish and impotent. “Well, you see, there was this big bull
in the road, and there wasn’t
shifted her gaze to me. Her usual burnished copper skin tone had faded to
ashen gray and I prayed that I was the only one who noticed that behind her
expression of subservient impassivity lay a hint of panic. Filled with an
awesome dread I waved and parked my car in front of hers. Stay cool, I
cautioned myself as I got out and strolled towards them. And be prepared to
lie your head off. “Is there some kind of a problem?” I asked, keeping my
voice light, my face impassive. He couldn’t hear my heart thundering, could
he?
“Afternoon. Do you know this woman?” the man asked, inclining his
blonde crewcut towards Lupe, while absently flicking what looked to be her
driver’s license between his fingers.
“Sure do. She’s a friend of mine.”
“And how do you know each other?”
“We work together at the Castle Valley Sun newspaper.”
“Is that so?” His close-set green eyes reflected profound doubt. “And
what’s her position?”
It irked me that he continued to talk about Lupe as if she weren’t
standing right next to him or was a person of so little consequence that he
could not address her directly. I swallowed my annoyance. “She works in our
advertising department.”
One sandy brow crept higher. “Full time?”
“Yes, sir.” My gaze strayed to his nametag that read Hank Breslow, and
then back up to meet the unwavering suspicion in his eyes.
“And you are?”
I issued him a bright smile even though my mouth was as dry as
cornstarch. “Kendall O’Dell. I’m the editor of the paper. So ah…what’s going
on?”
“You tell me.”
I edged a glance at Lupe who stood silent as a stone. I wasn’t sure
what kind of a game he was playing and I didn’t really care for his impudent
attitude, but I knew we were treading on quicksand. “We came down to do a
story on the…um, rally in Arivaca this weekend.” I silently thanked Walter and
maintained an expression of stoic calm.
Some emotion I could not fathom flickered behind his steady gaze.
Wordlessly, he lowered his eyes to study the driver’s license again. The wind
sounded awfully lonesome whistling through the tall straw-colored grass and I
was very conscious of our isolation. Suddenly, I felt resentful towards Lupe
for putting me in the position of having to lie for her, but then a twinge of
guilt chilled me. Hadn’t I voluntarily injected myself into this situation?
“Where did you say you were born again?” the agent asked, finally
shifting his attention to Lupe.
“Florence, Arizona.” The falsehood slipped out with practiced
ease.
“And your mother?”
“Hermosillo.”
His eyes bored into hers. “Have you got a copy of your birth
certificate with you?”
At that, I had to bite my tongue to keep from jeering, ‘Oh, come on.
Who carries their birth certificate with them in the car?’
Never flinching, she fished something from her wallet and extended it
to him. “I have my Social Security card. Will that help?” The slightest inkling
of indolence surfaced in her smoky almond-shaped eyes. She knew she’d won. So
did Agent Breslow.
He made a show of studying her card, just to keep her on edge, I think,
and then handed it back to her along with her driver’s license. “You ladies have
yourselves a nice day,” he said, squeezing out a synthetic smile. A glimmer of
skepticism still persisted in his eyes as he climbed into his Chevy Tahoe,
slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, revved the engine, and then ever so
slowly cruised away.
When he was out of sight, I turned back to find Lupe’s show of bravado
dissolving as she slowly slid to her haunches and took in great gulps of air
before pinning me with a look of terrified rage. “Where were you?” she
screeched.
I felt foolish and impotent. “Well, you see, there was this big bull
in the road, and there wasn’t