Free Desert Shadows (9781615952250) by Betty Webb Page B

“11” meant the eleventh letter of the alphabet, K; the “3” stood for K times three. KKK, Ku Klux Klan.
    I checked out the driver. When I saw he sported a shaved head and the de rigeur lightning bolt tats on his neck, I lost my appetite. Swinging into an illegal U-turn, I headed back to Scottsdale.
    By the time I made it back to Desert Investigations, the streetlights were on. The neighboring art galleries had closed, and Jimmy was locking up for the night.
    â€œDon’t take Esther and Rebecca to Cave Creek this weekend,” I warned him. Jimmy had been dating Esther ever since we had helped her daughter Rebecca escape from a forced marriage to an elderly prophet in one of Arizona’s notorious polygamy compounds. 2
    He was way ahead of me. “Fat chance, with those National Alliance jerks in town.” Standing aside so that I could make it past him to the stairwell that led to my apartment, he added, “We’re just going to kick back, have a little bar-b-que, and listen to some Chicken Scratch. But first, I’m going over to Wal-Mart to buy some toys for Owen’s kids. Cheer them up. Speaking of Owen, did you find out anything that might help him?”
    â€œI found out that Gloriana wasn’t a very popular woman.”
    He turned the deadbolt behind him. “Yeah, Owen’s told me stories. She wasn’t in the running for the Humanitarian of the Year Award.”
    â€œFew people are.” I made no move to go upstairs.
    â€œI guess. Well.…” Jimmy stood there, the tungsten light revealing a baffled expression on his face. “Is there something else? You know you’re invited to join us, you always are.”
    I pictured him on the Rez, surrounded by his nieces and nephews, his girlfriend and her daughter, all the people he loved. Then I pictured my own empty apartment and decided to make the conversation last longer. “By the way, were you able to get started on those names I gave you?”
    â€œIt’ll take a while. Right now they look clean, but we’ll see what comes up when I go deeper.” He frowned. “Lena, are you okay? Are you sure you don’t want to follow me back to the Rez?”
    â€œI’m fine, fine. Thanks anyway. I need to do some thinking, and it’s easier when I’m by myself.”
    He tried not to look doubtful, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “See you tomorrow, then.”
    â€œYeah. Tomorrow.”
    After I watched his truck’s taillights disappear down the street, I pulled my gun out of my carry-all and began the long walk up the stairs to my apartment. The long walk I took every night. The long walk I never ceased to dread.
    The monster in the closet.
    My childhood nightmares still haunted me, still crept into my waking hours. They had become so much a part of my existence that I could no longer imagine a world without them. But, oh, to not fear dark spaces, to welcome the night.…
    Such ease was not for me. Since living in my sixth foster home, I had never been able to enter a room alone without searching it thoroughly.
    As usual, I had left the lights on, which I always do when there’s a chance I will be out past sunset. Helped along by years of experience, the search went quickly. First the living room, a beige-on-beige box devoid of all personality other than the Two Gray Hills Navajo rug hanging over the sofa and the vivid George Haozous oil painting on the opposite wall. No monsters here, other than a few dust bunnies the size of alley cats lurking under the one window. Then an inspection of the hallway, the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally, the worst place of all—my bedroom.
    Both hands trembling, I flipped on the lights, saw nothing. I looked under the bed. Nothing there, either.
    Then I approached the long closet with its sliding double doors.
    The monster in the closet.
    My .38 cocked and ready, I slid back one door with my foot and parted the