Land of Entrapment (4 page)

“Her boyfriend seems to be a neo-Nazi.”

Chris didn’t respond for a while. When she did, she was using her “just the facts, ma’am” tone. “And Melissa wants you to come back to Albuquerque to help her find Megan.”

“And that’s why you’re the detective,” I said dryly.

“So presumably in the discussion she outlined why no other course of action would work.”

“She’s pretty thorough, as you know.”

Chris remained quiet, but I knew she was thinking that Melissa was using any excuse to contact me.

“It’s been three years,” I pointed out. “She didn’t contact me before this. I don’t think it’s about hooking up again.”

“I’ll leave that to your judgment, esa. What are your feelings about it?”

I paused, watching Jim munch. What exactly were my feelings? “She needs some help. And it took a lot for her to come down here.” Though she hadn’t brought shit up when we were together toward the end. I sighed.

“True,” Chris said, cautious. “So—”

“Yes. I’ll be coming to Albuquerque.” Voicing that sent a little jolt of longing down my back. Going home. That’s what I was doing, essentially.

“When?”

I heard Chris’s grin, which triggered one of my own. “I guess...really soon. A couple of days?”

“Mi mujer favorita vuelve a casa,” Chris said, laughing. “This is some good news, Kase.

Circumstances notwithstanding. I knew you’d come back.”

“Your favorite woman?” I teased. “Really? And yeah, I suppose I am coming home in a lot of ways.”

“Are you getting all mystical on me? Damn. I thought Texas might have baked that out of you by now.”

“Yep. That’s me. Mystic Chick. I’ll go find my crystals and patchouli now.” I rolled my eyes and stroked Jim’s hide.

“Careful. Don’t make fun of shit like that. Abuelita always says what you ridicule returns to haunt you.”

I smiled. “I love your grandma. How is Abuelita, anyway?”

“She’ll be much better now, after I call her and tell her that her favorite gringita is coming to town.”

Chris paused, then continued. “I am so excited to see you. It’s been a while, esa.”

“Don’t get all excited just yet. I don’t know what-all’s involved here and I might not be in town too long.”

“Oh, of course,” Chris said with mock seriousness.

“Nuevomexico is in your blood. I knew you’d come back.”

“Chris, it’s a visit.”

“And isn’t that how you ended up here in the first place?” she asked innocently. “Just checking out Albuquerque for grad school. Not sure you wanted to be here. Two days later, you’d found a place to live and accepted the department’s offer.”

I groaned. “All right, all right. But this is serious business and the last thing on my mind is moving back. I still have to finish out this damn post-doc, after all.”

“Details,” she retorted smugly. Then, “And fuck, I’m about to be really rude because I have to go put in some time con la familia and I’m late for dinner. Call me and tell me when you leave?” She voiced it as a question.

“Definitely. And say hi to your folks and your bros.”

“Of course. Do you want to stay with me when you get here?”

“I’m not sure how that’s going to work out. I’ll probably end up at Megan’s, since the shit I have to look at is there.” I wasn’t looking forward to that, either. Someone I considered a younger sister in a lot of ways, involved with racist crap. It made me kind of queasy.

“If you need a break from that, just go to my house.”

“Will do. Thanks, mujer. I’ll call you in a few.”

“Damn right you will. Buenas noches.”

“Yep. Catch you later.” I hung up and thought a bit more about Melissa. She’d left me alone, like I asked. Until now. I sighed. “Jim, be glad you’re a horse.” He snorted. I watched my hand moving slowly over Jim’s neck. I had the expertise to help Megan. She might not actually like me—God knows, her sister wasn’t all that thrilled with me—and she might resent me for the rest of her natural-born life if I meddled. But I had knowledge that could help her.

And not doing so did a disservice to her, the rest of her family, and to me. I thought about the researchers Melissa said she had contacted for advice. If it was true that they politely told her to go away, then why the hell did they ever pursue their fields in the first place? Aren’t those of us who get advanced degrees and have all this excess crap floating around in our heads supposed to use it in and out of the classroom?

I couldn’t not do this. And no matter what had happened between me and Melissa, ultimately it was irrelevant. It was in the past. Megan was in the now and she probably needed help. I patted Jim one last time and went back to the main house. On the porch, I stood holding my cell phone, staring blankly at the business card in my other hand. “Melissa T. Crown, Esq.,” it read. I turned it over and carefully punched the numbers she had written on my keypad.

She picked up after the first ring. “K.C.?”

I winced at the hope I heard in her voice. “Yeah, it’s me.” I gripped the railing on the front porch. “I’ll do it.”

She didn’t say anything for a while but I heard her breathing. “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

“I’ll drive up day after tomorrow. Where does Megan live? I’ll meet you there.”

“Over behind the Monte Vista Firehouse.”

“I’ll call you when I get into town. Give me the address then.”

“I can’t begin to tell you—”

“Later,” I interrupted. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days. I’ll time it so I arrive after you’re done at work.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’ll meet you whenever you get here.”

I nodded to myself, feeling a little pang. Why hadn’t she extended herself to me like that three years ago? “Okay. I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.

Bye.” I hung up, not wanting to keep the channel open between us. I stood staring at nothing, listening to the hum of summer insects and the rustling of dogs on the porch. I missed some things about her, but I wasn’t able to remember how it had been. When I tried to think about what had attracted me to her, it was always overridden by the shock and pain I felt seeing her with Hillary that night in the parking lot.

That night that triggered my leaving. I thought about the first time Melissa and I made love but I couldn’t remember quite how it happened. I threw a glance over at Jane and Dan.

“Am I still in love with her?” I asked them. Jane looked at me with an expression that I would have sworn was canine pity. No, I decided, I wasn’t. I did need some kind of closure, though. Maybe later, Melissa and I would have that talk she mentioned. I sighed. I had some more phone calls to make.

Chapter Three

THE DRIVE FROM Central Texas to Albuquerque impresses upon the eyes how huge Texas is and how unrelentingly flat it can be. Perfect landscape for listening to music like Shawn Colvin and Catie Curtis, though I also secretly liked to listen to country when I had to cover long distances by car. I sang along to Trick Pony, watching the horizon retreat behind heat waves and rolling hills only to stretch itself flat along a series of high plains, no matter how fast I drove. I had already counted four dead armadillos, eight ground squirrels, and six rabbits on the asphalt.

Summer was rough on people, but rougher still on animals.

Heat swam across Highway 84, which connected Lubbock to I-20 on the Texas side and Clovis, New Mexico on the other. I was just coming into Lubbock at one-thirty. I had left around four that morning to beat as much heat as possible. Granted, New Mexico isn’t a slacker in the summer heat department. Desert natives will tell you, however, that “it’s a dry heat.”

Which basically means it’s the difference between a steam room and a dry sauna. I prefer a dry sauna because at least your clothing doesn’t cling to you like wet sheets. Like sweat, it dries quickly. The closer I got to New Mexico, the dryer the air.

I pulled into a gas station and began filling up my Subaru. Chris sometimes teased me about my “sporty little dyke-mobile” and then she’d laugh and tell me I looked sexy in it. While my tank filled, I rummaged around in my car, picking up bits of trash to throw out. I had packed a couple of duffle bags and put them in the back. My laptop rested in its case on the passenger seat and a variety of books and pairs of shoes lay haphazardly in the back seat. Comfortable clutter. I reached for an empty cup that had held Starbucks coffee that morning. As I did so, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the ID.

“Hey, Mom. What’s up?” I balanced the phone on my shoulder as I walked to the trash can and emptied my hands.

“Hi, honey. Where are you?”

“The beautiful thriving metropolis of Lubbock.” I leaned against the hood of my car, watching summer heat float above nearby fields. Semis roared past on the nearby interstate.

“Sounds wonderful. Did you call Kara?”

“I did. She’s not still living in a redwood, thankfully.” I scraped the concrete underfoot with the toe of my Birkenstock. “My kid sister. The eco-freak.”

My mom ignored that. Instead, she said, “Okay, good. She worries about you, you know.”

I pushed off my car and went to check the gas pump. It clicked off as I approached. I left the nozzle in the tank. “I’m not the one sitting in ten-story trees throwing sticks at loggers.”

She chuckled. “Oh, and researching extremists is—what? A walk in the park?”

“Point taken,” I said, laughing. “I e-mailed Joely, too, but you’ll probably hear from her first.”

“And she’ll want to know what else Melissa had to say.” Subtlety was not my mom’s strong point. From staid New England stock, she managed to be both blunt and reserved in the same breath, a true counterpoint to my gregarious Italian father, to whom everything was larger than life.

I sighed. What is it about sisters and moms all up in your business? “I think she wants to talk.”

Long pause that broadcast a hell of a lot more than words could. “And?” she said, voice tight.

“I don’t know. It was weird seeing her and yeah, I’m kind of confused about it. But I know I’m doing the right thing and I know if Melissa thought she could resolve this issue without me, she would have.”

I watched a late model blue Ford truck with dualie tires on the back pull in at another pump and a kid in jeans, cowboy hat, and boots get out of the passenger side and head into the gas station while a man who was probably his father started fueling up.

“Are you sure?” Suspicion colored her tone.

“Yeah.” I said it a little defensively, coming back to attention. “Tell Joely that, too.”

“Well, what does she want to talk about? What could there possibly be to say after what she did?”

I stared blankly at my feet, another ripple of confusion in my chest. Why did I want to defend Melissa all of a sudden? “I don’t know.”

She made a hmph sound. “Just be careful.”

“Geez, Mom. Don’t you have a paper on some Latin American culture or something to write up for a lecture series? Or some world religions conference to go to with Dad?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, a little more gently. “I just worry. I’m your mom. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“Shit, you think I do?” I ran a hand through my hair.“Of course not. But sometimes you don’t think too clearly about—” she stopped.

About the women I let into my life, I finished for her.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just going to see if I can track this group down and if I do, it’s up to Melissa to take the next step. I have other work to do, after all.”

“How long will you be there?”

“I don’t know. A week or two, most likely. It depends on what I find. I might not be any help at all.”“I doubt that,” she said in her “my daughter is the smartest thing on the face of God’s green earth” tone.

“Okay, honey, just check in with us when you can and drive carefully.”

“Will do. Say hi to Dad.”

“And you say hi to Chris.”

I grinned. My mom thought Chris was the coolest thing since sliced bread. “She’ll appreciate that. All right, I’m outta here. Talk to you later, Mom. Love you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and put the phone back in the pocket of my cargo shorts. What was it about talking to my mom that made me feel sixteen all over again? I took the pump nozzle out of my tank and waited for my receipt to print out. That done, I drove a short distance away from the pumps and parked again so I could access my cooler and make a sandwich. Fifteen minutes later, I was back on the road and within about forty-five minutes I was coming into Clovis, a town just on the inside of the New Mexico border known for its meat-packing and Air Force base. I passed a battered Ford pick-up as the music switched to a different country mix.

Singing along as I-84 snaked north, I put an extra twang in the lyrics and watched out my windshield as the landscape morphed into Billy the Kid country, windswept grassy buttes speckled with cholla cactus and small hills that swelled from the soil like geographic pimples, some with bases carved into hidden arroyos, a few deep enough to hide a man on a horse. By four I was nearing the eastern edge of Albuquerque on I-40. The Sandia Mountains loomed out my windshield, the eastern plains lapping at their flanks like an ocean wave at a beach. The freeway wound through them via Tijeras Canyon, which opened slightly above the city and spilled travelers into a seemingly never-ending strip mall and hotel hell that served as oases for tourists and hang-outs for residents in some of the beaten-down neighborhoods in this part of town.

Albuquerque sprawled for miles across a high desert floodplain of the Rio Grande. Seeing my old stomping grounds made me grin like a kid. I mentally catalogued the parts of the city, ticking off the names like I was pointing out old friends at a reunion. The older neighborhoods lined the river and the newer ones—the ’burbs—pushed east until they rammed up against the base of the western side of the mountains.

Residents refer to those areas as the Far Northeast Heights, though I dubbed them “The Frights” when I lived here.

The outline of downtown swam in the early evening haze, the highest building probably no more than thirty stories—nice because it didn’t overwhelm the awesome expanse of landscape that surrounded the city. West of downtown sat Old Town, the site of the original Spanish Plaza. Older haciendas and estates occupied land north of Old Town, along the east side of the river while newer suburbs spread along the west side of the river—the poor cousins of the Northeast Heights though nicer neighborhoods lined the banks farther north. Developers were always busy ramming big tract homes into West Side enclaves then surrounding them with more strip malls and chain restaurants.