ainât never seen him. He might of come up the back way, thoughâup Schnebly Hill. He does that sometimes, you know.â
The adrenaline that had been holding Ali upright receded as quickly as it had come. For a moment she felt a little weak in the knees. Not trusting her ability to stand on her own, she leaned against the car door for support.
âYes,â Ali agreed, when she found her voice. âHe does like to come up the back way.â
âWant me to check for you?â
Rather than reaching for a cell phone that probably wouldnât have worked anyway, the man pulled a walkie-talkie out of his shirt pocket. âHey, Tom-Boy,â he said. âItâs Luke. Anybody seen Corpsman Bob around here today?â
âNope, neither hide nor hair,â came the scratchy reply. âHe generally checks in with me first thing.â
Ali thought about the eleven cliff-hugging miles of Schnebly Hill Road between the homeless camp and Sedona. Her adjustable-ride-height, four-wheel-drive Cayenne was nimble and responsive, but even in it, the switchback riddled trip down from the Rim would be a challenge. Depending on road conditions, the descent might take as long as two and a half to three hours. A glance at her watch told her it was already going on three. If she drove that way and left immediately, sheâd be lucky to make it back to civilization by evening when herds of elk would be on the move. And if she happened to find her fatherâs crashed Bronco somewhere along the way, what would she be able to do about it? Most of the trip sheâd be out of cell phone range. No, given the circumstances, the freeway was probably her best bet.
âYou think Corpsman Bobâs lying out there dead or hurt bad somewhere down on Schnebly Hill?â Luke asked.
Ali bit her lip before she answered. âThatâs what weâre afraid of. I could try driving that way, but Iâm worried about it taking too long.â
âLikely it would,â Luke said, âso donât you be thinking about doing such any thing. One guy here, Owen, went through a hell of a divorce. All he got out of the deal was his Jeep, which he owns free and clear. He donât have no insurance on it and no license, neither, so he donât take it out on the highway. But if Corpsman Bobâs life is on the line, heâll head down Schnebly Hill Road in a heartbeat.â
Ali handed over one of her business cards. âIf Owen finds anything and wants to be in touch, here are my phone numbers.â
Luke took the tiny card in his huge, grimy paws and held it up to squint at it for a moment before stuffing it into his shirt pocket right along with the walkie-talkie.
âWill do,â he said.
âThank you, Luke,â Ali murmured as she opened the door of the Cayenne. âThank you very much.â
10
T he gravel pit was deserted when Alberto and Jeffrey arrived at five past three. âHe stiffed us,â Alberto fumed. âThe asshole stiffed us. He isnât even gonna show. And why here? This place gives me the creeps.â
It didnât help that on the way down from Sedona there had been a Silver Alert posted for someone driving a white Ford F-150, which happened to be the same kind of vehicle they were driving. The plate license didnât match theirs, of course, and it was unlikely that someone who was the subject of a Silver Alert would be driving around in a company truck loaded with landscaping equipment. Still, anything that sent additional scrutiny in their direction was worrisome.
âCome on,â Jeffrey told him, getting out of the truck. âHave a cigarette. Donât get yourself all worked up. Heâll be here. Maybe heâs just running late. Maybe there was traffic on I-17 or an accident.â
Standing outside in the triple-digit temperatures in the gray expanse of gravel pit wasnât fun, but standing in the heat was better than working in