Don't you?"
With a sad smile, he nodded, started the car and pulled back onto the road.
The road dipped into a rocky ravine darkened by pendulous fir and cedar boughs. The
purple-shadowed forest reminded her of the hikes she and Nathan took while searching for
her friend, Simon.
âDo you ever see Kittredge?"
Amy flung him a startled look. Had he read her thoughts? âAlmost every week. He's staying
at Dad's house on Lomitas Island."
âI see.â Nathan veered through the last switchback, came out on the crest of a hill, and
headed down into a wide, flat valley. âStill working for Global News?"
She shook her head. âHe's taken a leave of absence to write a book.â A wan smile spread
across her face. âWeekends, he and I build a fire on the beach and talk half me night.â
She swallowed into a dry throat. âIt's a good thing our place on Lomitas is secluded.
The arguments we have would wake the neighbors."
Stony-faced, Nathan peered out the window. âSo you're still mothering him."
She regarded him for a long moment. âSometimes, I just need someone I can talk to.â She
pointed ahead. âThe lot where we're meeting Dad is on the right."
Nathan parked the car near B.J.'s van and cut the motor. âYou can always reach me at the
lodge, you know, or at Dr. Chamber's cabin."
She stared at him, anger heating her cheeks. âYou and your wife are living in the cabin
where I stayed?â Where they'd met and talked and made love ...
âAngela kept her apartment in Orofino. She teaches second grade.â He reached into the
backseat and lifted out a large duffel bag. âI go home weekends."
Amy steadied the trembling inside her. âWhy are you staying at the cabin?"
âIt's the only place I can fall sleep,â he said, then got out of the car and closed the
door.
She took a second to pull herself together. The only place he could fall sleep. Did that mean he could only find peace in the bed in which she'd slept?
She trudged over to the van. B.J. had already situated Nathan on an overturned box in the
rear. On either side of him ranged built-in compartments holding forensic supplies. A
collapsible gurney slid into a metal slot. Light and camera tripods lay in a tangle held
in place by both her and B.J.'s medical bags and their respective forensic kits.
She hoisted herself into the black vinyl bucket seat next to her father and without
thinking let out a sigh. âLet's go."
B.J. gave her a long, level look. âYou okay?"
She managed a weak smile. âOf course. I'm strong as an elephant and twice as
healthy."
âLike hell you are.â He maneuvered the van onto the potholed roadway and a stiff silence
settled around them.
Amy swung around to Nathan. âWheeler was founded in 1910,â she said, hoping to lessen the
tension. âThe town nearly died before the Southeast Asian families moved in and leased
these places."
She gestured to weathered two-story houses bordering the street. Instead of lawns, long
rows of rich, black, cultivated earth bracketed each building. âThe tenants raise
flowers for the florist trade. Make use of every inch of soil.
âThe whole valley is a patchwork of glowing color during spring, summer, and fall.
Hundreds of people come.â She kept up her rambling, tour-guide patter until Nathan
rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. Amy took the hint and subsided.
The street widened, became better paved as shops crowded out the houses. A blue sports
car with a middle-aged man at the wheel darted out of a side street and B.J. slammed on
his brakes. âStupid idiot ran a stop sign."
âPatience, Dad.â She caught a glimmer of amusement in Nathan's glance. âAs you can see,
Nathan, some of the Caucasian locals have gotten rich off the tourists."
âDo Kampucheans work in any of the stores?"
âMostly in the restaurants,
Learning to Kill: Stories