“But they did. Hundreds of miles. They’ve found macaw feathers that must have come from Mexico-you know, on the Gulf. And conch shells from lower California. Somebody must have brought them.”
They were sitting on the wall, smoking. Connolly felt the heat of sunburn on his face, but the clouds kept moving across the sun, throwing the mesa into cool late-afternoon shadow.
“Right up that road, too,” she said, pointing toward the straight track between South Mesa and West Mesa. “Can’t you imagine it, though? Feathers and beads and whatnot-a whole stream of people, all coming here.”
He smiled at her. “I don’t believe it. Maybe a handful staggering with thirst. It’s some place, though,” he said, looking around again.
“Yes, it makes it all worth it.”
“Makes what all worth it?”
“You know, the Hill. The life there.”
“Why don’t you leave?” he said quietly.
“Where would I go? I don’t mind, really, as long as I can get away like this. Besides, I’ve come this far. I wouldn’t go back now.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know.” She crushed her cigarette, then stripped it, letting the bits of tobacco blow away. “But it’s true just the same. I like it here.”
“But it has to end sometime. The project’ll be finished.”
“And everyone go home? Do you think so? I don’t know. I used to think that-it was all so temporary in the beginning. But now I think it’ll just go on.”
“It has to end when the war ends. You know what they’re doing there?”
“Everybody knows. We just don’t like to talk about it. It’s nicer to think of it as pure science,” she said, an edge in her voice, “not blowing everything up. Anyway, they’ll want to make another. Something bigger, perhaps. We won’t be going anywhere. You can’t just build a whole city like that and walk away from it.”
“They did here.”
“Yes. But did they walk away?” She got up, tired of sitting, and paced idly, turning over a loose rock with her boot.
“Didn’t they?”
“You like a mystery. What do you think?”
A question in school. He looked out at the landscape and shrugged. “I think they ran out of water.”
“Hmm. That’s the obvious answer, isn’t it?”
“But you don’t think so?”
“They may have. Just moved on to greener pastures. Of course, anywhere would be, wouldn’t it? But then, why not pack up? They just left things, you see. Pots, farm tools. I mean, you’d take your tools. And valuables. Feathers, shells-the sort of thing you’d take with you if you were moving on. Like your good china. Turquoise beads.”
“Turquoise?” he said. “They left turquoise behind?”
“Yes,” she said, puzzled at his interest. “They had turquoise-it was their jewelry. Funny sort of refugees, leaving jewelry behind.”
“Maybe they thought they’d be coming back,” he said, his mind in Karl’s drawer now, wandering.
“But they didn’t.”
“Because they were killed.”
She looked at him. “What makes you say that? We don’t know that.”
“Nothing. I was thinking of something else.” He stood up. “Maybe they were too weak. Maybe there was too much to carry.”
“Jewelry?”
He smiled at her. “You’re reconstructing the crime.”
“They say that’s what archaeology is. Reconstructing the crime.”
“If there was one.”
“There usually is, one way or another.”
“So what do you think?”
She paused, looking out again across the mesa. “I think the Germans came.”
“The Germans?”
“Their Germans. I think they rounded them up and took them away.”
His mind, already distracted, now leaped to magazine photos, a man weeping at a cello.
“Why?”
“Well, there’s never an answer to that.” She shrugged, as if she could shed the thought with her skin. “This is a funny sort of conversation to be having.”
“Maybe they did it to themselves.”
“What? Had some Hitler who led them away?”
“Or just went mad. Blew themselves up.”
She looked at him again, then crossed her arms, holding herself. “Don’t let’s talk about it anymore. We’ll never know anyway.”
“But wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I suppose so. But what does it matter? Maybe it was drought-everyone thinks so. I rather like its being a mystery.”
“But if we knew—”
“Then this would only be a place, wouldn’t it?” She turned to go. “Come on. It’s getting late.”
The trail down was easier, but they stopped several times to take in the view. The white light of the day was gone, replaced by the late afternoon sun with a deep yellow fire that colored the rocks. Part of the valley was in shadow and the sandstone had lost its bright reflection; it was now just harder earth, dark as dried blood. By the time they reached the bottom, even the sky had changed, its steady blue beginning to streak with color.
“My legs are going to feel this later,” he said, rubbing his calf.
“Tired?”
“Not too tired.”
She grinned. “That’s good. We’ve miles to go.”
“Where now?”
“We’ll drive north to Nageezi, then cut across on the road to Taos.”
“Can’t we stop at Nageezi?”
“That’s just for the maps. There isn’t anything there-it’s a trading post. Just a filling station. When it’s open.”
“Where, then?”
“Anxious? I thought we’d go to Hannah’s.”
“That’s hours from here.”
“Everything’s hours. We’d have it to ourselves.”
“We’ll be exhausted,” he said, taking her by the waist.
“You can sleep in. All day.”
He smiled. “Let’s go. What if we find something on the way?”
“It would be a mirage,” she said, getting in the car. “There isn’t anything. Don’t worry-I’m worth the wait.”
They said a courtesy goodbye to the ranger, then headed northwest out of the valley into the orange sky. This access road was rougher than the one to the south, and Connolly, driving now, cursed as the car bounced through deeper holes. Even on a straight stretch of dirt he was forced to slow down, dodging rocks. Emma put her head back against the seat, squinting dreamily into the light.
“Why did you ask about the turquoise?” she said, mildly curious.
“I was thinking about Karl.”
“Oh,” she said, opening her eyes. “Why him?”
“He left turquoise behind in his room. It just seemed an odd coincidence, hearing about it. Well, not really a coincidence. It just reminded me of it, that’s all.”
“What was he doing with turquoise?” she said, genuinely surprised.
“I don’t know.”
“Is that why he was robbed?”
“No. It was in his room.”
“Oh. So it’s a mystery.”
“For now it is.”
“But you don’t like mysteries,” she said.
“I don’t like this one.”
She laid her head back again. “Is it so important to you? He’s dead, isn’t he? Like my Indians. What does it matter what happened to them?”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I suppose not. But sometimes-oh, why not let things be? Let them be mysteries.” She looked out the window, arguing with the landscape.
“This didn’t happen eight hundred years ago. Whoever killed him is still around.”
“I thought he was robbed in the park. Whoever did it must be long gone.”
“Maybe. Maybe he’s on the Hill.”
She was silent. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s possible.”
“That’s horrible. Then it wouldn’t be an accident-some robbery, I mean. You think someone murdered him? Planned to kill him?”
He was quiet for a minute, thinking. “Planned? That’s interesting. No, I don’t think so. Not planned. I think it just-happened.”
“How do you mean?”
“He may have provoked someone. Like the snake,” he said, a sudden thought. “They only attack if they’re provoked. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Well, surprised. They’re defending themselves, that’s all.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice drifting off again.
“Anyway, it wasn’t a snake. Murder,” she said softly. “No. Why would anyone want to murder Karl?”