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Dorion’s eyes had been scanning the town. She turned back to her brother. “I know how to do it.”

“How?”

“Simple. I’m just going to ask.”

“And why would she?”

“Oh, she will. Believe me.”

20.

“Mayor, we may have a solution to the old-time-pistol-lady problem,” Colter Shaw said.

“Mrs. Petaluma?”

There were others? thought Colter.

“That’s right.”

Dorion offered, “She’s Indigenous. Miwok probably, in this area. We know Mrs. Petaluma speaks English—she looked at the levee when I mentioned it. So it’s not a language thing. For some reason she doesn’t want to leave.

“Our mother is Ohlone. It’s a nation related to the Miwok. She can impress on Mrs. Petaluma it’s important she leave her house.”

And, according to Dorion’s plot, this would also get their mother out of harm’s way from the possibly homicidal daughter of her late husband.

“Makes sense to me.”

Dorion added, “She’s also an MD. Which might be helpful depending on how things go here. I called and explained our situation. She’s on her way.”

Colter noted activity from the northern end of Route 13, near his Winnebago. After pitching the sandbags over the levee to help inrescuing the family, Sergeant Tamara Olsen and the corporals had left the crew of volunteers and driven through town and up the road on the northern side of the valley. Supervised by Olsen, one of the soldiers—the slimmer of the two—had donned a wet suit and, tethered to a tree, was easing into the water as his huge partner paid out the rope slowly. He was making his way along the inside of the levee, trying to ease in a straight line along the surface. But the river had other ideas and was buffeting him right and left.

A mask and attached snorkel sat high on his head.

Olsen left the men to the job and strode down the hill to the command post. She nodded to Tolifson, Starr and Dorion, to whom she said, “Your brother. Some resemblance.” She stuck out a hand to Colter and they shook. “Tam Olsen.” Hers was a firm grip. She had an attractive angular face and athletic figure. Her skin was outdoor ruddy. The tone appealed to him. Margot—the woman he had more or less lived with for a time, a while back—was an archeologist and preferred outdoor digs; she had a permanent tan. Margot and Olsen shared similar builds, he also noted.

Colter saw that her nails were painted red. He’d worked on a reward job with a woman who was an army lieutenant. He knew that modest and inconspicuous polish was acceptable in the service. As for nail length, there was no skirting that rule. One-quarter inch. Not a millimeter longer. He’d been told that some commanders carried a ruler. The crimson shade was probably out of regulation, but her focused, determined eyes told him she seemed like the sort of soldier who could get away with breaching the little rules because she was so good at her assignments.

Her eyes lingered in his direction. He took in her pose—hip cocked, arms at side, an “open” configuration in body language analysis—and his eyes held hers briefly.

Han Tolifson said, “What’s your man doing up there?”

“Checking where it’s best to lay the Hydroseal. We can’t put it on the whole length. He’ll find where it’s eroding the quickest.”

“Hope he gets hazard pay for that.”

Olsen asked Dorion, “Evacuation?”

“We’re about seventy, eighty percent. Not good enough. They look at the levee and see the water over the side. They don’t get, or care, that it means erosion. To them it’s a big solid dam of dirt with a pretty waterfall.”

Tolifson scoffed. “And I’m sick of hearing that nonsense about ‘government conspiracy.’ We want them out of their houses so we can…Well, I don’t know. Plant bugs inside or cameras. Or look for propaganda from the opposing political party.” The man said with a sigh, “Can’t take a pill for stupid.”

The sergeant laughed, a pleasant breezy sound. Colter found himself taking in her green eyes once again.

The map indicated there were two roads leading west from Hinowah. Route 58 angled south between a large farm and the copper mine. The other, Valley Road, Route 94, veered north and went directly past the college. The latter was a patiently moving bottleneck. Colter wondered how far the concern for fellow citizens would extend if the flood started. Would people try to sneak past or push their way ahead of the crowd? Would there be fighting? California was ambivalent about guns. San Francisco and L.A. were oases of strict control. But much of the rest of the state was cowboy territory. And he guessed that Dorion’s prohibition about taking weapons in the evacuation was largely ignored.

Officer Starr slipped her mobile back in one of the holsters on her service belt, which bristled with cop gear. She had washed off much of the mud on her hands and face, from the Garvey family rescue, but her outfit was still soiled badly. Her expression was not happy. “Mayor, we are still getting the short end of the stick here, and I don’t care for that much.”

“How do you mean?”