Page 10 of Badlands (Nora Kelly #5)

A S THE BIG black SUV bumped along the track with agonizing slowness, Nora gazed out the windows at the landscape through which they were passing.

She’d been in New Mexico a long time and had hiked the Bisti Badlands, and so these kinds of formations weren’t new to her—but she still experienced a sense of awe and menace when she saw them.

“It’s right up ahead,” said Corrie as they came around a particularly large hoodoo and entered an open, flat area.

“This is where the film crew set up.”

Corrie brought the vehicle to a halt and they got out, heat swimming over them in waves.

“The film trailers were parked over there—you can see all the tracks. We’ve got a mile hike ahead of us.”

Nora looked around.

“The Navajos have a name for these rock formations. They call them de-na-zin . Cranes.”

“I can see why.”

Nora doused a bandanna in water and tied it around her neck.

She noticed Corrie watching.

“Do you have a bandanna?” she asked.

“No.”

Nora grinned.

“I happened to bring an extra… just in case.” She pulled a bandanna out of her day pack and handed it to Corrie, who followed Nora’s example.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Nora hefted her water carrier.

The temperature, she figured, was close to a hundred degrees, but the air was dry and thin, and a stiff breeze was blowing.

These weren’t bad conditions for July.

“Lead the way,” she said.

Corrie set off, Nora following behind, threading a path among the balancing rocks toward a black spire in the near distance.

A stiff twenty-minute walk brought them to its base.

“The bones,” said Corrie, pointing to a forest of little flags stuck in the ground, “were scattered in that area. Those green rocks were right there, about two feet apart. The point was there. And the clothes were spread out in a long line back that way.”

Nora looked around, taking it all in.

There was something about this place, something ineffable, that spoke to her.

It felt instinctively like an unusual spot—and not a nice one.

She nodded at the black finger of rock.

“That’s known geologically as a volcanic plug. You see a lot of them around here. A small cone once formed and the cinders eroded away, leaving the lava pipe still standing. Sort of like the chimney of a house that burned.”

Corrie nodded.

“This formation looks particularly menacing. There’s always a chance that, prehistorically, this plug might have been a place of significance.”

“As in sacred?” asked Corrie.

“Sacred… or perhaps malign. I’m going to look around a bit.”

Nora began walking the site, head down, looking for lithics, artifacts, or anything else of interest. She canvassed the swale, then made a loop around the finger of rock.

But she found nothing—just sand and cactus.

She rejoined Corrie in the small puddle of shade at the bottom of the rock, took a long drink of water, then sat down to rest. “Why take off her clothes?”

“That’s the rub. I didn’t want to speculate too far with Sharp, but… well, part of me wonders if her going out here like this was a form of suicide.”

“Anything’s possible, of course. But if you want to kill yourself, dying of heatstroke and terminal dehydration is a pretty awful way to go.”

“No kidding.”

“Perhaps someone else was with her, forcing her to do it?”

“That’s a possibility,” said Corrie.

“Remember that hogan we passed not far back? An old Navajo lady lives there. I really wish I could get her to talk.”

“You tried?”

“I did. She wouldn’t talk to me or a Navajo policeman. She was more interested in filling my ass with buckshot. I contacted the trader she sells her rugs to, but he couldn’t help, either.”

“On the way out, let me give it a try,” said Nora.

“I speak a few words of Navajo.”

Corrie nodded dubiously.

“Seen enough?”

“Sure have. I can’t wait to get back to the AC of that Tahoe.”