What We Found (23 page)

Mom pulled out onto the road that circled through campus. Our headlights cut through the dusk. This would have been easier during the day, when we could easily see any cars parked down the side streets or in the few smaller lots.

“We should look by student housing,” I said. “That’s the one place where parking will be as full at night.” I knew from my own experiences at UNM that many students liked to hold onto a parking spot once they’d gotten it. It wasn’t surprising to see a car in the same place for a week or more.

We found the upperclassman apartments first and then the two-story dorms for underclassmen. We went through the parking lot on one side and moved around to the other. At a glance, I didn’t see any white cars at all.

We pulled past a big SUV that seemed far too fancy for a community college student. Tucked in on the other side was a white car, and by now I was fairly certain I recognized a Corolla.

It was backed in, the front facing us, so we couldn’t see the license plate. Before I could do or say anything, Ricky jumped out of the car and squeezed between the Corolla and the SUV. The car was backed close to a waist-high wall, so Ricky had to duck down to see the license plate. I held my breath while he studied it for about five seconds, looked at the article he was holding, and peered at the license plate again.

He ran back to our car grinning. “That’s it!”

I let out a gasp. We had actually done it!

Ricky got in and leaned over the seat for a high five. I slapped his hand, but I was trembling. The relief, the joy at the success, was tempered by the knowledge that I was in this even deeper now. What would happen next? Would the car help break the case, or just complicate things further, or do nothing at all?

“I could barely get a good look with it against the wall and the streetlight so far away,” Ricky said. “But that’s the right car.”

“Whoever left it there isn’t dumb, backing it in like that,” Mom said. “If New Mexico used front license plates, it wouldn’t matter. But like this, I can see why no one noticed it.” Mom pulled forward and parked illegally at the end of the lot. She pulled out her phone and called the police.

I glanced back toward Bethany’s car, which was almost hidden from this angle. A perfect hiding spot, really. But not quite perfect enough.

Another car, a dark sedan, drove slowly past the entrance of the parking lot, maybe trying to spot empty parking spaces. The headlights pulled around the building and disappeared. I imagined some student going home for the night, with no idea that something strange was going on over here.

The police arrived ten minutes later. We pointed out the car and explained how we found it. I let Mom and Ricky do most of the talking. The sight of police uniforms still made me breathless. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, so I turned away and rubbed my arms against the cooling night air.

A dark car sped past the entrance to the parking lot with its headlights off. It could’ve been the same sedan I’d seen a few minutes earlier—or not. Maybe they couldn’t find a parking spot after all. Maybe they’d finished their business and left. But they shouldn’t drive without headlights, especially with the police right there. Or were they trying to go unnoticed?

A hand clamped my arm. I gasped and jumped.

“Miss Needham? I’d like to talk to you privately.” The officer led me away from his partner, Mom, and Ricky. “First you find the body and now her car. A pretty big coincidence, isn’t it?”

“And they sounded suspicious of
me
!” I told Kyle the next morning. Somehow the whole story poured out minutes after we met up.

I’d left my car at his place and rode with him into the valley, talking the whole time until he pulled off a back road and parked. He sat with his forearms resting on the steering wheel, frowning out the front window. “I guess I can see their point.”

I gasped. He turned to me with a crooked smile. “Sorry, let me put that another way. They’re complete idiots. Anyone with an ounce of sense could tell you’re just an innocent bystander.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I only meant I can see how it looks like an unlikely coincidence. It’s not a coincidence,” he quickly added. “You have a reason to be interested, to look, and you were smart and lucky to find the car. But I suppose criminals sometimes come to the police with evidence or information, trying to throw a false trail.”

He glanced toward the back of the truck, where the falcon was screeching like a rusty swing. “Junior’s restless.” We got out and met at the back of the truck. “Nobody could seriously consider you a suspect, though,” Kyle said. “You didn’t know Bethany. You have no reason to wish her harm. You weren’t even living here when she disappeared. The police are trained to sound suspicious so people get nervous and talk more, but I doubt they’re really focused on you.”

I leaned my hip on the tailgate as he got out equipment. “I hope you’re right, but it’s insulting. I never had a problem with the police before, but I’m starting to hate the sight of them.”

“Try to remember they’re doing their job. It can’t be easy for them, when people only see the police if they’re in trouble or getting bad news.” He pulled the leather glove over his arm. “I learned something interesting after Bethany disappeared, when I was prodding the police to find her. A lot of times people uncover crime scenes, even find bodies like you did, but they don’t report it.”

I thought of Jay. “I should be shocked, but I’m not.”

He opened the cage and the falcon hopped out and up onto his arm. “I was shocked at first. Why on earth wouldn’t someone report something like that? But then I thought of all the reasons people might not want to talk to the cops. People who were doing something wrong, even if it’s only teenagers drinking or cutting school. Illegal immigrants. Anyone with a police record could be afraid they’d be seen as a suspect. Lots of reasons someone might not want police attention.”

“I guess so.” I tried to remember Jay’s reasons. That whole experience was a blur—except for the horribly vivid memory of the body itself—but I didn’t think he’d given any real reason. The joint, of course, but he could’ve hidden that. He’d said something about me not knowing what was going on. I’d almost forgotten that. Was Jay the kind of person who never wanted to get involved, or was his wariness more suspicious?

Kyle turned to face me, the morning sun glowing golden on his skin and highlighting his hair. He looked healthier than when I’d met him a few days before. Maybe knowing for sure that Bethany was gone had lifted some burden. Or maybe it was the wide-open desert background, the vivid blue sky, and the gorgeous young falcon on his arm. Something about holding a bird of prey a foot from one’s face had to make anyone look rugged and manly.

Of course, his grandmother also worked with the falcons and hawks, and I doubted she’d appreciate being called manly. Though given what I’d seen of Nancy, she might get a kick out of it.

“You’re smiling,” Kyle said. “Good.” He removed the bird’s hood. It peered around with fierce eyes. The falcon had a lovely brown and white mottled pattern on the breast, a brown back, and a white and brown face. “Gran might have mentioned that we don’t hunt a lot of the birds at this time of year, because they’re molting and breeding. But this is one of the earliest of this year’s chicks, so we’ll get him started. The juveniles have tons of energy so it’s fun to get them out there and give them some confidence.”

He hefted a small animal carrying case in his hand. Pigeons cooed inside. “Ready to go?”

He led the way across a grassy field, sexy in the jeans that hung low on his hips. I was wearing jeans and hiking boots myself, with my work clothes in the car. I can learn.

Kyle stopped and put the carrying case on the ground. He raised his other arm, holding the falcon above his head. The bird spread its wings and took off, and I got that same flutter in the chest at seeing a spectacular creature in action. It made a low loop and then kept circling higher. Within a couple of minutes, it was a speck in the sky.

Kyle bent to the carrying case, opened the door, and a moment later stood up clutching a pigeon against his stomach. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“I’m sure it’s prejudiced of me, but I find I can’t care that much about a pigeon. Rabbits are cute; pigeons poop on park benches.”

“Fair enough.” He checked the falcon’s progress and then tossed the pigeon into the air. It fluttered erratically before speeding away. “This isn’t really falconry,” Kyle said. “With real falconry, a trained bird hunts wild animals. Releasing pigeons is only a training technique, but it’ll give our guy some exercise.”

I glanced up to find the falcon, and when I looked for the pigeon again, it had disappeared. The falcon must have spotted it, though. It arrowed down from the sky.

My heart raced and I tensed, holding my breath. Would the pigeon escape or would the young falcon make a kill? This time I was rooting for the falcon.

I couldn’t tell what happened at that distance, but Kyle said, “Nope. He got close, but the pigeon got away.” The falcon rose higher in the sky.

“Will it try again?”

“Not with that bird. Homing pigeons are a challenging quarry. We breed them for boldness, so they dodge and swoop and try to get up above the falcon. After a couple of tries, the falcon will say, all right, it’s easier to wait for another pigeon than to chase this one to the ends of the earth.”

Kyle pulled something out of his shoulder bag, a crescent-shaped piece of leather eight or ten inches across. He started swinging it into the air by a long cord.

As the falcon flew toward us, Kyle tossed the leather thing onto the ground. The bird landed beside it and plucked a piece of meat out of the bag.

“So he gets rewarded for trying,” I said. “What happens to the pigeon?”

“It goes back home, ready for another day.”

“Why are you feeding the falcon, instead of releasing another pigeon?”

“We don’t want him wandering off, getting interested in something else. I use the lure to get him in the habit of coming back.”

“Food as a reward seems to work on my brother, too. I haven’t tried getting him to exercise that way, but maybe I’ll start.”

He laughed. Then he somehow managed to interrupt the bird’s meal and get the falcon back on his wrist. I didn’t think I’d want to come between something with a beak like that and its breakfast.

Kyle held the bird and they seemed to lock gazes for a moment. The falcon gave a soft cry. Kyle pulled a hood out of his bag and slipped it over the bird’s head, murmuring softly.

“You really seem to have a connection with it,” I said.

“I love working with raptors. It’s this wonderful window into the life of a wild creature, and it helps keep me sane.”

We headed back to the car. The whole experience hadn’t taken long, and the sun was barely rising above the distant treetops. The warmth and the faint breeze felt good on my skin. We were far enough off the main road that we couldn’t even see it or any sign of civilization. It felt like we were the only people in the entire world. I wanted to get up early every day, to start by doing something special like this instead of the typical rush to get ready for work.

“Thanks for letting me share this,” I said. “I don’t think I’m ready for the work and commitment of having my own falcon, but this was wonderful. I feel ready to tackle anything, even though you and the bird did all the work.”

“Anytime. I mean that.” He slid the pigeon carrying case into the truck and nudged the falcon back in its cage. After all the gear was stowed, he pulled out some disinfectant wipes and cleaned his hands. “I almost forgot. I promised you breakfast.”

I shook my head. “I should be bringing you breakfast, as a thank you. Of course,” I added as he pulled out a plastic tub and opened the lid to show scones crammed with dried fruit, “I’m not going to turn down those.”

We leaned on the tailgate and shared a thermos of coffee and some of the best scones I’d ever tasted. I brushed crumbs off my hands and sighed. “I think this is the most perfect morning ever.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath. “Because there’s something I have to ask you. I think I know the answer, but I want to be sure.” He pushed away from the tailgate and took a couple of steps before swinging back toward me. His nerves were contagious; I found myself breathing faster, tensing in preparation.

Was he suspicious of my involvement in Bethany’s murder after all? Had something new happened? What could fluster a man like Kyle?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Kyle asked.

I stared, trying to process a question that wasn’t at all what I’d expected. “Um … no.”

He blew out a breath. “Good. I mean that’s what I thought, but … I wanted to be sure.” Was he turning red?

I had to smile. It was empowering to realize that
he
was nervous around
me
. My own nerves settled. I figured I’d better take advantage of that before I froze up again and let him know a few things that could be important if this was going the way I thought it was. “I haven’t had a lot of relationships. I was pretty quiet in high school.” Yeah, like I wasn’t now. “In college, I came home every month to see my brother. That put a damper on getting involved with anyone too seriously.”

It made a good excuse, anyway. The truth was I rarely felt comfortable around men, even when I liked them. Between Mom’s warnings and my own natural shyness, I’d grown up thinking men were scary. I wasn’t entirely comfortable around Kyle, despite his gentleness and compassion. But he was worth the extra effort.

“You really care about your brother.”

“I’m all he has. Well, me and my mother. But….” And Ricky had his father, too, but I hadn’t known that.

“Parents can sometimes do as much harm as good.”

“You do understand.”

His smile grew and something sparked in his eyes. “I understand a lot of things.”

I gazed at his face, not handsome or cute exactly, but good-looking and comfortable. This was what a man could be, both strong and safe. “It would be good for Ricky to know you. That is—not that I’m saying you should—”