Liquid Smoke

SIXTY-NINE

“I don’t see it,” Carter said. “Me either.”

We were standing in the middle of the desert. I’d called him and told him they could come back. He’d taken the Vasquezes to their home and then found me.

I’d buried Keene, and we were looking for any visible signs that there was a grave in the middle of nowhere.

“Then we’re good,” Carter said.

That was about as far from the truth as we could get. “We should go separately,” Carter said. “Call me when you get there.”

I nodded.

He walked to the truck and slid in through the passenger side. The engine started with a low rumble. He nodded at me, drove up onto the road, and disappeared.

I turned to the valley and stared hard.

The sun was coming up.

Just like before.

I stared again. It was a remote location, not a place people went hiking or off-roading. But people would start looking for Keene. Even assholes have friends.

The sand and isolation would hide him for a while. I just wondered for how long.