Good to her word, once Ali was back in the Cayenne, she didn’t call. Instead she e-mailed the number to Stuart Ramey with a simple request:

Can you give me a name and address to go with this number?

Her e-mail announcement chimed before Ali made it back to the parking lot at St. Jerome’s. The message was from Cami, Stuart’s assistant, rather than from the man himself:

Mr. Ramey is busy right now. He asked me to handle this. The phone leads back to someone named Tsosie Begay. The address listed is a post office box in Chinle, AZ. If you need anything else, let me know.

Cami

Ali sat in her idling car for a full minute after reading Cami’s e-mail. Begay was a well-known Navajo name, and the phone number was more likely to lead back to the source of the blanket rather than to one of Jane Doe’s family members. After giving it some thought, Ali went ahead and dialed. The phone was answered by a soft-spoken woman. “Begay residence.”

“Hello,” Ali responded. “My name is Ali Reynolds. I’m calling for a Mr. or Mrs. Begay.”

“I’m Evangeline Begay,” the woman said in a voice that gave nothing away.

Ali took a deep breath before launching off. “I’m looking into a phone call that was placed from your number to a phone located in Flagstaff late yesterday afternoon. It may be connected to a young woman who was injured in a traffic accident last night. We’re trying to identify her.”

“You said the girl was injured?” Evangeline asked. “How?”

“She was hit by a vehicle north of Flagstaff. I’m attempting to locate her family.”

“She was running away,” Evangeline said.

“We’ve surmised as much, but we’re trying to locate her relatives. At the time she was injured, she was wrapped in a blanket—a Navajo blanket.”

“One of mine,” Evangeline answered. “All she had on was a jacket. It was snowing and cold, so I gave her my blanket to keep her warm, help keep her safe. Is she all right? What about her baby?”

“As far as I know at this moment, they’re both still alive,” Ali said. “But can you give me any idea of where she’s from?”

“I know she came from a bad place,” Evangeline replied after a pause. “I don’t think she wants to be found.”

“What bad place?” Ali pressed.

“It used to be called Short Creek,” Evangeline answered. “That’s what the People called it long ago. Now it’s called Colorado City. Do you know it? Do you know about the people there?”

Ali did, because with those two words—Short Creek—everything about the Jane Doe puzzle seemed to click into place. Colorado City was the center of commerce for an isolated part of Arizona just to the north of the Grand Canyon. Although officially part of Mohave County, the area was hours away from even the most rudimentary law enforcement oversight. As a consequence, Colorado City and its environs had become a geographical magnet for any number of oddball communes and religious groups, many of which were suspected of practicing polygamy.

“Where exactly did you find her?” Ali asked.

“My husband and I were coming back from a selling trip, dropping off my blankets and his silver and turquoise jewelry at trading posts and gift shops before the summer tourist season starts. The man who owns the gas station in Colorado City is one of our customers. While Tsosie was talking to him, I went into the restroom. That’s where I found the girl, hiding in one of the stalls. She said she was going to Flagstaff and asked if we’d give her a ride.

“It was while we were driving south that she asked to use my phone. When I gave it to her, though, she didn’t know how to use it, so I dialed the number for her. It was to a friend of hers, someone named Irene. When Irene didn’t answer the call, the girl seemed very upset, but I didn’t ask what was wrong.”

“Where did you let her out?”

“At a junction north of Flagstaff where we turned off to go visit our daughter. The girl said she was hoping to catch a ride into Flag to see her mother, who was in the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Ali said. “You’ve been a big help.”

“Where is the girl?” Evangeline asked. “I mean, what hospital?”

“St. Jerome’s.”

“If you talk to her, please let her know that Tsosie and I will be praying for her.”

“I will,” Ali said. “Thank you.”

14

When Betsy arrived home, Princess came to the door to greet her. After putting away her purchases and the container of carryout she’d brought home from the café, she went looking for Joe Friday. He was in her bedroom, tinkering with a computer on her small desk. He had stripped out of his flannel shirt. The short-sleeved T-shirt he wore underneath revealed more tattoos than Betsy could count. Or wanted to.

“Almost got ’er done,” he said. “I already captured the images I need of Princess. Once I finish with the computer and have all your passwords set, I’ll do your photo shoot. Then I’ll be able to get out of your hair.”

“You’ll have the whole thing installed tonight? Really? I thought you said it would take a couple of days.” Betsy was a little disappointed. She had rather liked the idea of having someone around the house to look out for her for a while. In fact, she had been fully prepared to offer putting him up in her guest room if for no other reason than to rattle Sandra’s chain.

“Up and running,” he answered. “The sight lines were less complicated than I thought. With all the angles covered, I’ll have a few cameras left over.”

“Well,” Betsy said. “Don’t feel obliged to rush. I had supper in town on the way home. I brought you a hot roast beef sandwich, unless you’re one of those vegan types who doesn’t eat meat.”

“Definitely a carnivore,” Joe said with a grin. “And a hot roast beef sandwich or even a warm roast beef sandwich sounds like just what the doctor ordered.”

“Come on, then,” she said. “We’ll deal with all that password business later. What would you like to drink?”

“Coffee if you’ve got it,” he said. “I need to drive back to Minneapolis tonight.”

Joe followed Betsy back toward the kitchen, stopping off to wash his hands in the powder room along the way. He settled down at the kitchen table and began eating while she stood by the counter waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. It bothered her to think that while she was just standing there in her own kitchen, someone a continent away could be watching her every move.

“My son and daughter-in-law made an appointment for me to see a doctor on Monday,” she said. “To have my mental faculties evaluated.” Betsy was astonished to hear the words coming out of her own mouth. How could she make such an admission to a complete stranger?

Joe was quiet as she set a coffee mug in front of him and then sat down with one of her own. When she looked up, he was studying her intently.

“Mrs. Peterson,” he said, “if you don’t mind my saying so, your son is a complete jackass!”

Fortunately for Betsy, she had yet to take a sip of her coffee. Had she done so, it probably would have splattered all over the table. She found herself nodding and laughing at the same time.

“I’ve met a few dotty folks now and again,” Joe continued. “You don’t happen to be one of them. Do you know this doctor, the one they want you to see? Did you agree to go to the appointment?”

Betsy nodded yes to both questions.

“Do you have someone who could go to the appointment with you—to have your back if need be?”

“Not really,” she said. “There’s my granddaughter, of course, but she lives in Arizona. And she’s a teacher. I couldn’t ask her to come up here for something like this.”