The flesh on Boyd's snout compressed against his gums. His body tensed. The growl deepened.

Damn. Why hadn't I brought the leash?

Wrapping my fingers around Boyd's colar, I opened the door and we both jumped down. Bowman met us with a length of rope.

'Had this in back,' he said. 'Flush can be peevish.'

I thanked him and tied the rope to Boyd's colar. Boyd remained focused on the other dog.

'I'd be glad to hold him while you talk with the mechanic.'

I looked at Boyd. He was staring fixedly at Flush, thinking flank steak.

'Thanks. That might be wise.'

Crossing the lot, I stepped through the door and circled Flush. An ear twitched, but he didn't look up. Maybe pit buls are calm because they are secure in the belief that they can kil anyone or anything that provokes them. I hoped Boyd would keep quiet and keep his distance.

The office had the usual tasteful garage appointments. A calendar with a photo of the Grand Canyon and tear-off sheets for each month. A cigarette machine. A glass case containing flashlights, maps, and an assortment of automotive paraphernalia. Three kitchen chairs. A pit bul.

A pair of geezers occupied two of the chairs. In the third sat a middle-aged man in an oil-stained work shirt and pants. The men stopped talking when I entered, but no one rose.

Assuming the younger man was either P or T, I introduced myself and asked about the tow.

He answered that the wrecker was on its way, should be back in twenty minutes. He'd look at my car as soon as he finished the Chevy.

How long would that be?

He couldn't say, but offered me the chair if I wanted to wait.

The air inside was packed tight with smels. Gas, oil, cigarette smoke, geezers, dog. I elected to wait outside.

Returning to Luke Bowman, I thanked him for his kindness and reclaimed my dog. Boyd was straining at his colar, every fiber focused on the pit bul. Flush was either sleeping or playing possum, waiting for the chow to approach.

'You'l be al right by yourself?'

'My car wil be here any minute. And there's a detective on his way over. If it's going to take long he can give me a lift back to High Ridge House. But thank you again.

You've been a lifesaver.'

My phone rang again. I checked the number, ignored the cal. Bowman watched. He seemed reluctant to leave.

'Sister McCready is housing quite a few crash investigation folks up there, i'n't she?'

'Some are there.'

'That air crash is nasty business.' He pinched his nostrils then shook his head.

I said nothing.

'Do they have any idea what brought that plane down?'

He must have seen something in my face.

'You didn't hear my name from Ruby McCready, did you, Miss Temperance?'

'It came up in a briefing.'