"Bitten to the quick. Nearly made me sick. She wasn't all that clean, and she'd picked at her cuticles until they bled. You ever see that? Nails so short the fingertips look all puffy. It's enough to make you lose your lunch."

"And you're sure you'd never seen her around town before."

"Not before and not since."

"How'd you happen to get in touch with the Sheriffs Department?"

"I didn't 'happen' to do anything. I read about the body in the paper and remembered she'd been in. Like I said before, the incident stuck in my mind because she tried to pull a fast one."

"What made you so sure it was the same girl?"

"Who else could it've been?"

"Ah. Well, this has been a big help. I appreciate your time." I reached out to shake her hand.

She complied reluctantly. "Don't you believe me? I notice you didn't take notes."

"I got it all up here." I said, tapping my head.

Once back in my car, I checked my road map. Roxanne was still on the porch looking out at me, probably wondering at the delay. Maybe she thought I was finally taking notes, recording the bullshit recollections she'd constructed over the years. I didn't think she'd lied. She'd simply told her story too often. By now, she was either vamping like crazy or remembering someone else. I folded the map in half, trying to gauge how far I might be from the ranch. If I continued south on Riverside and made a dogleg right, I'd hit the road that angled south and east, connecting with Highway 101 just about at Gull Cove. According to the map, the road was called Calle LeGrand, presumably named after my great-grandfather LeGrand, whose twenty-three thousand acres filled a sizeable chunk of the area. Twisting hairlike blue lines indicated creeks running through the land.

I started the VW and waved at Roxanne once as I pulled away. The last I saw of her she was sitting on the porch swing, a fresh cigarette in hand, taking yet another sip of beer.

I picked up Calle LeGrand and followed the road south, through low rolling gold hills that would turn as green as Ireland when the rains returned. In the areas where there were no structures in sight, I fancied I was looking through the eyes of the early settlers, marveling at the acres of untouched land, bare and silent except for the cries of birds. I missed the turn to the ranch and had to circle back when I realized I'd gone too far. On the return, I saw the side road where Stacey and Dolan and I had met Arne Johanson. The gate now stood open and a haze of dust on the gravel road suggested that a vehicle had recently passed that way.