The road wound past the trailer park before hitting the highway. She signaled and turned left. The town was quieter than usual. There were some cars in the Bayless parking lot, and a few campers and station wagons were on the road, going to or coming from the lakes, but the usual Monday-afternoon work rush was nowhere to be seen. She drove past the Exxon station, past the Circle K, and turned down Pine Street toward the post office.

The post office was always crowded, and today was no exception. The small parking lot was filled with old cars and dusty pickups, and seemed to be more crowded than usual. Three cars were lined up in the street, waiting for the next available parking spaces.

Rather than wait, Tritia decided to pull into the parking lot of the chiropractor’s office next door and hike it in. She parked under the shade of a ponderosa and walked across the lot and around the low brick fence that separated the chiropractor’s and the post office. She noticed that both the American and Arizona flag on the pole in front of the tan brick building were at half-mast and tried to recall if someone important had died on this date. She didn’t think so.

Maybe someone famous had died and she just hadn’t heard about it yet.

She moved up the sidewalk steps and pushed open the door, walking inside. The swamp cooler on the roof of the post office had lowered the interior temperature but raised the humidity, so the trade-off was just about equal. The line inside was long, stretching from the counter, through the double doors, into the lobby next to the P.O. boxes. Howard Crowell, the postmaster, was at the counter, and Tritia saw immediately that he was wearing a black armband. She felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach, an instinctive intuitive reaction. She got into line behind Grady Daniels, who, for once in his life, was standing completely silent, completely still, unmoving.

He turned around to face her. “Shame,” he said soberly. “It’s a damn shame.”

“What is?”

“Ronda,” he said.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t hear?”

She shook her head.

Grady lowered his voice. “Blew his brains out this morning. With a shotgun.”

The postmaster looked dazedly up as the customer he had been helping turned to leave. “Next.”