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still bothered him. He didn’t want to believe a ghost had waltzed into his cabin and left it on his table. That was hard to buy, but how else could it have gotten there?
    Unfortunately, he and Aunt Leona hadn’t had a chance to talk further today about Grandpop’s fetish collection. Carson was curious to learn more about his great-grandmother’s Zuni heritage. It made sense she would be the original owner of the collection, but why hadn’t it gone back to her people rather than to his great-grandfather? Well, why should it? If the fetishes of the collection were hers, then they’d go to Grandpop and then to Gramps.
    Hans stopped searching for the perfect spot and, with ears tilted forward, alerted on something in the darkness. He whined, trotted back, and nudged Carson’s leg. Obviously, whatever the dog sensed wasn’t dangerous, or he’d be growling. Carson peered into the inky expanse west of them. Not an occupied building for a mile, but a faint glow in the approximate area of the abandoned travel court down Route 66 was visible. That motel sat back from the old road and had been vacant for at least twenty years, probably thirty.
    Carson studied the light. Maybe headlights reflected off some object, but the glow didn’t waver. Surely someone wasn’t camping out in the overgrown trailer court there? A fire, if not controlled, would spread rapidly in this dry winter weather. He didn’t know who owned the property or he’d call and report his suspicions. Hans whined again. Hell. Guess I’ll have to check things out.
    “Okay, boy—” Before he could finish, the dog took off through the scrub brush. Carson yelled, “Be careful.”
    He rushed inside and grabbed his revolver and a large flashlight. Dammit! Just what I need—a little exercise to ease my aching back. He jogged through the thick weeds, tripped on a rock, and almost fell. Damnation. Watch your feet. If you step in a hole you’ll be lying out here in the cold until morning.
    ****
    Susan stifled her sobs, sucked in a lungful of air, and choked. She coughed and wheezed, trying to catch her breath. It took several minutes to regain control of her breathing. For a minute there she feared she might choke to death out here in the middle of nowhere. Wouldn’t Dewayne get a kick out of that? She swiped at her tears of exertion. At least the spasm had been a distraction. She’d spent the day alternating between weeping and sleeping, her only escape from her misery. Lauren was dead, and Susan’s poor parents thought the body in the fire was Susan. Did she dare try to contact them and ease their minds? If she did, would Dewayne somehow be able to trace the call? She didn’t know what to do.
    When she left the diner this morning, she’d been intent on getting away. Her friend had been killed in an explosion and fire in Susan’s own home. It was her fault. If Lauren hadn’t been aiding Susan in her escape, she’d be alive today. The horror was too much to process. Susan had driven down Route 66 until the road dead-ended. Sitting back from the road on her left sat an abandoned travel court—alone and neglected. The large ramshackle café next to the road hid much of the parking area. Overgrown with weeds, the small areas of asphalt were broken and uneven. She’d pulled around behind the restaurant and parked close to the building. Between the restaurant and the cottages, she remained hidden.
    Susan leaned back in the chaise lounge chair she’d brought along for just this purpose. Of course, she’d pictured an RV park, or possibly a campground at a state or national park. Tired of being cooped up in the van, she’d come outside to do her mourning, and to think and plan. A Coleman lantern cast enough light for her to see for several yards into the surrounding night. Her .38 lay in her lap under the blanket. She sighed. It was time to put her grief behind her and move on. Lauren had sacrificed herself to give Susan more time. Thinking Susan was dead,