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like you to open it, please. But you don't have to, if you don't want to, you know."
    "It's okay." Will popped it open. Inside was a pack of gum, a receipt from the hardware store, a tire pressure gauge, and an empty leather sheath.
    Olsen pointed at the sheath. "What is that?"
    "My grandfather gave me a knife, a Buck knife for Christmas. But—"
    "Did you take it out?"
    His throat constricted. "I don't think so. No, I didn't."
    "When was the last time you saw it?"
    "Maybe a week ago. I checked the air pressure on my tires when I filled up with gas."
    He stared at the empty sheath, and his eyes glazed over as he thought about the dream he'd had while he lay unconscious on the football field. At the end of it, Myra had appeared amid the chaos in the kiva and a knife slashed at her throat.

Chapter Seven
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    S unday morning. Flakes of snow fluttered through the gray, overcast sky making it seem even colder than it was. It was the sort of day that Corey Ridder liked to stay in bed late under a heap of blankets and quilts. But this morning she was a volunteer, one of a couple of hundred who had answered the call for assistance in the search for Myra Hodges.
    They had gathered in the parking lot at the high school just after dawn, and now, an hour later, she stepped out of a van at Ashcroft on the back side of Aspen Mountain. There were four or five other vans, a dozen cars, and a couple of buses parked in the lot. Clusters of people waited to be assigned to search areas.
    Corey moved through the crowd and heard one student, then another talking about Myra. How smart she was, what a good person she was, how she'd helped someone out, how no one who knew her could possibly hurt her. All this was news to Corey. She only knew that Myra was Will Lansa's girlfriend.
    The truth was she was more concerned about Will. One of the reasons—maybe the main reason—that she'd volunteered was to find out if he was okay. She'd worried all day Saturday without having anyone to turn to. Sure, there were kids she could have called who would've probably known, but they'd be curious about her interest in him. They'd figure out she had a crush on Will and it might get back to him. That was the last thing she wanted.
    Then she spotted Will and felt a sense of relief. He looked okay. His short-cropped dark hair was covered by a stocking cap, so she couldn't see if there was a bruise or a bandage on his head. She moved closer. His brown skin, chestnut eyes, and high cheekbones were reminders of his Hopi blood that was so out of place in Aspen.
    People were coming up to him, offering their condolences, as if they already knew that Myra was dead. But when one kid congratulated him on his football accomplishments, Will just looked away as if he hadn't heard the comment. It was the right thing to do, Corey thought.
    A man with a bullhorn began organizing groups. She wanted to be in Will's group, but she wasn't standing close enough to him and she ended up in another one. She watched him move off with his group, while hers headed in another direction, away from the ghost town.
    They formed a line and moved slowly across a field, looking not only for a body but also for scraps of clothing or anything that might be linked to Myra. A chilly wind blew across the field, and Corey stomped her feet and rubbed her hands to stay warm. She wished she'd worn gloves.
    They walked for more than a mile, pausing once when someone found a discarded boot and a couple other times for scraps of cloth. The items looked as if they'd been in the field for months or maybe years, but they were collected anyhow. When a baseball cap was found, the spot was marked and the cap was placed in a separate plastic bag. The cap was in good condition and there was an emblem or a letter on it, but Corey was too far away to see what it was.
    Finally, they rested and waited for another group to catch up. Then the two groups joined together and continued across the field. The search