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had twenty minutes before he had to meet the others.
    What the hell?
    He grabbed his cellphone and punched in Lars’s number.
    “Lieutenant Commander Andersen,” a voice answered.
    “Lars?”
    A pause. “Wes?”
    “You’re in the Navy ?”
    After growing up with him on and around the China Lake naval base, Wes thought Lars had been as anxious as he had been to do anything but join the service.
    “You think I’d be back here if I weren’t?” Lars said with a laugh.
    “Good point.”
    “How are you?”
    “I’m fine,” Wes said. “But surprised, I guess. How did you know I was here?”
    “You haven’t seen the paper this morning?”
    “No. Why?”
    “There’s a front-page article about yesterday’s F-18 crash. It mentions you and your colleagues were nearby and witnessed it.”
    “How did they get my name?”
    “I don’t know, but if they hadn’t included you, I wouldn’t have known you were here.”
    “Of course.” Wes paused. “So … uh … how are you?”
    “I’m good, thanks. Busy. But that’s normal. Hey, listen. I can’t really talk too long right now, but why don’t we meet up for lunch? It would be great to see you again.”
    “Hold on,” Wes said. He grabbed the shoot schedule off the dresser and scanned his day ahead. “Looks like I can probably break free around noon for about forty-five minutes.”
    “Perfect,” Lars said. “I know exactly where we should go.”
    “Where?”
    “Tacos.”
    Wes smiled. “Don’t tell me. La Sonora.”
    “Yes, my friend. La Sonora.”
    “They’re still around?”
    “I know. Surprising, huh?”
    “Is Hannibal Lecter still running the register?”
    “Still there.”
    Wes laughed. “I would have sworn she’d have been dead by now.”
    “It’s possible. Could be they’re just propping her up.”

THE CREW OF CLOSE TO HOME DROVE UP THE slope on the south side of the valley to Cero Coso Community College. When Wes lived there, people called it Harvard-on-the-Hill or Tumbleweed Tech. On the schedule were interviews with a geology professor and an area historian. Dione always liked shooting experts in an academic setting. Said it made the show look more important.
    By nine-thirty, the professor was already done and gone, a whole half hour ahead of schedule. While the crew waited for the historian to show up, Tony set out a box of pastries and a bag of fruit in the open back of the Escape.
    Monroe pulled a banana out of the bag, then grimaced. “Who taught you how to pick produce?” Before Tony could say anything, she tossed the banana back in the bag and said, “I can’t eat that.” Then walked off.
    Tony glanced at Wes, a look of genuine concern on his face.
    “Don’t worry about it,” Wes said. “She won’t starve.”
    Tony looked only partially relieved. Then he brightened. “Your muffin’s in the box.”
    Wes glanced inside and smiled. “You just earned yourself an after-lunch lesson.”
    He grabbed the muffin and headed over to where Alison was leaning against the grille of the Escape, a newspaper spread out in front of her on the hood.
    “That the local paper?” he asked.
    “Yeah,” Alison replied, eyes not leaving the paper.
    “Today’s?”
    “Yeah again.”
    “Can I take a look at it?”
    She glanced at him, a mock smirk of annoyed superiority pushing up the left side of her mouth.
    “When you’re done, I mean,” he said.
    “That’s what I thought.” She flipped the page. “Ah, the comics. This might take a while.”
    Wes rolled his eyes and started to turn away.
    “Fine,” she said, folding the paper and holding it out to him. “Here. There’s no Dilbert , so what does it matter?”
    Wes set his muffin on the car and took the newspaper from her. “Thanks.”
    She leaned close and said softly into his ear, “If you’re looking for the mention of you, it’s in the article on the front page.”
    Wes put on a smile as he took a casual step back.
    “Dione made it, too, but no one else,” Alison