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amputation whenever he felt uncomfortable.
    “War is hard,” Caleb responded. “Especially that one.” He shook his head. “It took me a while, but I got some help and I got better. I think it just came too late for my son. He mostly remembers me messed up.”
    Jackson nodded and cleared his throat. “So you want us to find out what happened to your great-grandfather, a miner who was here mining for turquoise in the 1890s. You want to know how he died and where he’s buried.” He was guiding the conversation back to the business at hand.
    “That’s what I want,” Caleb answered. He placed the beads back underneath his shirt and fastened the buttons. “And I’d like to know who sent the strand of turquoise. Forty years ago Caleb Alford had to be long gone. So, somebody here in”—he paused, hoping to pronounce the town name correctly this time—“Madrid . . .” He looked at Eve, who smiled. “Somebodyhere sent this back to North Carolina, so somebody here knows something.”
    “Where are you staying, Mr. Alford?” Eve wanted to know.
    “Santa Fe,” he replied. “And please, it’s Caleb.”
    “Okay, Caleb,” she responded.
    “So, Caleb, Eve here will go over the fees for our service. If it’s all right, I’ll keep these letters for now.” Jackson held up the stack Caleb had taken from his front pocket earlier in the conversation. “I can make copies and then I’ll give them back.”
    He nodded. “That’s fine. If you can’t trust a Frog, I don’t know who you can trust.” He smiled at the Captain and turned to Eve. “And I can see that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The two of you seem to make a good pair.”
    Eve began sorting through the papers, found a contract, and slid it over to their newest client. As she did that she glanced over at the Captain and, for a second, thought she saw him smile.

SEVEN

    “I’m home.” Eve placed the bags of groceries on the counter in the kitchen of her childhood home. She pulled out a few things and placed them in the old refrigerator near the row of dark cabinets the Captain had built when her parents first moved in. She yelled toward the back of the house. “Captain? I said I’m home.”
    Trooper, her father’s dog, an aging but cheerful yellow Lab, hurried in to give the proper welcome and began dancing around Eve’s legs.
    “Hello, girl.” She bent down and gave the dog a good rub on the top of the head. Trooper sat, enjoying the attention.
    When Eve stood up, the Captain was making his way up the hall. He was on his crutches, having already taken off his prosthetic leg. He said the leg still bothered him, that it bit into the skin where it was attached, so he took it off when he was home and just got around the house without it.
    “You got anything else to bring in?”
    Eve studied her father. She wondered how he expected to godown the front steps, take the other bag from the passenger side of the truck, and walk back up the steps and into the kitchen, this act performed entirely on crutches, but she didn’t dare ask. He would do that very thing just to prove he could. “I’ll get it,” she replied, proud of herself for avoiding a fight.
    Things had eased between them lately. He didn’t pester her anymore about when she was going back to the Benedictine monastery she had taken a leave of absence from, and she didn’t nag him about the desserts he sometimes ate, taking his medicines, or getting the rest she thought he needed. It wasn’t a perfect setup with the two of them, father and daughter, living and working together, but it was no longer difficult and had actually become comfortable. It was as if they had both made a decision to steer away from the subjects that created tension and conflict and enjoy instead those matters and things about which they agreed and that they shared. For Eve, the years she had spent living in community had taught her more than she’d realized about finding harmony at home.
    Eve headed