The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries by Kathleen O'Neal Gear & W. Michael Gear

Author:Kathleen O'Neal Gear & W. Michael Gear [Gear, Kathleen O'Neal & Gear, W. Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466823563
Google: fFaGH7ne8zkC
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2012-03-13T05:00:00+00:00

27

AS EVENING DRAPED THE LAND, THE JUNIPER GROVE BEHIND their field camp went from dark green to black. Maureen sighed as she watched the world change. The long shadows began to disappear, fading into the night. The ancient pueblo became nothing more than a gray mound of rubble dotted with black squares of plastic.

“How are you doing with the lantern?” Dusty asked as he stepped into the trailer.

He had just finished arranging kindling for a fire after dinner. Tall and sun-bronzed, his form filled the doorway.

“I’m working on it, Stewart,” she said as she picked up the matchbook. “Don’t worry. I’ve started a few lanterns in my life.”

“You pumped it up, right?”

“Right,” she answered in irritation, struck a match, and held it below the mantles as she turned up the gas. The mantles caught in a whoosh and pulsing white light illuminated the artifacts and bones bagged on the square table. She smiled, suspecting that some of the most precious artifacts in southwestern archaeology had rested on Dale’s little Formica table.

“Thanks,” Dusty said. “You want to get dinner started? Anything you want.”

Maureen’s brows lifted. “Anything I want?”

“Well, anything we have. Your selection is somewhat limited due to the fact that we did most of the shopping in Bloomfield. No caviar or escargots, I’m afraid.”

She propped a hand on the table. “That’s very creative, Stewart. I’ve never heard it pronounced it es-car-guts.”

She walked out of the trailer and crossed to the supply tent. Boxes lined the walls. Each brimmed with different shapes and sizes of cans, bottles, bags of chips, and many things she couldn’t make out in the dim light. She opened one of the coolers and peered inside. She found a package of meat, sniffed it, and cringed. The celery reminded her of Phil—really limp and sort of slimy. Giving it up as a lost cause, she turned to the cardboard boxes.

Stewart looked up when Maureen climbed into the trailer. Lantern light glinted in his beard, accenting his handsome face. “What did you pick?”

“Something called Dinty Moore’s beef stew.”

Stewart shuddered. “No wonder you get along with Sylvia.”

“You don’t like it?” She started to back out of the trailer.

“No, it’s all right. I’ll eat it. My backbone’s rubbing my navel.”

Maureen stopped in front of the stove and set the supplies down. As she removed things from the pot and put them on the vinyl counter, Dusty said: “Isn’t there a package of pork chops out there?”

“Remember the pot of powdered people from 10K3?”

He gave her a suspicious look. “How could I forget it?”

“The contents of that pot were in better shape than the pork chops in the cooler.”

“Ah.” Dusty nodded. “Right. We have to get ice the next time we go into town. Like tomorrow. We can wash our clothes at the same time.” He looked around the trailer. “Let me see, what do we have to go with this stew? Crackers?”

“Not unless you like those awful little cheesy fishies that Sylvia prizes. That’s the closest thing we have to crackers.

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