“Walter King?” Larry asked. “Was he any relation to Martha King?”
“Of course! She was his daughter. I mean, still is. Last I saw her, she was down for his funeral, years back. Haven’t seen her since.”
Things, Larry thought, were starting to add up.
“Is there any way to find out if a boy went to Axis?” Amanda asked.
The man shook his head. “Those records are long gone, miss.”
“What about runaway reports from there?” Larry asked.
“I can’t answer that.” His dark eyes had grown cold.
“Why not? Wouldn’t those reports be filed here? Same with theones Martha King called down here for Brightwood, the center she ran in Oregon?”
The sheriff said nothing. His eyes fell on the buttons of Larry’s dress shirt. They were cheap and plastic. He studied them for a long time, and Larry could tell he was doing the internal guessing game of any officer. Should he share? Why bother? It could only create trouble for him.
“I’ll take a look. Get back to you.”
The man no longer reminded Amanda of Molly.
“I’m sure you will,” Larry said.
“What do you think?” Amanda asked, leaving the cool of the sheriff’s office for the blast of desert heat.
“I think no one likes a scandal,” Larry said.
They were on the outskirts of town, heading to their cheap hotel. Across the road was a sea of sand broken up only by creosote bushes, and in the far distance, the hazy red mountains.
Amanda pointed to a sign at a dirt road turnoff.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Larry slowed.
“‘Sleeping Giant Intaglio Protection Area,’” he read.
“I’ve never heard of it before,” she said. “Can we go see?”
He peered at the cyclone fence in the distance. It wasn’t far. He turned the rental car down the dirt road.
At the chain-link fence, Amanda got out of the car. She looked through the fence at the massive figure on the desert floor.
“It looks like a giant man,” she said.
“How can you tell it’s a man?” Larry asked, peering through the fence. It was very hot, and little sand cyclones stirred in the wind.
“Oh. I see.”
Amanda giggled. It was a rare giggle, and he was glad to hear it.
He read the plaque nearby. “This says they’re called intaglios. They were made by people who lived here long ago, but no one knows exactly why.”
Amanda felt very small standing above the sleeping giant.
“Can we go now?” Larry asked. He could feel the bald spot on his head burning in the sun. Neither of them had thought to bring a hat.
As they left, Amanda turned back to look at the giant figure spread-eagled on the desert floor, his hands open as if beckoning allies from the sky.
