Read Online The Witch of Agnesi by Robert Spiller - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Spiller
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passed on the way. In the back of her mind she remembered Rhi-annon Griffith, Ali’s mom, had a ranch out this way. If memory served, it couldn’t be more than a few miles, just over the next rise to the north.
If I leave right now, I could make the ranch and call Capulets Cafe. Leave a message for Armen.
Cursing, she pushed the Subaru off the road into a sandy ditch which bordered Coyote. With any luck, she’d get a tow truck to move Alice out of harm’s way before some drunken cowboy slammed into the car.
Bonnie debated walking along the dirt road, but the curve up ahead changed her mind. For the next two miles, it perversely headed east, away from where she pictured the Griffith ranch. She’d reach the ranch quicker cutting diagonally across the desert. She strug-gled over a wire-mesh fence and set off across scrub grass and sand.
By the time Bonnie reached the crest of the rise, she knew she’d been deluding herself. Stretched out before her was more of the same gray-brown landscape she’d just hiked across. Another rise beckoned a half mile north. A sensible voice whispered she should turn around right now and go back to Newlin’s, but she ig-nored it.
No way. The damn place is even farther now. And surely she couldn’t be wrong a second time.
A massive bramble of cactus sat between her and the rise, but she didn’t let it deter her. She skirted to-ward the mountains, thinking she needed to go west eventually. By the time she cleared the cactus, the sun swam in an ocean of pink and orange. She checked her watch. Already past seven. Armen would be sitting in Capulets wondering where she was.
She reached the top of the rise, and her heart sank—more sand and scrub-grass as far as the eye could see. To make matters worse, in the distance an arroyo sliced east to west interposing itself in her path, beyond that an even steeper rise. She looked wistfully back the way she came but couldn’t spot her car.
“Griffith’s can’t be too much further.” Now her saner self argued that this was madness. If she was really honest she’d admit she was wrong and turn around.
“I’m not wrong.” She picked up the pace.
The sun slipped behind Pike’s Peak. Grays and purples replaced the muted browns. Night comes quickly on the desert plains. Once the sun sets behind the mountains, deep shadows race across the sand. She hadn’t reached the arroyo before she found herself walking in darkness.
Bonnie promised herself henceforth she’d keep a flashlight in the trunk. “Especially, Alice, if you insist on stranding me in the middle of nowhere,” she bellowed.
The sound of a car engine startled her. From the west, a set of headlights bounced in her direction. Some-one, maybe even Wendy Newlin, had seen her broken down car and was coming to her rescue. Bonnie waved, ignoring a nagging voice which insisted Wendy’s haci-enda lay south, not west.
Standing there, she played with the notion Alice had repented and in a fit of automotive remorse was com-ing to make amends. The ridiculous thought brought back a cartoon memory from her childhood—Beanie and Cecil, the seasick sea-serpent. In Beanie’s dark-est hour, Cecil would come charging in yelling, “I’m comin’, Beanie Boy!”
“I’m waiting, Alice girl,” she whispered. She waved again.
The car’s high beams blazed on, pinning her in blinding light.
Bonnie shielded her eyes . What was this idiot up to?
Too soon came her answer. The sound of an en-gine revving higher screamed out of the light. In panic, Bonnie pitched herself to one side.
A red pickup truck whipped past, spraying her with gravel. It spun into a hard turn. Her heart wanted to stop with the realization it was Jesse Poole’s truck.
“Oh, shit!” She picked herself up and ran.
The squeal of protesting metal grew louder. Light enveloped her. Her bleeding knees burned. Sensing the truck closing on her, she hurled herself to the side.
The bumper clipped her foot. A stab of pain
If I leave right now, I could make the ranch and call Capulets Cafe. Leave a message for Armen.
Cursing, she pushed the Subaru off the road into a sandy ditch which bordered Coyote. With any luck, she’d get a tow truck to move Alice out of harm’s way before some drunken cowboy slammed into the car.
Bonnie debated walking along the dirt road, but the curve up ahead changed her mind. For the next two miles, it perversely headed east, away from where she pictured the Griffith ranch. She’d reach the ranch quicker cutting diagonally across the desert. She strug-gled over a wire-mesh fence and set off across scrub grass and sand.
By the time Bonnie reached the crest of the rise, she knew she’d been deluding herself. Stretched out before her was more of the same gray-brown landscape she’d just hiked across. Another rise beckoned a half mile north. A sensible voice whispered she should turn around right now and go back to Newlin’s, but she ig-nored it.
No way. The damn place is even farther now. And surely she couldn’t be wrong a second time.
A massive bramble of cactus sat between her and the rise, but she didn’t let it deter her. She skirted to-ward the mountains, thinking she needed to go west eventually. By the time she cleared the cactus, the sun swam in an ocean of pink and orange. She checked her watch. Already past seven. Armen would be sitting in Capulets wondering where she was.
She reached the top of the rise, and her heart sank—more sand and scrub-grass as far as the eye could see. To make matters worse, in the distance an arroyo sliced east to west interposing itself in her path, beyond that an even steeper rise. She looked wistfully back the way she came but couldn’t spot her car.
“Griffith’s can’t be too much further.” Now her saner self argued that this was madness. If she was really honest she’d admit she was wrong and turn around.
“I’m not wrong.” She picked up the pace.
The sun slipped behind Pike’s Peak. Grays and purples replaced the muted browns. Night comes quickly on the desert plains. Once the sun sets behind the mountains, deep shadows race across the sand. She hadn’t reached the arroyo before she found herself walking in darkness.
Bonnie promised herself henceforth she’d keep a flashlight in the trunk. “Especially, Alice, if you insist on stranding me in the middle of nowhere,” she bellowed.
The sound of a car engine startled her. From the west, a set of headlights bounced in her direction. Some-one, maybe even Wendy Newlin, had seen her broken down car and was coming to her rescue. Bonnie waved, ignoring a nagging voice which insisted Wendy’s haci-enda lay south, not west.
Standing there, she played with the notion Alice had repented and in a fit of automotive remorse was com-ing to make amends. The ridiculous thought brought back a cartoon memory from her childhood—Beanie and Cecil, the seasick sea-serpent. In Beanie’s dark-est hour, Cecil would come charging in yelling, “I’m comin’, Beanie Boy!”
“I’m waiting, Alice girl,” she whispered. She waved again.
The car’s high beams blazed on, pinning her in blinding light.
Bonnie shielded her eyes . What was this idiot up to?
Too soon came her answer. The sound of an en-gine revving higher screamed out of the light. In panic, Bonnie pitched herself to one side.
A red pickup truck whipped past, spraying her with gravel. It spun into a hard turn. Her heart wanted to stop with the realization it was Jesse Poole’s truck.
“Oh, shit!” She picked herself up and ran.
The squeal of protesting metal grew louder. Light enveloped her. Her bleeding knees burned. Sensing the truck closing on her, she hurled herself to the side.
The bumper clipped her foot. A stab of pain
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