Desert Angel Read Online Free PDF

drawings on them … She made herself stop.
    Okay, go to the police and they ask her about Scotty and she tells them he killed her mom last night. Was it last night? No, two nights ago. And buried her. Angel can show them where, but he’s probably moved her by now. And she tells them he captures turtles and eagles and sells guns. And Angel describes his truck and they get a guy to draw Scotty from her description. And she takes them to the trailer and they go after him. So what’s there to think … oh. What would they do with her? Where would she wind up? Juvie? Foster care?
    She’d been in foster homes. Both of the times her mom had gone to rehab and once when her mom served sixty days for soliciting. The first place had been run by a twisted family who tried to make each kid take psych meds so they could get more money from the court. Another, the family’s own son, a ganged-up sixteen-year-old, kept hitting on her whenever they were alone. The third, the Millers, were nice enough, but eleven kids in a three-bedroom house made a zoo.
    She’d spent a couple of nights in juvie when she’d run away and wouldn’t tell the police her name or where she was staying. That was scary. Neither the guards nor the other girls would leave her alone. And what if this time the foster father was another man like Jerry or Scotty. She couldn’t face it. She held her fists to her eyes to keep tears back.

10
     
    The smell of roast meat made her light-headed. Her stomach twisted and she tried not to be sick. She walked to the front porch for some air.
    “Hey. You hungry? Cena. Dinner. Come eat and then we’ll figure this out.” Ramón had put on another shirt, light blue, short-sleeve, again with the snaps. Made Angel wonder: was it just style or was there a purpose to it?
    She followed him in through the living room and watched him sit at the head of a dark wooden table covered with steaming dishes of rice, and beans, and chunks of a green-gray vegetable she couldn’t identify. There was a mound of meat on a platter in the center, and to its side, a small bowl of shredded white cheese, a heavy tripod bowl of salsa, and a round basket covered with a thick cloth napkin. Tortillas?
    “You like carnitas, right?” Ramón smiled and tucked his napkin in the neck of his shirt.
    “Uh, I don’t know,” she said, feeling a small edge of queasiness return. Angel had no idea where she was supposed to sit. Where was his wife? And had she ever seen so much hot food at a table? That somebody actually cooked?
    “Why don’t you sit here,” Ramón said, patting a place on his right, “and Carmen will be in with the limón. You liked it, right? Lime and pineapple? Better than Pepsi!”
    His wife came in shortly carrying two icy pitchers of the lemon drink. When she was seated, Ramón closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and said a brief prayer of thanks, before passing Angel the basket of tortillas. The beans followed, then the meat, and so on till her plate was impossibly full. “Muy rico,” he said, smiling and pointing to the food. He and his wife both dug into their plates and began to eat without conversation.
    *   *   *
     
    A FTER DINNER Angel’s stomach felt like a watermelon. She hoped she hadn’t overdone it.
    Ramón had cleared the table with Carmen after telling Angel to wait for them in the living room. In minutes both of them were seated on the couch across from Angel. “So, qué pasa ?” Ramon said. “What have you been thinking?”
    Angel was distracted by his wife. She sat a foot away from Ramón, hands clasped over one knee. She had not looked at Angel but her face wasn’t angry or condemning or any of the things Angel would expect. Her face was calm, as if this difficulty was one more in a life of many. One more situation to deal with and be done. The woman was beautiful in a way, like the statue of the Virgin that Angel had seen in the church. Beautiful and strong like Abuela. These women were nothing like