A Saguaro by Any Other Name

A Saguaro by Any Other Name

D. A. Ratliff

The stately saguaros stood taller than I remembered when I walked this dirt road to school. The cacti were scared by the passage of time—their bases thickened, their pleated trunks dark green, and new branches for holding water a brighter green. My mother and I had named them, and I always said good morning on the way to the schoolhouse, as I did this morning as I strolled past.

My elementary school remained but now a dilapidated shell with cracked walls and broken windows, reflecting my life before I left this small Arizona town—some life I had then. I was eight when my adoptive parents, Liam and Mariah Blake, took me away. I peered past the front door, hanging by one hinge, into the main hallway, now covered with debris and broken ceiling tiles. I’d felt that way once, as if my spirit had shattered into pieces, but I had healed. At least, I thought I had, but returning to my hometown tested my resolve.

I turned and hurried past the saguaros to the rental car. It's time to address why I returned—to save my brother.

~~~

I parked in front of Edgar Valencia’s law office, a small, nondescript building with a tiny brass placard beside the door announcing his name. Inside was a vacant outer office and, through an open door, an interior office where a man sat surrounded by stacks of files. He looked up as the door shut with a clack.

“Can I help you?”

I responded in Pima-Papago, the language of the Tohono Oʼodham tribe. “Shap kaij.”

He returned the greeting. “You must be Ofelia Blake. I’m Ed Valencia. Please have a seat. Can I get you coffee?” He pointed to a coffee pot sitting on a bookcase.

“I would love a cup, black. My flight left early in the morning, and once I landed in Tucson, I came straight here.”

He poured a cup for both of us. “Ms. Blake....”

“Lia, please.”

“Lia, and I am Ed. Tell me what you know of your brother’s situation.”

My mind raced to answer him. What did I know about my brother, Terrol Chrona? Not much, and what I did know, I didn’t like. I took a deep breath. “As you know, he’s quite a bit older than me. He had just been sent to a military prison when my mother died. I don’t know a lot about him since his release. Just a bit that my aunt told me.”

“You know that Terrol spent seven years in military prison for aggravated assault with grievous body harm when he was nineteen. He served the full sentence and has been clean since his release, except for a couple of misdemeanor drunk and disorderly arrests and a fight started by someone else that wasn’t more than a shoving match. Now there’s this.”

“What’s the evidence against him?”

“A call came into the tribal police office of an altercation at the Lone Wolf bar. Two deputies answered the call and found Terrol and Jonas Shortstar in the parking lot fighting. Terrol claimed it was something about work—both worked at the casino. They locked them in a holding cell until they sobered up and let them go.”

I must have raised an eyebrow, for Ed chuckled. “Not uncommon to let drunks sleep it off in a small town and then release them. The Tribal police are overworked and understaffed. They try to maintain the peace the best they can.”

He was right. This was a different world from the one I was living in. Police in small rural towns know most of their citizens and are often lenient when dealing with chronic troublemakers as long as they do no harm.

“Sorry, not judging the locals. I’ve been working in the DC courts too long.”

“Washington, DC is another animal compared to here.” He took a sip of coffee. “Well, that’s not true. We see what you see, assault, theft, robbery, rapes, drunks, the whole shebang. Sometimes, we get a murder.”

“Like now.”

Ed nodded. “Like now. According to the police report,” he picked up a folder and handed it to me, “This is for you, has a copy of the report and other information. They released Terrol at six-forty-seven a.m. The deputy on duty said Terrol acted agitated and wanted to know if Shortstar was out. Jail records show Shortstar left at nine a.m. No one saw him after that until a passing delivery driver spotted a truck off the road at about four that afternoon. Stopped and found Shortstar slumped over the steering wheel—bullet wound in his head.”

“My aunt said the bullet was traced to a gun found in Terrol’s truck.”

“Yes. Terrol claims the gun found hidden under the seat isn’t his. That someone planted it and that he didn’t kill Shortstar.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Never known to have a gun and no record of a gun purchase. I guess he could have gotten one illegally, but he started a maintenance job at the casino a few months ago. Jobs are hard to find for someone with a dishonorable discharge and a record. I can’t see him throwing that away by killing Shortstar.” Ed tossed the copy of the report he held onto the desktop. “So yes, I believe him. I think he’s being framed, but why and by whom? I have no idea.”

I glanced at the report, taking a moment to let what Ed told me sink in. “Any reason that Terrol would want to kill Shortstar?”

“Only connection I can find are rumors about a woman, Veronica Garcia. She used to work at the casino, but last I heard, she started dancing at the Copperhead Tavern out on the Tucson Road.”

“Terrol’s involved with her?”

“Says he knows her, won’t tell me if they are involved romantically or not.”

“Ed, when Aunt Iona called and asked for my help, I didn’t see how I could. I still don’t, but I’m willing to help.”

“Good. First thing is I want you to talk to your brother. Visitation is not until Saturday and Sunday, so I need to make a formal request in writing. I’ll request a meeting for tomorrow afternoon.”

I left Ed’s office, which was located across the street from the Judicial Hall and the Detention Center. The Tribal police department was next to the Hall. The mid-afternoon sun glinted off the sand, metal, and glass, and the temperature was nearing ninety. I peeled off my jacket, tossed it in the car, and chuckled. I always hear people say about the Southwest’s weather that it’s a dry heat. It might be, but it’s hot, nonetheless.

My aunt’s house was less than a mile away on a long, paved residential street. I passed a few trailers and older cinderblock houses until I reached Iona’s new home. My aunt was a high school teacher, and my uncle Jim was the maintenance director at the observatory on Kitt’s Peak. They were among the lucky residents of the small town in that they both had good-paying jobs.

The gate in the new chain-link fence sat open, and I parked on the gravel that covered part of the front yard. Like their neighbors, the rest of the yard was all dirt with patches of green scrub brush and trees between the lots. It was a desolate desert town. There was little color, save an occasional brightly colored trailer or business sign. But craggy majestic mountains surrounded them, and the patches of green desert-dwelling plants offered some solace. It didn’t rain much in October, and I remembered drawing in the dust on the table by an open window in the house I grew up in. There was always dust.

Tires crunching on gravel got my attention as my aunt pulled in. I felt panic for a second. I often spoke to her on a video app but had only seen her once since I left. My adoptive parents arranged for her to attend my graduation from law school. Her attendance had been a surprise, and I was grateful to have her and Uncle Jim there.

She welcomed me with open arms, and for one moment, time slid away, and I was eight again and, in her arms, saying goodbye. The moment wasn’t lost on her either, as I saw the tears in her eyes.

“You are as beautiful as your mother. Come, my child, let’s go inside.”

She helped me with my luggage and briefcase and showed me to my room. I freshened up, changed clothes, and joined her in the kitchen, part of the large living area. I realized how hungry I was when I smelled the aroma of beef stew wafting from a crockpot she was checking.

“Auntie, the house is lovely.”

She beamed. “We have friends from Jim’s work who do not understand why we chose to build here. But neither of us can leave our home, our people. We’ll retire soon. We saved a bit of money and intend to open a community center to help those in need. Despite the mines and cotton doing well and the casino thriving, poverty and lack of education remain a major problem.”

My heart ached. I didn’t think of this land in terms of my native heritage. The ground was precious to me but not sacred, and I felt somewhat ashamed.

She looked out the sliding doors to an enormous patio covered in flowers and plants and enclosed in a six-foot solid fence. “We decided, as it is dry here and few can afford a grass yard, that we would not put in sprinklers and try for a lawn. That would look too much like we were showing off. I settled for a small private garden.” She turned toward me. “Jim will be home at six, and we will have dinner then, but I have cheese and crackers to nibble on until we eat.”

“Good, because whatever you are having for dinner smells fantastic.”

We caught up on my life and my parents and her daughter, my cousin Camilla, a nurse in Tucson who is about to have her second child. Perhaps it was because my parents had insisted that I stay in touch with Iona that it felt so comfortable to be around her. Her home was new and modern yet filled with symbols and artifacts of our tribe. Our tribe. It had been many years since I had thought of my heritage that way.

Jim came home and greeted me like a long-lost daughter. In many ways, I was much like a daughter to him. He was there for me when my mother died, as was my adopted dad, Liam. After dinner, we took coffee onto the patio and watched the stars arc into view. There were streetlights in front of the house, but behind was open land, and without city lights, the sky was inky black and covered in diamonds. Its beauty took my breath away and reminded me of my childhood, sitting on the steps of our trailer. My mother would tell me stories of the spirits that roamed the heavens. Most of the stories she made up, but I didn’t care. I lost myself in the wonderous tales. But reality came rushing back, and I needed to know more about Terrol.

“Tell me about my brother.”

Iona shifted in her chair, and Jim cast a glance at her before she spoke. “Terrol is a troubled man, Ofelia. He was a troubled child, as well. Your mother was only seventeen and was too young to have him, and your grandmother never forgave her. She married his father, Jose, but it was never a happy marriage. Terrol’s father died when he was ten.”

“He was killed, wasn’t he?”

Jim answered. “Yes. He robbed a convenience store outside of Tucson, and the store owner killed him.”

Her aunt continued. “Your mother took Jose’s death quite hard. She had no job and a child to feed. She started waitressing at the diner, and Mama and I watched Terrol as best we could. I had just married Jim and gotten my first teaching job. Then your mother met your father.”

I gripped the arm of the patio chair as a familiar rage rushed through me. I thought of my father very little, but when I did, anger roiled inside of me.

Iona leaned over and patted my arm as if she sensed my reaction. “Never forget we loved you. Your mother made an unfortunate mistake in becoming involved with your father, but we have you.”

“My brother didn’t think so.”

“No, my child, he did not. He resented you and his mother for becoming involved too soon after Jose’s death. From that moment, Terrol became difficult to control, in and out of trouble at every turn. Dropped out of school and botched a robbery attempt. Only the kindness of a judge did he not go to jail. The judge gave him a choice to enlist in the Army or he would charge him with robbery. The judge hoped the Army would teach him a lesson.”

“But it didn’t.”

Jim shook his head. “No, and that broke your mother’s heart. What little fight left in her when he went to prison for assaulting an officer was gone.”

I bit my lip, trying to fight off the tears welling. “She would have died anyway. The cancer was too far gone, but he couldn’t even come home to see her.”

“No, but she had you and us, and she was at peace when she died.” Iona took a deep breath. “Ofelia, I hope you understand why we did what we did by allowing Liam and Mariah to adopt you.”

I couldn’t answer. At that moment, the pain of my mother’s death had taken my soul, but I pushed back against the hurt. “Mom and Dad explained it. Everyone in town thought my mother was a whore and shunned us. Then with Terrol in prison and my Caucasian father out of the picture, at seven years old, everyone considered me a half-breed and not welcome.”

“My child, there may have been taunts about your parentage, but that meant nothing to us. You were, and still are, loved, but Liam was with the Bureau of Indian Affairs and understood what you were facing. He and Mariah could offer you stability.” Iona’s voice broke. “We thought it best for you.”

Jim spoke. “Iona fought to keep you here, so if you resent any of us, I’m the one to hate. I knew how difficult it would be if you remained, and I was selfish enough to want a good life for my wife and the child we had on the way and for you.”

“I don’t resent either of you. You did the right thing. I love my parents, and I love you. I’m glad you contacted me and asked me to help Terrol. I’m unsure what I can do, but I owe it to him and my mother to try.”

We chatted about the charges against Terrol before going to bed. As I drifted off, I heard Jim set the security alarm. Nowhere was safe any longer.

~~~

Ed Valencia called me at eight-thirty. I could see Terrol at eleven. By eight-thirty-five, my nerves raw, I paced the floor. I was thirty-two years old and had not seen my brother since I was seven. I needed to get a grip.

I took a shower, made coffee, and read through the file that Ed gave me. The case against Terrol hinged on the gun found hidden in his car. He claimed he was home all day, but no one could corroborate that.

To pass the time, I answered emails regarding cases that co-counsels were handling while I took leave and then called my mom. We didn’t talk long, and she didn’t press me for details. I needed more time to come to terms with the emotions I’d felt since arriving, and she seemed to sense that.

At ten-forty-five, I parked in front of the detention center and walked inside. The officer behind the counter took my information, copied my ID, and gave me a list of things I could and could not do during visitation. He told me to sit on the bench, and two minutes before eleven, another officer entered the lobby. He led me to a large room with several tables and stood beside the doorway. I was not Terrol’s counsel, so anything we talked about was not confidential.

When the buzzer sounded, and the inner door opened, I clasped my clammy hands to calm my nerves. I tried to rely on my years as a prosecutor to gain composure but found it a struggle.

Terrol wore gray scrubs, which fell loosely on his thin frame, and shuffled as he walked in, wearing scruffy-looking slippers. He stared at the floor as he entered, not looking at me immediately. When he did, his expression was benign. Reaching the table where I sat, he plopped down onto a chair and stared at me.

“Hello, Terrol.” I waited for him to speak.

He scoffed. “You look like her.”

I didn’t know how to respond, but I took a deep breath and tried. “I only have one photo of her as an adult and a few when she was younger. I… I’m glad I look like her.”

“I’m not.’ He sat straighter. “Why’re you here?”

“I came to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I spoke to Ed Valencia yesterday. He believes you’re innocent. Aunt Iona believes you are innocent.”

He stared at me. His angular face reflected the Native American and Mexican heritage of the Tohono Oʼodham tribe, and pain filled his eyes. “And you? Do you believe I’m innocent?”

“I do.”

“You’re some kind of lawyer, right?”

“I’m a prosecutor in Washington, DC.”

“You’re one of them, and I’m supposed to trust you?”

“I only want the truth and do my best not to prosecute innocent people.”

Terrol’s chest rose as he took in a breath. “I didn’t kill Shortstar, but not because he didn’t deserve it.”

“Where were you the day he was killed?”

“Where I said already—at home. I needed to sleep. Had to be at the casino at six the next day but got arrested. Hard to find work, and I can’t work if I’m in here.”

“You never purchased a gun?”

“No. Look. I was a hot-headed kid when I went to the Army. It was that or jail. I hit my commanding officer. I was tired of him calling me names because of how I look. I’d paid for that and vowed never to get into trouble again when I got out of military prison. Lot of good that did me. I’m a convicted felon. I know better than to have a gun.”

“Who do you think killed Shortstar?”

He shrugged. “Not sure, but….” Terrol glanced at the deputy before continuing. “There’s rumors around the casino that there's a cartel moving in, drugs and human trafficking, and they got protection.”

“Protection? From the….?”

“Yeah,” his head tilted toward the deputy, “from them.”

“Did you tell Ed this?”

“No. Don’t trust him.”

Shivers slithered down my spine. “Who is Veronica Garcia?”

His eyes widened and then narrowed quickly. “No one. Leave her out of this.”

“Was she involved with Shortstar?”

“He wanted her to be.”

“Are you?”

“Keep her out of this.”

“Who do you think is behind this?”

Terrol frowned but said nothing. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow for the regular Saturday visitation. I’ll see you then.”

We rose, but before I walked away, he stopped me. “Ofelia, remember the saguaro on the way to the old school. You and Mama gave them names. Do you remember them?”

“Sort of.”

“The answer to your question’s there.”

Terrol turned, striding toward the rear door. The guard escorted me to the lobby. My head spun as I walked out. What did I do next?”

~~~

Ed Valencia expected me to report once I had spoken to Terrol. I walked across the street to his office. A woman at the outer room desk waved me into his office without a word. Ed was on the phone but quickly ended the call.

“So, how did it go?”

A sense of foreboding came over me, and until I knew if I could trust Ed, I decided not to tell him everything I had discussed with Terrol. I needed time to learn more about what had occurred. I would be honest about the antagonism I sense in my brother.

“It didn’t go as well as I had hoped. I shouldn’t have expected him to be happy to see me, and he wasn’t.”

“Did he give you anything we didn’t already know?”

My stoic prosecutor face served me well at that moment. “No, nothing useful. I asked him about Veronica Garcia, and he shut down with me just like he did with you.”

“So, no idea how she fits into this?”

“None. He just told me he was home all day, sleeping, and then the police broke into his apartment and arrested him.”

“He still claims he was framed?”

“Yes, but you said you thought he was as well.”

“I do. I wish we could prove it.”

“Why would anyone want Shortstar dead and pin it on Terrol—guns, drugs, or gang-related reasons?” His eyes widened slightly when I said drugs—very telling, I thought.

“I haven’t found any evidence of any of that.”

“I’ll see him Saturday and try to find out more.” I rose, telling Ed a little white lie. “Going by the school. My aunt wants to give me a tour.”

Not true, but for now, I didn’t want to answer any more of Ed’s questions. I hopped in the car, unsure where I was going next.

The town wasn’t large, but I drove along every street. Vague images shrouded my childhood memories, some very sharp and others at the fringes of my thoughts. I wasn’t sure they were real. I stopped at a convenience store for a cold drink and a snack and kept driving mindlessly until I realized I was on the road leading to the cemetery. I planned on visiting my mother’s grave just before I left, just not now. But now it was.

Dust swirled in the wind as I wandered until I found her grave, a concrete slab with a tall wooden cross as its only marker. I knelt, and as I traced her engraved name with my fingertips, I was seven again, only now I understood what I didn’t then. She was gone, and tears flowed.

Once the gambit of emotions and tears ceased, I replayed my conversation with Terrol in my mind. He had given me a clue. I was sure of that, but what? He mentioned the saguaro from our old school, but what could that mean? I rose and dusted myself off. I had to do something. My gut told me Terrol was innocent.

On the drive back to Iona’s, I passed the saguaro. Those beautiful, mighty cacti meant something, but I couldn’t see it yet. But I could see Veronica Garcia. Tonight, I was going to the Copperhead Tavern.

~~~

I felt guilty telling Iona and Jim that I was going to meet a friend from law school who was in Tucson for the evening. I wasn’t, but I knew they would be upset if they knew what I was doing. Telling little white lies was becoming too easy.

The Copperhead Tavern sat between an all-night diner and a car repair shop. The low brick building sported a large sign on the roof with a neon snake and the club's name. From the late-model cars to the motorcycles and trucks in the parking lot, it appeared to be a popular club with patrons from all walks of life. I read on their website they were a “gentleman and gentlewoman’s” club, dancers only partially naked, but there was an on-stage strip show a couple of times a night.

I parked next to a pick-up and opened the car door. I was there and might as well go inside. The closer I got to the front door, the louder the music. A burly bouncer stood at the door, checked me out, and pulled open the heavy wood door. He leered. “You gonna have fun, honey.”

The soundwave concussion from the speakers felt like a jolt to my chest. The interior was dark, with colored spotlights rotating around the room and nearly naked women on platforms dancing in downlights. A dance floor sat to the left side past the massive central bar, which sported dance poles on each end.

I pushed through the crowd to the bar, hoping the bartender could tell me which dancer was Veronica. I had to yell through the din to ask. The bartender pointed to a pedestal where a woman with long black hair danced, wearing only a gold lame thong and large tasseled pasties, as men and women stuck money under the band of her thong. She gazed at the crowd in half-hooded eyes, totally disinterested in anything. I ordered a gin and tonic and waited. She had to take a break sometime. I was conscious of how close men were around me and of roaming hands and leering looks. I had experience fending off the advances of drunk guys in college and criminal defendants. I could defend myself, but I didn’t want to make a scene, so I put up little resistance. Twenty minutes later, another dancer replaced Garcia, and she headed toward the stage. I slipped between two guys who were crowding me and hurried after her.

Another burly guy was at the door, but a rowdy drunk caught his attention, and I slipped through the doorway. A couple of women emerged from a door midway down the narrow hall. Maybe that’s where I’d find her.

There were several women in the dressing room. I spotted Veronica and headed for her.

“Veronica Garcia?”

She jerked her head around. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ofelia Blake. I’m Terrol’s sister.”

Her eyes darted around the room before she grabbed my forearm and dragged me down the hall into a storage room. The door clicked behind us, and she let go of my arm. “What are you doing here? Did Terrol send you?”

“No, but I heard you might know something about Shortstar and who killed him. I’m trying to clear my brother.”

“You don’t understand. They’ll kill us.”

“Who’s going to kill you?”

“Look, I’m trying to get money to get out of here to protect my son. He’s only five. I overheard something in the casino, I told Terrol.”

“What did you hear? Tell me. I can help you.”

“I can’t… You don’t understand. They are powerful.”

“Who is powerful?”

“I overheard them. They are smuggling drugs and people. “

“Who are they?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Come with me. We’ll get help. Just tell me.”

As she started to speak, the doors flew open, and two men rushed in. Veronica screamed, and one man backhanded her. He said in a heavy Spanish accent, twisting her arm behind her back. “You talk too much.”

I backed up against the wall, desperately looking for something to hit the other man with, but he grabbed me, pinned both my arms behind my back, and held his hand tightly over my mouth. They took us out a back door where a van, slider door open, sat. I had to do something.

As we approached the van, my assailant loosened his grip, giving me some maneuvering room. I spun and slammed my knee into his groin. He dropped onto all fours, uttering a deep grunt. I reached for Veronica’s hand, but the man I kneed grabbed my ankle, and I fell hard onto the pavement. The second man pushed Veronica into the van as I heard someone yell FBI. A gunshot exploded above my head, and then gunshots from farther away. Both men fired again, got into the van, and sped off.

My ears rang from the noise, and my heart thumped loudly. I struggled to get up, but when someone touched me, I lashed out. Stronger hands grabbed my shoulders.

“It’s okay. I’m Special Agent Zack Keller, FBI. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. Help me up.”

He pulled me to my feet. I wobbled for a second but got my bearings. “They have her. You have to find her.”

“We will. Who are you?”

As a car pulled behind the building, I gave him my name and occupation. “We need to go. Someone may have heard those shots and called the police.”

“Why don’t you want the police involved?”

“Not yet.”

“Show me your badge.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out his ID and handed it to me. I checked it and handed it back. “Now, will you get in the car?”

Keller and the other agent, Steve Corillo, took me to a motel on the outskirts of Tucson. I freshened up, and when I joined them, Keller handed me a cup of coffee. “Hope black’s okay.”

“Perfect.”

He motioned for me to sit at the small table. “First, give Steve your keys. Going to send a couple of agents to retrieve your car. Don’t want the bad guys to be able to trace you.” I handed the keys over, and Steve left, returning a few minutes later, saying other agents were getting my rental.

“Okay. Tell me why you are here and especially why you were looking for Veronica.”

“You need to find her. They’ll kill her.”

“We have teams out looking for her. We’ll find her. Now talk to me.”

I told him everything. Keller sat quietly, not interrupting. When I finished, he tapped the table with his empty coffee cup. “I think your brother knows more than he’s telling.”

I bristled. “Are you insinuating he’s involved and that he killed Shortstar?”

“No, I don’t think either. I know he isn’t involved in the smuggling, and I don’t think he killed anyone.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “We have been investigating a Mexican cartel moving into the area—drugs and human trafficking. We’ve been watching Copperhead because many cartel members hang out there. We have also been watching the casino because we think someone in management there is involved.”

“I’m certain my brother knows more. His attorney said he thought Terrol was protecting Veronica, or at least she fit in somehow. Veronica told me that she overheard something at the casino about smuggling and trafficking and told Terrol. But why didn’t they kill them instead of Shortstar?”

“Shortstar told Veronica he worked with the cartel to impress her. We questioned her, and she verified that. Scared, she told Terrol, who told her to quit the casino, get some money, and get out of town. After we talked to her, she agreed to help us. The cartel knows Shortstar talked. They don’t know who Terrol and Veronica might have told. We think they framed Terrol and were watching Veronica to find out.”

“Terrol told me the cartel had protection, and I think he meant the Tribal police. Is he in danger in jail?”

“Not only the tribal police but other departments as well. We know who is involved but don’t know where they set up headquarters. The leader is in hiding, and we need to find him. Then we can close this down. Your bother may know something but is afraid to tell you.”

“I’m supposed to see him tomorrow. I could tell him I spoke to Veronica and know what is happening.”

Keller stared at his empty cup, then sighed. “You are a prosecutor, and no doubt you could handle that, but I…” His phone rang, and his eyes darted toward me.

“Guard attacked Terrol at the jail. He’s been airlifted to Tucson.”

~~~

I called Iona from the trauma center to tell her but asked her not to come. Keller joined me, bringing coffee, as I ended the call.

“Any word?”

“The doctor said he’s stable and lucky. The knife missed his heart, but they will take him to surgery to check everything out.”

“Not getting anything from him any time soon.” Keller blew out a breath. “Sorry, that was insensitive.”

“It’s okay, but you are right.”

“We need a break.”

We sat quietly, concentrating on our coffee, when I remembered something Terrol said. “Wait. Just as Terrol headed to his cell, he asked me if I remembered the names my mom gave to the saguaro cacti that lined the road to our old school.” Keller looked puzzled, and I explained. “My mother said we should name the saguaro and say good morning and goodbye to them each day. We named them after desert flowers. He said the answer was there.”

“In the names? Do you remember them?”

I closed my eyes and imagined walking past the saguaro as the names drifted into my consciousness. “Lily, aster, poppy, cholla, sunflower, chia, verbena, ocotillo, brittlebrush, globemallow…”

“Stop. You said brittlebrush?” I nodded, and Keller reached for his phone. “There’s a Brittlebrush Ranch near the Mexican border. That might be where they are.”

Keller left an agent with me and rushed out the door.

~~~

Smoke, carrying the luscious aroma of charcoal-grilled burgers, wafted through the open patio doors into the kitchen. Aunt Iona finished slicing tomatoes while I collected plates and utensils to take outside.

“Auntie, those burgers smell amazing.”

“Jim considers himself a grill master, but he is good at it. Go on and take those out, and then come back and help me take the rest of the food out.”

Ten days had passed since Terrol’s stabbing. When discharged from the hospital, Iona insisted he recuperate here. He was resting in a lounge chair, and our guest, Special Agent Keller, sat beside him. Keller rose and took the stack of plates from me.

“I was just asking Terrol about Veronica. He said she and her son are living in Marana with her parents. Glad to know she is somewhere safe.”

“Yes, they disowned her when she got pregnant at seventeen, but they brought her and their grandson home after all that happened. Want to help me get the rest of the food, Agent Keller?”

“Sure. If you will call me Zack.”

“And I am Lia.”

A magnificent red-orange sunset served as the backdrop for a delicious meal and conversation. As we had coffee and cake for dessert, Jim asked Zack to fill us in on what happened after the FBI arrived at the Brittlebrush Ranch.

“After learning the name from… Lia, after Terrol’s hint, we staked out the ranch, put together a strike team, and went in the next night. We realized we had to move quickly. Thermal imaging found a barn full of people, and we were certain they were being trafficked and awaiting transport.”

Terrol interrupted him. “That’s where you found Veronica?”

“Yes, and forty-three other people, mostly young women and children, who had been abducted and brought here for transport out of the country.” Zack shook his head. “Thankfully, we found them. We then stormed the house and captured nine cartel members, including the ringleader of the local operation.”

Aunt Iona shook her head. “Zack, thank you for clearing Terrol’s name.”

“The second in command of the group spilled his guts for leniency. Told us who had killed Shortstar and planted the gun. And because of him, we could identify the police involved and arrest them.” He raised his coffee mug. ”All in a good day’s work.”

~~~

I returned to DC but found my heart wasn’t in my old job. My parents, who had retired to their home state of Texas, were pleased when I decided to move west. I had kept in touch with Zack, and when he learned of a prosecutor vacancy in Tucson, I applied. I start in three weeks.

Iona and Jim decided to retire early, open their community center, and hire Terrol to help them. I have always heard you can’t go home again, but that isn’t true. I learned something about my tribal family in the last several months. My heritage calls me to find peace in the land of my ancestors.

I found that peace.

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Written for the September 2023 monthly photo prompt, Write the Story! for the Facebook group Writers Unite!