If I got in my car and drove over the mountain I could be at Nancy’s house in Cedar Crest in an hour. I was having trouble getting back in the office groove anyway. I could have called Nancy and told her I was coming, but I didn’t. Eric had already said she’d be home. “I’m kind of tired. I think I’ll take the rest of the afternoon off,” I told Anna. “You’ll be in tomorrow?” “Yeah,” I said. I went the back way to Cedar Crest, through the village of Placitas, up the winding dirt road, past the cave where Placitas Man was found and later discovered to be a hoax. I continued through the woods and over the mountain. “Closed for the Winter” the sign said where the pavement ended; it always said that—even now in August. There were quaking aspens at the higher elevations and they were already turning yellow. About halfway up I stopped at Las Huertas picnic area, parked the Nissan, and walked to the stream that flows through the canyon. I sat on a rock wall and listened to the water rush under a downed log and over a rock.
