By the time he was off the phone, Danielle had disappeared. Trying to find her, Shawn passed Kylie, the gamekeeper’s orphaned daughter. Dressed in hand-me-downs, barelegged on a dry-stone wall, she watched Shawn’s surviving doves. She reminded him of his daughter, Juanita. At that age, Juanita had been a thin and anxious child who stayed in touching distance of her father—sensing perhaps that he’d someday leave home for good. As Shawn did. Years later, older and sadder, he tried everything he knew to restore that closeness, but that was a clock he could never wind back. Not now, not with his God-haunted daughter, now a novitiate in some West Coast ashram. Down the village lane, someone had parked a late-model blue Chrysler. As he passed, Shawn glanced in at the backseat. Turning, he asked Kylie if she’d seen the car’s driver. Or a lady with long dark hair. Without shifting her gaze from the doves, the girl nodded. “She’s nice, that lady. Picked me up. Didn’t mind I’m dirty.
