When he left the post office, the radio in his car was crackling. Pete switched it on to hear Don Olander’s dry voice “. . . pilfered goods at Bluewater Bed and Breakfast. . .” When he finished the call, he headed east another mile to a trim house painted white with blue shutters. Officer Wilson privately believed the building looked wildly out of place, with the Zuni Mountains nestled behind it. Such a dwelling belonged in a nice prosperous resort town, like Park City or Durango.

Mrs. Johnson met him on the porch. Pete thought she’d probably just vacuumed the front parlor and didn’t want his scruffy shoes undoing her labor. She was a refugee from a Santa Fe museum who’d retired early and put all her money into a hospitality business in an area not know for providing tourist lodging.

“When are you catching this varmint?” the woman asked, tapping her teeth in a nervous gesture.

Pete pulled out his notebook. “What and when did he hit, ma’am?”

“Got into my trash late last night.” She heaved a sigh. “I’d been careful to bag up all the food I threw out, but it punctured through the plastic and dragged most of it toward the driveway.”

Pete fell into step with her as she guided him off the porch and around the back of the house. Three large metal trash cans were side by side, only one of them had been knocked onto the ground. A ripped black plastic garbage bag flapped tattered ends in the breeze. A trail of foodstuffs lay scattered in a tight line. Pete could see and smell cracked egg shells, apple and orange rinds, coffee grounds, and other detritus, including part of a cabbage that looked to be particularly savaged.

He took notes diligently and then helped Mrs. Johnson pick up the offending remains. He didn’t have to, but politeness to older ladies was just how he’d been raised. Mrs. Johnson appeared relieved when they finished, and had something to say.

“While it looks like an animal did this, I think you ought to consider a little kid might be the culprit. You should check and see if any of the middle school boys have been out sick or something like that.”

Pete thanked her for her speculation, inwardly amused that Mrs. Johnson could only imagine a boy as the offender. In his experience, little girls could get up to the same mischief easily enough.

Nevertheless, he turned the car west and drove over to the elementary school. Mrs. Jamon in the principal’s office showed him the roster. A couple of Zuni boys were out this morning, but they lived too far away from Ramah to be worthy of suspicion. The other missing student was Elsbeth Natachu, but Pete knew the little girl was up in Gallup at the Indian Services hospital.