Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

the way I look—or something. The goddamn bitch. If we have to come back here for more questions, I think I’ll stay in the car.”

Duke Ellis’s rig was parked on the far side of the street, across from Kevin Miller’s driveway. It consisted of a white Dodge pickup with dual-wheel rear tires and a truck camper of the same color, with a window looking out over the roof of the cab.
    There was no one in the truck. The curtains on the front window of the camper were open halfway, but the window was so darkly tinted Snow couldn’t see inside. He parked the Sonata in Miller’s driveway, and he and Alice got out.
    Snow could make out an exchange of mumbling coming through the open windows and roof vent. The rig began to bounce around on the truck springs, followed by the sound of a small door opening on the far side of the camper.
    A tall, slender man with weathered features, a bushy gray mustache, and a straw cowboy hat emerged from behind the rear corner of the camper. Following close behind was a short woman with silver hair, cut short. They both wore blue jeans, Western shirts, and cowboy boots.
    Starting across the street with Alice beside him, Snow grinned at the couple. “Duke. You’re looking good, man.”
    Ellis stood with his hands on his hips. “So are you, Jimbo,” he said. “Looks like your hair is growing back. You been using that Rogaine stuff, or did you join the Hair Club?”
    “Neither,” Snow replied. “I think you’ve been staring at the sun too much. It’s affected your vision.”
    “Nah,” Ellis said. “Only when there’s an eclipse.” He emitted a coarse laugh.
    Snow walked up to him and gripped his hand, slapping him on the shoulder.
    Ellis motioned toward the silver-haired woman. “This is Sally Hollister, my associate, main squeeze, and harshest critic.”
    Sally smiled. Introductions were made all around.
    Then Snow stepped back and looked at the camper. “This is nice. You just use this for spying on people, or you take it out on the road?”
    Ellis lifted his straw hat and scratched his head. “Oh yeah, this is a multipurpose rig. Every chance we get, we take it out and go exploring.” He screwed his hat back down. “In fact, when we retire in a few years, we plan on living in it for a year, maybe longer. Sell the house and live cheap. You ever heard of Slab City?”
    Snow shook his head.
    “It’s an abandoned World War II Marine base in the middle of the desert in southern California. They tore everything down, and all that’s left are the cement slabs. It’s huge. There are about a hundred and fifty hardened souls living there year-round, through the heat and all. But when it cools off in late fall, thousands of snowbirds head down there and live for free. They get their prescriptions filled on the other side of the border. There’s a river nearby with fish in it. They even have a homemade golf course.”
    Snow raised his eyebrows and nodded at the camper. “That little thing won’t be big enough for that. You’ll need a fifth wheel.”
    “Nah, it’ll be fine. All we need is something to sleep in. During the day, we’ll be hiking, fishing, golfing, or just sitting in our lawn chairs looking at the mountains.”
    Alice was staring at the camper. “Does it have a bathroom?” she said.
    “Sure does, honey,” Sally said. “Five-gallon bucket.” She burst out laughing.
    Ellis chuckled. “No, it’s got everything you’d find in an apartment—just a lot smaller. You want the tour?”
    They went inside.
    Ellis was demonstrating how the dinette turned into a bed when the sound of a car approaching grew louder. They could hear it ease to a stop in front of Miller’s house, the drone of the V-8 idling.
    Stepping toward the side window, Ellis spread two slats of the blinds with his fingers and peered through. “It’s Roberts again,” he whispered.
    “What’s he doing?” Snow asked.
    “Just sitting there, looking at the house.”
    Snow came over to the window and peeked out. “Does he know you’re watching the house?” he whispered.
    “I don’t think so. We’ve always been inside the camper when he shows up.”
    “How often does he come by?”
    “It varies. Sometimes hours will go by. Then he’ll drive by every fifteen minutes for a while.”
    “Obsessive-compulsive,” Snow said.
    “Nuttier than a fruitcake.”
    “Jesus,” Snow whispered. “Now we’ll have to stay in here until he leaves.”
    “Want to play some checkers?” Ellis