She looked out her window after that, at the mirage of red hills in the distance and the strips of white and brown sand, like a dappled hide on the coat of a great animal bucking the earth.
Their first stop was at the old Axis Treatment Center, abandoned in the desert just as Brightwood had been at the coast. The sand had blown up along the concrete walls.
“This place closed when she left too,” Larry said.
There wasn’t much of an exercise yard—it was too hot here—but instead, there were narrow domed walkways between the buildings, which had windows with white metal bars, the paint now peeling. There was a droning silence, like insects were buzzing far away.
Larry noted the curling razor wire on the top of the walls. The gates were closed with a thick padlock. An empty guard station stood near the entrance.
Amanda looked into the dry desert hills. “Larry?”
“Yes?”
“Why do people make places like these? I mean, why not just have decent foster homes? Pay people enough to take care of kids and help them with their issues?”
“If only it was that easy.”
“Maybe it is, and we just pretend it’s hard.”
Larry looked at the road into town. The sun was relentless.
“Let’s go find the sheriff,” he said.
“Name of Duncan,” the sheriff introduced himself, with a big smile. He stuck out a giant paw for Amanda to shake, and she felt immediately comforted in his presence. He reminded her of Molly, right down to his bright, dark eyes.
“Axis?” he asked, signaling for them to sit. Instead of chairs, he had a white leather couch, with the head of a bighorn sheep above it. The air-conditioning was blasting. He swiveled in his chair, like a big child.
“Do you know why it closed?” Amanda asked.
“Recommendation of the last director. Wasn’t cost-effective.Nowadays the state sends the kids to that place near Cibola. They can fit a couple hundred kids there.”
“You mean director Martha King?” Amanda asked.
“Yup. I remember Martha. Nice lady.”
Larry cocked his head. “You were the sheriff back then?”
The man looked a bit young for that, Amanda thought.
“Oh no, my goodness. I was in high school.”
“Who was the sheriff back then? Can we talk to him?” Amanda asked.
“Would be hard to. He’s dead now.”
Amanda looked out the window at the desert. The sheriff station abutted a small jail outside of town. It felt very lonely.
“Where you all from?” he asked.
“Oregon,” Amanda said.
“Makes sense. You better put on some sunscreen, or you’ll be a cinder before the day is out. Your cheeks are bright pink.”
Amanda felt them. They were hot to the touch.
“We’re curious about this court case we found,” Larry said. “Involving a man who assaulted the previous sheriff here.”
“Anyone who assaulted Walter King surely paid his dues. That man was old-school.”