Two Desert Roads Led Us To The Kilns Nolan Had Buried

Alma did not send us racing after a photograph.

She called the retreat, called Owen, and checked the delivery dates. Then she hired a licensed hauler to travel with us. We carried the inspection order and written permission from both retreat managers.

“We locate first,” she said. “We move only when it's safe and allowed.”

I liked her more every time she spoke.

At Juniper Basin, kiln six stood under a roof of patched tin. The place smelled of wet clay and mesquite smoke. A woman named Dee met us holding a folder against her chest.

“Are you closing my classes?”

“We're checking the equipment,” I said.

“Nolan said you wanted everything hauled away.”

Alma showed her the order.

“Your paid rental remains under review. No one is here to punish your students.”

Dee opened her folder.

Juniper Basin had paid $24,000 over nine months. She had service slips, canceled checks, and a delivery photo showing the original CW-06 plate.

The plate now read RY-12.

Marisol bent close.

“Same fresh rivets as eight.”

The chassis number matched my receipt. Under the door, I found a repair seam shaped like a bent finger. I remembered grinding it smooth while Nolan complained about the cost of welding wire.

Alma took photographs. Dee copied her records.

“Why would he call it scrap?” Dee asked.

“We're asking him that,” Alma said.

The kiln was cold and in good shape. Alma approved its next scheduled class, with payment going into the supervised fleet account. I would return for a full service visit.

That afternoon, we drove west through a country of dry grass and long shadows.

Second Dawn's old address ended at a locked ranch gate. Beyond it sat the chimney from Owen's photograph.

No kiln.

No studio tents.

A faded notice gave a forwarding number.

I stayed outside the gate while Alma called it.

“They moved their seasonal classes,” she told us. “Nolan knew. Their manager says he arranged the haul.”

We spent the night in Benson because the new site was too far down a dirt road to inspect after dark. I checked my messages in a motel room that smelled of lemon cleaner.

Nolan had sent one sentence.

You Always Needed Me To Find The Work.

I thought of all the customer calls I had returned while he slept. Then I forwarded it to June and plugged in my phone.

In the morning, rain hung over the hills in thin gray strips.

Second Dawn's new camp sat on leased ranch land, with canvas shade sails and a long water trailer. Their manager, Adrian, walked us to kiln seven.

For a moment, I thought we had the wrong machine.

The outer jacket was silver. Mine had been brown.

“He painted it before delivery,” Adrian said. “Said it was a newer model.”

Marisol walked around the trailer once.

“New plate. Old holes. Look at the corner.”

A patch of brown showed beneath a bolt head.

I checked the chassis number against my receipt. Alma read it aloud while I followed the numbers with my finger.

Every digit matched.

Adrian watched Alma finish the form.

“I thought a new plate meant new equipment,” he said.

Marisol showed him the empty rivet holes in her close photographs.

“Ask for the number on the frame next time. Ask for an old service record, too.”

He wrote that on the back of his rental folder.

I pressed my palm against the cool door.

There was no grand feeling. I felt tired, and glad it hadn't been cut apart.

Adrian showed us his payment records: $33,600 in earned rent. He also held a separate receipt for a $1,400 deposit on a later session.

“Nolan called last night,” he said. “Wanted the trailer moved to a private storage lot.”

“Did you move it?” Alma asked.

“Your notice had arrived. I told him I'd wait.”

That plain answer saved us another road.

Alma arranged for seven to return with our hauler after the current rental ended. Six and eight would finish their approved bookings, then come back for service. Every move would have a signed pickup sheet.

On the drive home, Marisol fell asleep against the window.

I watched the rain reach the ground in a dark band. All eight kilns had locations now. The missing months still didn't.

June called just outside Bisbee.

“I have the scrap-yard records,” she said. “His ticket was real. The story attached to it wasn't.”

The yard had bought three empty furnace jackets from an estate cleanout. Their seller's receipt carried different equipment numbers and Nolan's signature.

“What about the rent?” I asked.

“Alma's accountant has the bank records now.”

She paused.

“There's a transfer marked Elzbieta Settlement. Did he ever pay you twenty thousand dollars?”