Agata drove along the flat scrub of the west valley. Clouds a marvel of grey, gold, and pink. She pulled her third ham sandwich of the day out of the cooler. The late afternoon light made the frost-killed saltbush shine golden against the orange-tan soil. At night, the mice in the walls kept her awake. The house was a rental. Temporary. She didn’t care about the mice but she wished they would let her sleep. She set the live trap...
