How do you survive being shot and left for dead in the Chihuahuan Desert? By being found by a beautiful wildlife photographer willing to risk her life to save yours.
A bitter ex-cop fights for his life after he runs to the sound of gunfire on the Ri...
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Browsing through framed artwork displayed along the back wall of the Marfa gift shop, Mendocino was struck by a large matted and framed print of a ghostly gray coyote, its head back, howling at the full moon bathing Santa Elena Canyon in silver light. So vivid was the photograph it caught moonlight shimmering on the Rio Grande, a river of sapphire and diamonds flowing from the canyon. He was taken even more when he saw the artist's signature. "T. Tomlin," scrawled in the bottom corner.
He stepped back, admiring the photograph. "Wow."
A nearby sales clerk noticed his reaction. "Nice, isn't it?"
"Yes," Mendocino said. "Does this artist have others?"
"Oh, yes," the man said. "Let me show you a few."
She entitled another Blue Norther, a panoramic shot of the Marfa Plateau grasslands, massive storm clouds boiling on the western horizon, shafts of white lightning turned normally gray clouds deep blue, set against a sunset sky of tangerine and magenta. Impressed? Yes. He'd never seen such a beautiful sky.
"These are bigger than I need," Mendocino said. "Do you have small prints?"
"We do. But they're not framed," the clerk said.
"I would like this, Blue Norther, and the Coyote in Moonlight." He pointed. "I'll pay to have them matted and framed, just these." He pointed. "Only smaller. Eight by tens, I guess."
"Yes, sir. Can you come back? We can't do it today."
"I'll be back next week," Mendocino said. "I'll pay now and pick them up then?"
"Perfect," the clerk said. "They should be ready Monday."
"Can you tell me about the photographer?"
"Tillie Tomlin. She's local." The clerk peered over his thin glasses. "You realize, many fine artists live around Marfa. We've become an artists' enclave. Many fine poets, artists, musicians."
"Enclave?" Mendocino repeated.
The clerk pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "You've never heard of the Chinati Foundation?"
"Sorry."
The man sniffed as he punched the cash register with a scrawny finger. "Humph. My mistake."
The insult wasn't lost. "I like her pictures. I don't know a thing about art. Just what I like."
"Slide your card, please." The clerk punched the machine as the transaction was processed. "You might be interested to know that Marfa has been written up in every fine magazine as the place to be in Texas. They're calling us Santa Fe South."
The snide son of a bitch was going to educate him now. He should meet Agent Wright.
"Money is flooding in here from New York, Houston, Austin, San Antonio. Property values are through the roof. A mecca for creatives of all kinds, particularly the minimalists," the clerk concluded.
