Las Bellotas Station was a new building, completed less than a year before. Dot halted just inside the doorway, feeling disoriented. Nothing was where she expected it to be. She looked about for someone to help her, but the only others in the station were sitting on distant benches, wrapped up in their own affairs. Meanwhile, Rita had turned on entering and walked confidently over to the schedule board, which she proceeded to study, elbow on arm and hand on chin.
     “Looks like he’s going to be on time,” she announced as Dot caught up. “Let’s wait inside. It’s warmer here.”
     “Yes,” said Dot. She went to the nearest bench the faced the platform and sat down gratefully.
     Rita joined her. They sat without speaking the long minutes remaining before seven, watching the sky outside as it slowly absorbed color from the still hidden sun.
     Dot fell into a doze without realizing it. The rumble of the arriving train roused her. Blinking, she stood up, stumbling after Rita, who was already marching smartly towards the platform.
     They both proved too late. The train’s single passenger was off and inside before either reached it.
     Dot stopped, thinking him the wrong man. He seemed too old – and too ordinary. Here was no smart Naval seaman, but a weary-looking civilian, in nondescript clothing. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might not travel in uniform.
     Rita, undeceived, ran forward, arms wide. “Jon!” she cried.
     The newcomer laughed, set his bags down, and caught her, wheeling her around in a wide circle. “Rita! Here’s one here to greet me, anyway!”
     He’s changed, Dot thought. He’s taller, and he’s filled out. Still hasn’t grown into those huge hands, though.
     “Not just one,” Rita was saying. Her arms still imprisoned in Johnny’s embrace, she jerked her head back towards Dot.
     Johnny looked past Rita’s shoulder. There was no recognition in his eyes. Then – “No, surely not—Dot?” Releasing Rita, he started forward.
     Dot nodded, and advanced to meet him. “Hello, Johnny.”
     Johnny’s face broke into a wide grin. “Jesus, you’re a sight for sore eyes! Did Will come, too? That would make this perfect!”
     Dot halted, disquiet stabbing through her. “Will? You mean Will Decker? Why would he have come?”
     “Oh, I wrote him along with you two – everyone I thought might still be glad to see me. Never heard back, though.”
     “Too bad,” Dot said, inwardly grateful. She stepped forward and opened her arms, as much to derail her brother’s line of thought as to welcome him.
     They embraced, then Johnny pushed her back. He smiled again, wonder in his eyes. “You look like Mom,” he said. “I hardly knew you.”
     “And you’re all grown up. You know, you remind me of Grandpa.”
     He grinned. “What, I’ve wrinkles now?”
     Dot laughed for the first time that morning. “No, it’s the eyebrows, I think. They weren’t nearly so bushy last time I saw you.”
     Johnny chuckled, rubbing them with his thumb and forefinger. “Well, that’s one thing I got from him, then. Shame that what he wanted was for me to be medicine man.”
     “You could have been,” Dot said, going serious. “He always said you had the sight.”
     Johnny shook his head. “That’s the artist’s eye, Dot,” he said, tapping the outer corner of one. “Fine for seeing what’s there – not so good for spotting spirits. But look at you! I never really pictured you as a proper Bellota matron.”
     Dot frowned a bit. “That’s what Rita said.”
     “Did she? Anyway, I’m glad you were able to come.”
     “Why wouldn’t I, Johnny? You asked me to, didn’t you?”
     “Sure, but you’re married to Strongarm, now.”
     Dot’s utter shock must have shown in her face, because Johnny’s changed. “Dot?” he asked, apprehension strong in his voice. “Dot, what’s the matter?”
     Rita, came up behind him, concern in her face. “Johnny—”
     Dot clenched her hands, digging her nails into the palms. “It’s all right, Rita,” she said, wishing her friend gone. But there was no avoiding it, now. She took a deep breath. “Strongarm’s dead.”
     There was a mutual gasp from Johnny and Rita. “Dead!”
     “From the fire.”
     “Oh, Dot—”
     “Don’t! There’s more—” She stopped. She couldn’t go on.
     Johnny enclosed her hands in his. “What, Dot?” he asked, softly.
     She forced herself to continue. “He was in on it,” she croaked.
     “In on— the fire?”
     “All of it. He set the fire, Johnny, on Stangler’s orders!”
     “Good lord! That son of a bitch!” He balled his hands into fists.
     “He told me everything before he died. You were right about him all along – he was part and parcel to Stangler’s scheme...”