Chance
9:45 AM. Constance is at her desk outside the radio studio, going through news articles and finalizing in her mind what she plans to cover between songs today. Donnie is on for another fifteen minutes. He's a full-timer on the station and mostly pulls graveyard shifts, warning the night owls about the New World Order, vaccines, and the Masons, just to name a few.
"Abels." It's Joel Waters, the station owner, looking smart in a light pink button-down and a pair of khakis. He's stopped beside Constance's desk, distracted by the armful of mail he has with him. "Something came in for you. Hell, which one..." He juggles through a few of the parcels before producing a rectangular box and setting it on Constance's desk in front of her. "Guess you're making fans." He starts off toward the door to his private office but he stops and turns, a finger pointed at her from under the pile of parcels. "Iraqi forces lost control of Fallujah to al-Qaeda yesterday. At least, that's the official line." He turns back around to continue through the door into his office. "Look into that!" He closes his door with his foot.
Constance looks down at the package. The address is on a sticky label with no return information. She tears the box open and slides its contents onto the desk. First is a postcard from the Grand Canyon - it's a photo of the canyon at sunset with GRAND CANYON NATIONAL PARK in block letters across the top. Nothing written on it. The other item is a kachina doll, wrapped in packing paper. A recreation of a hopi katsina, it's a doll carved out of soft cottonwood root, commonly sold to tourists and collectors around these parts. This one is a figure of a dancer with a blue feathered headdress, with more feathers along the arms, and bright blue diamonds painted on its face and torso. It looks brand new. Constance overturns the doll and finds a tiny white sticker reading 49.99 on its base.
