A Killing in Zion Read Free

and pretend I wasn’t in the throes of mortal fear. I kept a United Airlines sick sack by my side at all times, and I closed curtains in a fruitless attempt to ease my terror of heights.
    â€œLadies and gents,” crackled the pilot’s voice through a loudspeaker overhead. “We regret the bumpy skies, but we should be past them very soon.…”
    That’s what he said he over Nevada , I thought. Right then, the plane shook violently, to show me who was boss. I gave the sick sack a squeeze.
    â€œIt’s the safest form of travel, you know.”
    I looked across the aisle at Sarah Jane, who licked her finger and turned the page of her book. She had inherited her mom’s features: hazel eyes, a narrow nose, a light sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks, and chin-length golden-brown hair. She mouthed the words as she read them, and no matter how often the plane shook and rattled, she never once averted her eyes from her book. She showed no hint of fear. How did she do it?
    â€œCome again?” I asked.
    â€œAirlines. Your odds of dying in a car wreck or a train jumping the tracks are a lot higher than in a plane crash.”
    â€œLet’s change the subject, why don’t we. What are you reading?”
    She pressed her finger between the pages to hold her place as she closed the book and held it up so I could see the cover. Little Women , said the gold engraved lettering, and below: Louisa May Alcott . I made a long face and tilted my head. “Isn’t this the third time you’ve read it?”
    â€œFourth,” she said, opening it to where she left off. “I read it again in May, for Mrs. Wells’s class. This trip makes four.”
    I bobbed my head, doing my best to ignore the roller-coaster ride that was this flight. “Four times. That’s good. You must really love it, if you’ve read it four times.”
    The ceiling speakers hissed and spat and the pilot’s voice came on: “We will be landing at Salt Lake Municipal Airport shortly. Those of you sitting on the right-hand side of the plane will marvel at the picturesque view of the city.”
    Sarah Jane nudged me. “Open the curtains, Dad.”
    â€œI’d rather not.…”
    â€œC’mon. Have a look. You’ll feel better.” She tipped her head at the window. “Go on. Do it.”
    With a trembling hand, I slid open the gray curtain and gazed out. It all appeared so small, that patchwork quilt of earth below, with a surprising number of green squares for a city at the desert’s edge. Mountains hemmed in the valley like a fortress, except for the northwest corner, where the Oquirrh Mountains tapered off at the shores of the Great Salt Lake. Even from thousands of feet above the valley’s southern end, the downtown and the granite spires of the Salt Lake Temple on the northern side were clearly visible. The sixteen-story Walker Bank Building dominated the skyline, with its towering radio antennae and WALKER BANK spelled out in tall electric-lit words. From this distance, I could even see the giant white U built on the side of Mount Van Cott, a symbol of the University of Utah, whose campus of columned, ivy-covered buildings nestled against the Wasatch Range nearby. The airplane dipped lower, its winged shadow swimming over farms and rural roads in the valley’s middle. Wide streets intersected in a perfect grid originating from the downtown temple, a deliberate plan by Brigham Young and the early settlers of this place. Thanks to them, it is difficult—if not impossible—to get lost in Salt Lake City.
    Parting those curtains worked wonders. The dread I experienced only minutes earlier eased. I uncoiled in my seat and loosened my hold on the armrests. The airplane still jumped about in the skies, but now that we hovered low over the city, it all seemed so much less perilous than before, perhaps because I knew my destination was right under me. Even