CHAPTER
17
Friday morning at the office passed quickly in a blur of editorial and management decisions. I intended to leave before noon, but it was twelve-thirty before I raced out the door, hopped in Ronda’s mud-streaked Jeep and headed out on the now familiar road towards Aguila. Earlier I had taken a few minutes to research the tiny community—not an incorporated town, but simply known as a “census-designated place” in far northwestern Maricopa County, boasting a population of 1,066. Aguila meant “eagle” in Spanish and its claim to fame was being one of the largest melon-producing areas in the world. Who knew? Because of time constraints, my plans to have a sneak preview of the area on Google Earth never materialized, but it didn’t matter. I’d pulled up the street map online and
