The Body of Martin Aguilera (2 page)

Mondragon thanked Lewis for the call and told him he'd drive back out and have a look around. He said it seemed unlikely that anyone would want that old horse badly enough to kill and that it was strange that Martin had been killed, if indeed he had been, in the house.

Lewis hung up and turned to Laura. “Let's get the hell out of Dodge.”

Her eyes went a bit wide with a smile.

“It's okay to say things like that once in a while. Give it a try.”

“Let's get the hell out of Dodge,” she said, giggling.

“Good. Let's go.”

As they were walking across the parking lot, Laura reached up and clutched at Lewis' sleeve.

“I hate it when we get a cart with screwy front wheels,” he said. Then he noticed how tightly she was holding on. “What's the matter, honey?”

The girl looked around.

Lewis looked, too. “What are you looking for?”

“I'm scared,” she said and began to cry a little.

“It's okay,” he said. “It's okay to be scared.”

Lewis and Laura unloaded the groceries from the car. Laura pulled things from the bags and Lewis put them away.

“So, you didn't tell me how you like your new house,” Lewis said. He put the cheese in the refrigerator.

“It's all right.”

“Got anything else for the refrigerator?”

She handed him the milk.

“Just all right?”

“It's bigger. Daddy said we'll never move again. He said that it makes Mommy crazy.”

“I can well imagine it does. She doesn't like change. She especially didn't like it when your grandmother and I got divorced.”

Laura seemed surprised to hear the word.

“We're best buddies, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then we can talk about anything?”

She smiled.

“Okay.”

“You want me to tell you what Mommy said about you?”

“No.”

Chapter Three

Lewis and Laura ate an early dinner, then went out to worm the two horses. Lewis told the girl how he used to have to blow pills through a pipe down their throats, but now it was just a matter of putting some paste in their mouths. She didn't believe him about the pills. So he told her the story about the New Mexican rancher who lived right on the Colorado state line.

“He had a cross-eyed bull and he called the vet. The vet said he knew of only one treatment. He got a pipe, lifted the bull's tail and stuck it in.”

Laura was delighted, hearing a naughty story. “In his—his poo-poo hole?” she asked.

“That's not how I would have put it, but yes. So, the vet had the rancher stand in front of the bull while he blew through the pipe. The vet blew and blew and finally the bull's eyes straightened out. A few weeks later the bull's eyes popped back and he was looking everywhere at once.” Lewis demonstrated and Laura laughed. “The doc couldn't come out, but he knew what to do. He got his neighbor from over in Colorado to help him. He sat behind the bull and put the pipe in his poo-poo hole and blew while the Colorado man watched. He blew and blew and blew but nothing happened. Finally, he said ‘You come back here and blow for a while and I'll watch.' The Colorado man sat behind the bull, pulled out the pipe and turned it around. “Why'd you do that?' the New Mexican man asked. The Colorado man said, ‘You had your mouth on the other end'.”

Laura didn't get it. She just looked at her grandfather.

“Well, you see he was going to put his—” He stopped. “Never mind.”

The horses trotted to the fence to greet them. Laura had been feeding them corn and so they were glad to see her. She dipped her hand into the can she held and spread a palm with corn through the cedar fence. While the black mare ate, Lewis hooked a lead into her halter and tied her close to the post. He had to put a halter on the gelding, then he tied him the same way.

Laura looked out over the pasture while Lewis applied the worming paste. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“I'm scared.”

He pulled her close and stroked her back.

“I've never seen a dead person before.”

“Honey, we don't even know if Martin was dead.”

“You thought he was dead. You think somebody killed him.”

He couldn't deny this. And he too was feeling a bit afraid. What if the killer had seen them there? He was afraid for Laura. Then he shook his head. His imagination was getting the better of him. Even if they had been seen there, what possible threat could they pose to the killer.

“Come on, let's go have some tea,” he said. As they walked back to the house, Lewis began to replay the scene at Martin's in his head. No furniture was overturned. There was no sign of any struggle. The wound was in the back of the man's head, under his hair, so he hadn't gotten a look at that. There wasn't a lot of blood. He sighed, then swallowed a deep breath, knowing that tomorrow he would ask Maggie to sit with Laura while he went back to Martin's to look around.

Maggie called and was there an hour later. Her little Ford pickup kicked a cloud of dust into the air as she skidded to a stop in the front yard.

“How's it goin', fart-face?” Maggie said.

Lewis and Laura were standing on the porch. Laura laughed.

“You're a sweet talker,” Lewis said.

“Hi ya, Laura.”

Laura smiled.

“Come on in and have some tea,” Lewis said.

“Got any herbal?” Maggie asked.

“You drink herbal tea?” Laura was pleased.

“Yep. The other stuff isn't good for you. It makes me go potty.”

“That's all Papa drinks.”

Lewis was holding the door open. “Come on, you two.”

“See,” Maggie said, entering the house behind the girl. “The tea makes him irritable and impatient and I'll bet he pees every ten minutes.”

Laura was laughing again.

Maggie and the child sat at the kitchen table while Lewis put on the water. He turned around and leaned against the counter. “I was wondering if you'd stay here with Laura for a while.”

“Sure. Where you going?”

“You're nosey.”

“Well, yeah.”

“He's going to Martin's house,” Laura said in a hushed voice.

“He is?” Maggie whispered. “Why?”

Laura said nothing.

Maggie looked to Lewis. “What's going on?”

He hadn't wanted to tell her anything, but better he tell her than she get Laura's version. “I'm worried about Martin.”

“Why?”

“He's dead,” the child said.

“Laura.”

“What?” Maggie pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

“Yesterday, we went to Martin's and I found him lying on the floor. I think it was Martin. It seemed he was dead. He wasn't breathing and I call that dead. Anyway, we called the sheriff. And when Manny Mondragon went back up there with us, the body was gone.”

Maggie blew out smoke. “Hunh. This ain't the kind of talk one expects over tea. You sure he was dead?”

“I thought he was dead.”

“I don't think you should be going out there.”

“Martin was—is my friend. I want to know what's going on.” The kettle began its whistle behind him. “I'm just going to look around.”

“I think we should all go.”

“Yeah,” Laura said.

“No,” Lewis said firmly, the whistle hissing loudly. He turned and removed the kettle from the burner with one hand, putting out the flame with the other. He looked Maggie in the eyes. “This is not a game.”

“What is this, some macho thing?”

“I don't want Laura there.”

Maggie looked at the girl and seemed to understand. She exhaled a breath like she was playing a trumpet and made a funny sound. “I'm sorry.”

“This is between us,” Lewis said. “I don't want you talking to anyone about any of this.”

“And what if you don't come back?”

Lewis looked at Laura. She was afraid. He looked at his watch. “It's ten now. If I'm not back by two, call Mondragon.”

“Papa?”

“There's nothing to worry about honey.” He felt badly that the child knew where he was going, but she had guessed it anyway.

Chapter Four

The place was dead still when Lewis arrived. A thunderhead was forming over the hills. Lewis took a deep breath and got out of his car. Looking at the cabin, he could almost see Martin stepping out and showing that boyish smile. Martin had been a good friend. He'd been in the army and had known black people. Lewis wasn't treated badly by the Indians and Mexicans, but he didn't completely fit in. He had been comfortable with Martin.

He walked slowly toward the corral which was behind the house. He looked at the ground and thought he might be able to learn something, like if anybody had come back after he and the sheriff left, but he couldn't tell anything. He laughed at himself, thinking that an elephant could have stomped over this ground and he wouldn't know the difference. And so he looked at the empty corral and learned nothing. He turned and looked up the canyon.

As he walked up the canyon, he thought how it didn't seem real that Martin was dead. The canyon channeled a breeze into his face. He followed a trail to his right that climbed up a ridge and after a hundred or so yards he was looking down at the canyon floor. He studied the trail, looked up the slope beside him and across at the other side. He found some old bear scat and felt better about his ability to find something. He came upon a place where deer had bedded down and sat on a fallen tree. He looked up and saw a raven fly by. Then he realized that he was hearing no birds. He had heard none since starting up. He hadn't seen or heard any squirrels or chipmunks. The deer droppings at his feet were old just like the bear scat.

A chill ran over Lewis. He was up quickly and moving back down the trail. He tried to think, but it was difficult. He was almost tickled at how scared he was. He stopped again to listen. Nothing. He whistled the only bird call he knew, a brown wren, but there was no response. The raven was long gone.

As he reached the mouth of the canyon, he remembered the tassel-eared squirrel he'd seen near the cabin. He walked around the cabin, then inside. Everything looked normal, in place. He opened the cabinet where Martin kept his cereals and sugar, then closed it. Outside, he walked around the house again.

He thought it was a snake at first and it gave him a start. But it was bushy. It was still. He reached down and pulled the dead squirrel from under a pile of scrap wood. Lewis studied it. The hair was gone from several spots on the small animal's body and the flesh was raw. Lewis felt sick. He carried the squirrel to his car and sat on the hood, tried to catch his breath.

“Martin,” he said out loud to the house. “What in the world is going on?”

Lewis wrapped the squirrel in an old towel he had in the car and walked toward the door of the veterinarian's office. The vet was pretty new and so the place was clean and efficient looking. There was a tall bay in the cross-ties and a Mexican boy was rubbing a salve on the horse's back. Inside, a fat white man and his yellow Labrador looked at Lewis. The dog stood up, his nose measuring the air. Lewis hurried to the desk of the assistant who immediately began trying to steal a peek into the bundle.

“And who do we have here?” she asked.

“This is my pet and I want to see the doctor.”

Unable to see anything, she readied a pencil over a form. “Name?”

“Lewis Mason.”

“Pet's name?”

“Mortimer.”

“What is Mortimer, Mr. Mason?”

“Mortimer is sick, ma'am.”

“I can well imagine that he is. He's probably suffocating.”

“If you knew Mortimer, you'd know that's not possible.”

The woman's patience was growing short. “What kind of animal?”

“Are you the doctor?”

“No, but the doctor needs to know,” she said, her back straightening.

“I think the doctor will know what Mortimer is as soon as he sees him.”

Lewis thought the woman might cry. As she struggled through her question again, the vet, a middle-aged man with a belly, appeared behind her.

“Problem?” the vet asked.

The woman composed herself. “This is Mr. Mason. He refuses to tell what his pet is.”

“I'm sure we can clear this up in the examination room,” Lewis said.

The vet looked at him and then at the yellow Labrador. He asked the assistant, “Who was here first?”

“Mr. Wilson and his dog.” She looked at Lewis as she said “dog.”

“I'm sure Mr. Wilson won't mind if I see Mr. Mason first,” the doctor said.

Wilson gestured for him to go ahead.

The assistant glared at Lewis as he stepped around the desk into the hallway. He followed the vet into a room and laid the bundle on a table.

“Mortimer?” the vet asked.

“Indeed,” Lewis said and unwrapped the squirrel.

The vet paused. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

The doctor began to slip on rubber gloves. “Why don't you wash your hands over there.”

Lewis went to the sink and washed.

“Where'd you find it?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might? Near a dump? These look like acid burns. But I've never seen anything like it.”

“Let me ask you something. Does it make sense that a person can go into the forest and not see or hear any birds?”

“Just because you don't see or hear them doesn't mean they're not there.”

“They weren't there.”

“A falcon or an eagle could have come into the area.”

“I suppose.”

“My name is Peabody, Cyril Peabody.” The vet peeled off a glove and put out his hand to shake.

Lewis took it. “Lewis Mason. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Peabody.”

“Cyril.”

“Call me Lewis.”