The Body of Martin Aguilera (4 page)

“That stuff is contagious. I don't care what anybody says.”

“What stuff?”

“The art-farts. It'll start as an insidious rumbling in your gut and you'll think you're just hungry and the food at home won't fill you. You'll have to eat snacks from a buffet at an art opening.”

Maggie laughed.

“I used to come up here every night to watch the sunset.”

“What happened? You get old?”

“I suppose.”

“Remember the first time we met?”

“At the market?”

“Think hard.”

“Come on. I can't remember.”

“At Justin's Gallery.”

Lewis frowned.

“Yes, and it was an opening. You were very charming. I said to the friend with me that you were the most handsome man there. And you don't even remember.”

“A gallery? I have no idea how I ended up there.” Lewis looked up the hill to see Laura scouting under a bush.

“How's she doing?” Maggie asked.

“How're you doing?” Lewis called to Laura.

“Nothing yet.”

Lewis let his head roll back, then forward.

“I'll give you a rub later,” Maggie said.

“I'll remember you said that.”

Maggie nodded, looked up the slope to see Laura starting down. “She's a wonderful child.”

“She sure is.”

“Look, a car,” Laura said.

Lewis looked down at the house to see the blue Camaro.

Chapter Seven

Lewis was surprised to see Taylor but not alarmed. In fact, he wanted the man to wait until they got down to the house. He did.

“Mr. Taylor,” Lewis greeted him.

“Hello, Mr. Mason. I don't want to bother you, but I need to talk.”

Laura stayed close to her grandfather. Lewis put a hand on her shoulder. “Maggie Okada, Laura, this is Mr. Taylor.”

“Joe, call me Joe.” He shook Maggie's hand, smiled at Laura.

“What do you want to talk about?” Lewis asked.

“I'd like to ask you some questions about my grandfather.”

“I guess you ought to come inside.” Lewis took him in and sat him at the kitchen table. Maggie and Laura went to another part of the house. Lewis didn't put water on to boil.

Taylor played with his thumbs on top of the table. “How well did you know my grandfather?”

“We were friends.” Lewis looked at the man's eyes. “You said something about a letter.”

“Yes.”

“And he mentioned a problem?”

“Not exactly. I was planning a visit and he wrote and told me not to come. I got worried.”

“He didn't say anything to me. We were friends, but not that close. I saw him once or twice a month.”

“I never met him. He told me about you, though. Told me about the time he sent you up a mountain to a lake that didn't exist.”

Lewis looked at the floor and smiled. “Yeah, he thought that was real funny.” He looked at Taylor anew, finding what he was hearing credible. “We didn't spend a lot of time together, but I liked him. He was a good man. I'm surprised he didn't mention you.”

“I'm not. We've always kept in touch, but he's never forgiven my mother. And I guess she hasn't forgiven him either.”

“He didn't say anything in his letter?”

“Just told me not to come.”

“I don't know what to tell you.”

“Well, something's going on. The sheriff's telling me Gramps died in the river and doesn't even mention your story.” Taylor smiled. “He used to hate it when I called him Gramps.” His eyes became moist.

“Something's going on, all right. You're correct on that point and I have no idea what.” Lewis paused. “I'm gonna trust you.”

“You can. I promise.”

“I found a dead squirrel by Martin's cabin.”

“So?”

“It had burns or something all over it. Strange wounds. And when I hiked up the canyon, I didn't hear any birds, didn't see any, no animals at all, not even fresh sign.”

“Whoa, this is sounding too weird,” Taylor said.

“Tell me about it.” Lewis thought that if he were in Taylor's place he wouldn't know what to think or do. “I don't know what comes next. If anything comes next. Martin is dead.”

Taylor nodded.

“Maybe you should just go back to Seattle.”

“I think I'll hang around for a while.” The young man looked out the window. “I want to see to my father's cremation.”

“The county doesn't cremate people. The Catholics around here don't care for it,” from Maggie at the door.

“You're sure?” Lewis asked.

Maggie came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I'm positive. I had to take my husband Kiyosada to Santa Fe to have him burned.”

“You think the sheriff is involved?” Taylor asked.

“I've known Mondragon for six years,” Lewis said. “Hell, I don't know.”

Maggie hugged herself. “This is scary.”

Taylor laughed nervously. “What do I do? What am I supposed to feel? Am I supposed to want to find the murderer? If there is one.”

Lewis shrugged.

“I don't.”

Maggie sat at the table. “Joe, I'm sorry about your grandfather. Finding out who did what won't bring him back. Go home.”

“A person needs to know,” Lewis said, looking away. “It'll haunt you the rest of your life.”

“Lewis,” Maggie complained.

“I know,” Lewis said, “and I'm sorry. But I'm right.” He looked at Taylor. “We're talking about your history, man. If you can live with the questions, then fine. But maybe you owe yourself being able to say you at least tried to find out.”

“What difference will it make?” Maggie asked.

“What if it was me, Maggie?”

Maggie said nothing.

“I'd better get back to my motel,” Taylor said.

Lewis nodded.

Taylor went to the back door they had come in.

Lewis raised a hand to stop him. “Remember the burns I mentioned on the squirrel?”

Taylor looked at him.

“Do you wonder if there are similar burns on your grandfather? Damnit, maybe he was killed by something that could kill somebody else.”

“What are you saying?” asked Taylor.

“I'm asking you if you want to go look at your grandfather's body.”

“I told the sheriff to go ahead and have him cremated.”

“Then we can't really waste any time. We'll have to look tonight.”

“This is not a game,” Maggie said.

Lewis and Taylor just looked at each other.

Maggie sighed. “There is no morgue. They use Fonda's Funeral Home.”

Taylor nodded.

When Taylor was gone, Maggie said, “I guess you've decided to trust him.”

“I guess.”

“What's wrong?”

Lewis was up and to the calendar. “The full moon came in the second week of this month.”

“Okay. So?”

Lewis shook his head clear. “I told Cyril Peabody I'd give him a call.”

“Are you going to invite him along on the grave-digging expedition?”

Lewis thought. “No, no, I don't think so.”

Chapter Eight

Maggie wasn't so much angry as she was scared. Lewis could live with that. He didn't, however, want Laura worrying. He wanted to send her back to her parents, but that wouldn't stop her worrying, only add distance and include her mother. Perhaps there was nothing to fear anyway. Maybe he was suffering from an overactive imagination and too much time on the mountain alone. So, Laura would worry some and the degree to which she did depended on Maggie and himself.

At dinner, Laura wanted to know about Joe Taylor.

Lewis took a drink of water. “Joe never got to spend time with his grandfather the way you do. And when he came to see him, he wasn't here. It's really sad.”

Laura looked ready to cry.

“So, he wanted me to tell him stories about Martin, about what a good friend and fisherman he was. Things like that.”

Laura ate a few bites. She asked Maggie, “Are you Papa's girlfriend?”

“I'm his friend,” Maggie said.

“You're a girl,” Laura pointed out.

“Maggie is one of my best friends,” Lewis said. He smiled at the woman.

Lewis read to Laura and put her to bed. He left the door to her room ajar as she liked, to allow light from the hall inside.

He grabbed a light jacket. Maggie followed him out into the yard. “Promise me you'll be careful,” she said.

“What do you think I'm—” He stopped. “I'll be careful, Maggie.” He turned and reached for the car door.

She touched his sleeve. “Lewis.”

He faced her. He kissed her. Her lips were soft and he felt light. He took a deep breath as he pulled away. “You sure know to get a fellow to come home.”

“Be careful and don't be a dumbshit.”

He got into the car. “Too late for the latter.”

Taylor had not mentioned his room number, so Lewis entered the office of the Best Western Motel. Ernesto Nunez was the evening clerk. The young man was sipping a beer and watching a baseball game on television.

“How's it going, Ernesto?” Lewis asked.

Ernesto didn't get up. He smiled and raised his beer can.
“Que pasa
, prof.” Ernesto's brother Ignacio had put a roof on Lewis' cabin and Ernesto always asked about it. “Staying dry?”

“Yep.”

“What brings you out?”

“Do you have a Joseph Taylor registered?”

“Room eight. Friend of yours?”

“Martin Aguilera's grandson.”

Ernesto reached forward and turned down the volume on the television. “Shame about old Martin. The river can be dangerous.” He looked at nothing in particular.

“Eight?”

“Yeah,” Ernesto said absently.

Lewis stopped at the door. “You know if he's had any other visitors?”

Ernesto focused on Lewis. “Not that I've seen and I can see his room from here.”

“Thanks.”

Lewis looked up at the sky as he walked across the parking lot toward room 8. He paused at the door and heard the canned laughter of a television sitcom. He looked at the blue Camaro. The only other car in the lot was a low-rider, an old Mercury parked at the end of the same row of units. He knocked. It opened almost instantly.

“Come in,” Taylor said. He was nervous. He went to the television and switched it off.

“You okay?”

“I've never done anything like this before.”

Lewis rubbed the back of his neck. “Neither have I. What do you do in Seattle?”

“I drive a UPS truck. I'm scared to death.” He held a shaking hand out. “Look at that.”

“Mine shake normally,” Lewis said.

Taylor chuckled. “I'm ready when you are.”

“Fonda's is two blocks away, so let's walk.”

The men left the room and walked close to the building, under the overhang, in the shadows. Lewis wondered if anyone would be at the funeral home at night. Luis Fonda was getting old and he did everything by himself, except for driving the hearse. His son-in-law Edgar did that. Lewis' breathing became more relaxed, more measured as he considered the situation. Fonda was certainly at home by now. If Edgar was there he would be drunk out of his mind.

“What happens if we get caught?” Taylor asked.

They were a block away, passing the liquor store. “I don't know. What's the crime? You want to see your grandfather's body. Who wouldn't understand that?”

Taylor nodded as if that made sense.

Lewis thought of kissing Maggie and the light feeling returned. He also considered what he had just told Taylor. What was the big deal about them looking at Martin's body? Then it struck him that they might have to look at a couple of bodies before finding the right one. He wasn't sure if Martin was in the funeral home. He hoped he wasn't getting the young man into trouble. He looked at Taylor. The thin man had a long, slow stride.

“If you want to go back, I don't mind going alone, “Lewis said.

“I'm with you. I really appreciate your concern. I understand why my grandfather liked you.”

Lewis said nothing. They were in front of Fonda's Funeral Home, a wide, long, single story adobe with a parking lot on one side and an empty lot on the other. The tacky neon sign that Fonda had erected years ago shone with the “a” dark. A breeze came down off the hills. There were no lights on in the building. The street was quiet, no cars, no pedestrians. The parking lot was unlighted. Lewis started toward the back.

“Let's see if we can get in this way,” he said.

Taylor followed, turned around and took a few steps backwards to watch the street. “I hope we find him quick.”

The back entrance sat under the dim glow of a single twenty-five watt bulb. The light was so weak, it was sick, eerie. Lewis pulled open the outer screen door. He looked at Taylor, then tried the knob. It turned and he pushed inside. He brought a pen-light from his jacket pocket. Taylor was close behind, the fingers of a hand against Lewis' back.

“Man, this is creepy,” Taylor said.

Lewis swept the floor in front of him with the light. He panned the whole room. It was a large room, full of tables and stacked chairs, with a clear, wide path through to an open doorway. They moved slowly, together. A noise came from the next room.

“What was that?” Taylor asked.

Lewis looked back at him. He could scarcely see his face. “How would I know?” He led on.

Pausing at the doorway, Lewis shined the light ahead. The next room was smaller; three gurneys stood end-to-end, the center one occupied, a sheet covering the body. Embalming equipment was beyond the tables.

“You think that's him?” Taylor asked.

“There's one way to find out.” He stepped to the middle table, bumped it and it rolled a bit, startling both of them. Lewis grabbed the covering. Ready?”