I used the edge of the bookcase to increase my forward momentum so that when I lunged forward it came as quite a jolt to his system. He started coughing again, but I wouldn’t give him a chance to breathe. I was crouching over him with my face just a few inches above his.
Tell me, I said. Tell me how you could do it. What was it for?
Money, he said. I wanted money to start a new life. So I tracked him down and tried to squeeze some money out of him. But there was nothing there. He was broke except for the farms. So I killed him and went looking for what I was owed. That’s how I ended up here.
I felt my hands closing in around his hot damp face. He was either too weak to resist me or he thought he deserved this. Or he didn’t think he deserved it and he liked feeling unjustly persecuted. Whatever the case, I gripped his skull like I was preparing to crush it.
That was it? Money was the only reason?
He laughed. No, not really, he said. I’m smart and determined. If money was all I wanted, I could have gotten it some other way, and more easily too.
Then why? Why did you do it?
What’s the use in talking to you? I couldn’t make you understand why I stopped believing in God. How am I supposed to make you understand why I killed our father?
You’re saying there’s a connection between the two?
I guess. Although I never hated God as much as that.
You said you didn’t believe in God.
I know. That’s the trap I’m in. If you want to stop believing in God, then you really have to stop believing. You can’t kill God, because once you kill something, you believe in it forever.
I don’t understand.
That’s all right. I never expected you to.
He turned his face away and closed his eyes. The shudder that ran through his neck and shoulders seemed to intensify the longer I stared at him. I would have done anything, he said. All my life I tried to get beyond you. I would have done anything just to be able to leave you behind.
Who are you talking to?
Don’t look at me. For Christ’s sake, just leave me in peace.
Who do you think I am?
Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me.
I could tell from the rising and falling of his chest that he was still with us. My rage seemed to rise and fall along with his breathing, replaced in the falling moments by a numbness that made the idea of what I had to do next seem a lot more bearable. He was the first confessed murderer I had ever met, and he said that belief and death went hand in hand. It would take me a long time to unravel what he meant, but for now there was nothing left for me to think about, except that I was finally ready to start believing in him.
Ellie was waiting in the hallway, just a few steps outside the door. I didn’t ask how long she’d been there or what she wanted. I let her speak first.
Listen, she said. We’ve got a problem.
Where’s the rifle?
In your room.
Bring it here. And make sure it’s loaded.
Seriously? Now you’re ready?
I don’t have the time or energy to explain just this moment. Go get the rifle and bring it here, along with all the sheets and linens we can spare. Then get the little brothers and sisters out of the house. Your mother and Dawn too. They don’t need to see it when we carry him out. We’ll need Will and Logan’s help for that now that I think of it.
That’d be a fine plan if you’d decided on it yesterday. But now we’ve got another situation to deal with.
Jesus. What now?
Come here.
She was practically on tiptoes leading me down the hallway. When we reached the end she poked her head around the wall and beckoned me to look as well. From the vantage point we were in I could just barely make out the form of someone, a man, sitting at the table with one leg crossed over the other. We stepped back from the wall and leaned in close enough to whisper.
He says he’s a private investigator from the coast, Ellie said. He wouldn’t say who sent him, but he says he’s looking for our brother Elliot.
So tell him we don’t know what he’s talking about.
I tried that. He won’t buy it. It’s like he already knows we have him.
How could he know?
Maybe one of the pickers said something in town.
Or maybe he’s trying to intimidate us cause we’re kids.
Either way, I want you to find out how much he really knows and what he wants from us. We’ll have a better idea what to do after we get a read on him.
What’re you going to do in the meantime?
I’m going to get the rifle. I’ll be right here, waiting and listening. You need backup, just give me a sign.
You like carrying that rifle around. I can tell.
Shut up and get in there.
I went into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. I was already sitting down before I got a clear look at the man who had surprised us with his unexpected appearance. Even more surprising, to me, was the fact that he was a Mexican, and a dark one at that. He was dressed like an old-fashioned vaquero, with his shirt collar done up in a bolo and detailed patterns pressed into the sides of his leather boots. He rested his hat on the table and brushed his fingers against the side of the band. His face wasn’t as sun-worn and cragged as the faces of the some of the old-timers I knew, though in truth he didn’t look quite as old as his clothes suggested. Somehow I never imagined a creature like him existing on the coast. In the back of my mind I must’ve known there were Mexicans in that part of the country, but I always pictured them as a pale and spiritless breed of charlatans, the kind of bit-part actors who could pass as white, Mexican, or Armenian whenever the situation suited them. This guy didn’t strike me as that sort of animal, though. He tapped a paper cup in his hand and raised it to his mouth and filled it with juice from his packed lip.
Hello, he said. My name’s Bob Ramirez. I’m a private investigator based out of Santa Cruz County. Although I do visit the valley on occasion when work requires it.
Is this one of those occasions?
Indeed it is. And your name is?
Anthony Temple.
Anthony Temple. All right, Anthony. Here’s the thing. Four days ago I was in Delano, where I had a long conversation with Jennifer Temple regarding the whereabouts of Elliot Temple Jr., who’s been missing for nearly a month now. She’s been having a rough go of it lately. You know life on the road isn’t easy for anyone, but especially for a single woman with two young children and her parents to look after.
What happened to Dale? Why isn’t he helping her out?
Let’s just say when the chips were down he proved to be less reliable than she thought.
Good. She can rot for all I care.
I thought you might say that, considering the circumstances by which you parted ways.
What did she tell you about that?
Everything. She told me everything, at least up to the point where she was expelled from the farm. She told me she and Elliot were conspiring to cheat you and yours out of a fair deal. She said Elliot was planning on coming back here the day he disappeared.
I don’t know anything about that.
Before you start denying anything, listen to what I have to say. This isn’t a shakedown. I’m not here as anything but a mediator. All I want is to see this situation resolved peaceably with each side getting what it’s owed.
I’m sorry, Mr. Ramirez, but I have a hard time believing that. And an even harder time believing a peaceful solution is possible at this point.
I can understand that. That’s why all I’m asking is for you to hear me out.
He reached into his jacket and produced a folded stack of papers and set it on the table beside his hat. The papers unfolded and lay still on the table. He looked at the papers and then at me and then he nodded unsmiling.
I’ve just come from the Russert Growers Company, he said. Mr. Russert’s reconsidered his position and is willing to offer you all a new deal separate from the one that was originally proposed. He’s upped his price and devised a contract that divides everything up equally between the five original Temple women. That includes Jennifer. But, of course, it leaves out Junior, and it leaves out me. No one gets anything from this deal except those that had a stake in it to begin with. All he ever wanted was the land, and he doesn’t much care who serves as intermediary. Take a look. It’s all official.