“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.”
Cyril scratched his chin. “So, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“It stays here,” Lewis said.
Cyril nodded.
“Someone murdered a friend of mine. Martin Aguilera.”
“An old man?”
“You know him?”
The vet looked at the squirrel. “That’s it,” he muttered. “He brought his dog in three, maybe four weeks ago, with burns. The dog wasn’t dead yet, but he was on his way.”
“He took the dog with him?”
“He wouldn’t let me keep him.” He sat on a stool. “Somebody killed him?”
Lewis blew out a breath. “I think so. I found him dead, but when I went back with the sheriff, the body was gone.”
Lewis imagined that Cyril was now skeptical. “My granddaughter was with me. She saw him, too.”
“What did the sheriff say?”
“What could he say?” Lewis wrapped the squirrel up again. “Thanks for looking at Mortimer.”
“Wait. Where you going?”
“Home.”
Cyril scratched his belly through his denim shirt. “Want me to ride out to the old man’s place with you?”
Lewis studied the man. “Okay.”
“I’ve got to look at that dog out there. You mind waiting?”
Lewis shook his head. “Can you get rid of the squirrel?”
“No problem.”
Lewis went back to the lobby and waited. He smiled at the assistant, but she ignored him. “Mortimer died,” he said.
She looked up.
“Mortimer is dead.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “What was Mortimer?”
“Alive.”
She went back to the papers on her desk.
Chapter Five
While Lewis drove he told Cyril about everything, but he did not repeat his observation that there were no animals in the canyon. That sounded too strange and it scared him too much. Lewis wondered why the man was taking such an interest and coming with him, but he was glad to have the company. He felt a little less scared. Strength in numbers and all that, he thought.
“How long have you lived around here?” Cyril asked.
“Going on three years.”
“Retired?”
“Yep.” Lewis didn’t like the word.
“From?”
“I was a university professor?”
“Where?”
“Bennington College.”
“No,” said Cyril. “My daughter just started there.”
“How about that.” Lewis looked at the road. “When did you open your office here and where were you?” Lewis didn’t like the way he’d asked the questions.
But Cyril seemed unbothered. “Used to practice down in Albuquerque. Got tired of city people and little dogs.”
“Martin was my friend,” Lewis said.
“I’m sorry.”
They crossed the river, passed the cafe and followed the trail to Martin’s house. Lewis stopped fifty yards away and looked at a blue Camaro parked in front of the cabin.
“What is it?” Cyril asked.
“That car.”
“Well, let’s go see who it is.”
“Right.” This made perfect sense. Lewis felt like a coward. He came to a stop directly behind the strange car.
“It’s a rental,” Cyril said.
“How do you know that?” Lewis asked.
“Says so on the license plate bracket. See, Budget.”
“Oh.”
The men got out of the car and walked toward the cabin. Lewis glanced into the Camaro on the way by and saw nothing. A man stepped out of the cabin.
Lewis stopped.
Cyril waved. “Hey there, how you doin’?”
The young man smiled, waved, and came toward them.
“What’re you doing out here?” Lewis asked.
The man was taken aback by Lewis’ tone. “Looking for my grandfather. What are you doing here?”
“Your grandfather?” Lewis asked.
“Martin Aguilera.”
Cyril reached his hand out. “I’m Cyril Peabody and this is Lewis Mason.”
“Joseph Taylor.”
“Martin never mentioned a grandson,” Lewis said.
Taylor looked at Lewis for a long second. “What’s going on here? Where is my grandfather?”
Cyril lookd at Lewis.
Lewis didn’t know if the young man was on the level or not. But if this Taylor was who he said, then he didn’t want to hurt him.
“I’m not sure,” Lewis said. “I’ve been looking for him ever since yesterday.”
The young man looked back at the house and seemed to be lost. He didn’t seem to know what to do.
“You want to ride to the sheriff’s station with me?” Lewis asked.
“What’s happened?” Taylor asked.
Lewis felt suddenly sad for the man. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll have to follow you.”