“We’ll walk up the mountain a ways. How’s that sound?” Lewis asked.
“Good,” said Laura.
“Remember when we hiked over on Garapata Ridge?” he asked Maggie.
Maggie nodded.
“There’s a trail that leads down to Plata Creek, isn’t there?”
“I’m not sure. I think so. Why?”
“Nothing.” Lewis smiled at Laura. Plata Creek ran through Plata Canyon, Martin’s canyon. Lewis knew the canyon wasn’t boxed, so he could probably ride into it from the back side.
“Papa?” Laura said. “Are you all right?”
“Sure, honey.” He looked at his mug. “Is this herbal tea?”
Laura smiled. “Yes.”
“You guys are really funny.”
The late afternoon showed no promise of rain. Lewis looked at the sky. “Man, it’s dry.” He stopped as they stepped over a ditch of moving water. “Maggie, you think you and Laura could walk the ditch for me tomorrow? We ought to have better flow than this.”
Maggie said they would.
Lewis’ water came from a creek which fed a ditch which ran a mile around and down the mountain and filled a cistern and was processed. He’d yet to have a serious problem, but he could easily foresee being without water one of these dry summers.
They turned to look down. From up here they could see clear down to the town.
“You’ve got to get out of that place, Maggie,” Lewis said.
“It’s okay.”
Laura walked higher, looking for puff-ball mushrooms.
“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.