“It’s okay to say things like that once in a while,” Laura said.
Lewis smiled and tossed the cake into the sink.
“This child is spending too much time with you, Lewis. You’re a bad influence.”
“Am I a bad influence, Laura?”
“Yep.”
Maggie made out a shopping list as they drove down the mountain. Laura studied the shadows of the hills on the plateau below, the way the sun caught the Rio Grande Gorge.
“It looks different than it does in the afternoon,” she said.
“Completely different,” Maggie said. “There are things you can’t even see in the morning that show up clearly later on. I guess that’s part of the reason so many artists come here.”
“Part of it,” Lewis said. “We still owe ourselves a fishing trip. Did I ever tell you two about the first time I drove up to Cambresto Lake?”
“No,” Laura said.
“It was the first summer I spent here. I was driving my old Jeep and so this fellow told me about a mountain lake. He said I had the right vehicle to get there.”
“Is this a long story?” Maggie asked.
Lewis gave her a side-long glance. “So, I followed his directions and drove over this incredible road. There were boulders I had to drive over. It took me twenty minutes to drive three miles.”
“It was bumpier than this?” Laura said, referring to the dirt road they were on.
“It was ten times worse. I didn’t see a single car all the way up and I was getting excited about fishing all alone and not seeing anybody.”
“And?” Maggie said.
“The place was teeming with people. It was like a parking lot up there. And not just Jeeps and trucks, but Pintos and Novas. To top it all off, there were no fish.”
Laura laughed.
Lewis fell silent. It had been Martin who sent him up there. He was amused by how much that excursion paralleled his trip to the funeral home and he thought about the limping man. It was a running joke in town that Salvador Alvarado’s limp was caused by too-tight boots.
“Did you call Joe this morning?” Maggie asked.
“No.”
“Do you want peaches or nectarines?”
Lewis looked at the road. He was thinking about Taylor. The man was no doubt very embarrassed about soiling his pants. Funny how stupid little things mean so much, thought Lewis.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Peaches or nectarines?”
“Peaches. It doesn’t matter. Anything is fine.”
Lewis parked illegally in front of Alvarado’s House of Boots. Maggie slid to the driver’s side and took Laura with her to her house to pick up clothes and other things. Lewis watched the car turn at the light and he felt good about Maggie, but a little silly, too, like he was too old for all this stuff. Not just the business with Martin, but to be dating. The word even sounded too young.
He entered the shop. Salvador was helping a tourist couple. There were several pair of snake-skin boots laying on the floor. Salvador greeted him with a warm hello, but gave a wary glance a few seconds later. Lewis walked around the store, examining the boots. The prices marked on the tags made Lewis want to laugh. Salvador marked everything really high because of the tourists, but cut the prices greatly for locals. Lewis was behind the man now, looking at his mop of gray hair. The way he was sitting made the collar of his shirt dip down his back. Lewis could see a red mark, a cut or something. The couple, a tall blonde woman and a stocky brown-headed man wanted matching pairs of boots, but couldn’t agree on a style. Salvador looked around at Lewis and offered a nervous smile.
“Be with you in a minute.”
Lewis nodded. That was another thing about the way Salvador did business. When tourists were present, he didn’t let on to knowing anyone who entered the shop. Lewis sat down near the counter and looked at a magazine. He read Boot News and was surprised to find it interesting.
The couple bought their boots and left bickering.
Salvador shook his head about the tourists. “How are you, Lewis?”
“Fine, Salvador. What about you?”
The man nodded.
“En que puedo servirle?”
“Yeah, I need a black dress boot. A Wellington. You know what I like.” Lewis looked him in the eye.
Salvador limped over to the far wall and came back with a boot. “Something like this?”
“Not so much heel.”
“I have what you want. Wait.” Salvador went through the curtain into the back of the shop.
Lewis saw a Bible on the counter.
The man came back with a lower-heeled black boot. “Just got these in. Haven’t put them out yet.”
“That’s what I’ve been looking for. Do you have size eleven?”
“Si,” he said and limped into the back again. It was the same limp.
Lewis was beginning to put something together. He suspected that Salvador Alvarado was a Penitente, a member of a Catholic sect that practiced self-punishment. That would explain the mark on his back. That would also explain the theft of the body. The Penitentes buried their dead in secret graves. It all seemed far-fetched, but Lewis had nothing else to go on.
Salvador came back with the boots.
Lewis removed his shoes. As he stepped into the first boot, he said, “Shame about Martin Aguilera.”
“Si.”
“He was a good friend,” Lewis said.
“I grew up with him,” Salvador said. “How does that one feel?”
Lewis was standing with the one boot on. “This one is good. The other foot’s the problem.”
Salvador pulled wadded paper from the second boot and handed it to Lewis.
“There’s something I never knew,” Lewis said. “If Martin was a religious man. We never talked about that. Guess you don’t think of that stuff until too late sometimes.”
“Martin was religious.”
“Are you?”
“Si.”
“I heard that somebody stole Martin’s body from Fonda’s. You hear about that?”
The man nodded. “How’s that boot feel?”
“Now, see, this one is a little snug.” Lewis limped around the row of chairs. “Somebody might think I was you.”
Salvador laughed.
“The police are looking to get Martin’s body back.”
Salvador pulled the loose paper together from the floor.
Lewis felt badly for scaring the man. “I respect people’s religious beliefs. You know what I mean.”
“We should all do that,” Salvador said.
Lewis sat down and pulled off the boots. “The law can’t always stay out of people’s business. The law doesn’t understand.”
“Do you want the boots?”
“No.” Lewis put on his old shoes. He paused at the door. “I’ll see you later, Salvador.”
Chapter Eleven
Lewis walked out of the House of Boots and entered the tobacco store next door. He bought a few cigars. He didn’t smoke as much as he once did, but he still enjoyed them. They calmed him, made him slow down. He unwrapped a Partagas as he passed back out to the street. He bumped into Manny Mondragon.
“Hey there, prof,” Mondragon said.
“Manny.” Lewis bit the end off of his cigar and spat it out. He looked at the sheriff’s eyes behind dark glasses. “How’s tricks?”
“I don’t want you to be upset with me.”
“Why would I be upset?”
Mondragon removed his sunglasses. “I’m sorry.”
“Did you mention me in your report on Martin?”
The sheriff looked down the street at a traffic tie-up caused by a crippled low-rider. Two men were trying to push it into a gas station. “No, Lewis, I didn’t.”
Lewis was angry. “Why not?”