CHAPTER THREE

World War II was three months into its fourth year. Back in the spring the Battle of Midway had turned the tide in the Pacific, though few realized it at the time except the Japanese high command. According to the newspapers, the Germans and the Russians were locked in a titanic struggle around a city called Stalingrad in southwestern Russia that commentators were saying would determine the outcome of the war in Europe. Men in uniform were everywhere on the streets, and it seemed like half the homes you passed had service stars in their windows. Gasoline rationing was in effect, but as a detective for a powerful organization, I had an unlimited ration card. We stopped and I filled the tank before we left San Gabriel a little after eleven that evening. My car was a 1940 Ford convertible, dark blue with gray upholstery. It was a fast, agile machine, and I’m a fast driver by habit. Even so, the trip took six hours. The girl slept fitfully most of the way to San Antonio. She finally awoke when I had to stop at a little all-night café for a coffee and doughnuts. I suffer from low blood sugar, and I’d skipped supper.

“Which way from here?” she asked as soon as we were back in the car.

“Straight southwest.”

“And that’s where your ranch is?”

I nodded in the darkness. “In Matador County, right down on the Rio Grande.”

“Is it a big place?”

I shook my head. “Just medium-sized for this part of the country. Sixty-seven thousand acres. It’s been in my family for almost two hundred years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was originally a land grant from the king of Spain to the Veramendis. My great-grandfather Isaiah Tucker got it as his wife’s dowry. Her name was Rosa, and he named the ranch after her. She was tall and slim and gorgeous, but she was facing spinsterhood because she’d scared off all her suitors.”

“How?”

I looked at her and grinned. “Her father was a man of the world, and he’d educated her and encouraged her to read widely. As a consequence, she was very opinionated and outspoken, which was considered unbecoming in a young Mexican girl of that era. My grandfather was their only son. Their only surviving child, actually. Their other two kids were both girls, and they died of typhoid when they were little.”

“Aww … that’s terrible,” she said.

I shrugged. “The Texas frontier was a rough place.”

“What happened to Rosa?”

“Isaiah died in 1905, but she lived until 1925. She was past ninety when she passed away.”

“That long?” she asked with surprise. “Why, you must have known her.”

“Sure I knew her.”

“What was she like?”

“Still as outspoken as she was when she was a girl. Loved fun, loved family gatherings, loved to read. Kept up with world affairs. She was a grand old lady.”

“That’s a wonderful story,” she said. “Who runs the place now?”

“My aunt Carmen. She’s my dad’s sister.”

“And your parents are dead?”

“Yeah, and Carmen’s husband died the same year as my dad. He owned almost twenty thousand acres adjoining La Rosa. When he and Carmen married, the families merged the operations.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

I shook my head. “Just one cousin. She’s Aunt Carmen’s daughter.”

“Where’s she?”

I sighed in resignation. “I may as well tell you the story because you don’t want to make the mistake of mentioning her to my aunt. She went off to the University of Texas and married a hotshot Dallas surgeon right after she graduated. The truth is that she’s ashamed of her Mexican blood and ashamed of her family. She only comes home when she has to. Aunt Carmen is thoroughly disgusted with her. She’s got two kids that we barely know.”

“But your ancestors were pioneers. She should be proud of them. And the Veramendis were aristocrats.”

“None of that makes any difference to her. She’s a blue-eyed blonde, and when she hears the word ‘Mexican’ she thinks greaser. She’s also a social-climbing half-wit.”

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Madeline said. “Maybe she’ll grow up some day and—”

“The hell with her,” I said firmly. “I don’t care if she does or not.”

We didn’t speak for several minutes. Finally she asked, “Does your aunt manage the ranch all alone?”

“At the present, yes.”

“But why don’t you move back home and help her?”

I gave her a rueful grin in the darkness of the car. “I get enough of that from her, so I don’t need to hear it from you too.”