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TRISTAN SAT IN front with Officer Clarke. We traveled south on Interstate 10 hoping to get to the ranch before sundown. I mentally prayed Brenda had some food left because I was famished. I did my best to carry on the conversation without sounding like a total chatterbox. My goal? To keep Tristan from thinking about all the sad things that Silvia De Aguilar’s letter brought to light.
When we drove by the Wild Horse Pass Hotel and Casino, Bob reminisced about sighting a band of wild horses running at full speed to the west side of the highway a few years back.
“At first I thought they were filming a movie because those horses were magnificent with long flowing manes and different colors too. That was the most interesting part. I had always assumed that wild horses running around in a group were one big family and would all look alike. Wrong... anyway, that was before the smart phones with cameras and all that, so I couldn’t get a photo.”
“Talking of phones and families, do you know where the dead woman was staying?” I asked.
“No, I don’t know, but her medical appointments were at the Mayo Clinic in north Phoenix. I understand they provide you with room and board when you are part of experimental treatments. Why do you ask?” Bob said.
Tristan turned to look at me. “Yes, what are you thinking about, Fiat?”
I shrugged. “Oh, you know, curious. She showed up twice at your house; alone I guess. How did she get there? I don’t remember seeing a car, either time. First I thought she could have left her vehicle on the street outside the gate. If she had such a vehicle, of course. You know, that gate and steep driveway can be intimidating. Or maybe she used Uber.”
“I’m sure Detectives Ross and Reid have checked that out,” Bob said. “Monica, you should let them know you didn’t see a car, especially on that Wednesday when she died. It may help to determine when she arrived at the house.”
Well, so much for keeping Tristan from thinking about sad stuff. Good job, Monica.
It had been quite some time since I’d visited the ranch. The new addition, where the large, industrial-type kitchen was to be, seemed almost done. Even in the setting sun I could see new windows, stuccoed walls, and a flashy metal roof. The kind of roof I usually saw in photos of old barns from what Americans call back East. In my mind that could be anywhere east of Arizona and New Mexico, but I’m sure I was wrong. Someone with a funky sense of humor had sprayed Coming Soon in red paint over the old wooden sign that said No Name Ranch. And the caretakers’ house had a new porch, but the same old patio chairs. In a way, I liked that. It gave me a sense of continuity—something I had always craved, in spite of my so-called lifestyle.
As Bob slowly drove around looking for a parking spot, I rested my hands on Tristan’s shoulders and kneaded the soft center spot. He let his head fall back and seemed to really appreciate the gesture. Then Bob parked, and Brenda appeared out of nowhere.
“What a nice surprise. What’s up?” She wiped her hands on a big dishtowel. She had on her cooking apron, the one with extra-large pockets. I rushed to hug her as if I hadn’t seen her in like forever. “Well, looks like someone misses me.” She smelled of apples.
“Hi, Brenda.” Bob stretched his arms and looked around. “I’m here semi-officially. Tristan is taking his horse back up to Phoenix, and we want to make sure all goes smoothly. No surprises.”
“First I need to go talk to Ernie Lopez about the missing money.” Tristan seemed drained of all energy. I had the impression he was waiting for an answer, but all he got was a nod from Brenda. “Okay then, I’ll be brief. I’ll like to get back on the road as soon as possible.”
That was my cue to ask for food.
“I’ll make you something quick,” Brenda said. “I’m about all packed up, why don’t you run and get Dior? He’ll be happy to see you. He’s back by the horse stalls. No need to go look, he’ll see you first, I bet.”
I had hoped for something to eat now. Oh well.
She must have read my mind. “Monica, here.” She pulled a red apple from her pocket. I hesitated. “What? Are we playing Snow White and the Wicked Queen now?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m still whipping you up some food, but you can munch on that. Got a big basket of fresh apples, I have baked a few pies. They are still too warm to cut. Take it. Go.” She turned and walked away, chatting with Bob. “Bob, what’s this story about a dead body? I feel like I’ve been away from civilization...” Even while walking away I could hear the disappointment in her voice. Wait until Bob tells her about Angelique’s latest pile of lies.
The ranch exuded a sense of abandonment, maybe it was the time of the day. With the light fading and horses and workers nowhere in sight. Except, it was much more than that, and I couldn’t quite explain. But I did get why Brenda wanted to go home. This place felt lifeless, sad. Like an old, abandoned town where the buildings and the streets are still there, but the humans, the beating hearts, aren’t.
I quickened my pace and headed for the far side of the ranch where new stables and stalls had been built. I could see the horse trailer. It wasn’t hooked to anything, just sitting there close to the fence separating blacktop from grass. In the same parking area I noticed a few pickup trucks, dusty and very plain looking. Now I understood Tristan’s comment about the ride back in the truck not being very comfortable.
I took a bite of the apple. It tasted crispier and sweeter than any apple I ever bought at Fry’s.
Damn, not a soul around. Did all the workers go to town after work? Yet the pickups had windows rolled down, and one even had a few bales of hay in the bed. Weird. Then it hit me—it was Saturday night. I guess they had all earned the right to let their hair down. I loved that American expression, let your hair down. What about the bald-headed ones? I mean, this place was for retired folks, sort of.
I was still snickering to myself when I heard barking. Dior must have spotted me. He ran toward me, crossing the large expanse of grass that didn’t seem so green up close and personal. Lots of brown patches dotted the pasture, a sure sign of neglect.
From inside a few of the stalls there was movement, a horse head bobbing, checking out the action from the half-open Dutch barn door. The gate on the largest stall at the very end was wide open, and just as Dior got closer, I heard a nicker, and Tache, with her unmistakable spotted coat, appeared. Her head shot up. Her neck tensed as if listening for a voice, a call. Looking for Tristan maybe? Poor baby.
She pawed her front hooves, and then simply walked out of the stall and gingerly trotted over to where I stood fighting off Dior’s enthusiastic wet kisses.
“Stop it, Dior.” I giggled. “You’ll knock me down, you silly pooch.”
He stopped. Wow. That was a first. Maybe my voice got stronger? More decisive? Or maybe it wasn’t about my voice at all because Tache had also stopped in her tracks, and both Dior and the mare looked toward the stalls.
A man pushing a wheelbarrow emerged. Either the man was old and weak or the wheelbarrow carried a few tons of something. Because even as he pushed, the thing only moved by inches. Should I offer to help? Really, Monica? Help? You can’t even carry a twenty-five-pound sack of dog food from the car to the house. Regardless, it was the polite thing to do.
I headed his way, unsure the dude had noticed me, us. What a trio we made. Dior stayed close to me, but Tache wasn’t interested. She snorted and pawed again as she had earlier.
“Okay then, you stay put, girl. Your dad will be here to get you any minute now.”
I quickened my pace, and so did Dior. Suddenly the lights came on, startling me for a moment. I called out to the poor man. “Hello, hello there, can I help?”
He seemed to notice me for the first time but didn’t answer and increased his efforts. Now the wheelbarrow moved faster, but as he reached the end of the raised concrete path the wheel went over. He lost control and the thing slid sideways. Stuff fell out. Well I could sure help with that. Luckily it all happened right under a lamp. Dior had suddenly become sluggish, as if he decided he didn’t want any part of my mercy mission.
“Hi, I can give you a hand. Where do you need to take all this?” I glanced at the items scattered on the ground, two horse saddles and other equine-related items I had seen before but didn’t know what they were called. One of the saddles looked familiar and according to the book I’d read about saddles while researching a gift for Tristan, expensive. Familiar and expensive?
Suddenly I noticed something else standing next to the spilled goods, a pair of work boots, filled by the wheelbarrow pusher’s feet. I looked up with my friendliest smile and pointed to the horse stuff. “Are you taking these to the trailer for Tristan?”
The bright light cast strange shadows on the man’s face. His beard seemed as unkempt as the grass, and he wasn’t smiling. Our eyes met, and I froze. Those light eyes, pale blue, maybe gray? The same shiver I experienced at the police station found its way up my spine. Oh my God! That was him... the half-brother.
I’m sure he read the fear on my face because he straightened up, towering over me. I stepped back, nearly stomping on Dior. My lips opened and closed, but no sound came. He moved forward, oblivious of the goods on the ground.
Rogelio Avondo, Angelique’s lover, stared back at me. I heard a click and without looking I sensed he had a blade in his hand. “So, you’re the bimbo lover boy is balling. Let me rearrange your smile a little.” He sneered and took another step. Dior growled. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. He was only feet away and didn’t seem in any hurry. Tache let out a sound, more a squeal than any usual sound I’d ever heard a horse make. I turned and started running toward the parking lot.
He came stamping behind me, cursing and gaining ground, and then a miracle happened. Headlights appeared from the corner of the new building as a truck headed for the same parking area I was running toward. And as the vehicle advanced, security lights, high on eaves of the roof came on, and I screamed louder. “Help, help...”
The pickup came to a screeching stop, its headlights angled on me.
The driver’s door opened.
I kept running, Dior and Tache joined me, joyously prancing as if this was just a new game. The man from the truck caught up to us, and suddenly voices sounded, other people appeared. I stopped and turned around.
Rogelio Avondo had changed direction. Before I could catch my breath, he was getting into the truck the good Samaritan had left running, and to my dismay, he drove off. The driver of the truck went running after it, but to no avail. We watched the taillights of the truck head toward the road to Interstate 10.
My whole body shook. I couldn’t breathe.
The man who’d come to my rescue said, “Damn, it wasn’t even my truck.”
Brenda, and Bob, must have heard the commotion as they came rushing up. Bob had drawn his gun and pointed it in the direction the truck had gone. But both the truck and the thief driving it had disappeared in a cloud of Arizona dust.
