A Cinnabar Sky - Page 8

“I’m ready.”

They stopped to tell Carlo what they were doing, and he examined the small bone. “You want, I’ll take it to our office and get the crime lab people still there from Midland to see what they can do. What are you thinking on checking?”

Raymond said, “The usual, sex, nationality, any relatives, and age, plus whatever you can use, since all this is still your case.”

“You keep reminding me.”

Raymond grinned and said, “I’m putting you in for Terlingua’s Deputy of the Year.”

“I’m the only deputy in Terlingua, smart guy.”

Hunter chuckled, “But you’re the best, too.”

“Y’all get out of here, go home, have some good food, drink some cold beer and pet the dog.” He gave a large feigned sigh, “I’ll stay here and carry on, by myself.”

Raymond and Hunter left Terlingua, going to Lajitas and the River Road, on to Presidio and north to Marfa. It made for a long day, but when they finished their paper work, they each went home.

Hunter showered, made a ham sandwich and poured a glass of fat free milk. She carried the food and drink to the couch and turned on the television. As The Weather Channel meteorologists showed the map and talked about what was coming next, she ate listlessly, almost too tired to feed herself. Taking the now empty glass to the kitchen, she rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher, then went up the stairs to her bedroom. Her dreams began within minutes of a faceless child caught in a flood of brown water.

Chapter 2

The healed stub of what was left of Adan Villa’s left pinky finger still felt tender when he bumped it, but at least the shiny skin had finally grown intact over the bone where the last knuckle ended. He loitered by the lush green putting practice area of the Lajitas golf course, drinking an orange soda as the golfers walked by to try and stroke a few into the various holes cut into the practice green. His smile caught one of the older men’s attention and the man said, “You want to make a little money?”

Adan nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”

The man gave him a friendly come on gesture and said, “You can be in charge of these for me,” indicating the bag of golf clubs on the two-wheeled pull cart. Adan nodded, grasped the handle on the cart and followed the man and his golfing friend onto the first tee. The man showed Adan which club to hand him, and as they went around the course, he told Adan why to use one club over the others for different distances and different situations.

“Lots of golfers I play think the driver is the most important one in the bag, but it’s not. The putter is where you make or break it.”

“Is that because some people hit it three times on the green, and some only hit it once?”

“Yes, it’s called putting, when you’re on the green.” The man appraised the twelve-year-old. “You’re pretty smart, kid, you picked up on that fast.”

“I watch people play, but I don’t know what things are called.”

“Tell you what, you come back next week, same day and time and caddy for me. We’ll start a few lessons if you want. I need to walk the course because of my ticker.” He tapped the center of his chest. “Otherwise I’d let you drive my cart. But maybe, every once in a while, we can use it, what do you think?”

“I would like that, and thank you.”

It was a hot day, but they didn’t hurry their pace, and the man, who said his name was Benton Sellers, hit two pars, two bogies, and one birdie on five holes, and was happy about it.

They putted out on the 18th green for another bogie, then put their bags in their car. The man gave Adan forty dollars for a tip, which Adan didn’t expect.

“Thank you very much, Mister Sellers.” He held the two twenties like they were precious documents, and felt the stress of hunger ease, since his last meal had been two green peppers and a cold corn tortilla yesterday morning.

Benton looked at Adan a moment, “You from around here?”

Adan hesitated a micro-second before saying, “Yes, near here, from Terlingua.”

The man didn’t exactly believe him, but he let it slide. “Okay, so we’ll see you next week.”

Adan smiled and waved at them as they drove from the club house, passing a bronze colored Land Rover driving in to park. He watched the driver whip the wheel to throw a small rooster tail of dust into the air and then hit the brakes and slide the last dozen feet to the parking space. The driver and his passenger exited and A

dan felt uneasy when he saw the passenger. He instinctively crouched low and edged sideways behind a tall cluster of pampa grass. Glancing over the pampa grass again, he watched the man enter the club house. Something about him, his stance, maybe his movements, made Adan think of one of the men that night at the river, the one who tried to trap him in the car trunk. He watched through the windows as the two men entered the clubhouse. Adan walked away, keeping the building between him and the two men inside. He returned on foot to Terlingua and the short distance beyond it to the Cottonwood store for food, keeping an eye out for Border Patrol vehicles.

He used his newly acquired money to purchase canned sardines, crackers, an orange soda, a large bottle of water, called Dasani, and a bag of beef jerky. He took the items to an area off the road and deep in the brush that offered concealment, and he settled down on the dusty serape and pieces of cardboard he’d placed on the sand two months ago. This place was much better than scavenging in the desert eating lizards and bugs, or stealing handfuls of feed from the cattle troughs in the area pastures to mix with tank water and eat like a cold, scratchy gruel. Sleeping had amounted to sleeping on the plaster-like desert hardpan or in a sand and gravel wash without a blanket. Those were some hard nights, he thought. Now, with a big serape, some thick cardboard, and money to buy food, Adan felt content. He enjoyed the sardines, and ate half a sleeve of saltines while drinking the soda. As the sun sank behind the western hills and mountains, He arranged his serape like a sleeping bag on top of the cardboard and thought about what his mother told him before she died of cancer and he left home. She had been called a curandera, a healing woman capable of knowing things beyond her sight. A few people called her a bruja, a witch, but not a bad one, they always added. She taught him about desert herbs and things one could use to treat cuts or stomach problems, and always, every day, she taught him lessons in speaking English and in reading both Spanish and English books. “These things will give you advantages in everything you do.”

He said, “But I live in Mexico.“You won’t always.” He noticed something shadowed in her eyes when she said it, like she held a secret. He understood in hindsight that it was her illness, that she already knew she was dying. His mother once walked all day to reach a larger town, and found a small tienda, a store, where they carried used items for sale and where she heard there were many old books and magazines for mere centavos apiece. She counted out the change she carried in a small bandanna knotted at the top to hold the double handful of coins hidden inside. The store owner gave her two burlap sacks that had once held pinto beans but were now empty.

Tags: Billy Kring Mystery
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