Hold of the Bone (9 page)

She stops at a gate and Frank hops out. But for the rumble of the V-8 engine, the landscape is quiet. An open lock hangs through a hole in the latch. Frank removes it and slides the bolt back. The gate swings without a sound. Gomez drives through and Frank closes it. Getting back in she remarks, “It's spooky out here.”

“How do you figure?”

“It's so quiet. Even the gate didn't make noise.”

Rounding a bend with a huge oak on the shoulder, Frank is certain she's been here before, which is impossible, but the feeling persists. They pass the oak and Frank searches the mountain behind it. About a third of the way up a sheer granite cliff, she sees the oval shadow she expected. She sits back abruptly. “Are there a lot of caves around here?”

Gomez shrugs. “You'd have to ask Sal that.”

“Does she live by a creek?”

“I don't know. I've only been to the main house. Why?”

Frank shakes her head. She would bet even money that Sal lives near a creek, a shaded creek where fish wait out the heat of the day in cool pools under gnarled tree roots. She shivers and rubs her arms. The visions seem more frequent here, but at least they're not as intimidating as the ones she had with Mother Love. If anything, they are almost peaceful.

Frank wants to ask how much longer, but as they top a hill Gomez says, “That's the main house.”

Frank doesn't know much about architecture but the dormered house looks old—Victorian, she thinks. Orchards range to one side, on the other sprawl weathered outbuildings and a corral. The faded pickup is parked at the barn.

“We have to get out here and go the rest of the way on quad.”

“Seriously?”

Gomez parks near the truck and points toward a far line of trees. “Yeah, I think she lives back there somewhere.”

“And you're okay with that? Leaving your car?”

“Why not? I want to see where she lives.”

Frank gets out. She searches warily for snakes as Sal drives up in a four-seater ATV. “Get in,” she tells the cops.

Gomez takes the back while Frank lifts a brow at the ripped front bench and rusted metal frame. The women stare at her. Against her better judgment, Frank gingerly climbs on.

Nodding at the plastic bags beside Gomez, Sal asks, “Could you hold onto those?”

“Sure thing,” Gomez answers, laying a plump arm over them.

Frank gropes for a seatbelt as the machine bucks and lurches. She gives up looking and holds tight to the frame. The quad crunches over late summer grass and Frank worries it will catch fire, then decides if Sal isn't concerned, she shouldn't be either.

They drive across a yellow valley guarded west and north by the broody Santa Lucias. Ahead of them a line of trees emerges from the toe of the mountains and meanders east. That will be the creek, Frank thinks, and the cabin is on the other side.

The quad hits a bump and they all lift from their seats. Frank clings to the frame, glancing at Sal driving like grim death. She thinks it was a bad decision to come out here, though she doubts Sal will try anything funny with two cops in tow. Besides, Gomez seems unconcerned. Plus she has to admit the whole place has her intrigued.

Yet as they approach the crooked line of trees, she feels the uneasiness she felt before entering the store. The quad grinds closer, and Frank is sure that the trees and the certain creek flowing beneath them delineate another point of no return. For a panicky second she thinks to tell Sal to turn around, to take her back to the main house and the comfort of the waiting squad car.

But the trees are upon them. The wide sunny fields bow to the sudden shade of conjoined oak and sycamore. The quad jerks to a stop. It wobbles as Sal and Gomez step from it. Frank is dimly aware of them gathering
the plastic bags. Gomez says something, but Frank stares straight ahead, at a bridge over a creek.

She watches Sal walk onto it, boots knocking the wood. The bridge is wide enough for the quad, maybe even a truck, and Frank wonders why Sal hasn't driven over. Dogs howl from behind the curtain of trees. A bird cries above Frank's head, a shivery call, like a loon's.

Gomez stops just before stepping onto the bridge. She looks back at Frank. “I'm about to put you on a leash and drag you after me. You coming or you gonna sit there all day?”

Frank is happy with the idea of spending the rest of the afternoon on the quad. Like the patrol car, its rubber and metal are all that stand between her and whatever lies on the other side of the bridge. She wants to go but doesn't. She tries to remember if Marguerite or the tarot lady had said anything about a ranch, but what she remembers most clearly is that logic and reason wouldn't help her where she was going.

“City! What the hell?”

Frank loosens her grip and steps off carefully, like the ground might open and suck her down. She starts toward the bridge. A carpet of leaves muffle her tread. All she hears is her heart pounding. And the gurgle of the creek. She shoves the glasses up and walks onto the bridge. Halfway across, she stops to look over the side.

The water flows clear and bubbly over mossy cobbles. The creek is not deep, only a foot or so, but sunless pools swirl along the bank under arched tree roots and she knows come evening that gold-flecked fish will rise from them to snatch at hatch flies too close to the water. Frank almost laughs. She was born and raised in New York, and her whole adult life has been spent in the tar and cinderblock heart of LA. What the hell can she possibly know about fish?

Gomez and Sal are across the bridge and out of sight. Frank is alone with the chortling water. Unable to tell if it laughs with her or at her, she hurries to catch up. Just as she is about to step off onto the other bank she stops, foot frozen in mid-stride. A dog blocks the path through the trees. It's not big as dogs go, but it's black and it's a dog. Frank instinctively covers the arm scarred by a pit bull during the Mother Love case. The beast lowers its head level with its shoulders. She remembers from somewhere that's what bulls do just before they charge.

Sal treads back down the path and stops. She takes in the standoff. “Bone,” she calls, but the dog doesn't move. “Bone, come!”

Reluctantly the dog gives way and trots to Sal, but keeps looking over its shoulder. Frank lets out the breath she's been holding and follows from a reasonable distance. The trees open onto a sun-filled clearing. The pressure in Frank's chest eases and she takes a deep breath of sky and sun. Gomez stands in a dirt yard next to a cabin and pets a leaping golden retriever. To Frank's surprise, Sal is offering coffee.

“I'd love some,” Gomez says. She looks from the retriever to Frank.

“Sure,” Frank adds, her voice swallowed by hill and tree and sky.

Gomez settles at a stone fire pit, humoring the yellow dog. The black one, Bone, sits next to Gomez but stares at Frank like she's dinner. Frank stays where she is, taking in her surroundings.

The cabin looks like something a child would draw—peaked roof meeting a stone chimney bracketed by symmetrical windows. West of the cabin, an old barn sags inside a corral and yellow hills roll away to the foot of the mountains. The top of the dirt yard is delineated by a ragtag assortment of coops and sheds, and a cliff behind them pocked with boulders and tough scrub. The creek and its marching green phalanx curve up from behind Frank to encircle the yard in a motherly arm.

Sal comes from the cabin, carrying two mugs. She hands one to Gomez, then turns to Frank. Frank points at the black dog.

“He won't bother you,” she says. Just the same, she calls him. Bone abandons his post to stand by her side. A little white mutt that has been sticking to Sal's heel like a piece of toilet paper jumps and licks at Bone's muzzle. “He's friendly,” Sal assures. “Just not effusive like Cicero—” she nods at the golden “—or Kook, here.”

The little dog wheels at his name, but Bone maintains his vigil. Frank approaches doubtfully, taking the mug Sal holds out.

“Sugar or cream?”

Both cops shake their heads.

There is only one chair, an old Adirondack worn smooth and gray. Frank perches on its edge. Sal returns to the cabin with the scrap of fur at her heels. Gomez stretches a hand to Bone. The dog licks her gently.

“You're good with them.”

Gomez laughs. “Most times I like animals better than people. I've got three of my own. Little ones, though. You?”

“Nope.”

“Old Sal, she's a regular Cesar Milan and horse-whisperer thrown into one. She does most of the vet work on the Mazetti stock.”

“She's a vet?”

Reappearing with her own mug, Sal settles on the wide lip of the fire ring. The dogs settle with her, though Bone still keeps an amber eye on Frank.

“I told her you take care of the Mazetti animals.”

Sal flips a hand. “Simple things that don't need a vet.”

Frank puts down her coffee and takes a small pad from her pocket. “Can you tell me about the days leading up to your father's disappearance?”

“I'm afraid there's not much to tell.”

Frank swallows a sigh, resigned now to teasing every little detail from Sal. “You said he did construction work in LA. What kind of work did he do here?”

“He was the ranch foreman.”

“Did he leave on good terms?”

Sal nods.

“I understand he drank a bit.”

“He did.”

“How was he then?”

Sal sucks at her cup. “He could be mean.”

“How so?” Frank coaxes.

“My father was sweet when he was sober. But when he drank, everything that bothered him came to the surface.”

“What bothered him?”

Sal shrugs. “His chronic complaint, and my mother's too, was that by all rights the ranch was his, that Ben Mazetti stole it from his grandfather. That the Mazettis were all thieves. His standard rants.”

“Is that it? Just the Mazettis that bothered him?”

“Mostly.”

“How did the Mazettis react to that?”

“Ben was great. He put up with a lot from my father. It was harder for John, his son. But they put up with him. I think they felt sorry for us.”

“Why?”

“I think they sympathized that we'd lost the ranch, especially Ben. He knew how much my father loved it here. And besides, he could practically run the ranch single-handed.”

“Your father had siblings?”

“Three. My aunt Ellie's the only one still alive.”

“Was your father the only one that stayed on?”

“Yes.”

“What about the other siblings?”

“Ellie married and stayed in town. My uncle Donald was never interested in the ranch. He moved to San Francisco when he was young. Uncle Carl stayed on until my father married.”

“Where'd he end up?'

“In town.”

“Was it his idea to leave or your father's?”

“My father's.”

“How'd Carl take that?”

Gazing toward the creek, Sal admits, “Not well. He got into insuring farm equipment and never came back. At least, not to the cabin.”

“How'd he and your father get along after that?”

“They were civil.”

“Did the Mazettis have any say in who lived here or who didn't?”

“Of course. It's their ranch.”

“Did they back either brother?”

“I'm sure Carl was only here by Ben's grace. He loved this place, too, but he wasn't half the hand my father was.”

“What about your grandfather, where was he during all this?”

“He'd bought a place in town after Ellie was born. It was too cramped here for everyone. So when the kids were younger, they all moved to town. He'd stay here during the week, but then later as he started turning more and more of the work over to my father, he stayed in town or down at the bunkhouse.”

Frank shifts in the slatted chair and Bone lifts his head to her.
Keeping an eye on him, she asks, “How'd your mom feel about living out here?”

“She loved it. She was raised on a ranch, too. Not as big as this one. Every morning she'd leave crumbs at the base of that oak.” She points to a sprawling tree behind Frank. “‘For our hosts,' she'd say.”

Gomez exclaims, “My grandmother does the same thing! She leaves little scraps of food out at night for the
duendes
, so they won't steal her children. When I asked her why she still does it even though her children are all grown, she said, ‘
Mijita
! Imagine what the
duendes
do after all these years if I
didn't
!'”

Sal smiles for the first time and Frank thinks that despite her mileage, Diana Saladino is still a good-looking gal. She looks down at her notes. “You said your mother died two days after your father left. What happened to her?”