“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?”
“She had a stroke. An embolism.”
“Pretty young, wasn’t she?”
Checking the dregs of her cup, Sal agrees.
“And your father didn’t come home for the funeral?”
“No. We couldn’t find him. My sister and I drove down to LA to look for him. We went to his uncle’s shop, and he said as far as he knew, my father was probably still at the job site. He gave us the address and we went there, but it was dark. Everybody had gone home.”
“Where was the job site?”
“I don’t remember. My sister was driving. We weren’t familiar with the city.”
“Was it north LA? South?”
“Honestly, I don’t remember much, other than it was cloudy. I was afraid it was going to rain and our tires were bald. I remember fretting about that the whole trip.”
“How long did you stay there?”
“We came home the next day. We didn’t know where else to look.”
“You didn’t wait for him to come to work next morning?”
“We were exhausted and our mother still had to be buried. Uncle Lou knew what was going on. He’d tell him what had happened.”
“Did the uncle ever see him again?”
“Not that I know of.”
Gomez taps her watch. “I need to get going.”
Sal stands and the dogs jump up. Cicero runs ahead to the bridge, but Bone and the little white thing follow Sal as if velcroed to her. Frank trails behind. Before going into the trees, she stops to look back.
The cabin’s shadow lies long across the yard. Soon it will reach all the way across to the trees. Frank imagines the night, can see Sal in the lone chair, by an orange fire, the sky pierced with stars. There’s the snap of burning wood, the canticle of stream and bough, and from a ridge high in the watchful mountains a coyote howls to an impassive moon, the night’s prey cooling between its paws.
“Dammit, City.”
Frank flinches. Gomez and the black dog wait, staring. The quad is idling. She steals a last glance at the cabin and jogs to the bridge.
Chapter 12
Frank pays for another night at the hotel in Soledad. In her room she calls a number Gomez has given her. Larry Siler, the Chief of Police, reluctantly agrees to meet her on Sunday. She is at his front door first thing in the morning. It isn’t as pleasant as lunch with Gomez, but Siler at least offers coffee.
“If it’s no trouble,” she answers, taking a seat on his patio.
Siler clumps off, cowboy boots loud on the tile. Admiring the early sun on the Santa Lucias, she imagines Sal in her yard and how the morning light might look coming in behind the trees, dappling the yard.
“Here you go.” Siler hands her a mug.
“Thanks for seeing me on your Sunday. I appreciate it.”
Siler grunts. “So you found Old Man Saladino.”
“Looks that way. We’ll know more when we get the dental records. Did you know him?”
Appearing to relax into his chair, he explains, “Everyone knew Old Man Saladino. ’Course he wasn’t that old. Younger than I am now,” he says reflectively. “He was the town drunk. Nicest guy you’d ever hope to meet when he was sober, but drunk, he was a regular pain in the ass. Always running his mouth, bragging, picking fights. About once a month the cops would lock him up.”
“You went to school with his girls?”
“Uh-huh.” He picks his cup off the table and sips. “Cass and I were in the same grade. She was a wild one. Took after her old man. Always up for a party, ditching class, skinny-dipping if the river was high, hopping the train.” He smiles as if watching a faraway pleasure.
“You go out with her?�
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Siler wags his head. “Just once. Cass had her pick of us. I couldn’t get near her.”
“But you wanted to.”
“Hell, yeah,” he booms. “She was a looker. Smart. Funny. But just like her old man—a sweetheart when she wasn’t drinking, but trouble when she was.” He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “She was always just a gnat’s breath shy of getting into serious trouble. It wasn’t any surprise when she ran off the road.”
“Gomez showed me where it happened. Was she drunk?”
“Drunk, stoned, higher than a kite.”
“That was how long after the dad disappeared?”
“I don’t know. Couldn’t have been too long. Maybe a year or so. She was just a kid. Not even twenty yet.”
“Must’ve been tough on Sal. Losing her whole family like that in such a short time.”
“You’d think so. You’d never know, though. She was always a strange one. Sober as a judge and as quiet as Cass was loud. She’s got some steel, though, staying up there all these years.”
“Wasn’t she married?”
He flicks a hand. “That didn’t last. She and Mike Thompson got hitched a little after Cass died. More a reaction to that, I suspect, than anything she felt for him. Poor bastard.”
“Why?”
“He was crazy about Sal. They’d dated since junior high. Mike thought she was always gonna be the one for him.”
“What do you know about her father disappearing?”
“Just that he took off and never came back.”
“I hear she and Cass drove down to LA looking for him.”
Siler agrees with a nod.
“What do you know about that?”
“Just that they didn’t find him. As I recall, they weren’t gone long.”
“Why do you say they didn’t find him?”
He frowns. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we don’t know what happened down there, what the girls found or didn’t.”
“You think they had something to do with him disappearing?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”
Siler snorts. “Anything’s possible. But likely? I doubt it.”
“It’s an open investigation. I have to look at everyone.”
“I understand, but I don’t think that dog hunts.”
“Maybe,” she placates. “Just dotting my i’s.”
Siler spreads a broad hand on the tabletop. “Who else do you plan on talking to?”
“Who else do you think I should talk to?”
“Tell me who’s on your list and we’ll see who’s missing.”
Frank smiles, curious why the Chief is holding his cards so close. “Besides his daughter, what relatives does Saladino have left?”
Siler tugs on his multiple chins. “You’d have to check with Sal about that, but I know for sure his sister Ellen is still alive. He’s got one brother long dead and another that left town when I was just a kid. That’s about it as far as I know.” The Chief chuckles. “You’ve sure got a cold one.”
“Tell me about it. Did he have any buddies, any friends he was close to?”
“Let’s see.” His fingers return to the folds under his jaw. “George Perales used to bail him out most weekends. Sometimes John’d come into town if they needed him back at the ranch.” Siler chuckles, “That is, if he wasn’t in jail right next to him. He could cut it up just as good as Saladino. Many’s the night they wound up in a cell together.”
“What for?”
“Drunk in public, fighting. They loved a good brawl, those two.”
“About what?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Whatever it is drunks fight about.”
Frank is busy writing. “And who’s Perales?
“He was one of the Mazettis’ hands. Good one, too, from what I heard. Used to fill in when Saladino wasn’t there.”
“Still alive?”
Siler rearranges his bulk to the other side of the chair. “I think so. Down in Greenfield. Living with one of his kids, I want to say.”
“Anyone else?”
“I can’t say as he had too many friends. Acquaintances, sure, probably knew everyone in town. But a man that drinks like he did doesn’t keep friends.”
“Did Cass ever get into any trouble? Anything more serious than hijinks?
“Nah. They were good girls. Cass was just a little wild, is all.”
“I understand they were pretty gifted.”
“You mean that woo-woo stuff?”
Frank nods. “What do you know about that?”
Siler laughs and his faraway look returns. “They had it alright. Cass could tell you things to make you blush. You didn’t want to get on her bad side, that was for sure.”
“Why not?”
“She could see things, hold your hand and tell you things you knew but sure didn’t want anybody else to know.”
“She do that to you?”
“No, but I saw her do it to plenty other kids.”
“Was she mean about it?”
“What are you driving at? I already told you, you’re barking up the wrong tree with those girls.”
“You seem pretty sure about that.”
Siler glares at her.
“Do you see Sal often?”
“Rarely.”
“What do you know about the work Saladino did down in LA?”
“Nothing.”
She’s lost him, but his defense of the sisters is intriguing. Frank folds her notepad, makes a show of putting it in her pocket. She rises and reaches for Siler’s hand. “I appreciate your time. You’re right that I’ve got a cold one. Just beating the bushes as best I can.”
He nods and gives her a shake, sees her to the door. Frank starts her car and gets the air conditioning going. She could track down Sal’s ex, but the morning has faded and she still faces a long drive home. She starts to put the old Honda in drive, but the mountains grab her attention. Hot air from the valley shimmies before them, but the mountains remain cool and aloof, untouched by the concerns of men on the valley floor. The more Frank watches them, the more she feels they watch back. She hears clacking and reaches to turn her radio down. But the noise gets louder. Sweat stings her eyes and she is dancing with a crowd of women and girls, barefoot in a tamped dirt circle. They step and clap sticks together in perfect unison, moving and sounding as one great being.
She jumps when her cell phone rings. “Caroline,” she breathes.
“Hi. How’s it going?”
The spell broken, Frank starts the car and steers toward the highway, unsure if she’s relieved or disappointed. “It’s going. I’m heading home.”
“Where are you?”
“Just leaving Soledad.”
“Was it productive?”
Frank glances at the mountains. “It was interesting. But I’m not finished here.” She cruises Main Street to the on-ramp, explaining, “I’ll probably have to come back up next weekend.” She feels curiously guilty telling Caroline this, like she’s cheating on her.
“I thought this was Lewis’ case?”
“It is, but turns out my Number One Lady Detective is pregnant.”
“Hm. Does she need an obstetrician?”
Frank smiles. “I’ll ask, tell her I know the best.”
“Speaking of Number One Lady Detectives, when do I get to see you again? I miss you.”
“How ’bout tomorrow? Dinner and a date?”
“Sounds like a deal. My place?”
“Yep. I missed you, too.”
Frank knows her lover will like hearing that, and though it’s not exactly true she finds herself looking forward to their date. But tonight she just wants to hit the six o’clock meeting in Pasadena and get a good night’s sleep in her own bed.
It’s a fine plan, and though Frank gets home in time for the meeting, she doesn’t get the good sleep. Instead she tosses and turns, waking fitfully from dreams that hover at the edge of memory’s reach. T
he alarm rings before dawn and she lies a moment grasping at dream threads, but all she can recall is a vague feeling of flying in darkness. By the time she rolls into the station, she has forgotten even that.
Chapter 13
“Whatcha got?” Lewis asks, rubbing her hands together.
“Interesting stuff.”
Frank drags a chair over to her desk and straddles it. “Saladino’s daughter was pretty cool when I told her. Didn’t seem upset or surprised. Didn’t ask much other than where we’d found him. Tried to brush me off. Had to follow her back to her place. Cabin in B. F. Egypt. Fortunately the cop with me, Gomez, was nice enough to take me. Probably never would have made it in my old chitty.”
She flips open her notes.
“Evidently Saladino wasn’t the most popular guy. Sounds like he was nice enough sober but a prick when he drank. Lot of people didn’t like him. Lot of ’em with a fair reason to hurt him.”
“To kill him?”
“Maybe. Who knows? We’ve seen people kill for less.” She scrolls through her notes, filling Lewis in on Saladino’s temper, his fists, Cass’ wild side. “Back story’s kinda interesting, too. Great-grandparents used to own the ranch. Saladino’s grandfather lost it in a poker game and it became the Mazetti Ranch. Saladino’s old man stayed on as a hand, became a foreman. Lived in the cabin. As he got older, Domenic and a brother took his place and the old man moved into town.”
She deciphers her handwriting. “When Domenic got married, the brother that had been living with him at the cabin moved into town, got into insurance, and never went back to the ranch.” Frank looks up. “Found out from Gomez that the brothers didn’t speak unless Saladino was drunk, then he’d pound on his brother’s door at two a.m. and stand there calling him names until the cops came. Seems he spent a lot of weekends in the local pokey. Which brings us back to the Mazettis. They’d bail him out because they needed him back at the ranch, but it seems like there’s been bad blood between the two families going way back.”
“Then why’d they let the grandfather stay on?”
“I don’t know. Gotta get to the bottom of that.” She is already eager to go back, and the mountains rear tall and green-black in her mind. She thinks of the dusty valley towns and sees the Salinas River flowing brown and muddy past banks hand-plowed with sweet peas and celery. Boots echo on wood and a porch swing creaks. A hummingbird beats the air, holding its beak steady inside a trumpet flower. Cows graze belly deep in new grass and across the river the Gabilan Mountains shine greenly.
Hold of the Bone Page 7
