Ignacio’s Chevy Cruze wasn’t anywhere around the motel or Arlene’s Diner when we got there, so it looked as if we weren’t going to pick his brain anytime soon.
“Well, poop. Where’d that dodo-head go?” Lucy wondered.
“He’ll turn up when you least expect it. Or want it. Next time we see him we’ll tell him about that dodo-head thing.”
“Are we gonna stay here tonight?”
“Might’s well. Weird things happen around here. But I think we’ll keep our guns ready just in case.”
Arlene had the register’s cash drawer open when we went in. When she saw us, her fingers stopped in the midst of counting a thin wad of bills. Her eyes were bright on us, searching.
“How about a room?” I said.
She gave me an appraising look. “What’s the attraction here? You could be in Vegas in little over an hour.”
“That’s a pretty high-pressure sales pitch,” I said. “I’m not sure I can resist.”
“It can’t be the food.”
“It’s the unbeatable views and the curb appeal. You oughta be on a list of Best Western motels.”
If a virus could smile, that’s how it would look. Her eyes had all the warmth of an alligator’s. “I’ll put you in number four.”
“How about that first room? We’re used to it.”
“Shower head was leaking. I’ve got my kid working on it. He has to get a part at Lowe’s, down in Vegas. I’ll put you in Four. It’s a better room anyway, same price.” She pushed a check-in form toward me, and a pen, then said, “Was that you two, out back in the desert last night?”
I stared at her. “Out where?”
She aimed a crooked finger. “Behind the place here, half a mile or so west.”
“Nope.” A lie works best without elaboration.
I filled in the form, gave her three twenties, got change, and we headed for the door.
Just then a two-way radio on the counter beside the register squawked. A man’s voice said, “Got tracks in the dirt out here, Ma. People been walkin’ around, but I don’t see nothin’ much.”
Arlene didn’t answer, didn’t pick up the radio. Eyes like the muzzles of machine guns tracked us to the door.
I opened it, then stopped and offered Lucy the open door with a little sweep of my hand. “After you.”
She took the hint. “You opened it. You should go first.”
“Really, kiddo, I insist.”
“I think the saying is ‘age before beauty’.”
“That was during the nineteen hundreds. Now it’s more like ‘if you don’t go first, I’ll kick your butt’.”
“You and who else?”
“Ma?” said the radio. “You there?”
Good. I was hoping we’d hear more about tracks in the dirt out in the desert.
Arlene put the radio to her lips. “Hold your damn horses.” Her voice was a sharp smoker’s rasp. She stared at us.
And that was that.
I went outside and Lucy followed.
She glanced through a window as we headed toward the motel. “She’s on that radio now, watching us. Spooky old bitch.”
“Language, Sugar Plum.”
“Spooky old cunt, then.” She hugged my arm. “And just so you know, that word is in the Vagina Monologues.”
“I bet they don’t use it that way.”
“Well, no. But it suits her.”
As we walked to the motel, I saw a pickup truck out in the desert, a guy walking around. Buddie. I opened the trunk of the Cadillac. Lucy got out her suitcase and I retrieved my travel bag.
I looked over at the diner. “Want to shake a tree, see what falls out?”
She turned a full circle. “You see a tree around here?”
“It’s an expression, kiddo. But to be clear, how about we take a stroll behind the motel here in broad daylight, meander up to where that backhoe was digging the other night—”
“A meandering stroll, huh?”
“—and see if our walk gets another mention.”
“Or if that kid of hers tries to run us over with that backhoe. Which, in case you hadn’t noticed, is parked behind the diner. Or maybe comes after us with a shotgun since they’re concerned about something out there.”
“A shotgun would be a big something falling out of a tree. Shaking trees is an old PI’s trick. And I’ve got Russ’s number.”
“He’s an hour away.”
“Which is why we will go armed.”
“Probably a good idea. But we better at least wait ’til Buddie gets back, since he’s still out there. You really want to yank this tiger’s tail?”
“We need information. I want to shake things up, if there’s anything to shake up.”
“There is. Pretty obviously, Mort. Not sure what, though.”
“You got that lucky-unlucky feeling?”
“Sure do. C’mon.” She headed for the room.
Outside, attached to a wall in the shade between rooms three and four, a thermometer registered a hundred two degrees. Inside, the temperature was about ninety. The room was marginally nicer than number one—king-size bed instead of queen, the shower head wasn’t leaking, the carpet was somewhat newer. I turned on the air conditioner, set the thermostat at seventy-two degrees. It started up with a shimmy that shook the wall, then settled down.
“Now what?” Lucy said.
“Whatever you like. I’m gonna read.” I flopped down on the bed with Berney’s Whiplash River that I’d been carrying around since I’d left Reno.
Lucy watched me for a moment, then removed her top and started doing inhuman “stretchies” in a small open space between the bed and a wall.
I didn’t watch. Much. During the next half hour, I managed to read three whole pages.
Arlene squinted at the monitor.
“They still there?” Buddie asked on the two-way. “What’s goin’ on? What’re they doin’?”
“He’s just reading. And,
