“Still, I’d like to talk with him.”
He hesitated. “Okay. Try Martin Realty, a block west.”
I thanked him and left him to his hangover.
Martin’s Realty was a small storefront whose windows were plastered with fliers featuring their listings. There were two desks arranged in the front room, but no one was seated at them. A pair of doors opened to the rear, one of which bore a placard saying DINO MARTIN. I knocked and a gravelly voice said to come in.
Martin could not have less resembled the famed singer after whom he’d been named. He was bald except for a badly dyed fringe of black hair and a short, sparse beard. His eyes were red and puffy; purple veins stood out on his large nose. I judged him to be on the far side of fifty. As I stepped into the office, he picked up a coffee mug with a shaking hand and gulped its contents.
More dog hair?
I introduced myself, said I was a friend of the Perez family.
“And who the hell’re they?”
“Miri Perez’s relatives. You were with her last night in Hobo’s-”
“Oh, that crazy bitch.”
“You left with her, said something about going to the Outhouse.”
“Yeah. I figured it was the only bar between Vernon and Bridgeport she hadn’t been thrown out of yet.”
“But you didn’t go there.”
He put a hand over his eyes like a visor, as if it hurt to look up, and motioned for me to sit down on the chair across from him. “No, we didn’t. I was reasonably sober when we left Hobo’s, but after what happened, I tied one on when I got back to town. The wife’s ready to kill me.”
“What happened?”
“Wait a minute. Why’re you so interested in Miri?”
“She hasn’t been seen since you two left the bar together.”
“Hey, I don’t know where she is.”
“No? Why’d you tie one on after you got back here?”
“… I… She… Oh, dammit!”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Why should I?”
I took out one of my cards and slid it across the desk to him. “Legally I’m bound to report what I know to the sheriff’s department. The deputies will get around to you soon.”
“Oh, God. Okay, okay. We were a ways out of town. She was getting cozy, putting her hands on me, you know what I mean? I thought I was gonna get lucky, take her to a friend’s cabin near there that I’ve got a key to. But all of a sudden she’s screaming for me to pull over. I did, right quick-thought she was gonna puke.”
“And?”
“Across the highway there’s this rundown trailer park. Cop cars all over the place, and an ambulance was pulling out. Miri went nuts. Jumped out of my Jeep and ran across the highway without even looking. Lucky there wasn’t anybody coming.”
“Did you follow her?”
“Shit, no. I don’t mess with cops if I can help it. I’ve already had two DUIs. And if what was going on was as bad as it looked, I sure didn’t want to get involved. The wife-”
“So you just left Miri there.”
“Damn right. I didn’t owe her a thing. She was just this bitch I picked up in a bar.” He took a vodka bottle from the shelf behind his desk, poured into the mug, and drank, flashing me a childishly defiant look. “How much would it cost me to keep you from telling the sheriff?”
“No sale, Mr. Martin. It doesn’t work that way.”
For some reason my cellular was out of range in Bridgeport, so I found a phone booth-one of the few of that endangered species-and called Drew Warnell, the sheriff’s deputy I’d talked with last night at the crime scene. He confirmed that Miri Perez had run across the highway as the ambulance containing her daughter’s body was pulling away.
“She went into a total meltdown when I told her what had happened. Assaulted me and another deputy.” He sounded as if he were still shaken by the incident. “We had to restrain her, and now she’s up here in the Bridgeport psych ward on a seventy-two-hour hold.”
I took down the information about Miri, then called the Perez house. Sara answered and said Ramon had come home shortly after I’d left.
“The fool went all the way to Bridgeport and checked out some bars and a few off-hours places he knows about, but Miri hadn’t been to any of them. Then he started back, but was too tired to drive all the way and fell asleep in Miri’s van at a rest stop.”
That was a relief. Now Ramon could deal with the mess I’d uncovered.
I said, “Well, he can stop worrying about Miri. I’m in Bridgeport, and the sheriff’s department tells me she’s in the psych ward up here.” I explained what Drew Warnell had told me. “She wouldn’t give them any information about next of kin, so they couldn’t contact you.”
Sara sighed deeply. “Maybe now she’ll get the help she needs.”
“Yes.” But I doubted that, knowing how our broken health-care system works-especially for the poor.
“I’ll let Ramon know,” Sara said. “Thank you so much, Sharon.”
“I’m happy to help.”
But as I hung up, I realized the words were false. The day had cost me, a reminder of too many years of visiting sleazy bars and talking to sleazy characters. Now I had a long ride home, and nothing but an empty evening to look forward to.
The lights were out in the Perez house when I arrived at the ranch; probably they were up in Bridgeport dealing with Miri. Damn! Amy missing, Hayley murdered, Miri out of control-how could so much bad happen to good people like Ramon and Sara?
I glanced at the stable, wondering if Ramon had had time to feed Lear Jet. Probably not. I might as well do it.
The horse was in his stall. When he saw me he snorted and looked away.
I said, “Look, you damn creature, I’m here to do you a favor.”
I went to the bin where Ramon kept the alfalfa, measured out the amount I’d seen him give the horse, and started back toward the stall.
Lear Jet moved restlessly, snorted.
I tensed and stopped. “Hey, there. Take it easy.”
The horse reared and let out a high-pitched whinny. His hooves smacked the stall door, splintering its brittle old wood.
I dropped the food and backed toward the outer door.
Ramon’s words.
Something I’d read in an article about how to behave in an encounter with a mountain lion.
My philosophy.
Before I could turn tail, Lear Jet kicked free from the stall and charged at me.
I sidestepped, then scrambled backward toward the outer door. The horse came on. I feinted the other way, momentarily confusing him. As he passed I felt a sharp blow on the back of my head. My eyes lost focus. The last thing I remembered was grasping the wall and sliding down…
“Sharon.” Sara’s voice, commanding. “Wake up.”
“Unh.” I could hear, but not see, her.
A sharp, unfamiliar scent in my nostrils. One of her native remedies? But why couldn’t she let me sleep?
“Wake up.” Insistent.
I opened my eyes. Her round face came into focus.
She held up her hand. “How many fingers do you see?”
