Highway to Hell

  “That's a relief.” I pushed the shirt across the counter-top. “Thanks for loaning me this. It was a big help. Especially this morning, when I had a hammering headache.”

  He smiled at my lack of subtlety. “Hang on to it. I reckon you might still need it.”

  I checked that Teresa was still busy with the Old Guys, and then gave Hector a narrow-eyed stare. “Lisa said that only a woman can be a bruja.”

  The creases in his cheeks deepened further. “She'd be right. A male witch would be a brujo.”

  “Do you know any?”

  “Brujas? Just you and your friend.”

  I stifled my frustrated response as Teresa returned to the bar. Hector, his humor fading to a warning glance, went back to drying mugs.

  The cowbell over the back door clanged. I swiveled on my barstool to greet Justin and Henry. They'd both changed clothes and looked considerably less rumpled. The Old Guys watched their arrival with interest.

  They slid onto seats on either side of me, and Henry asked, “Where's Lisa?”

  “Getting dressed. Zeke is picking her up in a bit.”

  Justin shook his head. “I'm trying to wrap my head around the idea of Cowgirl Lisa.”

  “Hmph.” Teresa plunked down two more mugs, one in front of each of the guys. “She thinks she's a smart cookie, that tall girl. She must figure Mr. Zeke will own most of the county when Doña Isabel dies.”

  Henry and Justin looked taken aback. They weren't used to how eating in the bar entitled Teresa to know, and comment on, all your personal business.

  Hector nudged her aside in order to put a tray of glasses under the counter. “Teresa, don't go telling these folks the Velasquezes' private concerns.”

  “Well, it's not private, is it? The whole county knows.” She filled the guys' mugs without asking. “They might as well tell their friend and save her a lot of trouble.”

  “Tell her what?” I asked.

  She flicked her dishtowel over a nonexistent spot on the counter. “Doña Isabel is leaving all the land to the Catholic Diocese of Corpus Christi. Zeke will either have to work for them, or go do something else.”

  Hector looked seriously annoyed. “You make it sound like Ezekiel Velasquez doesn't do a lick of work around here.”

  Teresa put her hands on her hips. “You know he wants to put a bunch of airplane propellers all along the coast?”

  Justin—who was still sitting with his mouth slightly open in bewilderment—looked at me for explanation. “A wind farm,” I said. “He wants to go green.” Which was kind of ironic when you thought about how the other big industry here was oil and gas.

  Henry cleared his throat. “Could I get an iced tea instead of coffee?”

  Teresa moved off, still in a huff. Hector took away the coffee cup, meeting my eye with a grimace. “Is it true?” I asked him. “Doña Isabel seems so fond of Zeke.”

  The lines of his face dragged down in concern or regret, and he seemed to choose his words carefully. “I can't explain it to you, Maggie. You'll have to add that to your mysteries to solve.”

  When Hector left, Justin turned to me, eyes wide. “What was that about?”

  “I told you there was a lot going on here.” I lowered my voice as Teresa brought Henry's iced tea. “Even I don't know the half of it.”

  Henry took a sip of tea and set it aside. “It's certainly a colorful place.”

  They exchanged looks—a silent communication I couldn't interpret—and Justin opened the map he'd brought with him. “Let's get these locations plotted and see if we get a pattern.”

  He smoothed the thick paper, and I saw that it wasn't a road map but a geological survey chart—the kind of contour map used for orienteering and hiking. It was a much larger scale than an atlas, and overlaid by gridlines. “Start with your accident, Maggie. Where did you hit the cow?”

  I hesitated over the line for Highway 77, then pointed to a spot that seemed right. “Here. I think.”

  He marked it with a felt-tipped pen. Teresa loitered across from us, not bothering to pretend she wasn't paying attention. Justin turned the map toward her. “Teresa, would you mind showing me where your goats were killed?”

  She pointed to a spot outside the town's dotted administrative boundary. The entire incorporation of Dulcina was smaller than my college campus. “There. The whole herd.”

  Marking the spot on the map, Justin turned again to me. “How about the coordinates you got from the GPS system last night?” I read them off; they were faded but still clear where I'd written them on my arm. Justin found the intersection of two gridlines and made an X. “Any idea where you found those cows on your ride?”

  “Um …” I oriented myself with the curve of the shore and the road that connected Dulcina to the Big House. “Here, maybe.” I indicated a small area bounded by a couple of unimproved roads. The topographical chart was much more detailed than a road map, getting in close to show fences and gravel roads as well as stock ponds, windmills, and wellheads.

  Justin prompted Teresa with questions about the present attacks, and she was thrilled to be taken seriously. As she recalled the incidents, he marked them on the map and started a legend: G for goat, C for calf, C with a line under it for grown cow. The Old Guys at their table had stopped their talk to eavesdrop. Eventually one of them ambled over to us, peering around Henry's shoulder.

  “Don't forget Carl's best herding dog,” he said.

  Henry rose and offered the barstool to the Old Guy. “Have a seat.”

  “Don't mind if I do.” The Old Guy sat and pointed to a spot on the map. “There it was. Neck torn right out. Wasn't natural, Carl said.”

  I made sure my voice would carry over to the table. “We heard there was a cowboy killed, years ago.”

  Another Old Guy came over, carrying his coffee cup. His cap was embroidered with the USS Lexington seal, marking him as a navy veteran. “I remember that. Young guy, riding the herds to protect them.”

  The first guy chided the second. “Joe, you old coot. You're thinking of that young fellow who got bit last night.”

  Lexington Joe rubbed his chin, rasping the nearly invisible gray stubble. “No. This was years ago. I was home on leave.”

  I seized on that. “So this has happened before? Livestock being attacked?”

  “Of course. Nothing new under the sun.” He held his mug over the counter. “How about a warm-up, Miss Teresa?”

  “When was this? Were there a lot of cattle killed?”

  He scratched his head under his cap. “I don't reckon I remember. It was after the war, when little Isabel La Tour came from New Orleans to marry young Mike.”

  “You mean Doña Isabel? Zeke's grandmother?” Everything she'd said indicated a much longer association with the land.

  “Yeah,” said Joe. “She was a Velasquez cousin. Twice removed or something like that. Her father's father went to the Big Easy to make his fortune, but Isabel spent every summer here. We all knew she'd marry Mike Velasquez, but not for lack of our trying to convince her otherwise.”

  “Cousins?” I echoed. Eew.

  Henry noticed my tone. “Probably not closely related. Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt were sixth cousins.”

  “That's right,” said Joe. “People's circle of acquaintances was smaller then. No meeting people on the internets and all that.”

  “So about these livestock killings—the ones from the fifties,” I clarified. “Did they coincide with Isabel's arrival?”

  He rubbed his chin again. “Not in any remarkable way. No more than, say, you girls arriving now.”

  Teresa narrowed her eyes at me, looking speculative. I was glad for Justin's redirect. “Where did you say the cowboy was killed?” He slid the map across the bar.

  “Lady Acre.” Joe pointed to a stretch of land between Dulcina and the Gulf. “That's it right there.”

  Shoulder to shoulder, we studied the map. The livestock attacks were scattered, seeming random all over the county. The only grid square
s that were completely free of marks were the ones that encompassed the town of Dulcina. The other clear area was Lady Acre, with its lone X for the sixty-year-old death.

  X marks the spot.

  “Why is it called Lady Acre?” I asked.

  “Because Our Lady appeared there,” Teresa said, matter-of-factly.

  I blinked. Not what you expect to hear mentioned so casually. Henry recovered first. “The Virgin Mary appeared in the Velasquez pasture?”

  “No, she didn't,” Joe corrected firmly. “Doña Isabel had a dream that the Virgin appeared to her, and said to put a shrine there, so that no other deaths would take place.”

  “Hey, Joe!” One of the Old Guys hollered toward the bar. “If you stand there all day, Teresa will never get over here with the coffee.”

  With an annoyed huff, Teresa grabbed the pot off the warmer. “Like it would kill you to get off your lazy butt once in a while?”

  Joe followed her back to the Old Guys' table. Justin kept an eye on them, and pitched his voice under the cover of the radio in the kitchen and the struggling air conditioner. “Now we know. That's what stopped the killings last time.”

  I looked around for Hector, hoping for confirmation, but he had disappeared. Figured. What was his problem with direct answers?

  Henry reclaimed his barstool, and leaned in to keep his voice low, too. “You're not seriously suggesting the Blessed Virgin Mary really appeared in a dream, then vanquished this chupacabra thing?”

  My image of the mother of Jesus didn't really incorporate the slaying of monsters. You'd think she could delegate that to some middle-management cherubim with flaming swords.

  “If Joe was quoting her correctly,” Justin pointed out, “Doña Isabel didn't say that the BVM would stop the attacks, just that they would stop. Classic semantic dodge.”

  “So, what's the plan?” Henry asked.

  I studied the single X on the map. “Doña Isabel first, but then I think we need to go see this shrine. Maybe I can get a picture of how it ties in.” I traced the contour lines that marked changes in elevation. If you stared at them long enough, they started to look three-dimensional.

  “You know, Maggie.” Justin's voice dropped even lower, so there was no chance of anyone in the bar hearing him. “I didn't bring it up in front of Lisa, but it seems like you've skirted all around the most obvious label for this thing. You said it was Evil, but you haven't named it out loud.”

  I sighed. “We've all thought it, though. Well, maybe not Henry, because he's still struggling to catch up.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “But I'm not that slow.”

  Justin ducked his head to hold my gaze. “If this thing is some kind of demon, the next question is, who summoned it?”

  I dropped my eyes, picking at the corner of the map. “I haven't really thought that far.”

  He sat back, looking worried. “Just making sure we're all on the same page.”

  What he meant was “Just making sure you remember all the other times you trusted people you shouldn't.” When I liked someone, I never wanted to think they were capable of bad things. Summoning demons. Deals with the devil. And the problem was, I liked all these people. Except maybe Teresa.

  Handing me the folded map, Justin went to settle up our drinks, leaving Henry and me alone. I didn't have to touch him to pick up on his thoughts. I didn't even have to be psychic. He was thinking very loudly.

  I turned to face him with a statement, not a question. “You don't really believe in any of this, do you.”

  His gaze was level and appraising. “Like you said, I'm still catching up.”

  “In other words, you haven't made up your mind yet.”

  “About you? Or about the Blessed Virgin appearing in visions?”

  “Aren't you kind of obligated to believe in things like that?”

  He thought over his answer. “I believe in the possibility of such a thing. But I'm undecided about the reality of it.”

  I hopped off the barstool, grabbing Hector's denim shirt to take with me. “Well, stick around. It's only a matter of time before you find yourself saying the craziest stuff with absolute seriousness.”

  He got up, too, and went to meet Justin by the door. I followed more slowly, hoping to spot Hector again and try for some straight answers. I was doomed to frustration this morning. I could only hope that my visit with Doña Isabel would go better.

  I wondered if she'd really had a divine vision. She seemed devout enough. I certainly would never rate that. At least, I hoped I never would. From what I could tell, whenever an archangel or a burning bush turns up, it's generally not to say, Hey, go out and have a happy and uncomplicated life.

  20

  Justin slammed the door of the rental car and stared up at the Big House, taking in the arches of the balcony, the red tile roof, and the lookout tower with its dragonfly weather vane.

  “So, this is the Velasquez manor?”

  “Yeah.” My skin was sticky and hot, and I'd done nothing but climb out of the car. I'd gotten used to the breeze from the Gulf, but today the air was muggy and still.

  Henry pried himself out of the backseat of the Escort. Since neither of the guys was old enough to rent a car from a major company, they'd had to find what they could, and the subcompact wasn't really built for a person of Henry's height.

  Justin nodded toward the porch, where a woman stood like a sentry on a drawbridge. “Is that Doña Isabel?”

  “No,” I said. The figure was small and plump, her shoes sensible. “That's the housekeeper.”

  “She looks like she's expecting us,” said Henry. “Lisa's boyfriend must have called ahead.”

  “I didn't tell him we were coming.” Just the opposite, in fact. I didn't want him to know.

  Justin waved me in front of him. “Ladies first.”

  Connie watched the three of us approach, her expression forbidding, with no shift to recognition as I neared her. “Hi, Connie. I don't know if you remember me, but—”

  “Doña Isabel said you might come.” Her gaze flicked over the guys in dismissal.

  She gave no indication whether I was actually welcome. “Can I see her?”

  The tightening of her mouth wasn't promising. “She said to say that she was in the chapel, and you may find her there, if God means for her to be found.”

  “Okay.” I guess that was the closest thing to an invitation we were going to get. “Thanks, Connie.”

  “Don't thank me. There are strange happenings here, and I don't like it.” She looked up at the sky as if it had personally offended her, then went inside and closed the door, leaving the three of us standing on the drive.

  I looked up at the cloudless gray-blue sky, wondering what she saw. Justin shifted his weight, crunching on the gravel. “Apparently she's expecting you, Maggie.”

  Henry's expression was skeptical. “It's a logical guess, if she's heard any of the past week's events.”

  “True,” Justin said, accepting his friend's cynicism as easily as he did my psychitude. “Which way to the chapel?”

  “Good question.” A quick scan of the front garden showed a flagstone path leading around the corner, and it seemed as sensible a place to start as any. “This way.”

  I wound through the tropical plantings of the formal garden to where the fauna became more ruggedly indigenous, full of lantana and hearty daisies. The path split and, with almost no hesitation, I took the way that led toward the water. A tall palm tree rose above a cluster of shrub oak and mesquite, the fronds like a star over a stable. Or in this case, the Velasquez family chapel.

  It looked like the Big House—red tile roof, white stucco, and arched entry—like a tiny offshoot of a parent plant. The door stood open in invitation.

  I turned to Justin, and Henry behind him. “Maybe you two should let me talk to her alone. She's really prickly, and she's not expecting you.”

  “Are you sure?” Justin asked.

  “Yeah.” I had a pretty strong feeling about it.
He must have picked up on that, and let me go without further question.

  Stepping into the chapel, I had to pause for my eyes to adjust to the cool shadow. The only light slanted through two stained-glass windows on either side of the altar. They illuminated a straight figure on a prayer kneeler, her dark hair covered with a lace scarf, her face lifted to the cross above.

  The stone floor was worn but very clean, and the marble altar seemed to glow softly in the rosy light from the windows. There were no pews, just two rows of wooden folding chairs.

  I let my footsteps announce me. Doña Isabel kept me waiting another minute, then crossed herself and moved to rise. Her hands grasped the front of the kneeler, the part where you put your prayer book—or in my case, my elbows— and I saw her knuckles whiten as she levered herself up.

  Without thinking, I offered her my hand. She disdained my assistance, and once she stood, moved to one of the rows of folding chairs. Taking a seat, she looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

  “You knew I was coming. Surely you have some idea why.”

  “I am not a mind reader, Magdalena Quinn.”

  I took a seat beside her. “Zeke wouldn't be happy to know I'm here. He says that you don't know anything about what's happening on the ranch, but I think you and I both know he's wrong.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You are a very presumptuous girl, to march into my chapel and tell me my own business. Do you think anything happens on this land that I do not realize? I knew the moment you and your friend arrived. I knew about your blundering attempts to test the protections here. Do not presume to tell me what I should know.”

  Great. I gazed at the patient Madonna behind the impatient matriarch, and struggled for a little of that calm.

  “In that case, you do know about the … um …” I couldn't bring myself to say the name in front of her.

  Doña Isabel waved a dismissive hand. “I know the ridiculous legend that Teresa tells everyone in her bar. El chupacabra. She watches too much television.”

  “Right. Except there really is something here.”

  “Impossible.” She had deflector shields like the Death Star, but she couldn't completely control the false note in her voice.