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  She left with my order and returned with the beer a few minutes later. She had been right about its being lukewarm, but it was wet.

  "You stick out over here like a sore thumb. You so white, you practically glowin' in the dark."

  "I'll try to sit farther back in the shadows." I chuckled.

  Before we could say any more she was off again. I watched her work the room, laughing and talking to some of the other customers who seemed to honestly enjoy her company. A couple of them had already reached their quota of beer and made clumsy grabs at her ass, which she managed to deflect with a laugh. When she reached the bar, she handed an order sheet to a dark, unsmiling Hispanic man. He looked middle-aged, but most of his face was obscured by shaggy black hair and a mustache that needed trimming. It drooped down the sides of his mouth, giving him a perpetual frown. He handed her a tray full of beer and food, which she dropped off at various tables before setting a large plate of steaming enchiladas down in front of me.

  "You wanna 'nother Corona?" she asked.

  "Yeah, why not."

  "Don't burn your tongue," Lena said as she turned to walk away. Stopping, she looked at me over her shoulder. "You find anythin' crunchy in them enchiladas, just keep chewin' and wash it down quick. Otherwise it might crawl back up."

  Although there had been a smile on her face when she said it, I was tempted to examine the enchiladas more closely before taking a bite.

  By ten-thirty, my truck was the only vehicle parked along the street. I had been killing time outside for nearly forty-five minutes when I saw Lena leave the cantina, accompanied by an older Hispanic man who waited for her before walking up the street toward where I was parked. I got out and leaned against the hood, waiting for Lena to make whatever introduction needed to be made. The man looked like he was about my age, mid-fifties, and he never stopped looking around. He hesitated as they got closer to me, and Lena reached out and grabbed his shirt to move him forward.

  "This is Juan," she said as she thrust him toward me. His eyes were cast to the ground, and I knew he was an illegal.

  "Juan Doe, I suppose," I said with a smile, but the remark sailed over both their heads.

  Juan glanced up at me cautiously without speaking.

  Nudging him, Lena ordered, "Tell her what you tol' me. She don't give a shit if you an illegal."

  "I worked at ABP," he said with a fairly heavy accent.

  "You don't work there now?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "They laid me off when I got hurt."

  "How did you get hurt?"

  He pulled a hand out of his jeans pocket and held it up in the light for me to see. The ends of four of the fingers on his left hand were missing, and there was a red, swollen scar across the palm of his hand. From the looks of it, I estimated that the damage had probably happened a month or so before. As soon as I had seen his hand, he plunged it back into his pocket.

  "How did it happen?"

  "Saw. The chain it move too fast."

  "They hang the meat from a movin' chain. Then increase the speed of the chain to increase production," Lena said matter-of-factly.

  "I'm sorry about your hand, Juan. Can you tell me how you got your job at ABP?"

  He nodded and looked around again. "I come across border with other men from my village. A man, he take us to San Antonio where we get papers saying we can work here. Then he bring us here."

  "How much did you have to pay?"

  "Eight, nine hundred American dollars. Now I got nothin'. No money, no job."

  "Do you know the names of the people you paid the money to?"

  He shook his head. "Only the man who speaks for ABP."

  I looked at him and waited.

  "Tell her the name," Lena ordered.

  "Felix Camarena. He hire workers for ABP."

  "Did you meet him in Mexico?"

  "San Antonio. He bring papers to us and give money to the coyote for us."

  "He paid the coyote after you paid the coyote?"

  "Si...yes."

  "You've mentioned this Camarena guy a few times in your notes," I said to Lena. "Did you get his name from other workers besides Juan here?"

  "They all know Camarena. He don't work at ABP. They hire him to bring illegals in," she answered.

  "They hired him to bring workers in," I corrected. "There's still no proof the company knows they're illegal."

  "Then them people runnin' ABP are stupid. You think there just be workers layin' around dyin' to work in that stinky place?"

  "Maybe they think they're illegals, but don't want to ask too many questions about where Camarena finds them."

  Lena poked Juan again and said, "Tell her 'bout your brother."

  "He work for ABP, too."

  "Will he talk to me?"

  "He in 'Braska."

  "Nebraska?"

  "Yes. Big plant there. Bigger than this. Many men from my village go there."

  "And they all came through San Antonio and Camarena?"

  "Yes."

  While I was pondering what Juan had just told me, a car moved up the street toward us causing Juan to jump back into the shadow of the closest building and press himself against the wall as if hoping to blend in with the aging bricks. I glanced around and saw the white Town Car I had seen earlier at the ABP plant. As it passed, it appeared to slow down momentarily before speeding up again and moving down the street away from us. When my attention returned to Juan, he was still in the shadows.

  "I go now. Can't stay here," he said.

  "What's wrong with you?" Lena asked him.

  "Camarena," he said, looking in the direction of the Town Car. Before I could ask another question, he slipped around the corner of the building and disappeared into the darkness.

  I had gotten the message and looked at Lena. "Looks like this was your last day slinging beer and enchiladas around the old cantina. Get in your car and I'll follow you. I hope Rafael isn't expecting two weeks' notice."

  Chapter Thirteen

  I SPENT THE following two days in San Antonio digging into the background of ABP. They were one of the Big Three meatpackers in the United States and ran their business in a way that would have made Upton Sinclair proud. They had large meatpacking plants in five Midwestern states. In every case, they bought out local meatpackers and expanded the plants, produced around the clock, and eliminated union packers, giving me a new appreciation for the meat at my local grocery store.

  ABP and the other big meatpackers were bringing in eighty billion a year in meat sales and had recently diversified into prepackaged meats and the overseas markets. Asian markets, in particular, were ripe for American beef, and ABP had been one of the first to tap into that potentially huge market. Elementary math got me into bigger numbers than I knew existed. ABP, and probably the other big packers, were shelling out a small fortune for workers. Someone was getting that money plus what the workers themselves paid to enter the country illegally. Millions were exchanging hands in order for the companies to make billions. I could see why someone had wanted to stop Kyle, or anyone else, from digging into the story, and I felt the familiar thrill of investigating a story returning.

  I made copies of information I found on microfilm, mostly old newspaper articles about the ABP buyout in Mountain View. Other than a couple of stories about how the community had benefited from having a large company in their midst, the company had managed to keep a relatively low profile.

  I was packing my bag Friday morning, preparing to return to the ranch, when I decided to call Sarita.

  "Ventana Middle School," a woman answered in a bored voice.

  "Yes, ma'am. I'd like to leave a message for Ms. Ramirez."

  "Which one?"

  "Sarita Ramirez."

  "She's in class now, but I can put a message in her box."

  "Tell her that Joanna Carlisle called. If she wants to talk to me, I'll be at the Holiday Inn near Santa Rosa Medical Center until just after lunch. Room four sixteen."

  "I'll giv
e her the message," the woman barely got out before disconnecting me.

  I had absolutely no idea whether Sarita would call me back or not but figured I should let her know that I hadn't ignored her request. I finished packing what few clothes I had with me and lay back on the bed to look over the material I had found. Less than half an hour later, the phone next to the bed rang.

  "Hello," I said.

  "Ms. Carlisle? This is Sarita. I just got your message."

  "I wanted to let you know I was in town. I've been doing some background research, and I'm leaving for the ranch this afternoon."

  "Can we meet before you leave?"

  "Uh, sure. When do you get off work?"

  "I don't want to delay your trip home. I'm off for lunch right now and have a conference period after that, about an hour and a half."

  "Well, if you give me directions to your school, I'll stop and pick up something for lunch and meet you there."

  Ventana Middle School was close to the apartment building where she and Kyle lived, so I wasn't totally lost and arrived within half an hour. Following her directions, I entered the school through a side door on the east side of the building and saw Sarita standing in the doorway of a classroom waiting for me. She closed the door behind her as I set the bag of food on a worktable near the rear of the room and pulled out a couple of wrapped burgers. She brought an extra chair to the table and patted me on the shoulder as she sat down.

  "It's good to see you again, Ms. Carlisle. I wasn't sure if my visit had been successful or not."

  "It probably wouldn't have been if it weren't for my housekeeper."

  "Ms. Rubio?"

  "Yeah, she twisted the knife in my back until I agreed to at least do some background work."

  "She seems to be a very interesting lady."

  "That's a diplomatic description," I said as I took a bite.

  Sarita laughed lightly. "I just mean that she seems like the kind of woman who would be willing to do anything for a friend."

  "She helped me get enough information to know Kyle's got a potentially huge story. For his safety, as well as yours, he might need some help, Sarita." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "These are the names of a couple of people who know how to get things done and aren't interested in taking any credit for the story. Whoever's behind this scheme isn't going to let one reporter get in their way, but if three or four have to be eliminated they might decide it isn't worth the risk and back off."

  "What did you find out?"

  "Enough to know there's a lot of money involved. People have been killed for a lot less."

  "I wish he would let you help him."

  "The chances of that are slim and none, Sarita."

  "You know, Ms. Carlisle, Kyle is like you in many ways. Smart, but very stubborn."

  "Well, right now he better be working on plain old scared. Whoever is involved won't let one reporter ruin a good thing. If he gets in their way, they'll kill him."

  By late afternoon, I was on the road back toward Kerrville. Sarita had been right about Kyle and me. We were both stubborn, with a nearly self-destructive need to work things out alone. I had spent the last fifteen years going it alone, and only recently realized it hadn't been a particularly happy journey, even if I had been satisfied with the work. Or at least I thought I had been. It was hard not to think about what my life would have been like if I had been less...less what? I could spend the rest of my life wondering about that and never arrive at an answer. Too bad you can't see what's on the road ahead, so you'd know when to pull over for a U-turn and when to accelerate toward it.

  The distance between San Antonio and Kerrville wasn't far enough for much self-psychoanalysis, thank God. I was too tired to think about what might have been or should have been and didn't want anything except a long, hot shower before falling into my own bed.

  Only the final remnants of sunlight remained on the horizon by the time I turned into the drive leading to my house. Low mesquite blocked my view until the second curve on the gravel and dirt road. As the number of trees decreased, I caught sight of my house for the first time and saw that there was a light on inside. It was Friday and no one should have been there. Instinctively, I took my foot off the accelerator and let the car continue rolling forward, but there was enough gravel on the road to make it nearly impossible to approach the house without being heard. Rounding the last curve and breaking into the open clearing that became the front yard, I saw Lena's car parked in front of the house. I looked around the remainder of the property and wished the sun would hang in the sky a few moments longer. I didn't see any other vehicles anywhere and thought maybe Lena had something important to tell me and decided to wait around until I got home. Shrugging off my unease as paranoia, I got out of the car and grabbed my bag from the backseat. If Lena was waiting for me, I could expect a tongue-lashing for keeping her waiting so long.

  From the foot of the porch steps I could see that the front door was ajar. The light I had seen wasn't coming from the front room but appeared to be from the window in my office. I took the steps two at a time and pushed the door farther open, looking into the darkened living room. Even in the growing darkness, I knew someone had been there and possibly still was. I was afraid to call out Lena's name and wished I had a weapon. Setting my bag down inside the front door, I caught the screen to keep it from slamming shut. Every piece of furniture had been thrown around the living room. Broken pieces of glass from the end table reading lamps crunched under my feet. Otherwise, the silence was overwhelming.

  "Lena?"

  There was no answer, and I went to the kitchen doorway and glanced in. Dishes and pots were strewn on the floor. Several beer bottles were sitting on the kitchen table and appeared to be the only unbroken items in the room. Anger, mixed with fear, was beginning to work its way into my mind, but by then I was convinced that whoever had been in the house was no longer there, or I would have already been attacked.

  Raising my voice a notch, I called out again, "Lena!"

  Subconsciously, I knew the rest of the house had also been trashed, but where the hell was Lena? The only light came from the partially opened door of my office, and I crossed the living room toward it. Standing to one side of the door, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open with one hand and scanned the office from one side to the other before entering. If possible, the office was in worse shape than the living room and kitchen. Other than the mess, there was nothing else in the room.

  As quickly as I could, I searched the rest of the rooms. There was still no sign of Lena, and I began to hope that she hadn't been able to start her old car and had gotten a ride home from a friend. Going back into the living room, I switched on the overhead light and looked for the phone. My hand was shaking from an adrenaline overdose caused by a combination of fear and anger as I dialed.

  "Sheriff's department," a man's voice answered.

  "This is Joanna Carlisle, out on Route Fifty-four. My house has been broken into."

  "Do you know how long ago, ma'am?"

  "No. I've been out of town for a few days and just got back. But my housekeeper's car is here."

  "Can your housekeeper identify the intruder?"

  "I haven't spoken to her yet. She might not have been here. Look, just send a car out here."

  "Someone should be there in ten or fifteen minutes."

  I hung up and wondered if they had left any beer in the refrigerator. Flipping on the kitchen light, I went toward the refrigerator, but before I could open it, my hand froze on the handle. Lena's fabric bag was lying on the floor not far from the kitchen table. She was still here someplace, but I had already looked everywhere in the house.

  Going onto the porch, I went down the steps toward her car. The doors were locked, but when I looked through the side windows, I didn't see anyone inside. I stood for a few minutes with my hands on my hips and looked around. Finally, taking a high-beam light from the rear storage area of the Blazer I walked around the outside
of the house, shining the flashlight into the trees and bushes that enclosed the yard. By the time I returned to the front of the house, I wondered whether whoever had been here had taken Lena with them.

  Sitting down on the porch steps to wait for the sheriff's deputies to arrive, I leaned back and looked up. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and stars were beginning to appear, as the sky grew darker. When I was a kid, I had loved to lie in the grass and look straight up at the stars. After a few minutes it had seemed that I was floating in them, giving me a touch of vertigo, but at the same time, a detachment from reality and the magical feeling of floating among the stars. The thought brought a smile to my face, and I lowered my eyes back to Earth and scanned the front yard. From the corner of my eye the barn and corral loomed in the darkness. My stomach tightened into a knot, and faster than I thought I could, I sprinted toward the barn. The door leading to the stall area was open, and I flipped on the flashlight as I approached the door. It was quiet, but it shouldn't have been. Jack would have heard me coming, but there was no greeting from him. Standing in the doorway, I shined the beam down the passageway in front of the stalls. Halfway down the walkway, my worst fear was confirmed.

  Lena's body was strapped to an open stall gate; her arms spread crucifixion style, and her feet tied to the bottom rail of the gate. The ropes that held her sagging weight had burned and cut the skin on her upper arms and her head dangled under a disheveled mass of black hair.

  "Lena!"

  She didn't answer me as I lifted her head. I had to close my eyes to avoid looking at her. I grabbed a pair of tin snips to cut the rope around her feet. Then, trying to hold her body upright against mine, I began cutting the ropes holding her arms. When I finally managed to cut through the last rope, the dead weight of her body nearly caused me to drop her. She was a big woman, over two hundred pounds, but now that weight had been increased as it became inert. As gently as I could, I laid her down and pushed her hair out of her face. Blood had run from her mouth and nose and was partially dried, and the rest of her face swollen into a grotesque shape. I tried to feel for a pulse but couldn't find one.

  "Lena!"

  In desperation, I ripped her shirt open and pressed my ear tightly against her chest. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I felt a heartbeat. I picked up the flashlight and looked around until I found a rag. I went quickly to the water hose and wet the rag to clean her face. As I rushed back to Lena's side, the light in my hand flashed momentarily into Jack's stall, and I stopped. A huge lifeless mass lie on the floor. I saw that his throat had been slashed, and his once beautiful body had already begun to bloat. No matter how much I wanted to help him, I knew there wasn't anything I could do, and I returned to Lena's side.