“Lonzo Pickler.”
Ogden had never met him. He would have remembered a name like that.
“This is Caitlin Alison,” Ogden said. “Here all the way from Ireland, looking for her cousin.”
“Ma’am,” Pickler said.
“Her cousin’s name is Fiona McDonough.”
Lonzo listened and nodded. “Don’t know the name. And I would remember that name. My first wife was a Fiona.”
“Here’s her picture.” Ogden took the photo from Caitlin and handed it to the tall man. “Have you seen her?”
Lonzo shook his head.
“Caitlin here says she received some letters with a San Cristobal postmark.”
“That might be. But I haven’t seen this woman. The post box is outside. People mail stuff all the time and I don’t see them. I postmark a lot of letters.”
“I see,” Ogden said.
“Hey, Reba,” Lonzo called back into the office. “Come out here, please.”
Reba came around the corner. She was a round and short Taos Pueblo woman. Ogden had seen her around.
“Deputy,” Reba said.
Ogden nodded hello.
“Have you seen this woman around?” Lonzo showed Reba the photograph.
Reba looked at the image and then at Caitlin and Ogden. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe.”
Ogden took back the picture.
“Did she do something?” Reba asked.
“No, nothing like that,” Ogden said. “Her cousin’s just trying to find her.”
“She missing?”
Ogden could hear the rumors starting already. First it would be a little buzz at the Pueblo and in short order the whole town of Plata would be talking about the woman abducted by a serial killer.
“No,” Ogden said. “We’re just trying to find her because her cousin here lost her address.”
“Oh,” Reba said. She looked disappointed. “Like I said, maybe I seen her, I’m not sure.”
“You might check the Muddy,” Lonzo said.
Ogden thanked them both, then steered Caitlin back out into the bright and hotter day. “Well, that was a bust.”
“What is the Muddy?”
“The Muddy Cabins are down the road. There’s a little store there where all the locals go. Maggie Muddy, and that is her name, runs the place. She’s a bit of a nut, but she’s sweet.”
“Maggie Muddy,” Caitlin said.
“Her married name,” Ogden said.
Caitlin laughed. “And I suppose that her husband is named Marvin Muddy.”
“Was,” Ogden said. “But his name was Mickey Muddy, but of course everybody just called him Buddy Muddy. You know, you can’t make this shit up.”
“This is a colorful place.”
“So to speak.”
The Muddy was named for Buddy Muddy, but it also happened to be situated at the confluence of two arroyos. When it rained in the spring, it was a mess. But in the summer, it was lousy with wildflowers. The cabins were small wooden huts, painted brightly and scattered through a stand of cottonwoods.
“What a sweet-looking place,” Caitlin said.
“It is sweet.” Ogden parked next to the little store. The double screen doors were propped open by cast-iron cats.
“Maggie!” Ogden called out as they stood in the empty store. Refrigerated cabinets lined the far wall and tables in the middle of the room were covered with canned goods, bags of chips, beans, paper plates, and candies.
“Maybe she’s not here,” Caitlin said.
“She’s here. I don’t think she ever leaves.”
“Who’s there?” a woman said. She came through a door beside the refrigerator full of eggs and milk. “Who’s that?”
“It’s Ogden, Maggie.”
“Ogden? Ogden who?”
“Ogden Walker. Eva’s son.”
“Eva Walker? How is she?”
“She’s fine, Maggie.”
“I ain’t seen you in forever,” the old woman said. Her face was absurdly lined, her hair all gray and worn waist-long in a braid. “Is this your wife?”
“No, ma’am. This is Caitlin Alison. She’s from Ireland.”
“My husband’s mother was from Ireland,” Maggie said.
“Maggie, have you seen this woman?”
Caitlin showed Maggie the photograph.
“Yes, yes, I’ve seen her.” Maggie looked out her front doors as if expecting someone. “Everybody comes in here.”
“Did you talk to her at all?” Ogden asked.
“She’s my cousin,” Caitlin said. “Her name is Fiona.”
“Yes, I talked to her. I talked to her for a long time. Buddy talked to her, too.”
Ogden sighed and looked away. “When was this, Maggie?”
“Just the other day. Last week, maybe. She said she was from someplace.”
“Where?” Ogden asked.
“Someplace else. It made Buddy laugh.”
“Did she say where she was living?”
“My hollyhocks aren’t coming up they way they should. Oh, all the volunteers are sprouting up where I don’t want them, but the ones in my garden, no.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ogden said.
“Do you think my soil is too rich?” Maggie asked. “I used a new fertilizer.”
“It’s possible.” Ogden nodded to Caitlin. “Maggie, thanks for talking to us. We’ll be going now.”
“She said she was living up above Questa.”
“Thanks, Maggie.”
As they walked back to the truck, Caitlin asked, “Questa?”
“Might as well be Mars. Maggie’s out of her head. Buddy’s been dead for ten years.”
“I see.”
“I don’t have any better ideas, though.”
Ogden looked up at the intense midday sun.
“Is it far?” Caitlin asked. “Questa.”
“Not too far. But why would she come way down here to mail letters? There’s a post office up there, a bigger one. And why shop here?”
“Because it’s quaint?” Caitlin said.
Ogden shrugged.
“I don’t want to take up all of your day,” the woman said.
“I did promise my mother I’d do something for her. If you don’t mind, I’ll drive you to Questa tomorrow morning. I think it’s a wild-goose chase, but we should check it out.”
“That works for me.”
Ogden dropped Caitlin off at the office of El Pueblo Motel and told her he’d see her early the next day. He then drove to his mother’s house, where he found her washing the stray dog she’d taken in a couple of weeks ago.
“Fleas?” Ogden asked.
“Not anymore.”
“You ready to go pick out a new air conditioner?”
“Thanks for remembering. So, did you find the missing girl?”
Ogden made a decision to not look surprised. “There is no girl and she’s not missing.”
“You found her then.”
“No,” Ogden said.
“Son, that’s what folks around here call missing.”
His mother had a point, but it wasn’t a really a valid one. Ogden said nothing.
“I know, I know,” she said, waving her hand. “You’re not allowed to discuss an ongoing case.”
“There really is no case. So far no one is missing. Besides, I don’t have cases. I write tickets and stumble onto marijuana gardens. Now, let’s go get your air conditioner.”
“Okay. Don’t get your undies all twisted up.”
“And may I ask who informed you about the alleged missing person?”
“A bird told me.” She loved saying that or, I have my sources.
Ogden drove his mother to Manny’s Appliance Depot or MAD as the locals called it. Manny had one of the few billboards in town and most people hated it, if only for its sheer size. Everyone hated it but Manny and Blinky Ortiz, the sign maker. The billboard was a giant hand-painted portrait of Manny with microwave ovens for eyes and a deep freeze for a mouth. Blinky had painted the sign himself and along with it the mural on the side of the store. The mural depicted refrigerators dressed like Indians dancing around a huge, glowing-red convection oven. The scene was modeled after the local corn dance and most people were offended by it, but Blinky, being Native, claimed that every detail was accurate, except for the fact that the dancers were appliances.