the horizon, but they were the only structures I saw. Fields planted with brussels sprouts extended to the horizon in every direction. Mechanical irrigators rolled along on spindly wheels, mindlessly squirting water and chemicals on individual plants so as not to waste money on unused soil. No one lived there, and no one had likely been there for a very long time. The Burrito Man was right-the houses that once stood on L Street had long since been razed for agribusiness.
I worked my way back to the highway, and headed south to Imperial.
Edelle Reinnike lived in a simple stucco house just off the main highway at the southern edge of Imperial. The houses were white or beige, with white-rock roofs to reflect the heat. Most had trailers or trucks parked in their yards. Mrs. Reinnike opened her door as I got out of my car. It was eight-thirty that morning; still early, but hot.
"Mrs. Reinnike, I'm Elvis Cole. Thanks for seeing me."
"I know who you are. Don't mind this dog. She won't bite unless you get fancy."
Edelle Reinnike was eighty-six years old, with the dry desert skin of a golden raisin. Her dog was a fireplug-shaped pug with enormous eyes bulging on either side of its head. It looked like a goldfish. I couldn't tell what the dog was looking at, but it growled when I approached. Maybe it had radar.
Mrs. Reinnike said, "Margo, shush! You don't fool anyone."
She invited me in, showed me to her couch, then went into her kitchen for coffee. I didn't want more coffee, but it always pays to be friendly. Margo planted herself in front of me. Mrs. Reinnike called from the kitchen.
"She likes you."
"Did you have a chance to look through your mother's things?"
"I did. I found an old picture of George, but only the one. Mama couldn't stand Aunt Lita, and they had an awful falling-out. Lita was George's mother. She said Lita was loud. If Mama thought you were loud, well, that meant you were trash."
Mrs. Reinnike came back with two cups of coffee, and sat in a recliner at the end of the couch. She put on a pair of reading glasses, picked up a crumbling photo album from beside the chair, and opened the album to a page marked with a strip of tissue. She turned it so I could see.
"Here, this is Lita and Ray-Ray was Daddy's younger brother-and this is George. Look at the way Lita was carrying on even when her picture was being taken. They were nasty people."
Great. Just what you want to hear about people who might be your family.
The picture showed a man, a woman, and a boy with a triangular head in front of a Christmas tree. It was George. He was propped on crutches, and looking past the camera as if he was not expecting the picture to be taken. His father was a soft man with uncertain eyes, and his mother had close-set features that made her look irritated. I could see George's features in Ray. Like father, like son.
"This was before George had the operation. Lita wouldn't have sent a picture after. Ray asked Daddy for money to help with the operation, but Mama said we had our own family to feed. Well, Lita wrote the most awful letter you can imagine, and that was the last we saw of them."
I gave back the album.
"So you didn't stay in touch after that?"
"Lord, no. Mama would have had a fit. I haven't seen nor heard from George since, oh I had a family, so he would've been in high school. You never told me why you're looking for George."
"George is dead. He was murdered four days ago."
She stared at me with no expression for a moment, then dropped a hand down alongside the chair. Margo hobbled over and snuffled her fingers.
"Well, that's just terrible. What a terrible thing."
"How about your brothers and sisters? You think they stayed in touch with George?"
"Well, I can't know, but I doubt it. Both my sisters and my brother are gone. I was the youngest on my side."
"How about your children?"
She made a little snort, and Margo stopped snuffling.
"They don't even come to see me-they wouldn't bother with George. George had run off by the time they were old enough to give a damn."
"What do you mean, run oft?"
"George got some gal pregnant, and dropped out of school. Mama said the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Lita being loud the way she was