Rebel Island Page 0,46

you - "

But Alex raised his hands to block Garrett's words and stormed out of the room.

I stood in uncomfortable silence, everyone's eyes on me. I felt like I was back in front of my English class at UTSA. I'd just assigned an unpopular essay on Chaucer's use of dirty jokes and the class was about to rebel. The only difference was that in most of my classes the students weren't armed.

"We should stay in here for what's left of the night," I suggested. "Safety in numbers."

"All right," Lane said.

Garrett looked unhappy. I had a feeling he'd had other plans about where to spend the night, and they did not involve anyone but Lane.

"What about Mr. Huff?" Lindy asked.

I looked at the doorway. I wasn't sure how to explain Alex's sudden exit.

"I'll talk to him." I turned to Imelda. "¿Y donde esta Jose?"

It was the first time I'd spoken Spanish to her. I could see her doing a quick mental rewind, trying to figure out if she'd said anything embarrassing around me in espanol.

"Upstairs, senor. The news about Senor Stowall - "

"I'll find him, too. Garrett, you and Mr. Lindy try to keep everybody else together."

"I don't have a gun," Garrett complained. "He's got a gun."

I handed him Maia's .357. "Now you have a gun."

It must've been a Texan thing. Two pistols in the room made me feel easier than just one. I turned and headed out the way Alex had gone.

At the end of the third-floor hallway, light leaked through an open doorway. I peeked inside and found Jose sitting on a bed. It was raining inside the room. The ceiling drizzled and sagged. It looked more like a washcloth than sheet rock.

The room smelled of marigolds and limes. In one corner was a little altar covered with a turquoise shawl. It held a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe and a few framed photographs, probably Jose and Imelda's dead relatives. A row of candles sputtered and flickered.

The bedspread was soaked. Everything was soaked. But Jose just sat there, holding his flashlight, watching the candles die one after the other.

"Jose."

It took him a second to focus on me. "The attic. I think the roof above us is gone."

"Do you know where Alex is?"

His eye twitched. "No, senor."

"Your things are getting ruined. You want help covering them?"

Jose's flashlight beam traced a figure eight on the soggy carpet. "There is not enough tarp in the whole house, senor. God's will, what He keeps or destroys."

I approached the altar. Among the photos of the honored dead, one showed Jose and Imelda, ten or fifteen years younger, each of them holding a baby.

"Your children," I guessed. "Twins?"

He nodded.

"How did they die?"

He looked up, anger flaring in his eyes. We were suddenly man to man. No subservience, no careful deference. "I don't talk about that."

Translation: None of your damn business, senor.

A trickle of rain spattered on my back. The drops against the damp carpet sounded like kisses.

"Chris Stowall was in the freezer for hours," I said. "You didn't have any reason to go in there when you prepared dinner?"

"No, senor."

"Who else goes into the kitchen, usually?"

"I didn't kill him, senor." There was an odd tone in his voice...almost like regret.

"You said you'd heard of Calavera before. Was it only from the news?"

Jose's nails bit into the palm of his hand. "That man, Senor Brazos. When he came here - "

"Wait a minute. Peter Brazos came here?"

"In November. He...talked to Senor Huff."

"Why didn't you mention this before?"

"It was not my place, senor. The man stayed for only a few hours. He asked questions and left. At the time, I did not think - "

"He talked to you?"

"Un poco. He asked how long we knew Senor Huff. He mentioned names I did not know, showed me photographs of some men and asked if I had seen them."

"The drug bosses he was prosecuting?"

"No se, senor. Perhaps."

On the altar, a raindrop hit a candle and it fizzled out. In the old photograph, the faces of Jose, Imelda and their children flickered. I didn't like Jose's story about Peter Brazos. I especially didn't like that Alex never mentioned the visit. He'd pretended to know nothing about Brazos or the murder of his family.

"Senor, I'm sorry you came here," Jose said. "You and your wife."

I tried for a reassuring smile. I'm not sure I pulled it off very well. "By tomorrow, the storm should pass. With any luck, a boat will come. We'll all be able to leave."

"Yes."

"Alex wants to