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  One of the twins rolled her eyes. “Grandpa, we’ve been doing it for years!”

  Tyler walked into the kitchen. He reached out and snagged a chunk of cheddar off the cutting board. “She’s not Uncle Mike’s girlfriend,” he announced. “Jaymie said she’s just his friend.”

  The talking stopped. Everyone looked at me. Everyone except Bill, who shook his head and studied the floor. “That’s somethin’ me and Jaymie are gonna discuss, after lunch.”

  * * *

  “Jaymie, let’s go talk in the office,” Bill said as Trudy helped him up out of the dining chair and handed him his cane.

  “That’s quite some cane you’ve got there, Bill.” I walked slowly beside him, ready to grab his arm if he stumbled.

  “Think so?” He grinned. “Old buddy a mine sent it from Texas. Made from a bull’s penis, believe it or not.”

  “Dad,” Trudy called from the dining room. “That’s enough about the cane.” I heard the girls giggle.

  The ranch office was located on the far side of the house. Bill eased himself in behind a carved oak desk, and motioned me to an old cracked leather chair. I looked around the room as Bill settled in.

  A bookcase held a collection of volumes and manuals with sun-bleached spines. The topics ranged from ranch accounting to Hereford diseases. Two nicked and scarred file cabinets stood on either side of a big window looking out over the tawny burnt hills of Little Panoche.

  “Nice view, isn’t it. Never get tired of it,” Bill observed. “Trudy don’t know it yet, but I’m not going back down with her to San Luis.” He said it the old-timers’ way, “San Looey.” “I don’t want to die, but if I gotta, it’s going to be right here. Right here, in the bed my wife died in. You understand?”

  “I do, Bill. But that’s not going to happen for a while yet.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” He began to cough, and pulled out a crumpled red bandanna. “Trudy’s always after me to use Kleenex. I tell her I’m not gonna change my ways, not this late in the game.” He coughed some more, then leaned back in the chair and stuffed the bandanna in his pocket. “Now. About Mike.”

  I’d been dreading this. I knew how much Bill wanted us hitched. “I wish he’d told you, Bill. That we’re not a couple anymore. The truth is, it’s always been off and on with us. Now, it’s off.” I looked over at him. “Permanently, I’m afraid.”

  Bill waved a hand in the air, like he was swatting a fly. “I figured it out months ago, Jaymie. Mike didn’t have to say nothin’. Whenever your name came up, he got real quiet. And it’s none of my business why you dumped him. My boy can be damned stubborn and ornery, like me. He most likely deserved it.”

  “Bill?” I took in a breath and let it out. “Mike dumped me. Not the other way around.”

  “Then he’s a goddamn fool.”

  “No. He broke up with me because I let him down.”

  I’d let Mike down, all right. I’d decided to move out of town, to run off without telling him or saying goodbye. It was a panicky thing to do, and implied I didn’t give a damn about him—which wasn’t true.

  “We all got our problems.” Bill shook his head. “I don’t know you as well as I’d like, Jaymie, don’t know what you been through in life. But now that I’m getting near the end, I’m trying to set things right. My boy Mike—there’s something I gotta tell you about him. Hard to say it.”

  I didn’t want to hear whatever secret Bill was about to reveal. But how to tell that to a dying man? I could only try to divert him.

  “Mike has a new girlfriend now. Her name’s Mandy. She’s—she’s nice. You’d like her, Bill.”

  “Fine, but she’s not you. I see Mike every week or so, I can tell you one thing for sure: he’s not in love with this new one.” The old man placed both hands flat on the fuzzy blotter. “I was rough on him growing up. That’s what I got to confess. I was a bad-tempered sonofabitch, and I took everything out on him.” Bill was talking quickly now, breathing heavily.

  “If there’s one thing in my life I could do over, it would be how I raised that boy. It made him too hard. That’s what I want you to know. Mike closed up some, the way I see it. And if he gets the rug yanked out from under him, like must of happened with you, well, he washes his hands of the situation, tout suite.”

  The room was too hot. I was prickly with sweat. “I don’t know what I can—”

  “But he’s having a hard time washing his hands of you, Jaymie. I see it, I’m not makin’ this up. I got no right to beg you to give him another chance, but I guess that’s what I’m doin’.”

  There was a light knock on the door. It opened, and Perry stuck in her head. “Grandpa? Mom says you have to go take your nap.”

  “Come to this, has it?” He shook his head. “My own granddaughter tellin’ me to go take a nap.” Then he reached out a hand to the girl.

  “Come here, sweetheart. Come and give your grandpa a hug.”

  When the girl wrapped her arms around her grandfather’s neck, I had to look away. My eyes stung with tears.

  * * *

  I was out on the porch, saying my goodbyes to Trudy and the kids, when Mike’s Silverado roared up the road and slammed to a halt.

  “Uncle Mike! He’s here!” the twins squealed. They raced down the porch steps. Tyler followed at a more leisurely pace, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

  “The main attraction has arrived.” Trudy shook her head. “They won’t leave him alone the whole time he’s here.” She looked over at me and smiled. “Guess you’re staying for a while longer. Mike’s blocked in your car.”

  I watched as he got out of the pickup and stretched. The girls were jumping around him and chattering away. Mike bent down and gave each girl a hug. Then he slapped Tyler on the back.

  “He sure likes kids.” Trudy shot me another glance. “Excuse me, will you? I need to get back to my post.”

  Mike waded through the welcoming throng and went around to the passenger’s side to unload his old duffel bag. The girls grabbed it off him and carried it between them. Then they all paraded along the path and up the steps. So far Mike hadn’t given me so much as a glance.

  The kids were quiet now, all eyes, waiting to see how their uncle would react to me. I was kind of wondering, myself.

  “Hey, Jaymie. How’s it going?” Mike walked on past me. My heart dropped.

  Then, as the girls screamed in delight, Mike spun around, grabbed me in a bear hug, and planted a big noisy kiss on my mouth.

  “Mike!’ I managed to gasp.

  “Show’s gotta go on,” he said in my ear.

  “Listen, you kids. Me and Jaymie gotta talk about some business. I’ll be in pretty quick.”

  “What kind of business?” Perry shrieked. It looked like the excitement level was going to keep running high.

  “Grown-up business, short stuff. Now go grill me a tomato and cheese sandwich, OK?”

  “Kay. We already put some beer in the refrigerator for you, Uncle Mike.”

  “Good girls. Where’s Grampa?”

  “Mom made him go take a nap.”

  Mike still hadn’t taken his arm away from my waist. “Tye, did you tune up that farm bike like I asked you?”

  “Yeah, it runs real good.”

  “Great. I want to take Dad out in the morning, we’ll all go for a ride. Now you kids buzz off.”

  “Why, do you want privacy?” Perry giggled.

  “Uh-huh.” Mike laughed. “And maybe some peace and quiet, if you don’t mind.”

  He dropped his arm from my waist and took me by the elbow, steering me down the steps and around the southwest corner of the house. “Those two girls are going to be big trouble. Just give ’em four or five years.”

  “They’re nice kids. You’re lucky, you have a wonderful family, Mike.”

  “Yeah, I do. Thanks to my mom.”

  I stopped and turned to him. “Look, I can’t stay. I’ve got an appointment in the city at four. What did you want to talk about?”
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br />   “It’s too hot to talk out here. Let’s go in the barn.”

  “Hot? It’s brutal. How do the cattle survive?”

  “Just fine, if the water tanks don’t run dry and we feed them hay. We had a dry winter, so there’s not much fodder left out there on the hills.”

  We approached the big two-story redwood barn. Mike lifted the hasp and shoved open one of the double doors. I stepped inside, and he closed the door after us.

  Except for a half-floor at the back, the open space soared to the rafters. Bright strips of light gleamed through the gaps in the siding. It was like being in a church.

  “Nothing like a barn,” Mike said softly. “Something about that smell.”

  I breathed in deeply. It was a mix of horse hair, manure, hay, and machine oil. “But where are the horses?”

  “Had to take them down to San Luis last spring. They’re boarded down there. We have a ranch manager now, comes up three times a week. But we can’t expect José to look after the cattle and the horses, too.”

  Mike dragged a hay bale down off a stack. “Here you go.”

  I sat down and watched Mike as he wandered around, checking on things: tack hanging on nails, a stack of empty gunny sacks. He walked back over and leaned against a post. “José’s keeping it afloat, but a couple days a week just isn’t enough.”

  “What will you do?” I didn’t add, “when Bill dies.” Mike would know what I meant.

  “Not sure.” He rubbed the edge of his boot against the layer of dirt on the concrete floor. “This is where I want to be, eventually. There are plenty of improvements I’d like to make. But—” He shrugged.

  High above us, the corrugated iron roof cracked in the heat. “But what? You were made for this, Mike. It’s your home.”

  “I hate to say it, but it’s kind of lonely up here. I don’t know … maybe I could put up another house, José could move up with his wife and kids.”

  But I knew that wasn’t the answer. And I knew that Mike knew.

  “The thing is, Dad—” Mike was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. “He won’t be back, Jaymie. They’re taking him down to San Luis to die.”

  I got up from the hay bale and went to him. When I put my arms around him, I started crying, too.

  I don’t know how to explain it. Human beings are odd ducks, I suppose. I can only say that one minute we were comforting each other, two old friends. But the barn was warm and dark and—private. And before long, my back was up against the rough plank wall.

  We did it fully clothed, both of us a shade too rough. And fast, maybe because there wasn’t a lock on the door, or maybe so we didn’t have to think about it. I held back my cries.

  “I miss you, Jaymie,” Mike said as he pulled up his jeans. “I wish I didn’t.” He sounded almost angry, accusing.

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say, because I felt such a jumble of emotions.

  I yanked the elastic band off my ponytail and smoothed my hair back, then snapped the band back on. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to get you on your own.”

  “Mission accomplished.” I tried a laugh, but it sounded strained. “Move your truck, please. I need to go.”

  * * *

  I drove down the Salinas Valley through the summer heat, following the course of the ancient underground river toward the sea. I’d have to step on it to get to San Francisco on time. My usual MO was to arrive early for interviews, in order to catch my subject off-guard. This time I’d be the frazzled one.

  I didn’t want to think about Mike. That chapter of my life was closed. I’d made a mistake, and he’d moved on.

  Oh, Mike wanted me, all right. But today I’d heard something else in his voice: he resented me, too.

  I wanted to believe I’d moved on as well. But I hadn’t, not really. Even now, just thinking about the guy jabbed at me like a yellow jacket.

  And something else was jabbing at me.

  I thought again about the note, which I’d slipped in a clear plastic sleeve and tucked in my messenger bag. Your brother did not kill himself. What are you going to do about it?

  Do about it? I was doing nothing about it. In fact, I—Shit! A horn shrieked in my ear.

  I’d pulled into the center lane without looking in my rearview mirror. I gave a weak apologetic wave.

  Shaken a little, I turned on the radio and scanned through the stations till I found a mind-numbing oldies format. Do ya luv me, duh-duh-duh, do ya luv me, duh-duh-duh, now that I can dance?

  I tried to keep my mind on autopilot all the way up through Silicon Valley, the Peninsula, and into the great little city of San Fran.

  * * *

  A cross-faced Steven Steinbach answered the door of the slick postmodern three-story home. He wore baggy jeans and a rumpled T-shirt that read Noe Valley Cooperative. “You’re late,” he complained.

  “Sorry. The traffic…” Vaguely, I waved.

  “Traffic’s always bad. You have to allow time.”

  I was getting off on a defensive foot, and that wouldn’t do. “Is it a problem, Mr. Steinbach?”

  “I’ve got to go out later, that’s all.” He waved me in. “How long will this take?”

  “Not long.” The entry was low-ceilinged, almost uncomfortably so. I followed him through the tunnel-like hall, and stepped into a world of light. The room we’d entered, a kind of atrium, soared more than two stories to a massive skylight. Tropical plants wound and wriggled their way upward.

  “Wow. This room—”

  “Call it a space, not a room. Or better yet, call it an environment. That’s what my partner insists on calling it. Say it’s a room in front of Eugene, and he’ll never forget what a pleb you are.”

  “An architect, huh?”

  “And a snob.”

  Great timing. I seemed to have a penchant for arriving in the middle of family spats.

  Steven led me through the jungle, then down another low-ceilinged hall to a room on the right. One long skinny window looked out to the neighboring building’s brick wall, about two feet away.

  He dropped onto a square black leather couch and pointed me to a leopard-print chair. It was uncomfortable, and I perched on the edge.

  “Look, Mel called and asked me to meet with you again. Otherwise, I’d probably tell you to go take a hike.”

  I said nothing, though a few choice replies came to mind.

  “Sorry,” Steven said after a moment. “You’ve caught me on a bad day. Nothing personal.”

  “No problem. I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Steinbach, and leave you to your bad day.”

  To his credit, the guy laughed. “I’m a software designer, I work out of the house. Hard to leave work at the office when you work at home, know what I mean? Listen, call me Steven. Otherwise it sounds like you’re talking to my dad.”

  I nodded. “All right, Steven. I’ll just say it. We’ve uncovered evidence that suggests Skye was murdered.”

  “What?” His brow knitted tight. “Is this something I need to hear?”

  “Don’t you want to find out what happened to your nephew?”

  “Skye’s dead. It won’t change a thing.”

  The man was like a goddamn seesaw, up one minute, down the next. “You sound resentful. Did he do something to earn your dislike?”

  “I never disliked Skye. Never.” Steven uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “When that kid was little, I was his favorite. I used to take him everywhere. The merry-go-round down by the beach, the zoo. In the summers, whenever Mel needed a break, I took Skye to Leadbetter Beach. In fact, I was the one”—he stabbed himself in the chest with a finger—“I was the one who taught Skye how to surf.”

  “What changed?”

  “You’ve met my dad. Can’t you guess?”

  I thought of Rod Steinbach, and the obvious pride he’d had in his grandson. And I thought about how single-minded Rod was, how strong-willed. “Your fa
ther took over. He pushed you aside and replaced you with Skye.”

  “Pretty much.” He lifted a hand, let it fall in his lap. “Look. My father would say it’s just fine that I’m gay. He’s an old sixties radical, very PC. But underneath, when it comes right down to it, he despises me.” Steven leaned back on the couch and shrugged. “Somewhere along the line Dad decided Skye was the chip off the block, not me. He even told Mel the genes had skipped a generation.”

  “So Skye was the golden-haired boy.”

  “Yes. But to be honest, Skye wasn’t the first. Melanie and I, we’re both wimps, I suppose. Anyway, that’s how Dad saw us. Growing up, we were basically ignored. Dad always had some favorite grad student who was going places. Later on, he focused on Skye. I guess I was kind of jealous of my nephew for a while. But I always knew it wasn’t his fault.” Steven looked over at me. “Got what you came for?”

  “Not quite,” I replied. “You were back in Santa Barbara for your sister’s fortieth birthday, correct?”

  He stared at me for a long moment. “Yes.”

  “And her party was that night, right? The night Skye died.”

  “Your point?”

  “There is no point, Steven. I just want to know where you were that evening, between the hours of five and ten.”

  He flushed and opened his mouth. Then he turned pale. “You’re asking me—you’re asking me—”

  A door slammed in the house. Then I heard two voices, one a child’s, the other a man’s. A commotion, the sound of scampering feet, and a call: “Daddy! Daddy, where are you?”

  A pair of bright eyes peeked around the door. Then a little boy of around three, wearing a pair of striped overalls, slammed open the door and ran into the room with a whoop. He stopped and pointed at Steven. “I found you! Are you hiding, Daddy?”

  Steven grinned. “Yeah, I was hiding. You found me, Luke.”

  The toddler whooped again, then ran over and climbed up on the divan. He threw an arm around Steven’s neck and pointed at me. “Who is that lady?”

  “That lady is Jaymie. Jaymie, this is Luke.”

  “Everything all right?” A thin balding man in his fifties appeared in the doorway. He wore a slight but permanently etched frown.