Mendocino Jones in No Place for the Weak at Heart

Gettin' to Know You

A good thing about being self-employed and unemployed. Monday can be of your own choosing. They spent their first day in and out of bed. He got the tour of the place. Her photography studio was a renovated barn on the far side of the drive.

They sat a long while by the natural spring behind the house. She put her finger to her lips. "Listen." The faintest plink...plink...plink. Spring water oozed from white limestone, dripping into a smooth rock basin, a bowl made by nature.

"Feel." She took his hand, brushing it across moss lining the basin's edge. It was soft and deepest green, with tiny flecks of gold here and there, like her eyes. Fresh spring water trickled from the shallow basin into a larger, deeper rock pond that overflowed, meandering across the pasture and filling a stock pond near the road.

They were comfortably cool on a glider beneath the deep shade of leafy, gnarled, old trees around the spring. So deep was the shade that Mendocino squinted to see what was beyond in the glaring afternoon sun. What a contrast. A most peaceful place. Who discovered this? Who first built here? Certainly not her father. This place was much older than that.

They spent the night in each other's arms, in an exhausted, peaceful sleep after the rollercoaster emotions of the weekend.

***

Tuesday, reality set back in.

"I have a family coming for a session this morning," Tillie told him over breakfast. They ate bacon and eggs, fried in a cast-iron skillet, at the round clawfoot table in the kitchen. A big room, the table the center of everything. Houses weren't like this anymore. Pale green cabinets with glass knobs lined two walls of the kitchen. Butcher block countertops. She kept the heavy wooden door propped open to the screened-in porch in the early morning with fresh air carrying fragrances from the backyard.

"We need to talk about that, too." He slathered strawberry jelly on toast.

"What?"

His mouth was full. He grinned, held his hand up, and swallowed, washing it down with coffee. "You and work."

She tilted her head back, brows raised, and he caught that fire. Tillie Tomlin wasn't letting anyone tell her how to do her work. He held up his hand smiling. "Down, girl. What I mean is, I'm still concerned about Ed Sartain. I've got to find out who he is. Arrest him or have him arrested."

"It's probably nothing, Mendocino. Just a fan." She leaned in, whispering play-like, "There are people who like my work."

"I know. I'm one of them. I still don't think you need to be out here by yourself with him on the loose."

"I'm not. Not anymore. You're with me."

"I don't live here."

"You can."

He stared at her. Surprised. But not surprised. His gaze narrowed. "I'm studying the Hector Aldonado case. I signed a confidentiality agreement. If I were to bring those papers here, you cannot see them."

"Hector Aldonado?" She pushed away from the table, leaning back in her chair. "Why are you looking into John David's murder?"

"To find the men who shot me."

"Who'd you sign the agreement with?"

"His lawyer. Lisa Albright. West Texas Legal Aid out of El Paso."

Tillie frowned. "You want to help the man who killed John David?"

Mendocino got up from the table and poured himself another cup of coffee, leaning his back against the butcher-block counter. "I'm not convinced Hector Aldonado killed anyone."