Had she actually known all along what the finger tattoos meant? Ralph couldn’t tell.
“Only way to break the can’t-must paradox is with the help of a higher power, so I got me one. And I keep my sobriety medallion handy. What I was taught is that if you get wantin a drink, stick that medallion in your mouth. If it melts, you can take one.”
Holly smiled—the radiant one Ralph was coming to like so well.
The side door of the van opened, and a rusty ramp squalled out. A large lady with an extravagant corona of white hair rolled down it in a wheelchair. She had a short green oxygen bottle in her lap with a plastic tube leading from it to the cannula in her nose. “Claude! Why are you standin around with these people in the heat? If we’re gonna roll, we should roll. It’s getting on for noon.”
“This is my mother,” Claude said. “Ma, this is Detective Anderson, who questioned me on the thing I told you about. These other ones are new to me.”
Howie, Alec, and Yune introduced themselves to the old lady. Holly came last. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Bolton.”
Lovie laughed. “Well, we’ll see how you feel about that when you get to know me.”
“I’d better go see about our rental,” Howie said. “I think it’s that one parked by the door.” He pointed at a mid-size dark blue SUV.
“I’ll lead the way in the van,” Claude said. “You won’t have any problem followin along; not much in the way of traffic on the Marysville road.”
“Why don’t you ride with us, honey?” Lovie Bolton asked Holly. “Keep a old lady company.”
Ralph expected Holly to refuse, but she agreed at once. “Just give me a minute.”
She beckoned Ralph with her eyes, and he followed her toward the King Air as Claude watched his mother turn her chair and roll back up the ramp. A small plane was taking off, and at first Ralph couldn’t hear what Holly was asking him. He bent closer.
“What do I tell them, Ralph? They’re sure to ask what we’re doing here.”
He considered, then said: “Why don’t you just hit the high spots?”
“They won’t believe me!”
That made him grin. “Holly, I think you handle disbelief pretty well.”
3
Like many ex-cons （at least those that didn’t want to risk going back inside）， Claude Bolton drove the Dodge Companion van at exactly five miles an hour under the speed limit. Half an hour into the trip, he turned in at the Indian Motel & Café. He got out and spoke almost apologetically to Howie, who was behind the wheel of the rental. “Hope you don’t mind if we have a bite,” he said. “My ma sometimes has problems if she don’t eat regular, and she didn’t have any time to make sammitches. I was afraid we might miss you.” He lowered his voice, as if confiding a shameful secret. “It’s her blood sugar. When it goes low, she gets fainty.”
“I’m sure we could all use a bite,” Howie said.
“This story the lady told—”
“Why don’t we talk about it when we get to your house, Claude,” Ralph said.
Claude nodded. “Yeah, that might be better.”
The café smelled—not unpleasantly—of grease and beans and frying meat. Neil Diamond was on the jukebox, singing “I Am, I Said” in Spanish. The specials （which weren’t very） were posted behind the counter. Above the kitchen pass-through was a defaced photograph of Donald Trump. His blond hair had been colored black; he had been given a forelock and a mustache. Below it someone had printed Yanqui vete a casa: Yankee go home. At first Ralph was surprised—Texas was a red state, after all, as red as they came—but then he remembered that if whites weren’t the actual minority this near to the border, it was a close-run thing.
They sat at the far end of the room, Alec and Howie at a two-top, the others at a bigger table nearby. Ralph ordered a burger; Holly ordered a salad, which turned out to be mostly wilted iceberg lettuce; Yune and the Boltons went for the full Mexican, which consisted of a taco, a burrito, and an empanada. The waitress banged a pitcher of sweet tea down on the table without being asked.
Lovie Bolton was studying Yune, her eyes bright as a bird’s. “Sablo, you said your name was? That’s a funny one.”
“Yes, not many of us around,” Yune said.
“You come from the other side, or are you natural-born?”
“Natural-born, ma’am,” Yune said. Half of his well-stuffed taco disappeared at a single bite. “Second generation.”