Dead Dogs and Englishmen by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli

he explained to both of us, dragging his words. “Be back soon. Better you wait ’til he gets here. Don’t either of you want to be out there with the spraying goin’ on.”
    â€œWant to tell the deputy what you told me?” I said.
    He nodded to Dolly, then nodded again. “Heard you’re doin’ a bang-up job there in Leetsville, Deputy. Be happy to help out anyway I can. What Carlos was sayin’ was that he got wind of things—workers getting scared off and such. He says it’s about something big that’s either going on already or might go on. Couple of illegals got involved, then got scared and hightailed it outta here. Nobody knows what’s happenin’, but I’m thinking drugs. Something like that.”
    â€œWhat’s with the dead dogs?” I asked. “Your guy have any idea?”
    George Sandini shrugged, bringing his wide shoulders up to his ears and down again. “Heard about that, too. One man had a dead dog thrown up near his house. Kids found it in the morning. Maybe it’s a Mexican thing. Like a warning they’d recognize right away.”
    â€œAny idea who the murdered woman is?”
    He shook his head slowly. “Nobody went missing far as I heard. Maybe Carlos can tell you something. Doubt it though. I’ll tell you one thing. This guy’s usually real steady. He’s with me permanently—long as I’ve got a farm. Carlos is a citizen. Been here over nineteen years. Good man. What he does is help the migrant workers when he can. I mean, helps them find places to shop, doctors when they need one. Things like that. But I never seen him as shook up as he is now. Already he sent his wife and kids to his brother in California. Says far as he can see, it’s gettin’ dangerous around here.” He made a face, took off his cap and scratched his head. “You ever hear of anything like that, Dolly? Dangerous up here? But I’ll tell you both, what I got to worry about is having help with the crops. Can’t handle the harvest by myself. No way. So we’re all hoping this thing gets resolved …” He put a hand over his eyes and looked off behind where we were standing.
    An old green army truck drove in and stopped. A small, dark man with a thick head of straight black hair, wearing a blue-striped shirt and old jeans, jumped out and hailed George.
    â€œYou finish the apples?” Sandini asked.
    The man nodded, smiled, and walked to where we stood waiting under the trees. George Sandini made the introductions and the man’s face closed down on itself. His eyes narrowed. All trust and friendliness got lost back in his head.
    â€œCan you tell me what’s going on, Carlos?” Dolly asked, toeing the bare dirt with her booted foot, then looking off across the road, to another farm.
    â€œOnly what I told George here.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Workers are leaving when they shouldn’t leave. Harvest time is ahead. This is what they come for but now, one after another, they’re going away. Back to Mexico, I think. One whole family, the Diaz family, gone.”
    â€œWhy are they leaving?” Dolly asked.
    Again he shrugged and looked hard at his dusty shoe tops. “I heard some things. Just some things I don’t know for sure. George asked me what I know and I told him not a lot. Just things I heard.”
    â€œWhat are those things, Carlos?” Dolly asked, glancing at George Sandini then back to Carlos. “It would help if you could tell us what’s going on. One woman is already dead. You know who that could be?”
    He shook his head. “I only heard one thing.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Dolly prodded.
    â€œThat the woman wasn’t just nobody. I heard she might be official, with the Mexican government.”
    Dolly and I exchanged a look. What now? “Was she looking for somebody? Like a fugitive or something?”
    Carlos