The Body of Martin Aguilera by Percival Everett Page B

forty-eight hours.”
    Lewis looked at him. “You said that very well. In the meantime, while I’m waiting for my lost friend to become missing, what do you suggest I do?”
    â€œGo home and wait. She’s probably waiting for you.” The officer looked at the truck. “She may have heard a sound that she wasn’t familiar with, knew she couldn’t fix and didn’t bother to raise the hood.”
    â€œShe would have called.”
    The patrolman shrugged.
    Lewis was wishing that he had lied about how long Maggie was overdue. The younger man gave him a “keep steady” slap on the shoulder and went to his patrol car where he sat with his door open and his dome light on and used the radio. Lewis looked at the highway. The silhouette of Camel Rock stood against the lavender night sky.
    The patrolman came back. “Listen, unofficially, we’re considering your friend missing. We’re keeping our eyes open, but no one is assigned to finding her. Okay?”
    Lewis nodded. “Thanks.”
    â€œWe’ll just leave the car here. She might come back for it.”
    Lewis got into his truck and headed home.
    Lewis didn’t think there was any chance Maggie would be waiting for him. Perhaps she’d had car trouble that she recognized, like the cop said. Maybe she hitched a ride with a crazed rapist. Lewis shook his head and wondered what other kind of rapist there was. He started up the mountain. The night seemed darker than usual. Lewis had never felt so lost, so helpless. All of it was his fault, too. He parked by the corral and looked at his house. He remembered leaving a light on, but it was pitch black. He climbed the steps, opened the door and walked in. He paused, his finger on the switch to the light in the kitchen, and listened. Nothing. He turned on the light.
    The phone rang and startled him. Then he ran to it. “Hello.”
    â€œPapa?” It was Laura.
    â€œHi, Sweetie.”
    â€œI’m home.”
    â€œYou made it safe and sound, eh?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAre you doing fine?”
    â€œYes. I love you.”
    â€œI love you, too.”
    â€œMommy wanted me to call and tell you I got here.”
    â€œI’m glad you did. I miss you a lot.”
    â€œI miss you. Do you want to talk to Mommy?”
    â€œNo, I’ll talk to her later, okay? Bye, honey.” Lewis hung up. He went into his living room and sat on the sofa with his shotgun. He held the cold barrel against his face. The night was dead still, dead quiet. Lewis kept seeing in his mind the body of Martin Aguilera, naked and bloated, burns on the legs, and he could see the procession of men marching around the ugly sight of death, beating themselves, bleeding and hurting and for a second he understood, for a second would have been able to strike himself in the same manner. He took a deep breath and tried to think more useful thoughts.
    Peabody was the next step. Lewis reviewed all his suspicions of the man. If he was involved in whatever was going on, then Lewis had to confront him. If the man was not a part of it, then Lewis would only make a fool of himself. He could live with that, was quite used to it.
    He went to the kitchen and put on water for tea. Why had they taken Maggie? If indeed they had. Some unrelated crazy might have abducted her. The thought was no less disturbing. He fell into a chair at the table. The water boiled and the kettle whistled. Lewis cried.

Chapter Twenty
    Lewis managed a couple of hours of sleep. The phone remained silent in bed next to him. He showered and dressed in the morning, ate a bowl of oatmeal, dumped the horses’ trough and put in fresh water. He got out into his truck and drove down the mountain. He skidded to a stop in the dirt lot of Peabody’s office. He found the front door ajar. The assistant was not at her station. The room was dim and so Lewis opened the blinds. Peabody appeared in the doorway behind the