Tres Leches Cupcakes

by Josi S. Kilpack

  He cocked his head to the side and eyed her with a little more consideration. “How would you know that? Were you here?”

  “I were . . . I mean, I was,” Sadie said, then hurried to explain. She didn’t want to get him thinking she might be the woman accused of starting the fight. “A friend of mine was here as well but we got separated and I’m trying to track her down. I was hoping maybe someone here would know what happened after the police took . . . uh, after the police left. I’m hoping someone remembers my friend.”

  “We got closed down for the night,” the bartender said. Someone waved at him from the other end of the counter. “Be right there,” he said before pointing over Sadie’s shoulder. “Mike was here, though.”

  She looked over her shoulder as the bartender explained that Mike was the guy in the Red Sox baseball cap and Tapout T-shirt. She turned to thank the bartender, but he was already moving down the bar.

  Sadie stood up and turned toward Mike, but he must have overheard because he’d already stood up from his table and was coming toward her with an amiable smile on his boyish face. He had light brown skin, dark hair that poked out from beneath his hat, and blue eyes. She guessed he was part Native American.

  “So they let you out already, huh?” he asked when he reached her.

  “Pardon me?” Sadie said, but she could feel the heat rising in her neck. He recognized her from Monday night? Oh dear.

  “You’re the lady who started the fight, right?” He leaned against the bar, bracing himself with his elbows as he looked her over in a way that made her want to fix her hair.

  “I really didn’t start it,” she explained, standing up straight. “Shel—the man who actually started it—was lunging toward my friend. I just reacted like anyone else would have done.”

  “Hey,” he said, raising both hands as though in surrender. One hand held a longneck bottle of beer. “It was the most exciting night I’ve had in months, I’m not complaining.” He smiled and took a long drink of his beer.

  He was young, mid-twenties, Sadie guessed. What was he doing in a bar Monday night and again today? Didn’t he know there was a whole world out there? And yet, maybe his pending alcoholism could work in her favor. She sat back down on her barstool and struck a more casual pose.

  “I’m glad someone enjoyed it,” Sadie said. “It was quite horrible for me.”

  He shrugged and slid onto the stool next to her, both of them with their backs to the bar, facing the tables and patrons. “But they let you out?”

  “I made bail,” Sadie said as though she always made bail easily when arrested following the barroom brawls she was wrongly accused of starting. She put out her hand. “I’m Sadie.”

  He held out the hand not holding his beer and grabbed hers in a single shake. “Mike.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mike,” Sadie said before leaning her elbows back against the bar behind her. “I was with a friend on Monday and I’m trying to track her down. Any chance you remember her? She was blonde, about five foot seven, with bright red lipstick.”

  “White chick?”

  “Yes,” Sadie said, embarrassed by her faux pas. “She’s white.” In a lot of other places there’d be the assumption that whoever she talked about was Caucasian if she didn’t point out otherwise, but not here. Caro had told her about a friend who was blonde-haired and blue-eyed but considered herself a Pueblo because of her great-grandmother’s ethnicity. She took great offense to being called white, even though that’s what she appeared to be. Apparently Sadie hadn’t taken Caro’s education on the social diversity as seriously as she should have.

  “You’ve just described half the female clientele of this fine establishment,” Mike said with a laugh. “The other half are brown-skinned with dark hair and dark eyes. They still wear the lipstick, though.”

  “She had braids,” Sadie said, picturing Margo as she’d looked Monday night. “And a . . . very tight pink top.” A thought came to mind—could the too-tight shirt have attracted the wrong sort of attention?

  She saw recognition dawn in Mike’s eyes. “She was at the table with you, right?”

  Sadie nodded, a bit disappointed that it was Margo’s immodesty that sparked his recollection, but grateful that he remembered her all the same. “Yes. When things got . . . going, we were separated and then I . . . I was, you know . . . taken in.”

  “Right,” he said with a nod, leaning one elbow on the bar and staring at the far wall as though pondering. “She left after you did, I think. Well, I mean we all left after you did.”

  “I heard it got shut down.”

  “Yeah, two hours early. Cops.” He sounded rather disgusted that the police would do such a thing, but as long as he wasn’t blaming her, Sadie could handle his perception of things.

  “Did you happen to notice my friend after the bar closed down for the night?”

  “She left with a guy.”

  “Willingly?” Sadie blurted, earning her a curious look from her new friend. “I mean, she and I came together, so I’m just surprised she left with someone else.”

  “She looked willing to me,” he said.

  “Did you see if they took her car? It’s an old green Land Cruiser.”

  “Bunch of stickers on the back?”

  Sadie nodded.

  “Yeah, they talked for awhile and then she drove off in it, headed toward Tesuque, following the guy’s car.”

  “He knew she was following him? They planned it?”

  Mike gave her an odd look. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What’s Tesuque?” Sadie asked, repeating his pronunciation in her mind: tuh-soo-key. Was it a landmark of some kind?

  “Tesuque Pueblo,” Mike clarified.

  “Oh, a reservation?”

  “No, a pueblo, the land the tribe lived on historically rather than new land reserved for them to live on now.”

  “Sorry,” Sadie said, hoping she hadn’t offended him. “I’m not from here.”

  “I figured that,” he said with a slight smile. “Otherwise you’d know what Tesuque was and why a pueblo isn’t a reservation.”

  “And my friend was going there?” Why would Margo go to a reservation . . . a pueblo late at night?

  “She was going that direction,” Mike clarified. “There are some houses and ranches out that way too.”

  “Do you know the man she left with?”

  “I’ve seen him a time or two. He’s not a regular, though.”

  “Can you describe him, or his car?” Sadie asked even though she only knew three men from the bar last night.

  “Reddish hair,” Mike said, “About my size, I guess.”

  Langley, Sadie thought to herself. “Any chance you noticed a tattoo on his arm?”

  Mike paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so, something green.”

  So, Margo had followed Langley somewhere. “What time did the bar close down?”

  “About ten thirty,” Mike said. “By the time I got to Southern Exposure, Letterman was just starting.”

  His comment distracted her from Margo for a minute. “You went to another bar after this one closed down?”

  “Sure,” he said, finishing off his beer. “The night was still young.”

  Sadie felt her smile turn sad. “Do you mind if I ask why a man as young and bright as yourself spends his days and nights in a bar?”

  His smile faded too, and he looked at his beer. “Lost my job a few months ago. There’s just not much left to do with my time.”

  “Are you a married man?”

  “My girlfriend up and left about the same time I was canned.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sadie said sincerely. It was sad to see someone so young without direction. “And I know you don’t know me, but do you mind if I offer you a little advice?”

  “Get a job?” he said dryly. “I might have heard that one before.”

  “No, find something to be passionate about.”

  “I told you, she left me.”

 
“Not a woman,” Sadie said. “Something worth investing in for the rest of your life. Maybe you like to paint, or lift weights, or make the perfect brisket.”

  His eyebrows pulled together.

  Sadie was just getting started. “Jobs come and go, but passion can last a lifetime. It makes the hard times bearable and the good times easier to find. Isn’t there something you love to do? A hobby or a talent you enjoy?”

  “I like drinking.”

  “Unfortunately that won’t bring you the same satisfaction as putting yourself into something you love.” She looked at him expectantly until she saw his expression change.

  “I like horses,” he said quietly. “I was working on a ranch, but they had to downsize. I got let go and had to move back in with my mom.” He made a face and the disappointment rolled off him in waves. “I can’t imagine doing anything else, but jobs are scarce. My ranch wasn’t the only one to downsize.”

  “Then volunteer somewhere,” Sadie said. “I bet there’s a stable around here somewhere that would love an extra set of hands. Or you could go to school and become a veterinarian or a tech or an equestrian masseur. You seem like a nice man; it would be a shame if you wasted away in a place like this. God gave you gifts with the hope that you would use them, especially at a time like this when things seem so dark.”

  He regarded her closely, carefully, and she smiled and put a hand on his arm, giving him a little squeeze. “This isn’t the life you were meant to live, Mike. But thank you for being here today when I needed your help.” She stood up. “I’ve got to go look for my friend, but I wish you the best.”

  Chapter 16

  Sadie left her number with Mike and asked him to call her if he remembered anything else or if he saw Langley at the bar later. Giving out her number and using her real name made her a little uncomfortable after being so cautious all these months. But it seemed like a good risk, and she didn’t want to cut herself off from additional information. Mike had put the napkin with her number on it in his pocket and wished her luck before ordering another beer.

  Once in her car again, she made some notes to track down Langley’s phone number, and maybe Garrett’s too. They could likely fill her in on what happened after she’d left. Since she was right here, though, she decided to drive in the direction Mike had indicated and see where Margo had headed.

  There wasn’t much on the road to Tesuque—another bar, a storage facility, and what looked like a manufacturing plant of some kind. The road narrowed, and though she passed a crumbling cinderblock building with a “For Lease” sign in the window, there wasn’t much else.

  Sadie took it slow, scanning the sides of the road and pulling over to allow other cars to pass her. She wondered if she wasn’t looking for a needle in a haystack. She didn’t know the area or where Margo could have been going. Why would she follow Langley anywhere? He must have invited her somewhere, and she must have been interested enough to trust him. The message Margo left Sadie indicated some kind of discovery or realization—but about what? How was Langley connected? What was Margo apologizing for?

  Sadie looked in her rearview mirror. Santa Fe was slowly blending into the desert skyline the farther away she got. The buildings were soon behind her, and she entered into what seemed like miles and miles of rolling desert hills dotted with cedar, pinion, and juniper trees. Gates barred access to several dirt roads, some of which seemed to lead to buildings in the distance, and Sadie became even more discouraged. If Margo had gone through one of those gates, Sadie would never spot her vehicle from here—assuming it was still there. Then Sadie saw a sign that caused her to stop her car in the middle of the road.

  Cold River Ranch

  An arrow beneath the words pointed down a blacktopped road. A tingle rushed through her. She put on her blinker. Half a mile in, the way was blocked by a wrought-iron gate complete with an archway that rose up from either side of the road. In the middle of the metal arch was a rendition of the same logo Sadie had seen on Benny’s shirt at the police station and on the website.

  Sadie rolled down her window to get a better view of the thick iron gate. The desert breeze was cool enough to feel refreshing without being cold. The gate wasn’t fancy, just metal posts four feet tall, welded onto crossbeams at the top, center, and bottom of the gate. Upon further inspection, she could see a post set alongside the road six feet in front of the gate, topped with a number pad.

  She pulled up until her window was even with the device that she assumed allowed entry if someone entered the correct code. She put the car in park and got out to get a closer look at the ranch. The gate wasn’t like those she’d seen on TV in front of celebrity homes. If someone really wanted to enter they could simply climb over the gate, or through the three-rail fencing that wrapped around the property. But the gate was closed all the same, and it held tight when she shook it—not that she necessarily wanted to go in.

  Beyond the gate—a mile at least—was a large adobe homestead with a U-shaped driveway looped in front of it. Behind it, there were numerous outbuildings, including a metal grain silo that rose up behind a weathered barn almost as big as the house. There was plenty of what looked like open range, liberally sprinkled with cattle. The cedars and pinions thickened as the property stretched back, then rose into the Sangre de Cristo mountains.

  Was Langley affiliated with the ranch too? Sadie scanned the horizon as though Margo’s Land Cruiser might appear in the distance. How would Langley have convinced Margo to follow him to the ranch? Sadie turned back to look at her car parked by the pin pad. She could easily imagine Margo’s Land Cruiser idling behind Langley’s truck as he punched in the code, then easing on through to whatever lay inside the compound.

  How did these pieces connect together? Where did Shel fit in? And Langley? And where was Margo?

  As Sadie approached her car again, she noticed several cigarette butts on the ground.

  Sadie lifted her head slightly, looking again at the area of road where Margo’s Land Cruiser would have idled if Langley had punched in the code to allow them inside. She also thought of the cigarette Margo had thrown into the ashtray just before they entered the bar Monday night and specifically the bright red lipstick ring on the filter. It had taken Sadie some serious scrubbing to get the dark red lipstick off her lips the next morning. What if . . .

  Sadie scanned the dirt, rock, and dry desert grasses on the edge of the road. She kicked at a couple tufts of brush, trying to peer beneath them. She squealed when a thin, dusty green lizard darted out from beneath the sagebrush, quickly disappearing beneath a rock. It took her a moment to catch her breath. She could handle lizards, it was surprises that got the best of her.

  Would Margo have just dropped her cigarette? Or thrown it? There were dozens of butts mingling with the red-brown dirt, but Margo’s lipstick was bright red and the cigarette would be new. Sadie moved further from the asphalt, still scanning the ground carefully. And then she saw it.

  Goosebumps broke out across her shoulder blades, and even though it was exactly what she’d been looking for, she almost couldn’t believe she’d really found it. She hurried a few steps forward and bent down, reaching beneath the skeletal remains of a tumbleweed caught up on sagebrush when she heard the sound of an engine.

  Her head snapped up, and she looked first in the direction of the ranch. No one was coming from the ranch side of the gate, so she turned around to see a white truck come to a stop behind where her car blocked the road, right where Sadie imagined Margo’s Land Cruiser would have been waiting for entrance. She glanced back to the ground where she’d seen the red-ringed cigarette butt.

  “Can I help you, Señora?”

  Sadie focused on the man leaning one elbow out of the truck and looking at her curiously. It took a beat for her to realize it was Benny from the police station yesterday. She stood even straighter, wondering if he recognized her as well.

  “What you doing over there?” Benny asked when she didn’t answer.

  “Uh,
I . . .” She looked at the ground: powdery red dirt, washed-out sagebrush, tumbleweeds, and the occasional piece of litter, bleached by the sun. And Margo’s cigarette butt. She couldn’t admit she was looking for that, though. “I saw a lizard,” she said quickly, then pointed to the place where she’d seen the lizard disappear. “I . . . I was hoping to catch it for my nephew. He was too fast for me, though—the lizard, not my nephew.”

  Benny narrowed his eyes at her as she stood in the brush and tried to look casual.

  “What are you doing at the ranch?”

  Oh, yeah, the ranch. Sadie glanced toward the hacienda, then back to Benny. “I made a wrong turn,” she said as she began walking back to her car. She’d come back for the butt later. “I was about to turn around when I saw the lizard. Sorry I’m in your way.”

  “Hey,” he said again, peering at her as she got closer to him out of necessity. “I know you, sí?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” she said, counting on the fact that he hadn’t paid her as much attention as she’d paid him at the police station. She avoided his eyes all the same though, and angled more sharply toward her car. “I’ll move my car so I’m not in your way.”

  She heard the click before she saw his door opening. It blocked her path, and she stopped as he stepped out of the truck. He wasn’t tall, but he was imposing, with an air of confidence and suspicion that made Sadie uncomfortable. He wore what looked like the same denim shirt he’d had on the day before and the gray felt cowboy hat with sweat stains on the brim; whatever he did on the ranch required him to work hard. He had the deep lines on his face of a man who spent a lot of time in the sun and a sense of ownership she found a little confusing. Benny just worked at the ranch; he didn’t own it. From what she’d read online, Edward Standage was the owner of the ranch—and he was sixty-something and Caucasian.

  Benny looked at her with distrustful brown eyes and then glanced toward the brush she’d been pawing through before he pulled up. He wouldn’t see the cigarette, would he?