Satan’s Lambs by Lynn Hightower Page A

away if he feels divinely protected from your bullets.”
    â€œYou think Hayes feels invincible?”
    â€œThat’s my guess.”
    â€œSo where’s your wife?”
    â€œI was tracking down one of the Marielitos. A hard-core piece of trash from the bottom of Castro’s prisons. He called himself a brujo. A witch. He threatened me. My wife. I made arrangements to see she was safe. Physically. What I didn’t understand, at the time, was how much she believed. You understand? I didn’t realize that believing she would die, could make her die. But this man, this Marielito, he knew this. And he sent her things—little tokens I didn’t understand, but that had great meaning for her. I told her he could not get to her. I was wrong.”
    â€œWhat did he do?”
    â€œShe got a doll in the mail, a mutilated doll. There were five little black stones around it representing five gods, and a white candle on its head. From what we pieced together, the doll showed up that afternoon, sometime before lunch. She didn’t tell anybody. She didn’t call me, or anyone. She went straight upstairs and took a bottle of tranquilizers. Then she drank a bottle of brandy we’d gotten as a gift one Christmas.”
    â€œAnd she was dead when you found her?”
    â€œOne of my colleagues, one of the ones protecting her, got worried and found her.”
    â€œDid you catch him? The Marielito?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou feel guilty.”
    â€œSad. It was why I left Miami. You can’t get away from it down there, it’s always hand in hand with the drug trade. So I came here.”
    â€œA fat lot of good that did you.”

9
    â€œIt’s in here somewhere.”
    Lena stood on a wooden chair, rummaging through the top shelf of the kitchen pantry. A small brown moth with black markings on its wings landed on the doorjamb.
    â€œDon’t worry about it, Lena,” Mendez said.
    â€œNo, it’s in here, unless Beth forgot to get it.”
    â€œBeth?”
    â€œShe’s doing my grocery shopping for the next six months. I hate going to the grocery.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Two more moths flew from the bottom of the pantry, and soared out into the kitchen. Mendez waved them away.
    â€œBecause,” Lena said. “It’s always crowded. The stupid wheels on the baskets get bent and get stuck or veer sideways when you’re trying to go straight. There’s always a long line at the deli, people are grumpy, and I always spend more than—”
    â€œI mean why is this woman doing your grocery shopping?”
    â€œUmm. You told me not to incriminate myself. What did you think of the tape?”
    Mendez shrugged. “I’d like to know what it means to Hayes.”
    â€œI don’t know how much significance it has. He only heard her sing it that once, far as I know. An odd thing for him to remember. Well, maybe not. The first time ever he saw her face, and all that, plus … here it is. Clos DuBois, Cabernet Sauvignon. I wish she’d put it in the refrigerator.”
    â€œYou’re not supposed to refrigerate it.”
    â€œI don’t care what the wine rules are, Mendez, I like it better cold.”
    â€œWe’ll put an ice cube in yours. Where are these moths coming from?”
    â€œI guess the pantry. I been having all kinds of trouble lately.”
    â€œWhere in the pantry?”
    â€œI don’t know, I’d have to clean everything out.”
    â€œPlease?” Mendez said.
    Lena stepped out of his way. She went to the cabinet for wineglasses. Mendez started unloading food on the table.
    â€œJoel, what are you doing?”
    â€œTrying to figure out where … Lena.” He pulled out a box of Cheerios, peered inside, and wrinkled his nose. “This looks like the problem. There must be a thousand of them right here, cocoons and everything.” He turned the box over. “This cereal expired