"I'm sorry, Sergeant Garcia," Alejandro said, not sounding it. "Can you repeat that once more?"
"It is just as I said, Don Alejandro," Sergeant Garcia, one of the lancers assigned to the cuartel, shook his head. "The doctor can find no explanation for how Dr. de la Cruz died."
Alejandro threw his hands in the air, looking at Diego. His son looked just as intrigued as he did. "He didn't, I do not know, fall from a horse, or tumble down the hill?"
"There are no marks on him," Garcia replied. "There is nothing to indicate that anyone lay a hand on him. It is like his heart just gave out on him." He shivered. "Perhaps the man you met is right…perhaps he was killed by a ghost."
Diego thought of the figure he'd seen. "Oh Sergeant, do not tell me you believe in such things?" he asked his friend.
Garcia exchanged a look with Corporal Reyes, then nodded to Diego. "I have spent the better part of two years chasing a man I know to be real but have been unable to catch. If El Zorro is not the definition of a ghost or a phantom, I do not know what else he can be."
Diego hid a grin with a cough into his sleeve. He glanced sideways at his father. Alejandro looked annoyed, and Diego wasn't sure if it had to do with the conversation or his frustration at not having exact answers for the cause of Dr. de la Cruz's death.
"So as far as the world knows, the doctor died of…of what? Fright?" Alejandro demanded.
When Garcia nodded, Alejandro scoffed. "There must be another explanation!"
"But Don Alejandro," Garcia said, "if the doctor cannot find another explanation…what other explanation can there be?"
Diego smiled. "He has you there, Father," he said. "Gracias, Sergeant for the information, and for responding so quickly last night."
"Don Diego, if it had been anyone else waking me that late," Garcia assured him, "I would not have been so prompt."
"I'm sure not," Alejandro muttered, and Diego shot his father a Look. Garcia took his leave and headed for the inn.
Bernardo glanced around, then tapped Diego. He wiggled his fingers menacingly and pantomimed being frightened. Then, he waved a hand with a frown. "No, Bernardo, I don't think it was a real ghost, but someone is certainly trying to make it seem that way."
"Of course it is not a ghost," Alejandro shook his head. "The doctor died of an affection of the heart, not fright! That was a flesh and blood person you saw last night."
"But the question is, Father," Diego pointed out, "who did I see?"
"That, my son, is the mystery that must be solved." Alejandro gestured to their wagon, and the three men climbed in.
Eyes watched the de la Vega wagon make its way out of the pueblo. They were not a part of the plan…but if they continued to insert themselves…they would find themselves believing in ghosts whether they wished to or not.
Later that day, Diego paced in his room, while Bernardo idly strummed the guitar. Diego had not slept well, the vision of the shadowy figure on the bluff invading his dreams. He found himself coming back to it. Was it a man? A woman? It had been so dark, the figure had almost looked like a hole in the sky. "One down," Diego muttered.
Bernardo stopped playing and looked at him. He frowned. "That is what the figure said to me last night," Diego explained. "One down."
Bernardo counted on his fingers, then crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. "I do think there will be more deaths," Diego agreed. "The question is, who?" He snapped his fingers. "I would like to ride out to the hills again," he told Bernardo. "Perhaps I can see something in the daylight that I could not see last night."
Bernardo made three slashes with his finger. Diego shook his head. "No, I do not think Zorro needs to ride in the daylight." He grinned. "Best to keep Sergeant Garcia's ghost a nightly visitor," he teased.
Bernardo grinned.
Alejandro declined to come with them, citing work on the finances, so Diego and Bernardo rode out alone. The trail looked less menacing in the daylight. The fall air was crisp and some of the trees at higher altitudes were changing colors. Soon, they arrived at the boulder from the night before. Diego hopped off Princesa and tied the reins to a low tree branch. Then, he picked his way through the brush. The place where Dr. de la Cruz's body had been found was clear now, but Diego could not get the dead man's stare out of his mind. "Father may not have been wrong when he said the doctor had been scared to death," he told Bernardo. He shaded his eyes with his hands, looking up at the spot where the figure had been last night. "I want to climb up there," Diego said, "see if our fantasma left anything behind."
Bernardo placed a hand on Diego's arm. Diego nodded. "Believe me, I plan on being careful," he assured his friend.
There was a goat trail that led to the top and Diego followed it for most of the way. On top of the butte, he could see for miles in every direction. His father's land stretched south of the place; to the north, the Torres rancho. Don Ignacio and his family were visiting relatives in San Francisco, he knew, so whoever he'd seen the night prior was none of them.
He looked at the ground. There were no footprints or any signs of anything having been disturbed. No scuffs, no broken branches or crushed leaves. Down at the bottom, he could see Bernardo pacing worriedly, and he smiled. He walked around a bit up on top, thinking as much as searching for clues.
A rider caught his eye, coming from the east. Diego picked his way down the trail to get a better vantage point. The rider wore a bright blue riding jacket. Don Enrique Escobar, he realized. The jacket was distinct, and Senor Escobar wore it to Sunday church often…along with any other chance he had. Escobar liked to flaunt his wealth ever since he had bought the Felipe rancho a year ago.
Diego watched Escobar turn his horse toward the Felipe hacienda. The Felipe rancho, Diego thought, the holiday bringing a memory to mind. Alejandro had been close with Miguel Felipe, and Diego knew of his two children even though they were much younger than he. Miguel had been ill for quite some time before succumbing to it a year ago. Miguel's daughter Maria, whom Alejandro had been sure would take over the operation of the rancho, had vanished the same night. Many said it was grief that had driven her out into the night, where she had met some horrible fate. Miguel's son, Juan, was rarely seen in town. No one knew for certain if the youngest Felipe was still working the rancho or if he was adrift in the hills of Southern California. When he was seen, he hardly spoke two words to anyone. A tragedy, all around.
"Doctor de la Cruz would have been there that night," Diego said, thinking aloud. He thought about the figure he'd seen the evening before. Perhaps the ghost of Miguel Felipe…or Juan or Maria?
He climbed his way back down the hill, boots skidding in the dirt as he picked his way over to Bernardo. His friend looked relieved. "I think I know who our ghost is," Diego told Bernardo.
Bernardo raised an eyebrow in question. "Let us pay a visit to Senor Escobar's rancho," Diego said instead of an explanation. "I want to see if our fantasma has been causing any mischief there."
Senor Arturo Sanchez sat in his office, the lamps out, and the blinds drawn. Every now and then, someone would knock on his door, but he refused to answer. His palms were sweaty, and his finger clenched the arms of his chair in a white-knuckle grip. In the silence, all he could hear was his own heart pounding.
There was a knock on his door and he started so badly his head hit the back of his high-backed chair. Please, please go away. Dios te salve, Maria…oh God, not that name!
From somewhere in the darkness, he swore he heard a woman laughing.