“Or the salmon decided to show up early, self-deluded bastards.”

“The fish?”

“Leaping upstream as if someone’s gonna be impressed.”

Now I was thirty miles beyond the beach town’s city limits, past where the 101 hooks inland and north and any notion of blue water vanishes. The Baca Station Road exit wasn’t much of anything. The unmarked turnoff was closer to six miles up. A bloodhound could’ve missed it.

Bumping along a carelessly maintained road, I sped through a cottonwood grove that ended as abruptly as a Hollywood marriage. The view on both sides was straw-colored, waist-high wild grass and a scattering of gray, twisted tree trunks. To the north, the Santa Ynez range showed a bit of skin but kept its distance, like an ambivalent starlet.

The old lime pit came into view and I slowed to have a look. Chain link hung with warped panels of corrugated plastic concealed most of the excavation but through gaps in the plastic I could see a dark maw. Skull-and-crossbones warning signs established a friendly ambience. As I started to drive away, movement caught my eye.

A mangy coyote slinked off into the grass, ruffling the blades, then disappearing.

It took a few cottonwood clumps and a lot more nothing before the grass gave way to an unattended junkyard and a bird-specked green sign proclaiming Ojo Negro to be ALT. 231 FT. POP. 927.

Half a mile later, I spotted a thin, black-haired woman walking along the side of the road, carrying a large metal cage. Using both hands to lug and keeping her back to me. The wrong way to do it.

The sound of my engine made her turn but she kept going toward an old brown jeep parked ten yards up.

I rolled to a stop and lowered the passenger window. She turned sharply, held the cage in front of her. Spring-latched animal trap, heavy enough to drag at her shoulders. Brown stains coated the bottom grid.

“You need something?” Early twenties, Latina, wearing a white western shirt, jeans, boots. Thick, shiny hair was tied back tight from a wide, smooth brow. She had gold-brown eyes, a strong nose, thin lips. Exceptionally pretty woman; all angles, like a raptor.

“I’m looking for Sheriff Cardenas.”

The trap lowered a bit. “Just keep going. He’s in town.”

“How far’s town?”

“Right around the first turn.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you that doctor from L.A.?”

“Alex Delaware.”

She said, “He’s expecting you.”

“You work for him?”

She smiled. “I’m his sister, Ricki.”

I held out my hand.

“You don’t want to touch me after I touched this.”

“What’d you catch?”

“Another ca-yote. One of the senior citizens George looks after has them messing with her garbage but she still won’t get cans that shut tight. She’s eighty-nine, so when she hears noise or finds scat, she calls George. It’s animal reg’s job, but try getting them out here.”

“You volunteer?”