Mexican hat (12 page)

In the living room Kemey met PJ's younger brother and sister. Bobby, about the same age as Karen's son, had a chunky frame and a sober baby-fat face. Looking bored, he wandered off after a few minutes to the television set in the family room. Jennifer, who was two years younger than PJ, looked a lot like her mother, with the same coloring, thin frame, and shy smile. Kerney tried some small talk with her and PJ, which fell flat. Both children seemed shut down, with nothing much to say. He was rescued by Phil Cox and a call to the dinner table by Doris.

Over dinner, a meat-and-potatoes meal, Phil dominated the conversation. The children stayed quiet, and Doris kept her contributions to automatic slight nods of her head whenever Phil looked her way. She busied herself serving food and correcting the children's table manners, with an occasional glance and small smile in Kemey's direction. It reminded Kerney of his long-ago meal with Eugene Cox.

Kemey asked Phil a lot of questions and found that he had nothing of value to add to the investigation, but the food was decent, and Phil seemed to enjoy the company.

After dinner, with the children excused and Doris in the kitchen, Kerney was about to take his leave when Phil was called to the phone.

He returned shaking his head and chuckling. "That was my father," he said, as he pulled out his chair and sat down. "I told him you had stayed for supper, and he didn't like it one bit. Said I shouldn't be letting the man who stole Cory's championship eat at my table. Why the hell didn't you tell me who you were?"

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"That happened a long time ago."

"Yeah, it did, but I should have remembered. I'll tell you one thing: Cory never saw it the way Dad did. He said you won that buckle fair and square."

"That's good to hear."

Phil stood up. "Let me get PJ in here. He'd love to hear about how you and his Uncle Cory went head to head in the state finals." He stopped at the kitchen door. "Doris, bring us in some coffee," he ordered.

Before leaving, Kerney spent a pleasant hour talking with Phil and PJ about horses, rodeo, and Cory. He got the impression PJ was Phil's favorite. Jennifer and Bobby never reappeared.

A deputy sheriff was parked at the trailer when he got home. The deputy asked Kerney to stop by and see the sheriff in the morning. Kerney asked why, but the deputy didn't know. He was just the messenger boy.

Kerney told the deputy he'd be there.

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Stretched out on his back, fast asleep, Edgar Cox snored. After one final ripping snort, his breathing slowed and became tranquil. Margaret waited for a few minutes, got out of bed, gathered up her robe and slippers, and went softly into the living room. Outside, false dawn had faded into morning and the first robin of the day sang. Bubba, the children's puppy, met her halfway to Karen's house. He sniffed Margaret's slippers, wagged his tail, and barked a greeting. She reached down and scratched his ears. Karen sat on the top porch step of the old ranch house dressed only in a tank top, shorts, and sandals. Margaret wrapped the robe tightly around her waist and wondered how Karen could be so warm in the morning chill.

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Karen smiled, scooted to one side, and patted the porch step in an invitation for her mother to join her. They sat in silence for a moment watching the robin until it flew away.

"How do you like being back home?" Margaret asked.

"I love it," Karen replied.

"No regrets about leaving the city?"

"I don't miss Albuquerque at all."

"There was a time when I thought you'd never come back to the ranch."

Karen laughed. "Neither did I."

"Are you absolutely sure you want to live here?"

"I am," Karen answered with an emphatic nod of her head.

"No regrets about Stan?" Margaret asked.

"God no. It wasn't a marriage. He wanted to own me. I think I knew I would eventually divorce him. It was just a question of when it would happen."

"I could never understand what made Stan believe he could hold on to you. In a conventional sense, I'm not sure any man can."

Karen's eyes danced in amusement. "You've always known that about me, haven't you?"

"Has it changed?"

"No. I don't think marriage suits me. I'm sorry things were so tense at dinner last night."

"Edgar said you had a rather heated conversation with him. You and your father are two of a kind. That can make the sparks fly."

"I see no reason why he can't talk to me about Uncle Eugene."

"He doesn't talk to anybody about it."

Karen shook her head, rejecting the statement. "That's not completely true. He talks to you about it. He must."

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Margaret rubbed her daughter's arm affectionately. Karen's skin was warm to the touch. "That's different."

"This time the situation is different. If it's a legitimate inquiry into a homicide investigation, I may have to force him to talk about it."

"I'd rather you wouldn't push it. Your father has enough on his mind right now."

"Are there problems?"

Margaret remained silent. She had hoped Karen would ask the question.

"Is something wrong?" Karen prodded.

"Oh, he thinks I'm going to die. He can't stand the thought that he might outlive me."

Karen's hand covered her mother's. "Die? What's wrong?"

"I had a mammogram last Friday. The doctor's fairly certain I have cancer. I was going to wait to tell you until the biopsy results came back."

"When will you know?"

"Tomorrow." Margaret could see tears in the corners of Karen's eyes. She wiped them away with a fingertip. "Don't cry."

"Why not? It makes me so damn sad and angry."

Margaret laughed gently. "I'm going to beat it, sweetie. I plan to be around for a while. Long enough to become a very old, crotchety great-grandmother."

Karen sniffled. "How can you be so sure?"

"Call it woman's intuition. I just feel it. I'll survive." Margaret got to her feet. "Edgar will be up soon, wanting his breakfast. He loves you very much."

"I know."

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Margaret bent down and kissed Karen on the forehead. "And so do I."

Karen stood and hugged her mother tightly.

"Send the children down to the house when you're ready to leave for work," Margaret said.

"I can't have you watch them for me. Not now."

"Don't be silly." She kissed her daughter again. "I'm looking forward to it. I need to spoil them a bit more."

Margaret returned home. Edgar was out of bed and in the bathroom shaving. She made fresh coffee, feeling somewhat guilty about her talk with Karen. Everything she'd said was true, but her motives were sneaky. If disclosing her illness deflected Karen from pursuing Edgar's secret, it was worth the effort.

IN THE PARKING LOT at the county courthouse, Jim Stiles lounged against the front of his truck, one foot on the bumper. He was wearing jeans, a straw cowboy hat, a white shirt, and a pair of snakeskin boots.

Kerney limped toward him. The hitch in his right leg seemed a little more pronounced. Kerney's getup pretty much matched Jim's, except for a big rodeo buckle Kerney wore on the belt around his waist.

He stood with Jim facing the entrance to the sheriff's department, a forlorn annex to the courthouse, plastered adobe brown.

Stiles stared at Kemey's belt buckle. "Is that the real McCoy?"

"Sure is. Somebody reminded me I won it, so I dug it out and decided to wear it."

Jim squinted to make out the date it was awarded. "It's a damn antique."

"Watch what you say, youngster," Kerney cautioned lightly.

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"Just kidding." Jim's green eyes crinkled with humor. "I'm impressed. Hell, I'm jealous. I didn't know you were a rodeo cowboy."

"That's stretching it," Kemey replied. "I was a ranch kid who liked to rodeo."

"Do your parents still ranch?"

"They're dead," Kemey replied. "The Army took our ranch when White Sands Missile Range expanded. My father got a job as a foreman at a nearby outfit."

"That sucks."

"It's old news."

"I don't think I could be so cool about it if it happened to my parents."

Kemey's laugh was tinged with bitterness. "I only sound indifferent. It's not the way I feel." He started walking toward the sheriffs office. "Got any idea why Omar Gatewood wants to see us?"

"None whatever," Jim admitted, as he walked alongside.

"How did your interviews go?"

"Chalk up a big fat goose egg. Not one of those good folks has had any problems with cougars killing their stock. They don't know where in the hell Mexican Hat is and never heard of Jose or Hector Padilla, and the closest thing to an ATVI saw was one of those sit-down John Deere lawn tractors. How did you do with Phil Cox?"

"About the same," Kerney replied, holding open the door to the office.

Sheriff Gatewood had a guest with him, Karen Cox. At the front of Gatewood's desk were two straight-backed chairs. Karen sat in a padded vinyl armchair at the side of the desk, Kerney took the empty chair closest to Karen. In a dark blue business suit, a linen blouse, hose, and pumps, she looked elegant and professional. The office, a small space with cheap wood paneling, felt oppressive. On

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one wall hung Gatewood's framed commission as sheriff and a dozen training certificates from various law enforcement seminars, all of them listing slightly off-center.

Karen nodded a greeting at Jim and Kerney. Her skirt stopped at mid-thigh and revealed her slender, well-formed legs.

"Thanks for coming in, boys," Gatewood said, leaning back in his squeaky chair.

"What's up?" Jim asked.

Gatewood gave Jim his most winning smile. "Miss Cox and I have a proposition for you."

As Gatewood explained the purpose of the meeting—commissions for Kerney and Stiles with primary responsibility to conduct the Padilla murder investigation on behalf of the department—Kerney kept his attention on Karen, who seemed to deliberately avoid making eye contact with him. Finally she looked at him, and a small smile crossed her lips.

Gatewood finished his pitch, and Jim chuckled. "Is this another one of your schemes to get me to go to work for you, Omar?"

"I'd like that, but I can't afford you," Omar replied with a grin. "Nope. This murder case needs to get the attention it deserves. Unless we do something it will go on some state police investigator's back burner within a week, and that doesn't sit right with me. Now, I don't have the manpower or the specialists to solve the damn case, so Miss Cox here had an idea: we borrow the two of you and put you to work on it." He turned to Kerney for a reaction. "What do you think?"

Kerney looked at Stiles, who was nodding his head vigorously. "The idea has merit."

Gatewood smiled and rested his hands on his stomach. "I figured you boys would like the idea."

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"Who would we report to?" Kerney asked,

"To me, of course," Gatewood replied,

"What you're proposing. Sheriff, is a special operation. That calls for as much independence as possible. If you want this scheme to have more than a snowball's chance in hell to succeed, turn the case completely over to us."

"I won't do that, Kerney," Gatewood retorted, scowling,

Kerney stood up, caught Jim's eye, nodded at the door, and smiled at Karen, who had been watching Kerney intently. "I'm sorry you've wasted your time," he said to her.

Karen rose and held Kerney back from leaving. "One minute, Mr. Kerney. Suppose we give you the autonomy you want, with the understanding that you are to operate strictly under the color of the law, and consult with me on all legal questions. Would that satisfy you,'^

"Almost."

"What else do you want?"

"A thousand dollars to buy information."

"What kind of information?" Karen demanded,

"Padilla's murder was not premeditated. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why kill a complete stranger over a crime that, at the most, would cost a fine and six months in jail? According to Jim, money is probably the motive. There has been a pattern of organized big game and exotic animal kills that may be tied to a smuggling operation that exports rare animal parts to Asia, Information about a scam like that isn't going to fall into our laps."

Sheriff Gatewood cocked his head back and snorted. "Charlie Perry has been working poaching cases for a couple of years now, and I've never heard him talk about any smuggling."

"It's an angle we need to pursue," Kerney replied.

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"Do you assume the killer is from the area?" Karen asked.

Stiles got to his feet. "Absolutely. Only a few people in the area even knew cougars had been translocated to Elderman Meadows."

"The poaching was done for sport, if you ask me," Gatewood said, as he pulled himself out of his chair, feeling like the odd man out. "This smuggling notion is way off base. I think whoever shot that Padilla fella did it to cover his tracks."

Kerney concentrated his attention on Karen. "We'll chase down any theory that holds water, but I think we need to look at them all."

Karen mulled it over before answering. "I'll put up the money you need from the DA's account. You'll carry a commission through my office." She switched her attention to Gatewood. "Sheriff, I'd like your cooperation on this. If it will make you feel more comfortable, you can commission Jim and assign him to work under me."

Gatewood grunted, thought about it for a moment, and smiled shrewdly. Karen's offer would allow him to lay off any blame on her if things went wrong and the shit hit the fan. "I'll go along with that."

"Then it's agreed." Karen glanced from Kerney to Stiles to Gatewood and back to Kerney. "Is that satisfactory?"

"Good enough," Kerney replied. "I'll keep you fully informed."

"See that you do," Karen replied.

A politician's smile spread over Gatewood's face. "I'm glad we got this ironed out. I already gave the Silver City paper a statement on your appointments,"