Tularosa: A Kevin Kerney Novel (Kevin Kerney Novels) (3 page)

"Terry suggested it, and I encouraged him to ask you."

"That's good to know." Kerney's smile brightened slightly.

"So the two of you are talking to each other again, I take it."

"More than we did before the divorce. Isn't that strange?"

"Not necessarily."

"Come inside." Maria took his arm and led him into the living room. She wanted to ask Kerney a million questions about what he would do to find Sammy. She wanted him to assure her that he would bring Sammy home safe and sound. She held back, busying herself with getting Kerney settled, offering him food and something to drink. He accepted her offer. She got him seated and went quickly to the kitchen. He waited patiently as she clattered about, asking chatty questions, her nervousness betrayed by quick appearances in the doorway as he responded. He sat in the missionstyle rocking chair next to the kiva fireplace and wondered when she would simply fall apart and start sobbing.

"How is Mary Beth?" Maria queried.

"Long gone," Kerney said. All sounds from the kitchen stopped. The original house, built by Maria's great-grandfather, was a hundred years old. The puddled adobe walls bulged at the bottom and flowed unevenly to the ceiling. The floor, packed dirt mixed with ox blood, had a deep red patina. Maria stood in the kitchen door looking sadly at him.

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"She said I wasn't fun anymore. She was probably right." Maria's expression was sympathetic.

"Is that it?"

"Not really. I don't think she liked the idea of living with an invalid. It was taking me much too long to recover." Maria made a face.

"That stinks."

"I thought so."

Maria started to speak, changed her mind, shook her head disparagingly, and disappeared from sight. She brought a small tray of cheese and grapes along with a large glass of lemonade and placed it on the end table next to the rocking chair. Kerney's gut didn't react well to cheese, but he selected a small slice anyway and washed it down with the lemonade. The grapes were sweet and chilled, just the way he liked them.

She sat across from him on a love seat covered with an antique Navajo rug. She was perfectly still, her hands folded stiffly in her lap. He could see the tension in her back and neck. Her long flowing skirt draped to the floor. Only the toes of her beaded moccasins showed under the fabric. Kerney got up, moved to the love seat, and sat next to her.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, Kerney, I'm so sorry about Mary Beth."

"Don't worry. I'm over it."

"How can you be?"

"You're right. I'm almost over it. But in a strange way she helped me get over being so damn mad at Terry. She gave me someone else to be angry at besides him." He patted her hand.

"How are you holding up?" Maria gave him a brave smile.

"I'm scared, Kerney."

"I know you are."

"It isn't like Sammy to vanish. He's such a responsible person." She shook her head vigorously to keep away the tears and looked at a framed picture of her son on the fireplace mantel. He wore his Army uniform and was photographed at an angle to display the insignia on his sleeve and a single row of ribbons on his jacket.

"I bet you talked him into sitting for that picture," Kerney ventured. He needed her to stay coherent. Maria's smile returned.

"I did. I admit it. I'm a proud mother."

"He's a handsome man. Why was he so determined to join the Army?"

"Oh, all the usual reasons. Said he wasn't ready to go to college and wanted to do something different." Exasperation crept into her voice. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he has a stubborn streak just like his father. That's why I sent him to see you. I thought maybe another man could talk some sense to him. Terry was no help whatsoever."

"I figured you had a hand in his visit." Maria shrugged.

"I'm your typical meddling mother. What's done is done. He plans to use the GI Bill after his discharge to attend the Art Institute in Chicago. He's already been accepted." Pride crept into her voice.

"He's still drawing and painting," Kerney ventured, trying to keep Maria upbeat and positive.

"Oh, yes. I think soon he'll be the best artist the pueblo ever produced. He has remarkable talent."

"You must be proud of him."

"Very." Maria fell silent. She was a striking woman, slender and fine-boned, with a symmetrical face and small nose. Her dark almond eyes, usually filled with vitality, were restless and tight. Her long black hair was thick and straight and spilled over her shoulders. There was a slight tic in the corner of one eye.

"When will you start looking for him?" she asked.

"I already have," Kerney answered. "You're my first stop." Some of Maria's stiffness dissipated. She turned and faced Kerney squarely.

"How can I help? I want to do something. Anything."

"Answer some questions. Can you think of any reason why Sammy would go A.W.O.L.?"

"No. The Army investigator asked me the same question. It made me angry. He implied that Sammy had personal problems that made him go A.W.O.L.. He was looking for character flaws. I told him Sammy wasn't the kind of person to abandon his responsibilities."

"Sometimes people change," Kerney proposed.

"Not Sammy," Maria replied sharply, her eyes snapping. "I know him." She got up, walked to a small, standing cabinet, opened the door, removed a packet of letters, and thrust them at Kerney.

"Read his letters. Go ahead. They're filled with his plans for the future. These are not the words of a young man in trouble." Her outstretched hand was shaking.

"I believe you, Maria," he said gently, taking the letters from her. "But sometimes hard questions have to be asked." She sagged almost imperceptibly, and the anger drained from her voice.

"I know. Forgive me. I feel so frustrated. He's been gone for so long."

"I understand. Did the investigator talk to anyone else?"

"Yes. Just about everybody. Former classmates, old friends, and most of the family. He wanted to know if Sammy had a girl in trouble or if he used drugs, or drank a lot when he was home on leave. He even checked with Terry to see if Sammy had an arrest record."

"I'm sure Terry liked that."

"It made him furious."

"Can I keep Sammy's letters for a while?" Kerney asked. "I'll return them when I'm done."

"Of course you can. Those are just the ones he wrote from the missile range," she explained.

"I have more in my bedroom."

"These will do for now."

"Are you sure?" Kerney nodded.

Maria smiled regretfully. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"Don't apologize. This is hard stuff. You're holding up beautifully."

"Am I?" She searched Kerney's face for any sign of false reassurance. "I feel powerless and ready to explode." Her voice broke with a little quiver.

"That's normal. Keep your chin up." She's about to lose it, Kerney thought.

"When was the last time you spoke with Sammy?"

"About two weeks before he disappeared. I called him to ask if he was planning to come home to dance at a feast day. He said he wouldn't be able to get away."

"Did he talk about anything else?"

"No. It was a short conversation."

"How did he sound?"

"If you mean was Sammy upset, he wasn't." Kerney stood up and put Sammy's letters in his shirt pocket.

"Can I take a look at Sammy's bedroom?" Maria hesitated.

"Go ahead. I'll wait here, if you don't mind." He could see the tears welling in Maria's eyes. She blinked them back. He walked through the narrow hallway that denned the end of the old part of the house into the addition Terry had built while the marriage was still intact. It was a suite of two bedrooms and baths that fanned out behind the original structure. He opened the door to Sammy's bedroom. The room had changed since Kerney's last visit. Gone were the high school treasures. The walls held a variety of Sammy's framed pen and pencil landscapes. They showed sensitivity, substance, and a keen eye for detail. On a writing table were a small electronic keyboard, some sheet music, and a desktop computer. Tacked to the bulletin board above the desk were a collage of snapshots and some unfinished watercolors. Kerney was surprised to see a picture of himself and Sammy in the collage. Both of them stood grinning at the camera while Sammy gripped the handlebars of the new bicycle Kerney had presented to him on his seventh birthday. He closed the bedroom door and searched quietly, not wanting Maria to hear him rummaging through Sammy's possessions. She was feeling enough strain already. He opened every drawer, searched the closet, looked under and behind the furniture, and scanned the papers, books, and stacks of drawings. He turned out the pockets of Sammy's clothes and probed through the packing boxes on the floor of the closet that were filled with Sammy's childhood toys. When he finished, he put everything back in order. He had found nothing of interest.

Maria was standing in the living room when he returned.

"That was hard for me to let you do," she said.

"I know," Kerney said.

"Sometimes I think I hear him in his room. I catch myself walking back there to talk to him."

"That happens."

"The mind plays such mean tricks." This time Maria could not stop the tears.

"I thought I was finished crying for the day." He took her gently by the shoulders, pulled her close, and let her cry herself out. Finished, she dried her eyes and wiped her nose.

"Find Sammy for me."

"I'll do my best," Kerney replied.

South of the Albuquerque corridor, Kerney began to enjoy the drive. Santa Fe's unrelenting growth spurts were bad enough, but Albuquerque was pure, ugly clutter along the interstate highway. After the city, open desert country undulated in waves, broken by the Rio Grande valley and an endless parade of mountain ranges to the west and east. The small villages bordering the river were enclaves anchored against the expanse of open space, surrounded by green fields that dappled the stark landscape with color. The high country of northern New Mexico was beautiful, but it couldn't hold him the way the desert could. He had been away from it for far too long. He gassed up on the main drag in Socorro, a somewhat shoddy town that paralleled the interstate, found a self-service car wash, sprayed the crusted mud off the truck, and continued south toward Las Cruces with the music of Mozart filling the cab.

The office of the sheriff of Dona Ana County was in the old courthouse in downtown Las Cruces. He introduced himself to the secretary, who inquired as to the nature of his visit. He told her it was personal, and she gave him a quizzical look before announcing him on the phone.

Still puzzled after she hung up, the secretary quickly ushered him into Andy Baca's office. Andy came out from behind a big walnut desk, grinning from ear to ear, and reached for Kerney's hand.

"I'll be damned," he said. "It's good to see you, Kevin."

"Hello, Sheriff," Kerney replied, grinning back at his old friend. "I thought you'd moved to Las Cruces to retire and play golf." He looked around the office. The walls were filled with the memorabilia of Andy's twenty-year career with the state police. Behind the desk, on a windowsill, miniature state and national flags stood in stanchions.

"Seems you got bored," he added. Andy laughed.

"You've got the golf part right. I've got a ten stroke handicap, a wicked slice I can't seem to correct, and a standing offer to play every Friday afternoon with a bunch of guys who kick my butt and take my money."

Andy wore a conservative western suit that draped nicely over his sturdy frame. There was a slight hint of jowls under his jaw and a little less hair offset by longer sideburns. Aside from being a superior cop, Andy was one of the most warm-hearted men Kerney knew. He slipped into his executive chair behind the uncluttered walnut desk and gestured for Kerney to sit across from him.

"And I did get bored," he added. "Started reading the newspaper with my morning coffee and wound up deciding that my predecessor was a political hack surrounded by uniformed cronies. It pissed me off, so I decided to do something about it. Ran for sheriff, and here I am."

"So here you are," Kerney said.

"And it makes Connie damned happy," Andy replied. "She was tired of having me underfoot. Complained that I was turning into a grouch. What brings you into my county?"

"I need a favor," Kerney replied. In response, Andy raised a cautious eyebrow and nodded for Kerney to continue.

"I've been hired to find Terry Yazzi's son. He's A.W.O.L. from the missile range." Andy's expression turned quizzical.

"Is that why Terry stopped in to see me? I had no idea."

"I take it you didn't talk to him."

"No," Andy replied, getting up from his desk.

"I was out improving my slice when he came by." He walked to the small conference table near the front of the office, sorted through a stack of papers, selected one, and held it up to read.

"We're carrying a Specialist Sammy Yazzi on the daily report as an A.W.O.L.. Is that the kid?"

"It is. What information do you have on him?" Kerney asked as he joined him. Andy slapped the paper with his free hand.

"Nothing. Just date of birth, height, weight-that sort of stuff." He handed it to Kerney.

"Who's paying your freight? Maria?"

"Terry's paying." Andy walked back to his desk, perched on the corner, and waited for Kerney to join him.

"How is Terry?"

"He's okay, I guess. He's chief of police at the pueblo. Says he's been off the sauce for two years. He looks sober. In fact, he looks good." Andy studied his hands before speaking.

"You can't be doing this for Terry."