Hermit's Peak (19 page)

“When was that?”

“Last year. Maybe April or May, I don't remember exactly. He came three or four times in a row.”

“Did you see him connect with anybody?”

The woman laughed as she nodded at a customer holding up an empty beer glass and moved away to refill it.

“Are you kidding?” she said when she came back. “Those singles events are nothing but a feeding frenzy for hustlers of both sexes.”

“Do you remember anything about Santistevan?”

“He liked to hit on young, pretty girls.”

“How young?”

“Young enough to card if they wanted alcohol.”

“Do you know who runs the singles party for the newspaper?”

“Viola Fisher. She coordinates it. Orders the finger food, pays for the banquet room, signs people in when they arrive—that sort of stuff.”

“She keeps a roster?”

“Oh, yeah. You can't come to the party unless you take out an ad in the personals. It's in the paper every week. Haven't you seen it?”

“I usually skip over it.”

The woman glanced down at Gabe's left hand. There was no wedding ring. “Maybe you should pay more
attention. There are a lot of women your age who'd love a shot at you.”

“That's good to know.”

 • • • 

Kerney's apartment felt cold and looked dingy. He roamed around restlessly, tidying things up, trying not to think about Sara. But that was impossible. He stood in the middle of the small living room disgusted with the way he lived. Seeing Sara had made him want more than a crummy place and an empty bed to sleep in. Sara lit him up inside, and he didn't want to loose her or that feeling.

He was half-asleep on the couch when the telephone rang. He grabbed for it, hoping it was Sara.

“Are you awake?” Dale asked.

“More or less.”

“I've been thinking about the partnership idea,” Dale said. “I'd really like to do it.”

“I don't see how it can happen.”

“Why not?”

“I'd have to pay six million dollars in taxes to keep all ten sections. Erma's lawyer figures the payments to the IRS would be over four hundred thousand a year.”

“What in the hell have you got on that mesa, a gold mine?”

“It's more like suburban sprawl pushing up land values. Everybody wants five or ten acres of paradise. The real estate developers and some area ranchers are eager to oblige.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I haven't decided.”

“Sell it,” Dale said, “and look for something closer to my spread. Maybe around Carrizozo, or over in the Black Hills. I know a couple of ranchers who might consider a fair offer. I could put you in touch with them.”

“That's a thought.”

“You don't sound very enthusiastic about the idea.”

“I've been distracted lately.”

“The murder case?”

“That, and Sara. She showed up at my door Sunday night.”

Dale let out a hoot. “No wonder you're distracted. Is she there? Let me talk to her.”

“She's come and gone.”

“What happened?”

“Damn if I know. I thought everything was going great, then she just up and left.”

“Did you two argue?”

“No, she just took off to visit a girlfriend in Tucson. Said she had some thinking to do.”

“About what?”

“I don't have a clue.”

“You sound pretty low.”

“I guess I am. I miss her, Dale. No woman has ever meant as much to me.”

“I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that. You need a woman in you life, Kerney, and Sara's the cream of the crop.”

“What should I do?”

“Ride it out. She probably just needs some breathing room. Women are like that.”

“I hope so.”

“I'm telling you the gospel truth.”

“I don't want to think about it anymore.”

“So let's change the subject,” Dale said. “I still think we can put a partnership together.”

“We'll talk about it later.”

“Jesus, cheer up. She'll be back.”

“Yeah.” Kerney hung up and headed for the bedroom, hoping he could push Sara out of his mind and get a few hours sleep.

 • • • 

Kerney arrived at Horse Canyon Ranch as the morning sun washed the deep purple off the mountains. He eyed the headquarters as he drove down the paved ranch road, thinking that sooner or later one of those trendy, glossy magazines would undoubtedly feature Alicia Bingham and her marvelous hacienda in an issue on living the good life in northern New Mexico.

It would be a gross distortion of how the local people in the valley lived in their mobile homes, ramshackle farms, and subdivision-type stick houses plunked down in the middle of five-and ten-acre tracts. But it would sell copies, and have people from coast to coast dreaming of piñon logs crackling in a kiva fireplace, sweeping vistas of mountain ranges, and private trophy homes nestled near the wilderness.

His quick and dirty background check on Alicia Bingham had revealed that the woman was an English citizen, part of the Hollywood film scene, divorced, wealthy, and a member of several international horse breeder and riding competition organizations.

He rang the doorbell at the hacienda and waited,
wondering what, other than a love of horses, had drawn Alicia Bingham to New Mexico.

Alicia Bingham opened the door and studied the man standing under the portal at her front door. Tall, with wide, square shoulders, brown hair touched with gray at the sideburns, and keen, deep blue eyes, he was quite good looking.

She took the business card from his hand and glanced at the policeman's badge held up for her inspection.

“Griffin said you might be stopping by for a chat,” Alicia said. “Do come in, Chief Kerney.”

Kerney stepped inside the vestibule. Along one wall stood a large flowered vase used for umbrella storage. A pair of Wellingtons sat under a coat rack that held an assortment of rain gear, jackets, and barn coats. A three-legged occasional table opposite the coat rack contained fresh-cut flowers in a blue-and-white milk pitcher, a ceramic table lamp, and an assortment of family photographs in gold frames.

He followed Alicia Bingham into the living room. Oriental rugs were scattered around the floor, family portraits and photographs filled the walls, and chintz curtains in a spring flower print draped the long windows. Deep sofas and chairs, separated by an oversize ottoman used to hold an array of books and magazines, occupied the space in front of a large fireplace. Somehow, the very English decor blended nicely with the clean lines of the double adobe house.

“Join me in the conservatory,” Alicia said as she led the way through the room.

Never having seen a conservatory before, Kerney followed along curiously. It turned out to be a sun room used for dining that took full advantage of the morning light. The round gate leg table centered in the middle of the room was antique oak with matching high ladder back chairs. On an exposed adobe wall hung a nineteenth-century sampler made by Marjorie Higgins, age ten. Below an elaborate alphabet and numbers, young Marjorie had embroidered a three-story Georgian mansion surrounded by lush grounds.

“Would you care for some coffee or tea?” Alicia asked as she sat.

“No thank you,” Kerney replied, joining her at the table. He made Bingham to be somewhere in her early forties. Dressed in a gray-striped cashmere sweater and designer blue jeans, she had perfect teeth, wide set brown eyes, and short, light brown hair that covered her ears.

“I shouldn't like to rush you, but please ask your questions straight away. I have a very busy morning ahead of me.”

“Emmet Griffin said you might know why Luiza left her position.”

Alicia Bingham smiled. “I'm afraid during Luiza's time with us I was frantically engaged in so many different projects, I didn't give her very much attention.”

“She gave you no reason for leaving?”

“Homesickness certainly was an issue for her. I don't believe she realized that she would be viewed by the local Hispanics more as an Indian than a Latina.”

“She felt shunned?”

“I would say so. The locals pride themselves on their Spanish heritage. Many view Mexicans with disdain.”

“She made these feelings clear to you?”

“Yes. Luiza spoke passable English. She attended a Baptist missionary school in Chiapas for several years. I was sorry to lose her. She was a very capable housekeeper.”

“Did she complain of any inappropriate attention from your male employees?”

“The men flitted around her for a time until I put a stop to it. She was quite an exotic-looking creature.”

“She made no complaints about anyone specifically?”

Alicia shook her head. “She simply asked me to keep the men from interrupting her at work.”

“Was she more agreeable to their attentions on her free time?”

“Insofar as I could tell, no. She rarely left the ranch when I was here.”

“You don't live here full-time?”

“Heavens, no. My ex-husband and I own and operate a special effects studio in Los Angeles. I divide my time between here and California.”

“So, you can't say for certain what Luiza did during your absences.”

“Griffin would have advised me of any concerns or issues. There were none as far as I know.”

“Did Luiza leave suddenly?”

“Yes, but that's not uncommon with immigrant workers. They tend to come and go without much warning.”

“Did she have a green card?”

“Yes. I follow the immigration rules carefully, Chief Kerney. As an Englishwoman, I certainly do not wish to violate any American laws that would jeopardize my permanent resident status.”

“You have documentation?”

“In my files.”

“Did Luiza leave any personal belongings behind?”

“As a matter of fact, she did. A box of clothing, most of which I had passed along to her. We were almost the same size. I still have them stored in the garage. I expected that she would write to have the box sent along by post, but I never heard from her.”

“I'd like to see it.”

“Of course.”

“And the immigration forms for Luiza, if it's no bother.”

“I'll get them for you.” Alicia rose, left the room, and returned with a slim folder.

Kerney read through it quickly. It looked to be in order. “May I borrow this for a day or two?”

“Yes.”

“If you don't think it too personal, may I ask what brought you to New Mexico?”

Alicia smiled. “When I was a young girl, I had a darling great-uncle who was in his nineties. He was my absolute favorite member of the family. He was the youngest son of a minor peer who struck out for America early in the century. Quite a few of the lads without hopes of inheriting did so during the waning years of the empire. He came to New Mexico and worked on a cattle ranch before World War I. He told such glorious
stories of his adventures, I just knew someday I would have to live here.”

“And now here you are,” Kerney noted.

“Exactly. And loving it. Now, Chief Kerney, you must tell me something. What is this interest you have in Luiza?”

“She may have been raped and murdered.”

“May have been?”

“Yes. We're still trying to identify a victim.”

Alicia nodded. “Is this about the skeleton that was found last weekend?”

“Yes.”

Alicia's expression turned serious. “I do hope your assumption about Luiza is wrong. It's chilling just to think about it.”

“Do you have a photograph of Luiza?”

“No, I don't think so.” Alicia held up a finger. “On second thought, perhaps I do. Not a photograph, actually. Come along with me.”

She led Kerney out of the conservatory, through the living room, and into a media room equipped with comfortable chairs for a dozen people, a large-screen television, and expensive video camera equipment.

“We videotape our horses as part of the training program,” she said, opening a cabinet. Inside were dozens of cassettes neatly stacked on shelves. “Sometimes Luiza would watch. I believe there are one or two tapes that show her clearly.”

She searched through the cassettes, pulled one out, put it in a playback machine, and turned on the TV.

“Yes, this is the one,” Alicia said, as she fast-forwarded
through a dressage exercise with a gray gelding. “That's Highland Boy. He'll compete in the next summer Olympics.”

She pressed the remote control and the motion returned to normal speed. Luiza quickly came into view as the rider finished up with Highland Boy and turned him toward the paddock gate.

Alicia froze the frame. “Quite a lovely face.”

Kerney nodded in agreement. Luiza had long jet-black hair, thick eyelashes, and delicate, almost Eurasian features. From the neck down her figure was full, with a tiny waist and wide, inviting hips. “May I borrow the tape?”

“Surely.” She popped it out of the machine and handed it to Kerney. “Griffin told me that you asked him about the Barela grazing rights to the Fergurson property.”

“I did.”

“Are you both a policeman and a rancher?”

“In a small way. I understand you may be interested in buying the property.”

“I would love to protect this side of the valley from the encroachment of subdivisions and summer homes. I'm sure Great-Uncle Howard would approve.”

“I'm sure he would,” Kerney said as he stood.

“Let me show you where Luiza's possessions are stored,” Alicia said as she checked her wristwatch. “And then I must fly away.”

She escorted Kerney to the garage, pointed out the box, and left him to search though its contents. He took it off the shelf, placed it on the hood of a green Jaguar sedan, and cut the packing tape with his pocketknife.
Inside there was nothing but clothes. He checked all the pockets and found only a hairpin and a crumpled chewing gum wrapper.