Tularosa Page 10

  “What burglary, Aunt Erma?” Kerney asked.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said, her hand flying to her mouth. “Kevin Kerney, is that you?”

  “It’s me,” Kerney answered with a boyish smile.

  “I don’t believe it.” A smile bubbled on her lips. “Let me look at you.” She stepped back. “You’re still a handsome rascal.” She turned to Sara, the excitement of the moment ringing in her voice. “Kevin’s mother and I were college roommates. When he came to the university I was asked to keep an eye on him. When he’d act like a young buck, he would beg me with those beautiful blue eyes not to tattle on him to his parents.”

  “I’m sure he was quite persuasive,” Sara replied.

  “He was indeed,” Erma agréed happily. “Who is this pretty woman, Kevin?”

  Sara blushed.

  “Erma Fergurson, meet Sara Brannon,” Kerney said.

  “A pleasure,” Erma replied. “Are you also a police officer?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you are here about the burglary,” Erma said.

  “We know nothing about it, but it may be important,” Sara responded. “We came to ask you about Sammy Yazzi.”

  “Oh, yes, I would like that. I’ve been very worried about him. Come in and make yourselves at home.”

  She ushered them through a curved archway into a studio space washed in north light from a high clerestory. Large landscapes, six feet high and wide, filled the walls with vibrant colors of foothills ablaze in a blanket of wildflowers, silvery tufts of Apache plume dappling the desert, and shimmering golden aspen rolling up mountainsides. Erma gestured at the two love seats separated by a print cabinet that served as a coffee table, and got them settled in.

  “You haven’t found Sammy, have you?” Erma guessed.

  “No,” Kerney replied, “but we did find some watercolors.”

  Erma nodded. “Excellent work. A wonderful series.”

  “We’re missing five paintings,” Sara said.

  “I have them.” She slid open a drawer to the print cabinet and spread out each watercolor on top of the chest. All five were of bighorn mountain sheep. “Sammy left them with me to be framed. We were planning a showing at a local gallery.”

  Kerney studied each picture, trying to get a sense of the location. A cliff face with a ram on the summit looked familiar. He was sure it was somewhere near the ranch, but couldn’t place it.

  “Did he work from photographs?” he asked.

  “Yes. His camera was stolen in the burglary.”

  “Tell us about the burglary,” Sara prompted.

  Erma shook her head in exasperation. “My fault entirely. I ran out to the grocery store this morning and didn’t lock up. They came in through an open window.”

  “What was taken besides Sammy’s camera?” Sara queried.

  Erma picked up the notebook and put on her reading glasses. “I just made a list. Two more cameras, a bedroom television, a VCR, and several pieces of jewelry I left out on a dresser. That’s all I’ve found missing so far, and I’ve been through the house twice.

  “The officer who came said it was probably a drug addict who robbed me. I guess they just take what they can carry out quickly and sell for money.”

  “Do you know where Sammy developed his photographs?” Kerney asked.

  “Here,” Erma replied. “I have a darkroom in the corner of my garage.”

  “Are his prints and negatives there?”

  “I’m sure they are,” Erma said, rising to her feet. “Shall we go and see?”

  The darkroom had a sink and a long counter with shelves above containing all the necessary chemicals and bins below for equipment and supplies. A cardboard photo storage box sat on the counter. While Sara and Kerney watched, Erma searched the contents once, and then a second time.

  “My mistake,” she said. “Sammy must have taken them.”

  “Probably,” Kerney agreed. “Were the cameras stolen from the darkroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are your prints intact?” Sara asked.

  “As far as I can tell, yes. Should I search to see if anything else was taken?”

  “I don’t think you need to do that,” Sara answered.

  “Did Sammy leave anything else with you for safekeeping?” Kerney asked.

  Erma withdrew her attention from Sara and looked at Kerney. “The theft is connected with Sammy somehow, isn’t it?”

  “We don’t know that,” Sara said.

  Erma’s back stiffened, and she raised her chin. “Kevin?” she demanded.

  “It might be, Aunt Erma.”

  “Now I am upset.”

  Kerney took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I want you to call someone to come and stay with you for a while,” he said.

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “Then how about a cup of tea?” he suggested.

  Erma brightened. “That is necessary.”

  Over tea, Erma learned what she could about Sammy’s disappearance from Kerney while Sara carefully wrapped the watercolors in clear plastic sleeves. When Erma expressed the hope that Sammy would be found alive and well, Kerney’s attempt at reassurance felt forced. It only made her more worried about the boy.

  “He has such a rare talent,” she said wistfully.

  At the front door, Kerney promised Erma he would come back for a long visit.

  “See that you do,” Erma replied, reaching up to give him a motherly hug. “In fact,” she said to Sara, “I want both of you to come back for a nice dinner so you can tell me exactly what this is all about.”

  “Sounds like bribery to me,” Sara said. “I accept.”

  “It’s a date,” Kerney said.

  Walking to the truck, Sara looked back at Erma. “What an exquisite lady she is. I hope I have that much class when I’m her age.”

  “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about,” Kerney said.

  Sara didn’t break her stride. “Do you think Andy has a deputy he can spare? I’d like your Aunt Erma to have some protection for a few days.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Kerney allowed, “but you’ll have to ask very nicely. He’s still smarting from that tongue-lashing you gave him.”

  Sara frowned. “I forgot about that.”

  CHAPTER 6

  ANDY BACA studied the five watercolors that were spread out on his desk. “I don’t know anything about art, but I know what I like. These are good,” Andy said. “The question is, will they help you find Sammy?”

  “Maybe,” Kerney answered. The picture of the ram on the cliff held his attention. Sammy had put three petroglyphs at the base of the cliff that didn’t belong there: an Apache devil dancer, a rider on horseback, and a stylized sheep with a heart line. The arrangement of the petroglyphs matched perfectly with the rock art at Indian Wells, a place Kerney knew well.

  Kerney tapped the picture of the ram on the cliff. “I’ve seen this cliff. I just can’t pin it down. See the petroglyphs? They don’t belong there.”

  “You’re sure?” Sara asked.

  Kerney nodded. “The grouping is perfect. That’s Indian Wells. Sammy’s been there. So have I.”

  “Where is it?” Andy asked.

  “North of Rhodes Pass, in the San Andres.”

  “That’s a start,” Andy suggested.

  “Not much of one,” Kerney countered. “It’s a hell of a long way from the test facility.” He returned his gaze to the watercolor. “Was Big Mesa covered by the search teams?” he asked, looking at Sara.

  “No, they stopped at the 7-Bar-K Ranch,” Sara replied. “Is Big Mesa where you think the cliff is?”

  “It’s possible. The landform in the picture fits the area.”

  “You could spend a month in those mountains and find nothing,” Andy speculated.

  “I know it,” Kerney replied. He waved his hand over the watercolors. “Alonzo Tony said Sammy took him to Big Mesa or Sheep Mesa—he wasn’t sure which—and from the looks of it, I’d
guess Big Mesa.”

  “Where do we start?” Sara asked.

  “We go where Sammy has been,” Kerney proposed. “I’ve got a fairly good idea of three or four locations.”

  “Can you get us into that area undetected?” Sara asked.

  “You’re kidding,” Kerney said. “You want to sneak onto the base?”

  “That’s the idea,” she replied.

  “Why?” Andy asked.

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Is the Fergurson burglary one of them?” Andy prodded.

  “You bet it is,” Sara shot back. “Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

  “I’d rather not,” Andy retorted.

  “Bulldozing me isn’t going to get you an answer.”

  Andy waved off the argument and grinned. “Bulldozing? I’m just testing the waters.”

  “For?” Sara shot back.

  “Your reaction. Is somebody nipping at your heels?”

  “I don’t know,” Sara answered flatly, and turned her gaze to Kerney. “Well? Will you do it?”

  “It may amount to nothing more than a wild-goose chase,” Kerney replied.

  “Yes or no?” Sara demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She gathered up the paintings from Andy’s desk. “When can you be ready?”

  “At first light.”

  “Where do we meet?”

  “Engle,” Kerney replied. “Be there at four in the morning. Bring the portfolio with you, wear your riding gear, and pack a change of clothes.”

  She gave him a curt nod and turned back to Andy. “Can I get a ride home from one of your deputies?”

  “Absolutely.” He walked to his desk, made a short telephone call, and hung up. “It will be just a few minutes.”

  “Thanks. I’d like Erma Fergurson to have some protection for the next few days. Can that be arranged?”

  “I’ll put somebody on it.”

  “That about covers it for now,” Sara said, extending her hand to Andy. “Thanks again, Andy.”

  Andy covered her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, Captain.”

  After Sara left, Andy and Kerney sat silently. Kerney seemed lost in thought.

  “It looks like you get to go back to your old stomping grounds,” Andy finally said.

  “I never thought I would.” Kerney shook his head.

  Andy skipped over it. “Do you think Sara is holding something back?”

  “She’s got a fire lit under her,” Kerney commented. “That’s for sure.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  “I do.”

  “So do I,” Andy agreed with a grin. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

  Kerney nodded and grinned back.

  “We need to get you outfitted,” Andy remarked, walking to the office door. “How long do you plan to be gone?”

  “Twenty-four hours. We’ll leave from the Rocking J Ranch on the Jornada. Dale Jennings’s place. Do you know it?”

  “Tell me how to get there and I’ll be waiting when you get back.” He let Kerney pass in front of him and closed the door. “You could both get your asses in a sling. You know that, don’t you?”

  “That’s a reassuring thought,” Kerney replied.

  SARA RANG THE BELL to the communications center security door. It was after normal working hours, and the headquarters staff was gone for the day. She pushed hard on the buzzer until the door opened.

  “PFC Tony?” she asked, her open badge case at eye level for the soldier to see.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you speak to Captain Meehan last night?” Sara had the facts at hand: the surveillance team shadowing Kerney had duly noted the event.

  “I’ve been ordered not to answer any questions,” Tony said haltingly.

  Sara snapped at the young soldier. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll make sure every damn day you spend in the Army is very unpleasant. Do you understand that, soldier?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tony looked very unhappy.

  “Well?” Sara demanded.

  Tony licked his lips. “I spoke to the captain.”

  “Did you tell him that Sammy Yazzi owned a camera?” Sara demanded.

  Tony nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you mention the jeep trip you took with Sammy to Big Mesa?”

  “No, ma’am. He didn’t ask me about that. Am I in trouble, Captain?”

  Sara’s smile was tight-lipped. “Not if you cooperate. What else did you tell him?”

  “He asked me if I knew where Sammy stayed when he was in Las Cruces.”

  “And?”

  “I told him I didn’t know, but that his sergeant had a phone number for how to reach him.”

  “Why would Sergeant Steiner have a number for Sammy in Las Cruces?”

  “Sammy told me that Steiner chewed him out once when he got back from town. Steiner needed him at the test site and couldn’t find him. He made Sammy give him a phone number where he could be reached in case it happened again.”

  “What else did you tell Captain Meehan?”

  “That’s it, ma’am.”

  “Tell no one about this conversation. No one. Understood?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Sara turned on her heel and walked down the hall, unwilling to let Tony see how angry she felt. In her office, with the phone book open to the listing for Erma Fergurson, she called Sergeant Steiner. He told her Captain Meehan had called and asked for the number. He read it off to her. It matched the number in the book. She waited until Steiner hung up and slammed the phone into the cradle. Damn Meehan! she thought. If she could ever get him on a level playing field, she would clean his clock.

  A THIN RIBBON OF LIGHT flowed over the crest of the mountains, as the night sky began fading into lighter grays. Thick clouds moved rapidly into the mountains, blotting out the color on the ridgeline. Ahead, through the windshield of Kerney’s truck, Sara could see the flicker of house lights in the foothills, like a beacon with no reference point. It was the first indication of human habitation in twenty miles. For a very long stretch along the dirt road, the truck headlights revealed nothing but desert; not even fences or utility poles.

  Kerney had Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos playing softly on the cassette deck, a perfect choice against the tapestry of the last gloom of night. They climbed out of the desert, the house lights above them appearing and vanishing as the road twisted gently, following the contours up the slope of a small valley pinched between outcroppings of the San Andres Mountains. The valley narrowed to a canyon that gave way to mountain meadows of grass and thickets of cedar trees.

  A band of clouds passed over the mountains as they reached the ranch gate. A weathered board nailed to a fence post by the gate displayed the brand for the Rocking J Ranch. Beyond the gate, in a grove of pine trees, warm light poured from the windows of the ranch house. It was the centerpiece of the surrounding buildings, still hard for Sara to discern in the early light.

  Kerney got out and opened the gate. Without giving it a thought, Sara slid behind the wheel, drove through the gate, and stopped. Kerney swung the gate closed, pointed to the corral, and started walking. She drove to the corral and waited for him to catch up. He walked past the truck and leaned on the top rail of the corral, eyeing the four horses inside.

  Dale had saddled a bay and cinched a pack frame to a slightly sway-back roan. The bay was perfect for Kerney; it had high shoulders, big hips, and a nicely proportioned frame. The horse would move smoothly, with good speed if needed. That left the gelding and the mare for Sara to choose from, Kerney thought. He wondered which one she would select.

  From the truck, Sara studied the horses carefully. A mare like that would do nicely when she was ninety years old and needed to ride in a surrey. It had a potbelly and weak hindquarters. The gelding’s deep chest, flat back, and thick haunch showed the promise
of endurance and quickness.

  The first moment of true daylight touched the crowns of the pine trees as the sun crested the mountains. The foreman’s quarters, within easy hailing distance of the main house, was a small cabin with a narrow porch running the length of the building. A hay shed sat conveniently next to the horse barn and corral. The windmill by the watertank grabbed Sara’s attention. Old, squatty, and made of wood, with a small platform beneath the blades, it creaked and hummed in the slight breeze. She loved the sound of it.

  A screen door at the ranch house slammed shut, and they both turned toward the sound. Dale Jennings strode toward Kerney, one hand grasping a large coffee thermos and the other hand juggling three mugs. Dale put his load down on the hood of the truck and bear-hugged Kerney.

  “I didn’t think anything would ever get you back here,” he announced, grinning affectionately as he released Kerney from his grasp.

  Kerney grinned back. “Strange things can happen. Thanks for doing all this.” He gestured at the waiting horses.

  “Nothing to it. Coffee?” he asked Sara, as she stepped out of the truck.

  Kerney broke in. “I’m forgetting my manners. Dale Jennings, this is Sara Brannon.”

  “Ma’am,” Jennings acknowledged, picking up a mug and holding it out to her. Dale Jennings was in his forties, maybe an inch under six feet tall, dressed in work boots, a western shirt, a goose-down vest, and faded blue jeans, topped off by a cap with a feed store logo. His eyes were widely spaced under a long forehead. His mouth seemed set in a permanent smile.

  “I’d love some coffee, Mr. Jennings,” Sara answered, taking the mug. She watched Dale pour it carefully, so as not to spill a drop, thinking she had been too long away from home and the company of people like Dale Jennings.

  “The name’s Dale,” he said as he finished.

  “Call me Sara,” she replied, unable to contain a smile. The coffee smelled wonderful.

  Dale repeated the ritual with Kerney, then poured a mug for himself, and together all three watched the sunlight spread into the canyon, the warm mugs cupped in their hands, the coffee quietly sipped and savored.

  Kerney broke the pleasant silence. “Where are Barbara and the girls?”