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“He talked about revenge.”

  “Against who?”

  Louise hesitated for a moment, brushing an invisible bit of lint off her sleeveless polo shirt. Satisfied, she crossed her legs and adjusted the drape of her poplin skirt.

  “Eugene is an angry man, Mr. Stiles. An unforgiving, angry man.”

  “Was he angry with you?” Molly inquired.

  Louise laughed in harsh agreement. “Always. I could never do anything right. It was a loveless marriage. It became intolerable for me.”

  “You gave him custody of your sons,” Molly said softly.

  Louise’s eyes blinked rapidly. “I had no choice. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Stiffly, she stood up.

  “Please sit down, Mrs. Cox,” Jim said.

  Louise hesitated and complied.

  “You said you had no choice,” Jim restated.

  “I had to protect myself.”

  “From who?” Jim asked.

  “I’ve said enough.”

  “You can’t be forced to testify against your husband. I’m not asking you to do that.”

  Louise’s eyes flashed at Jim Stiles. “I want you to leave.”

  Jim pushed on. “Did Eugene tell you things he wanted to make sure remained secret?”

  “Absurd.” Her voice rose a few notches.

  “From where I sit, it looks like whatever happened to you still hurts.”

  Louise turned her face away and stared off into space; the corner of her mouth turned down in a dour grimace.

  Jim continued, “It must be hard to live with those memories.”

  Louise Cox looked ashen. “It is,” she said weakly. She licked her lips, clasped her hands, and pulled herself together before continuing. “But I don’t want to be dragged into a police investigation of something that I had nothing to do with.”

  “You’re a victim, not a criminal,” Jim responded gently. “Did Eugene mistreat you? Did he beat you?”

  Louise took in Jim’s words as if they were slaps across her face.

  “Did he force you to give up your children?” Molly asked.

  The breath rushed out of Louise, and her lip quivered. “I’ve feared this moment ever since Emily Wheeler wrote to me. It was like opening a door and getting hit in the face with a past I wanted to forget.” She looked from Jim to Molly with a taut smile.

  Molly slipped out of her chair, sat next to Louise, and took her hand. “You don’t have to be afraid,” she said.

  “But I am. I am not a brave person.”

  “I think you are,” Molly said.

  Louise swallowed hard and looked at Molly. “What would you do?”

  “Maybe it’s time to let it go,” Molly replied.

  Louise nodded her head and stood up slowly, still clutching Molly’s hand. “Maybe it is. Wait here.”

  She returned promptly with an old leather diary and resumed her position on the couch.

  “When I decided to leave my husband, I knew I needed something to keep him away from me. Don’t let the wheelchair fool you—he is a vicious man. He was tremendously strong back then. His chest and arms were as hard as rocks. He frightened me. Just the thought of him still does. When I told him I was leaving him, he threatened to kill me if I took Cory and Phil with me. He forced me to my knees, put a pistol to my head, and made me promise to leave the boys with him.”

  “How terrible,” Molly groaned. “Wasn’t there someone you could turn to for help?”

  “No one. Eugene kept me isolated from everybody. After I had his children—my sons—I was nothing but a maid and a prisoner.”

  She patted the book in her lap. “All I had when I left were the clothes on my back, my grocery money for the month, and his father’s diary. After some time had passed and I was far enough away, I copied pages from Calvin’s diary and sent them to Eugene. I told him if he ever came near me again I’d make his father’s diary public. It’s been the only protection I’ve had over the years.”

  Louise held out the book. “Read it for yourself. The interesting entries are marked. It won’t answer all of your questions. Only Eugene and Edgar can do that. But I’m sure you can piece together part of the puzzle.”

  Jim reached out and took the book from Louise’s outstretched hand, and with Molly looking over his shoulder, they read excerpts from Calvin Cox’s diary.

  “YOU’RE A PRETTY GOOD detective,” Molly said.

  “You’re not too bad yourself,” Jim replied.

  Stiles drove while Molly sat next to him. She had taken off the new boots and socks and put her bare feet on the dashboard. She wiggled her toes, and Jim decided that even her feet were beautiful.

  Molly gave him a winning smile. “If we get married…”

  “Pick the date,” Jim interrupted.

  “I said if.” Molly poked him gently in the ribs with a finger. “Anyway, if we get married, you’d better not turn into an asshole like Gene Cox.”

  “That’s unlikely,” Jim replied.

  Molly nodded in agreement and stared out the window, thinking about Louise Cox. The heat of the sun and the windblown sand rolling off the desert distorted the distant Superstition Mountains into vague, shimmering shapes.

  “What a sad, sad lady she is,” Molly said with a sigh. “If someone put a gun to my head and threatened to kill me if I walked out on him with my kids, I’d shoot the son of a bitch myself.”

  “I believe you would. How many kids would you like to have?”

  “That’s not the topic under discussion, but the answer is two.” She took her feet off the dashboard and faced Jim. “What do we know for sure?”

  “We know that Edgar and Eugene went to the meadows together. That they were sent there by their father, and that Edgar brought Gene home badly wounded. Also, that Calvin bribed the doctor, who was a drunk, to change the date that he treated Gene for the bullet wound, and that the same doctor later ruled Don Luis Padilla’s death was accidental, for which he received an additional sum of money.”

  “Which means that Calvin Cox engaged in a cover-up,” Molly added.

  “So who killed Don Luis?” Jim asked.

  “And shot Gene Cox?” Molly added.

  “And rustled Padilla’s sheep?” Jim noted.

  Molly nodded. “At a place called Mexican Hat, that nobody can find?”

  “We’re down to two suspects. Who do we start with first? Gene or Edgar?”

  “Good question.” Molly put her feet back on the dashboard and wiggled her toes.

  “Do you think Louise has been milking money out of Gene over the years as a payment for her silence?” Jim asked.

  “It’s possible. She didn’t act like a woman who had moved on with her life and made her own way. And that house she lives in certainly isn’t a low-end little retirement cottage.”

  Jim gave her an agreeing look. “We need to find Kerney and fill him in.”

  “There’s a lot of horses under the hood,” Molly replied. “We’ll get back to Reserve a hell of a lot faster if you goose it a little. Besides, creeping along at the speed limit is boring.”

  OMAR TURNED east on the paved state road that led to the picnic grounds at the Catwalk National Recreation Trail and stopped at the side of the road when he reached the old mine that jutted out of the hill on the far bank of Whitewater Creek. Cars traveling in both directions slowed as they passed his patrol unit. He waited a good fifteen minutes before a truck pulled in behind him.

  Omar unlocked the passenger door and Phil Cox got in, his long legs bumping up against the dash. Omar moved the bench seat back.

  “What took you so long?” Phil demanded. “I thought you were going to talk to Amador right away.”

  “I had to find him first,” Gatewood answered. “Which wasn’t easy. He was in Silver City helping the family make funeral arrangements for Steve.”

  “What did he say?”

  Gatewood grimaced and looked out the side window at an RV that slowed as it passed by. “He ratted me off to Kerney, the littl
e fucker. Told him everything. I almost kicked his ass in the parking lot at the funeral home.”

  “Did you get him to agree to stay out of town?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Omar answered, turning back to Phil. “The funeral service for Steve is tomorrow. Wouldn’t look right if Amador wasn’t there. I’ve got a deputy covering him.”

  “That’s not what you were told to do,” Phil snapped, his gray eyes narrowing.

  “Save the orders for somebody else, Phil,” Gatewood said wearily. “It’s your daddy we elected commanding officer of the militia, not you. I’m still the goddamn sheriff and I made the call on this one. Amador stays put. I don’t want any more attention drawn to him.”

  “Okay, Omar, relax.”

  “I put a tail on your sweet little cousin after she left my office. She got Kerney released, dropped the murder charges against him, and took him home with her.”

  Phil slapped the dashboard with his hand. “Shit.”

  “You said you would bring a plan with you, Phil. I hope it’s better than your last fuckup that got us into this mess.”

  “Don’t lay that on me,” Phil retorted. “Every ranking officer in the militia voted on the plan.”

  “But Kerney’s still out there walking around. You shot the wrong man and blew up Doyle Fletcher.”

  “Fletcher was an accident, and I didn’t shoot the wrong man.”

  Gatewood snorted. “Kerney was the target, not Stiles. It was your idea in the first place to whack somebody who worked for the Forest Service that nobody gave a rat’s ass about.”

  Phil laughed sharply. “You need to listen more carefully to what people say. Kerney was discussed as a target, but the decision we reached was to take decisive action.”

  Gatewood rubbed his chin. “Jesus. And Gene took that to mean you should go after Jim Stiles?” he asked in disbelief.

  “He told me to take out whoever jumped at the bait. Kerney. Stiles. Charlie Perry. Whoever. It didn’t matter. It was time to send a message.”

  Omar ran his tongue behind his teeth before reacting. “I think your old man went over the edge on this one.”

  Phil lunged across the seat and grabbed Gatewood’s throat. “Don’t ever say that again,” he snarled.

  Omar pried Phil’s hand free and gasped for air. “I’m not picking a fight with you, for chrissake.” He waited until Phil stopped glaring at him. “I’m only saying Kerney was the target. No one else.”

  “That’s not the way my father saw it,” Phil replied tightly.

  Gatewood grunted, gave Phil a sharp look, and let it pass. It was too late to split hairs with Phil, and the way he was acting maybe both Eugene and his son had a screw loose. “What does Gene want done now?”

  “We have to clean up the mess.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Gatewood replied, pulling a paper from his shirt pocket. “So I did us a favor.”

  Phil took the paper and read it. “You got the assault-and-battery warrant signed.”

  Gatewood smiled and nodded. “You bet. I know a very obliging judge. Everything is legal again. All we have to do is go get them. After that, we can improvise.”

  “Them?”

  “That’s right. I talked to your daddy after I called you. He wants both Kerney and Karen taken care of, and I agree. That’s the only way we can handle it. We can’t let Karen off the hook. She could fry our asses. We’re looking at first-degree felony murder charges if we don’t contain the problem now.”

  “Kill them both?” Phil asked.

  Gatewood nodded. “Are you all right with that?”

  Phil’s eyes were empty of emotion. “Why not?”

  “Good,” Gatewood said, exhaling slowly. “But it ain’t gonna be me who does it. You get my meaning?”

  Phil gazed at Gatewood unemotionally. “I’ll make them disappear, Omar. But we leave Karen’s children alone, understood? We’re patriots, not terrorists.”

  “Shit, Phil, I know that.” He cranked the engine. “Edgar took his grandkids to Silver City. If we get our butts in gear, we can pick up Kerney and Karen and be gone before he gets home.”

  “Where do we take them?”

  “The Slash Z.” Gatewood reached across Phil and opened the passenger door. “I’m taking out an insurance policy on this one. I want your daddy to help you make them disappear, Phil.”

  Phil got out of the patrol car, stuck his head back inside, and gave Omar a wicked smile. “He’ll like that. This will all work out, Omar.”

  “It better. Otherwise, we’ll have to declare open season on every fucking federal and state cop the government sends after us.”

  12

  After treating his grandchildren to an early lunch and a matinee movie in Silver City, Edgar met briefly with Margaret’s doctor, while Elizabeth and Cody waited in the hospital lobby. The doctor reported the cancer had not spread and Margaret would be discharged in the morning. The good news put a smile on Edgar’s face. He took the elevator to the third floor and hurried to Margaret’s room.

  He found his wife sitting in the bedside chair with her hair done up in a bun, her makeup on, and wearing a pretty summer dress. She smiled and stroked his cheek when he bent down to kiss her.

  “Karen couldn’t come?” Margaret asked.

  “She’s working, and I’m looking after Cody and Elizabeth. They’re in the lobby waiting to see you. The doctor said I could take you down for a short visit.”

  “I can’t wait to see them.” She studied Edgar’s face. “You look tired.”

  “I feel fine,” he replied. “You look beautiful.”

  Margaret beamed. “I hoped you’d notice. I had quite a bit of help from the nurses to get gussied up for your visit. Have you kept your promise?”

  Edgar’s smile faded and his gaze shifted away. “Not yet. I’ve decided I want to talk to Eugene before I tell Karen.”

  “What on earth for?”

  Edgar grimaced. “I want him to know that the truth is something neither of us can avoid any longer.”

  Margaret stood up and took Edgar’s arm. “I don’t think talking to Eugene will make one bit of difference.”

  “Maybe not,” Edgar replied as he walked Margaret to the door. “But that’s the way I want to handle it.”

  “When?” Margaret asked.

  “Today. After we leave here, I’ll drop Cody and Elizabeth off at home with Karen and drive to the Slash Z. I’ll tell Karen this evening. Everything will be taken care of by the time you come home tomorrow.”

  Margaret patted her husband’s hand. “I love you very much, Edgar.”

  “I love you, too,” he replied. “More than you know.”

  THE SCREENED PORCH to Karen’s house was filled with empty packing boxes stacked in neat piles. Behind the porch was the living room, a rectangular space with doors opening to back bedrooms. The room held an astonishing number of books arranged in modular shelves along the walls. The only furniture was a love seat with a curved back that faced a small television and VCR on a portable cabinet next to a fireplace, and a Shaker rocking chair that sat next to the fireplace. An assortment of potted houseplants was arranged on the outer lip of the hearth. Several indoor trees, including a Norfolk pine in a large tub, sat on the floor. In front of the love seat, two sleeping bags were spread out on a Persian rug that matched the deep red color of the flagstone floor. The room had the feel of a sheltered garden library.

  Kerney scanned the spines of the books. Karen had an excellent collection of art history, architecture, biography, good fiction, and classic literature. The wide range of interests the collection contained impressed Kerney. He spied a biography of Vincent Van Gogh that he wanted to read.

  Karen offered him the use of the bathroom to clean up. He jumped at the suggestion, and with a fresh towel and some new clothes he found his way to the bathroom. It was a cramped space in a corner of the oversized kitchen adjacent to the living room. All the water lines running to the old pedestal sink and cast-iron tub
were exposed. It was clearly a renovation done when indoor plumbing was still a recent innovation. It reminded Kerney of growing up in the ranch house his grandfather had built on the Tularosa.

  He closed the door and stripped tags and labels off his new clothes while hot water filled the cast-iron tub. He shucked off Jim’s hand-me-downs and sank into the steaming hot water, letting the heat work on his knee. The leg had been bothering him more than usual. He needed to get back to his daily workout and jogging routine.

  Shaved, clean, and dressed in stiff jeans and a shirt that still had the package creases in it, he went into the living room. Karen sat on the love seat with her shoes off and her feet on the cushion, studying a case file. Reading glasses were perched on her nose, and an open briefcase was within arm’s reach. Still wearing her work outfit, a loosely shaped wool crepe suit, she smiled at him, put the file in the briefcase, and snapped it closed.

  “You look better,” she remarked.

  “I feel better. Did you get in touch with Gatewood?”

  “He’s out of town. I left a message for him to call me.” She unwound herself from the love seat and stood up. “Now it’s my turn to change. Make yourself comfortable.”

  He browsed through the Van Gogh biography and inspected a painting on the only wall of the room not completely taken over by Karen’s library. The large watercolor had a Chagall feel to it. A woman dressed in a simple frock held a child in her arms while a small girl stood at her side, her hand clasping the hem of the skirt. All were smiling at something out of view.

  Kerney looked for the artist’s signature and found the initials KC hidden in a clump of flowers at the bottom of the painting.

  “I did that right after I kicked my ex-husband out,” Karen said as she reentered the room.

  “It was a happy event, I take it,” Kerney replied, turning to face her. Barefoot, Karen wore jeans and a ribbed red-and-white-striped T-shirt.

  Karen laughed. “You noticed that.”

  “The feeling of the painting is hard to miss.”

  “I keep it conspicuously displayed to remind me how unsuited I am for married life.”

  “Not your cup of tea?”