Mexican Hat Page 24

  “Hardly.”

  The painting had an accomplished feel to it. “Did you study art?” Kerney asked.

  “I was a delinquent in the undergraduate fine arts department for a time,” Karen replied.

  “You were very good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “From fine arts to law is quite a switch,” Kerney said.

  Karen cocked her head. “I’m not very predictable. Would you like some iced tea? The dispatcher said it would be a while before he can contact Gatewood.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Over iced tea and a platter of fruit, Karen and Kerney sat on the living-room floor and talked.

  “Whatever made you take a temporary job with the Forest Service?” she asked, nibbling on a slice of honeydew.

  “Money,” Kerney replied.

  “It can’t be that much.”

  “Every little bit helps.”

  “Don’t you have a pension?”

  “Yeah. It pays the bills.”

  “So what do you need more money for?”

  “Land. Enough to start a small ranching operation.”

  Karen picked up a piece of watermelon and cleaned out the seeds. “That’s what you want to do?”

  “You bet. I have my eye on a section just north of Mountainair on the east side of the Manzano Mountains, south of Albuquerque. It comes with BLM grazing rights. The owner will carry the mortgage if I can come up with the down payment.”

  Kerney was surprised at himself; talking about dreams sometimes vaporized them into extinction. “Do you know the area?”

  Karen finished the melon slice, licked her fingers, wiped her hand on her jeans, and nodded. “I’ve driven through it. It’s pretty country. What fun it would be to build a house just where you want to. I bet you’re looking forward to it.”

  “I am.”

  “I hope it happens for you.”

  “Me too.” Kerney heard a board creak and looked at the open door to the porch. Omar Gatewood stood in the doorway with a revolver in his hand and a nasty smile on his face. Kerney pushed Karen to the floor, flung himself across her, and reached for the pistol under the belt at the small of his back.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Karen snapped, her fist balled, ready to punch him in the chops.

  Before Kerney could free the weapon he felt a muzzle dig into his neck.

  “Don’t,” Phil Cox warned, standing over Kerney.

  Slowly, hands empty, Kerney moved both arms away from his body. Pinned under him, Karen’s expression changed from a look of indignation to one of incredulity.

  “Are you totally fucking nuts, Phil?” she yelled.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” Phil answered. He poked the rifle barrel against Kerney’s neck, secured the handgun, and stuck the weapon in his waistband. “Get up real slow, Kerney,” he ordered.

  “The charges against him have been dropped,” Karen snarled.

  Kerney pushed himself upright. Gatewood had a clear shot at him from across the room. He was boxed in nicely.

  “Stay where you are, Karen,” Gatewood ordered. He covered Kerney while Phil Cox cuffed him, hands at his back.

  With Kerney secured, Omar reached down and pulled Karen to her feet. “I decided not to take your advice, Karen. I got that warrant you wouldn’t approve signed by somebody else,” he explained. “Everything’s nice and legal.”

  “Are you crazy, Omar?” Karen snapped. “Or just plain stupid? I’ll have your badge for this.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She struggled to pull free of his grasp, but Gatewood held her tightly. “Get that gun out of my face.”

  “Can’t do it,” Omar answered, wrapping his arm around Karen’s waist and pulling her closer. “You both need to come with us.”

  “Where?” Karen demanded.

  “You’ll see,” Gatewood answered.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll find out.” Gatewood backed up to the door, taking Karen with him.

  “At least let me leave a note for my children,” Karen pleaded.

  “No,” Gatewood said.

  “Phil?” Karen implored.

  Phil looked at Gatewood over Kerney’s shoulder. “It might be a good idea,” he said. “It could buy us time.”

  Omar considered it. “All right.” He holstered his weapon and tossed a pair of handcuffs to Phil. “I’ll take Kerney on ahead. It’s best if we don’t travel together. Cuff Karen after she writes the note and bring her along.”

  With Karen pinned to his side, Gatewood walked to the middle of the room and exchanged her for Kerney.

  Karen searched Kerney’s face for a reaction as Gatewood walked him to the door. He remained expressionless except for a slight shake of his head that was barely noticeable. It told her to do nothing foolish.

  “Write your note and give it to me,” Phil told her as soon as Gatewood and Kerney were gone.

  “Can I put some shoes on first?”

  Phil waved the rifle toward the bedroom. “After you, cousin.” He followed her and watched as she slipped on socks and cowboy boots.

  Finished, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. “Why are you doing this?”

  “According to the sheriff, you’ve been harboring a fugitive. It’s my civic duty to help him, isn’t it?”

  “Help him do what?”

  “Just write the fucking note,” Phil replied.

  She found pencil and paper in a nightstand drawer. “If I tell them I’ll be working late, will that do?”

  “Fine. Just do it.”

  Karen wrote quickly and held up the note for Phil to read. He had his rifle pointed at her stomach, his finger on the trigger.

  He scanned it and nodded an okay. “Put your hands out,” he ordered.

  She stuck her hands out hoping Phil would be dumb enough to cuff her to the front. He complied and double-locked the cuffs with a key that he dropped into his shirt pocket.

  “If I don’t leave the note on my mother’s refrigerator, my father won’t see it,” Karen explained.

  “Let’s go.”

  Phil marched her to her parents’ house and into the kitchen, where he watched her attach the note to the refrigerator with a magnet. Karen held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t read it again. He didn’t.

  “What this all about, Phil?” she asked, trying hard to sound innocent and obliging.

  He prodded her with the rifle barrel. “Get going.”

  MOLLY TOOK over the wheel just west of Lordsburg near the Arizona border. Off the interstate, on the state road to Silver City, she punched the car hard through the Big Burro Mountains and slowed only when they hit the city limits. Once rid of the city traffic, she floored the Mustang again and passed everything in sight, driving with superb coordination.

  She loved to make the Mustang fly when Jim was with her to take the heat in case she got stopped. He had saved her from many speeding tickets during the two years they had been dating. It was, according to Molly, one of the few benefits of dating a cop.

  Flying along the road to Glenwood, Jim quietly watched her drive. Molly said nothing until they reached the last long curve before the village.

  She slowed the car and flashed him a brilliant smile. “We made pretty good time, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You are good behind the wheel,” Jim admitted. “Swing by Karen’s house.” He gave her directions. “We’ll see if she knows where Kerney is.”

  Molly hit the turn signal as they approached the turnoff to Dry Creek Canyon. A truck entering the highway swerved onto the road in front of them, then accelerated quickly.

  Stiles sat upright, his eyes riveted on the truck. “Keep going,” he said.

  “Why?”

  Jim nodded at the truck as it pulled away. “That’s Phil Cox up ahead, and Karen is with him.”

  “What’s so strange about that?” Molly asked.

  “I’m not sure, but he’s in a hell of a hurry. Stay
back a little. Do you have that handgun I gave you?”

  “It’s under my seat.”

  Jim reached and got the holstered 9mm semiautomatic.

  “What do you need a gun for?” Molly demanded.

  “I don’t know if I need it,” Jim answered. “Drop back a little more.”

  “He doesn’t know my car,” Molly said.

  “He knows me,” Jim answered. “Let’s see where he’s going.”

  Molly slowed down to almost the speed limit.

  They followed Phil to Old Horse Springs and barely got there in time to watch him turn in on the Slash Z ranch road.

  “What do we do now?” Molly asked as she parked on the shoulder of the highway.

  “We wait,” Jim said. “It’s five miles to the ranch from the highway, and I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. Damn, I wish I could get to a telephone.”

  “Why?”

  “So I could call around for Kerney. This may be nothing more than paranoia on my part.”

  “Open the glove compartment,” Molly suggested.

  Jim punched the button and found a cellular phone. “When did you get this?” he asked, holding up the telephone.

  “A couple of months ago.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Was I supposed to? It’s only for emergencies. I hardly use it.” Molly smiled winningly. “Isn’t it handy?”

  “You are amazing.”

  “I know it.”

  Stiles flipped open the phone, dialed Karen’s home number, and got no answer. He tried Edgar Cox with the same results. He called the sheriff’s office and asked for Gatewood. The deputy who answered said Omar was out of town and not due back until morning.

  “What’s the status on Kerney?” Jim inquired. “Has he been picked up? Have the charges been dropped?” It took longer than necessary to get a reply.

  “I haven’t heard a thing,” the deputy said.

  Stiles snapped the cover closed and shook his head.

  “What?” Molly asked.

  “Something isn’t kosher. We’ll give Karen and Phil some time to get to Phil’s house and then I’ll call,” he said. “I hope this is just a wild goose chase.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “No. That’s why we’re going to sit here and wait.”

  THE CHILDREN PILED OUT of Edgar’s truck as he parked behind Karen’s station wagon. He was glad to see her car. It meant Karen was home and he could take a break from his baby-sitting duties. He waved as Cody and Elizabeth called out their thanks and told them to send Karen down to see him. They ran around the side of the house and out of sight.

  Inside, the house was too damn quiet without Margaret to fill the place up with the sounds of her presence. Edgar shed his boots in the living room and padded to the kitchen, thinking it was time to start thawing one of the meals in the freezer so he could have it for dinner. On the refrigerator door was a note. He removed the magnet and read it. All it said was that Karen might be working a little late, but would be home soon. She must have forgotten to take it down after she got back. He crumpled it up and threw it in the trash under the kitchen sink.

  He got a meal out of the freezer, put it on the counter, and started back to the living room when Elizabeth slammed through the back door.

  “Is my mom here?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No, sweetie. Isn’t she at your house?”

  “No,” Elizabeth replied. “Where could she be?”

  Edgar rumpled Elizabeth’s hair. “Don’t worry. She left a note for us that she might have to work late.”

  “But our car is here,” Elizabeth replied. “Mom should be home, if the car is here.”

  “Not necessarily,” Edgar answered. “Listen, you go get Cody and we’ll drive to Uncle Phil’s.”

  “Right now?”

  “Sure. By the time we get back, I’m sure your mom will be home.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  After Elizabeth left, Edgar thought about Karen’s note and fished it out of the trash. She had signed it “Peanut.” Now that was kind of strange. He couldn’t remember a time when Karen had appreciated his nickname for her. He used it in spite of his best attempts to break the habit, and she almost always reacted with a frown when it slipped out.

  He read the note again. Even the handwriting looked slanted and jerky, not at all like Karen’s fluid script. There was a crossed-out Z before the word “soon” at the end of the note.

  Slash Z, Edgar thought, stuffing the note in his pocket. It couldn’t mean anything else. He hurried to get his boots and round up the children. Something was wrong, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what it could be.

  KAREN PROBED PHIL on the ride to the Slash Z, using the humblest attitude she could manage, trying to match the obsequious demeanor of Phil’s wife, Doris. The ploy worked; Phil got puffed up with self-importance and started talking. The garbage that poured from his mouth was truly amazing. He talked about the Catron County Militia with a zealot’s passion, and he described his attempt to kill Jim Stiles like a schoolyard bully bragging on himself.

  She tried to maintain a servile tone, while her mind raced over the implications of Phil’s confession. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked meekly.

  Phil guffawed. “You’re going to have to disappear.”

  Karen dropped the charade, and her voice cracked with hostility. “In other words, you’re going to kill me.”

  “It’s a family tradition,” Phil replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  He looked at her like a hawk that had spotted its prey. “I’ll let my father explain.”

  “If I’m reported missing, Catron County will be crawling with cops from all over the state. It isn’t going to be that easy.”

  “Omar can handle them.”

  Karen laughed. “In your dreams he can. Omar isn’t smart enough to take the heat. It won’t take much to crack him wide open.”

  “You’re only going to be missing, Karen. That’s the key word.” Phil smiled. “All Omar has to do is put everyone to work scouring the countryside for you.”

  “A missing ADA is a whole different matter from a lost tourist.”

  Phil made the turn onto the Slash Z road before answering. “You know what? I have half a mind to strip you naked and stuff a sock in your mouth before we get to the ranch. Hell, I just may do it. Pop would get a big kick out of it, I bet.”

  Phil’s raw sexual glance sent a shiver up Karen’s spine. She leaned against the seat and stared at her cuffed hands. Phil’s rifle was in the gun rack, but she doubted she could get to it before he could react. She needed to hit him with something, but there was nothing substantial in sight to do it with.

  After a mile on the flats, the ranch road cut through some low hills. Phil drove with one eye on the road and the other on her, shifting his gaze back and forth before each curve. There were pools of standing water in the ruts from the heavy morning rain, and Phil slowed down a bit going through them. Silently, Karen started counting seconds between Phil’s glances. There was about a ten-second break in eye contact.

  The next curve came up, and Phil’s eyes moved back to the road. Karen pivoted on the seat, brought her legs up, and kicked at Phil’s face with her boots.

  He saw the blow coming and threw up a hand to deflect it. Karen’s foot slammed into the steering wheel. Phil clamped his hand on her calf and lost control of the truck. They lunged off the road into an arroyo. Phil wrenched the wheel as they slid sideways down the slope.

  Karen kicked Phil in the cheek with her free leg. The truck fish-tailed into a tree, bounced, and landed on its side. Phil’s head snapped against the doorpost, and Karen landed on top of him, her knees grinding into his ribs.

  She waited for him to move, but he remained still. She pushed herself upright until her head bumped the passenger door. She swung the door open, gripped the roof with both hands, pulled herself free, and lan
ded hard on her feet. Unsteadily she walked to the front of the truck. Through the cracked windshield she could see that Phil was out cold. She had to get the handcuffs off before he regained consciousness. She shattered the glass with a large rock, reached in, and fumbled in his shirt pocket for the handcuff key.

  Her hands were shaking, and it took several attempts to get the key in the lock. Wooziness hit her, and she stopped until it passed. She got the cuffs off, wrapped Phil’s arms through the steering wheel, cuffed him, and threw away the key. She crawled halfway into the cab, picked up the rifle from the floorboard, and scrambled out.

  She sat on the ground and trembled, her eyes locked on Phil’s unconscious face, wondering where the insanity in him came from and why she hadn’t seen it before. Maybe it had been there all the time, lurking under the surface. Maybe it was the legacy of bitterness and rage passed on from father to son.

  Finally calm, she considered her options. She could walk to the highway and try to flag down some help or head to the ranch. There wasn’t enough time to turn back. It would be the ranch, she decided, even if she had face down Omar Gatewood and Uncle Eugene by herself to free Kerney.

  She checked the Winchester, found it fully loaded, and set out for the Slash Z.

  IMPATIENTLY, Stiles checked his watch every few minutes. The thought that Kerney and Karen might be in trouble gnawed at him, but he didn’t have anything solid to back up the feeling. He gave in to his anxiety and started punching in Phil Cox’s number on the cellular phone when a pickup truck sped by and braked quickly for the turn to the Slash Z. Jim dropped the phone in his lap and hit the car horn repeatedly. The truck stopped at the cattle guard.

  “What is it?” Molly said, somewhat startled.

  “That’s Edgar Cox. Drive over to him.”

  Edgar Cox waited for the car to pull up, wondering who in the hell had flagged him down. Cody crawled into his lap, rolled down the window, and leaned out. Elizabeth, kneeling on the bench seat, stared out the rear window.

  Jim got out of the Mustang and stepped over to Edgar’s truck. “Mr. Cox,” he said.

  “I’m in a hurry, Jim,” Edgar replied.

  “Looking for Karen?”

  “How did you know?”

  “We saw her drive in with Phil.”