A Black Place and a White Place

by Patrice Greenwood

  Abruptly, the trail went up the side of the arroyo, climbing fifteen feet or so in a couple of switchbacks. I took a last look along the arroyo at the trees—and saw something out of place.

  Instinctively I pulled on my reins as I gave a little gasp. Chui, finally headed back toward the barn, protested, but obeyed.

  “What is it?” Tony asked, reining in beside me.

  Unable to speak, I pointed.

  Had we kept riding in the arroyo, we would all have seen it. At a bend a short distance along stood a tall cottonwood, its branches hanging over the dry waterway. One of them hung lower than the others.

  It was pulled down by the weight of a man’s body, twisting gently in the breeze at the end of a rope.

  7

  I couldn’t look away, because I wondered ... suspected ... feared ... that the body was Wesley Roan.

  Black head to toe: black clothing, black shoes, dark head. I was too far away to be sure, but the pit of my stomach was telling me the worst was true.

  “Stay here,” Tony told me, and he was gone, up the steep switchbacks, his horse breaking into a run as he reached the top and passed Lisette. I listened to the hoofbeats receding and tried to catch my breath.

  Lisette’s horse jibbed, objecting to Tony’s passage. Should I go to help her? But she got the horse under control and it continued walking, following the string, disappearing from view.

  I was alone in the arroyo. Alone with the body.

  Tony had told me to stay. Why? For my safety? Or to keep an eye on the body?

  As a cop, his instinct would be to protect the evidence of a crime. That must be it; I was standing witness until he could return.

  I swallowed, not much liking this duty. Chui took a step toward the path up the arroyo, and I halted him again. He subsided, lowering his head and shaking it as he blew, an expression of disgust.

  My mouth was dry. I sipped from my water bottle, then secured it, all the while paying attention to what Chui was doing, because I knew that if I got distracted, he’d take advantage.

  I didn’t want to think about Wesley Roan, about what had happened to him, and why. A hate crime, obviously. The age-old symbolism of a hanging tree. It made me feel sick.

  I couldn’t help thinking of the Archuleta brothers. Voices under the cottonwood, restless ghosts walking the ranch. Camp-fire tales, but based in truth from a hundred years ago, when the West had been wilder.

  Hoofbeats tickled my hearing in the distance. They got louder. More than one horse. In a swirl of dust, Tony returned with Ted. They descended the trail and joined me.

  “Aw, hell,” said Ted, looking toward the cottonwood and its burden. He took out a hand-held radio.

  Why not a phone? I pulled my cell out of my pocket and got the answer. No bars.

  No cell towers out here, in O’Keeffe’s empty wilds.

  Ted connected with someone and swiftly exchanged details. I looked at Tony.

  “Do you have to call this in?” I asked softly.

  “I’ll talk to County, but the Ranch people need to report it.”

  I looked down, feeling sad at what I knew lay ahead. Not only would Tony have to talk to the county sheriffs, so would I.

  Staring at the ground beneath my horse’s hooves, I noticed tire tracks in the dust, partly obscured by hoofprints. Not unusual; arroyos were a common place for off-roading.

  “Where are the others?” I asked.

  “Waiting on the mesa,” Tony said.

  “Should I go join them?”

  He looked toward the tree, then at me. Concern showed in the tightness of his facial muscles. “Yeah, you don’t need to stay. Don’t say anything to them.”

  “I know.”

  I gathered my reins and nudged Chui toward the side of the arroyo. That was all it took; I had to rein him in to keep him from running up the trail. At the top I saw the string stopped a little way ahead. Obedient, the riders had stayed where they were, facing the way home. Their horses sidled and fretted. I gave Chui enough rein that he trotted the short distance to the string.

  Lisette turned her head as I approached. I guided Chui off the track and halted beside her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  The question I’d been dreading.

  “I’m not sure,” was all I could come up with. “There’s a problem,” I added lamely.

  Lisette frowned. “What problem?”

  A surge of sorrow overcame me. If my suspicions were right, Lisette and her son were about to be embroiled in one of the worst things that could happen to a family. At the same time, I knew that Tony would want me to watch how she reacted when she learned about it. I was suddenly glad that I was prohibited from telling her.

  Jeremy craned around in the saddle to look at us. “What’s going on, Mom?”

  I heard a horse climbing the bank behind me. I turned Chui sideways, so I could see Ted as he reached the top of the arroyo. He trotted toward us, glanced at me, then at Lisette.

  “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “We’ll head back now.”

  He rode on to the head of the string, past the sidling horses. A moment later we started forward.

  I fell in behind Lisette, glad that it was inconvenient to talk as we rode single file. Lisette needed to concentrate on riding, and I needed time to figure out what to say to her once she learned what had happened.

  What I suspected had happened. But my gut told me I knew.

  Someone had hanged Wesley Roan.

  Why?

  Good lord, why not? From what I’d seen, he was a complete jerk, rude to everyone he met, full of himself and uninterested in anyone else. Cruel to his family, which I found hard to forgive. Yet I knew that they’d suffer from his loss.

  Who could have killed Wesley? I couldn’t imagine any individual doing it.

  A posse.

  Had Wesley Roan made himself so obnoxious that a group of men had joined forces to hang him? Like the last Archuleta brother?

  “Whoa, there!”

  I looked up toward the head of the string, where Ted was collecting a wayward horse and getting it back into line. It had started off cross country, maybe in a more direct line toward the barn, and its rider—the short-haired woman—was cussing up a storm.

  All the horses were edgy. They knew something was wrong.

  With an effort, I forced myself to stop thinking about the tree and the arroyo behind us. I pictured the dining hall, the lunch line. Something delicious awaited us there, I told myself.

  My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, and the thought of food was not enticing.

  It seemed to take forever to get back to the barn. There were no more stops, no more shouted narrations from Ted about O’Keeffe and her work, and why the hell did any of that matter anyway? A man was dead. Hanged from a tree not a mile behind us. We were all about to have a terrible time.

  But it would be worst for the Roans, Lisette and Jeremy. More alone than ever now, in a place that was alien to them, and maybe—probably—felt unwelcoming. I made up my mind to try to help them, to stand by them as much as I could.

  But what if—?

  What if’s didn’t matter, I told myself. They were a family suddenly fractured. They would need support. Deciding whether they’d been involved in Wesley’s death wasn’t my job. I’d made a tenuous connection with Lisette, and it was probable that I was the only semblance of a friend she had at this place and time.

  I wondered what Tony was doing. Standing guard over the body, no doubt, until the sheriffs arrived. Heaven knew when I’d see him.

  When we finally got back to the barn, everyone’s mood was frayed, and the sight of an SUV with a badge and “Rio Arriba County Sheriff” painted on the side was no help. Two men sat inside it, hunched down behind their shades.

  Ted helped the riders dismount, one by one. I slid from the saddle on my own and led Chui to the fence where I’d met him. I looped the reins loosely over the rail, gave the horse a farewell pat, and got out of the way.


  A pickup with the Ghost Ranch logo pulled up beside the SUV. A tall man I didn’t recognize, wearing a sheepskin coat and a battered cowboy hat, got out and went to talk to the sheriffs. After a minute, he returned to the truck, backed out, and drove up road that went northward. The SUV followed.

  That must be the road that the van tour went on. We’d seen it, off and on, as we rode. Just a dirt road that went more or less the same direction as the horse trail, but with less meandering. It passed near O’Keeffe’s ranch house, I was certain. I didn’t remember if it continued beyond.

  All the riders were down now, saying thank you and goodbye to Ted, who looked worried and distracted behind the automatic smile. He gave me a puzzled frown, glanced toward Chui, then fetched him and led him to the back corral. The big bay was there, still saddled, standing by the fence and watching the proceedings with a bored expression.

  Lisette walked up to me, with Jeremy following. “What was all that about?” she asked. “Your boyfriend stayed behind.”

  “My fiancé. Yes.” I drew a deep breath. “He’s a detective. I’m afraid there was—evidence of a crime.”

  Lisette’s frown deepened. “You saw something?”

  I swallowed, nodded.

  “What?”

  “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say.”

  I couldn’t see Lisette’s eyes through her shades, but her mouth dropped open a little.

  “I’m going to walk down to the snack bar,” I said. “I could use some coffee. Want to come along?”

  “Our car is here,” Lisette said. “Let me give you a lift.”

  I hesitated just for a second, but my feet were hurting from the boots, and I caved. “Thanks,” I said, mustering a smile.

  Lisette led the way toward a big, white Cadillac SUV. Jeremy fell in behind me. He already had his earbuds in, though he gave me one suspicious look.

  We rode in silence. Lisette was occupied with steering the Cadillac down the rough road to the welcome center, Jeremy was engrossed in his phone, and I was at a loss for words. It was like watching a tornado approach and not knowing where to hide.

  I checked my phone, looking for a text from Tony. Nothing, of course. I sent him a text that I was with the Roans.

  The snack bar was, again, closed. The dining hall would be open for lunch in less than half an hour. Jeremy wandered into the trading post, but I didn’t feel like junk food and cold drinks. I looked at Lisette.

  “Want to come to my room for some tea?”

  She nodded, and summoned Jeremy, who grumbled slightly but returned with us to the car. I directed Lisette to park next to my Camry, and got out. The sky was still overcast; if anything, it was a little darker. I looked in vain for a bright spot where the sun might break through.

  I unlocked the door and invited the Roans into the Room of Many Chairs. Jeremy made himself at home in a chair by the east window, never looking up from his phone. I put the kettle on and puttered with tea leaves and teapot. Lisette sank into the same chair where she’d sat before.

  “Were you able to hear the narration about O’Keeffe?” I asked. “I couldn’t hear a thing.”

  “I caught most of it,” Lisette said.

  I bit back a question about whether she enjoyed the tour. She plainly wasn’t enjoying anything at the moment, and it was about to get worse.

  Trying to find a happier subject, I asked, “Did you make some drawings yesterday?”

  She nodded. A faint smile touched her lips, then faded. “I spent a couple of hours working on a landscape. I’m pretty rusty, but it felt good.”

  “I’d love to see it,” I said.

  Lisette’s face closed down again. “Wesley tore it up.”

  “No!” I blurted.

  “He came back to the room in a mood. He was looking for a fight, and he made one.”

  “I’m so sorry,” was all I could say.

  Lisette shrugged. “That’s my life.” She glanced at Jeremy, who was paying no attention to us. “I spend a lot of time picking up the pieces.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Another shrug. “I’ll go over it all with my therapist when we get home. That’s what I pay her for. You shouldn’t have to listen to it.”

  The kettle began to boil. I made tea, wondering all the while how I could help Lisette. I brought the souvenir cup to her.

  “I’m out of milk, I’m afraid. Do you want some sugar?”

  She shook her head. “This is fine. Thank you.”

  I glanced at Jeremy. “Would Jeremy like some?”

  “No, he’s not a tea drinker. He’ll be all right until lunch.”

  I poured tea for myself in the second mug and took my seat, sipping it. Trying to give Lisette some space, I avoided looking at her, though it wasn’t easy. She sat still, only moving to lift the mug and drink now and then. She’d kept the shades on. Hiding behind them. My heart went out to her.

  Would she be relieved to know Wesley was dead, I wondered?

  Terrible thought, but some small part of her probably would, I reflected. Only one aspect of a complicated reaction, no doubt. Had she ever loved her husband? From what little she’d told me, it sounded like what would once have been called a marriage of convenience.

  I couldn’t imagine making such a bargain. Trading physical intimacy for financial security, or for social advantage.

  My privilege, again. I was blessed with security; I didn’t have to make such hard choices. Even in this modern age, others were not so fortunate.

  The buzz of a text arriving on my phone startled all of us. I had plugged it in; I jumped up to silence it. The text was from Tony.

  Where are you?

  At our casita. The Roans are here. I made tea.

  Keep them there. I’ll be right over.

  “It’s Tony,” I said. “My fiancé. He’s on his way.” I glanced at the time on my phone, then set it down and returned to sit on the bed.

  Lisette looked in my direction, hands still cradling her mug. She raised it, finished off her tea, and held out the mug to me.

  “There’s more,” I offered, accepting it and gesturing toward the teapot.

  Lisette shook her head. “We should go.”

  “Oh, won’t you stay a couple minutes? I’d like to introduce you to Tony. We could all walk over to lunch.”

  Lisette turned her head toward her son, who was apparently oblivious, engrossed in his phone. “All right,” she said. A sigh escaped her and she pulled off her shades to rub at her eyes. It was an unconscious gesture, but it a revealing one.

  Bruises are harder to discern on dark skin, I realized. While she had her shades on, I hadn’t noticed, but I now saw that she had a shiner on her left eye that extended down onto her elegant cheekbone.

  My small, sharp inhalation was involuntary. Lisette looked up at me, realization widening her eyes, and hastily put her shades back on.

  “Did your husband do that?” I whispered.

  Her face tightened and she gave another, angry sigh, then nodded.

  “Dear God!”

  The sound of the outer door being unlocked made us both jump. Instinctively I stood, placing myself between the door to the bedroom and Lisette. Tony gave me a questioning look as he came in. I had no answer. He glanced toward Lisette and back to me.

  Swallowing, I took one step aside, turning to indicate Lisette with a gesture. Distress made me speak more formally than I’d intended.

  “Tony, I’d like you to meet Lisette Roan. Lisette, this is Tony Aragón, my fiancé.”

  Tony took a step forward, formality descending upon him as well. Cop formality.

  “Ma’am.”

  Lisette sat still. She knew, perhaps from our behavior, that something was quite wrong. Her head turned slightly toward her son, then back to face Tony.

  Tony glanced at Jeremy, who was still absorbed in his play world, ignoring us adults. “Mrs. Roan, I’m afraid I have bad news,” Tony continued. His voice was gentle, but nothing could
soften his message. “Your husband is dead.”

  Slowly Lisette’s lips parted. Her brows drew together. “What happened?” She said in a strangled voice.

  I glanced at Tony. He was watching her intently.

  “It appears he’s been murdered.”

  Lisette’s mouth dropped open, her lower lip trembling slightly, a horrified rictus. I wanted to rush to her and hug her. I stayed still.

  “The county sheriffs want to talk with you,” Tony said. “They asked me to bring you to the welcome center.”

  Lisette looked toward her boy. “Jeremy,” she said softly, then turned to me. It was a plea, not a summons. She was asking for help.

  “They’ll want to speak to him, too,” Tony added.

  “Would you like me to come with you?” I said.

  A swallow moved Lisette’s throat, and she nodded, then stood and turned to Tony. “May I tell my son?”

  Tony stepped back and gestured toward Jeremy, giving silent permission. He would watch, of course—hawk-like, noticing every detail. How had he convinced the local sheriffs to let him break the news? I wondered.

  Lisette walked to the second bed and sat beside Jeremy. He glanced at her, still playing, thumbs flying over the screen. She took off her shades, setting them aside, then slowly wrapped her hands around his, until he stopped and looked up at her.

  “Jeremy.”

  Hastily he removed his earbuds. Something in her expression had frightened him.

  “This man is a policeman,” she said, with the slightest of nods in Tony’s direction. “Your father’s been killed.”

  Jeremy’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. He looked ready to flee, or to jump up and yell. The flood of confused emotions on his face were too swift to follow, but I thought I saw a flash of anger, and another of—glee? Finally he shoved his phone aside and threw himself into his mother’s embrace, burying his face in her shoulder.

  I glanced at Tony. His face revealed nothing. Full cop mode.

  Jeremy let out a sob. Lisette rocked him back and forth slightly, whispering, “It’s OK. It’s OK.”