“You got any more beans in the back?” he demanded.
“Just what’s on the shelf,” said the clerk, a tall, round man. “I think you cleaned us out.”
“Y’oughta stock more than this. Winter and a storm’s comin’,” grumped the old guy, and I recognized his voice. I’d heard it before, much louder, yelling at the cowboys outside the dining hall. He looked smaller than I remembered, no taller than me. I waited patiently while he counted out dollar bills and quarters to pay for his purchase. As he left with his haul, still grumbling, the clerk gave me an apologetic shrug.
“One of the neighbors?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s got some land north of here. Digs holes all over it. He’s convinced he’ll find gold.”
“Everyone needs a dream,” I said, and paid for my wine, then went in search of Tony. I found him in the “outdoor equipment” section, frowning at a shelf full of gear.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
He looked at me, then picked up a package of rope. “Ready to go?”
“What’s that for?”
He glanced at a woman who was browsing the camping gear nearby. “Tell you later.”
8
Had I not known Tony as well as I did, this would have frightened me. Even so, just a tiny stab of fear flashed through me before reason restored my balance. Tony would never hurt me, or threaten me.
I looked more closely at the woman. It was the short-haired Anglo woman from the studio tour and the trail ride. And the Ghost House. What was she after?
She didn’t look at me. Maybe it was just a small world. Julio liked to say that there were a hundred people in New Mexico, fifty of them lived in Santa Fe, and the rest were extras.
Tony paid for the rope. We returned to the car with tiny snowflakes swirling around us.
“So what’s with the rope?” I said as I pulled onto the highway, heading back to Ghost Ranch.
“It looks familiar.”
I glanced at him. He was still frowning.
“I had a lot of time to look around the crime scene until the locals arrived,” he said. “Had a good look at the body. This looks like the same kind of rope.”
I let out a gasp of dismay. “It c-could have come from anywhere, couldn’t it?”
“Yeah, but just in case, I wanted to pick this up. CSI can test it, see if it’s from the same batch. Might prove the rope was bought from Bode’s.”
“God.”
“Just a minor detail.”
That’s how a case was built, though. By now, I knew that minor details could add up into solid evidence.
“Tony, are you going to end up working this case?”
“Probably not. Locals are pretty territorial, usually.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m not sure Rio Arriba has a full-time homicide guy. If they ask, I’ll help out.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not likely.”
I was silent, playing out scenarios in my mind. Tony saving the day, rescuing the rural cops with his urban know-how. Me . . . sitting around, waiting.
Good thing I had a book.
Good thing I’d bought the wine.
“When’s our dinner reservation, again?” Tony asked as I pulled into my parking space. The Roans’ SUV was gone.
“Six-thirty,” I said.
“I’ll just take this over to the office, in case those guys are still there,” he said, hefting the bag with the rope.
“OK.”
He opened the door for me, carried in the wine and put it on the dresser, then headed for the welcome center with the rope. I hung up my coat, got out the O’Keeffe biography, and curled up on the bed with it. Soon I was lost in the art world that O’Keeffe had set by the ears. She’d been the first woman in America to be acknowledged a major artist. She’d fought uphill all the way for recognition, and blazed the trail for many woman artists to follow. Not even a century ago, and so much had changed for the better since then. It was good to remember that.
My thoughts strayed to Lisette, a serious student of art before her marriage. She had the additional disadvantage of being black, which in O’Keeffe’s day would probably have deprived her even of the opportunity to study art. I hoped she would continue to draw and paint, going forward. It might prove to be her salvation.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Tony, I thought, and wondered as I reached for the phone if he was going to excuse himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was hobnobbing with the “locals.” The clock showed an hour had passed since I’d started reading.
Instead of Tony’s name, I saw an unfamiliar phone number at the head of the message:
Why didn’t you tell me you found him?
I set the book aside.
Lisette?
You knew it was him.
I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to scare you.
Silence. I could picture her: hurt, angry, frightened and confused. My heart went out to her.
You want to come over and talk? Tony’s out.
Silence again. I tried to think of a way to coax her over. Tea? Wine? I envisioned her haughty refusal—a wounded soul taking comfort in defiance.
Lisette, I’m sorry if I’ve angered you. It’s been a terrible day. If you’d like to talk, I’m here. If not, I understand.
Best I could do. I waited a moment, then set the phone down and picked up my book. I’d tried to read the same paragraph three times by the time my phone buzzed again.
I’m coming.
I jumped up and tidied the room, which didn’t really need much tidying. Still, I couldn’t concentrate on the book. I put it on the dresser and collected the two mugs from the bathroom where I’d left them to dry after washing them. Tea or wine; they’d serve either way. I took them into the Room of Many Chairs.
A knock fell on the door, so quiet I almost missed it. I opened it to Lisette, shades on, hair hidden under a scarf, mouth in a straight line. Her hands were tucked in the pockets of her leather jacket.
“Come in,” I said, stepping back.
She did so. I offered to take her jacket, but she shook her head. “It’s cold.”
“I can make tea, if you like. Or I have some wine.”
Her head lifted slightly and the line of her mouth became thinner. “Tea,” she said after a pause.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, then fetched the kettle and went to fill it from the sink. When I returned, Lisette was sitting on the foot of the our bed. I went into the other room, set the kettle to heat, then returned.
“How’s Jeremy?”
“Sleeping. I gave him a pill.”
“He seemed pretty shaken.”
“Are you surprised?” Her voice was brittle with anger and pain.
“No, of course not,” I said softly. I sat on the foot of the bed, facing her. “Lisette, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you everything right away. Even if I’d been sure, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.”
She shifted, angling her body toward me. Listening, but conceding nothing.
“I’m so sorry,” I added. “If I can help, I’d like to.”
“You know they think I did it.”
“Everyone’s a suspect at the start,” I said. “They interviewed me, too, just because I spotted ... because I saw him first.”
“Did you tell them he hit me?”
“No.”
She seemed to relax a little. The kettle boiled, and I made tea. When I brought her a mug, she drew her hands out of her pockets at last, and held the mug in both hands like a child, taking hesitant sips.
“This is such good tea,” she whispered.
I fetched my own mug and sat with her in silence for a while, feeling oddly tired. It was emotional, rather than physical, exhaustion. Lisette must feel even more drained.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll find the killer.”
“I don’t care if they find him. I just want them to leave me alone.”
I stopped myself from assuring
her they would. She was black, and from Texas. In her world, cops were likely to kill for no reason. I couldn’t promise her that the “locals” here would be any different, especially knowing the animosity that was typical between blacks and Hispanics in this state.
As if aware of my thoughts, she added, “They won’t let me go home.”
“I’m sure that’s temporary,” I said, though I actually wasn’t sure.
“I want to send Jeremy home, but they won’t let me do that either,” she said, anger growling low through her voice. “They’re suspicious of him, too. An eleven-year-old boy. He cried for an hour after that ... man ... talked to him.”
“I’m so sorry,” was all I could say.
“All the times I prayed to be free from my marriage,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I never thought it would be worse with him gone, but it is.”
“It’ll get better,” It sounded lame even as I said it. I tried again. “Just take one day at a time. One task at a time. Focus on one thing you can do something about. The rest will work itself out.”
She turned her head toward me. “You’ve never been where I am now.”
“No, but I’ve been in bad situations. You’ll get through it. You’re strong.”
The sound of the outer door’s keypad made us both jump. I stood, moving toward the door, placing myself between it and Lisette. Same as before, I realized.
Tony stepped in. He looked about to speak, but caught my nod toward Lisette and hesitated.
“Ma’am,” he said gently.
Lisette stood. “I’ll be going. Thank you for the tea.”
She held out her mug. I accepted it.
“You’ll be all right?” I phrased it as a question, though I wanted her to know it was a fact.
“Yes.”
The shield was back. Warrior Mom, determined to show no weakness. She brushed past Tony on her way out the door.
“Call me if you need anything,” I said.
“Let me walk you to your room,” Tony said simultaneously.
Lisette stiffened. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“Please, ma’am,” Tony added. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.”
She stared at him, then turned her head toward me.
“I’ll come too, if you like,” I said.
A swallow moved her throat. “OK,” she said.
Conjecture buzzed in my head as I hustled into my coat and hat. Tony’s offer was unusually gallant. I had to assume he had reason for concern about Lisette’s safety.
Maybe it was just caution. Cops were well-versed in paranoia. Wesley had been killed; the motive could have been more than just a hate crime. If so, Lisette might also be in danger.
And her son.
Snowflakes wafted about as we stepped outside. The thirsty ground was sucking it up. I looked up at the big cottonwoods. One of them was the hanging tree. I glanced at Lisette, glad that I hadn’t told her the story. She strode past without looking at them.
We followed her up the path, taking the through branch toward the little parking lot. She walked past the cars to one of the casitas, a nice-looking one with three entrances. She stopped by the center one and turned to us.
“Thank you,” she said.
Tony gave a nod. “Keep safe.”
“You have my number,” I added.
Lisette entered a code in the keypad, opened the door, and went in. Shutting the door quite loudly. Tony was still for a moment, then turned back toward the path.
I decided to wait until we were back inside before making conversation. As we walked down the hill I pondered whether to ask Tony why he’d insisted on walking Lisette home. Had he heard something? Picked up on hostility from the sheriffs?
In the end, I merely thanked him. “She’s kind of brittle right now. I hope you weren’t offended.”
He gave me an amused look. “I can tell defensive behavior from offensive attitude.”
“You think she’s at risk.”
“She could be.”
I shrugged out of my coat and went to hang it up. “You were away for a while.”
Tony reached for a hanger. “The locals wanted my take on the vic.”
“Vic?”
“The victim. Roan.”
“Oh.” I fetched the mugs and took them to the sink to wash, remembering Tony’s cold fury at the O’Keeffe studio. “Did you tell them he insulted you?”
“Yeah. They weren’t surprised. He insulted a lot of people.”
I collected the teapot and the infuser, from which I dumped out the wet tea leaves. “I wonder why he was so full of spite.”
Tony leaned against the door frame, watching me wash the mugs. “Bad childhood, maybe. Turned him into a bully. The kind of guy who doesn’t know any way to feel powerful other than stomping other people down.”
“So we have an idea why he was killed. But not who did it.”
“Lot of candidates.”
I put the mugs on a clean washcloth to dry, rinsed out the teapot and cleaned the infuser, sat on the bed to take off my shoes. Tony joined me.
“In order to narrow the field, do you look at who is physically capable of subduing a man that big?” I asked.
He tilted his head, looking slightly bemused. “That’s one factor.”
“The only one I can think of is the guy in the flag cap. Maybe.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
I waited for him to elaborate. He returned my gaze, then looked away, frowning a little.
“You have to treat this like one of my cases,” he said at last. “Total confidentiality.”
“All right.”
“That means you don’t share anything with Mrs. Roan.”
“OK.”
“I know you think she’s innocent.”
“I’m pretty sure of it, but I won’t tell her anything you share. I thought you were concerned for her safety?”
“I am, but she’s also a flight risk.”
“Tony!”
“Gotta go by the rules.”
I took a calming breath. “She complained that they wouldn’t let her go home,” I said carefully. “To me, that indicates she’s abiding by the rules.”
He gazed at me briefly, then sighed. “Roan wasn’t just hanged,” he said. “There’s more to it. And it wasn’t the hanging that killed him.”
I blinked. My assumptions about the crime shattered. I’d pictured a lynch mob, because I couldn’t think of any other way for it to happen.
“How do you know?”
Tony took out his phone, poked at it, then handed it to me. It was showing a photo of the ground.
“What do you see?”
I peered at it. The soil was soft, like in the bottom of an arroyo. Differences in height cast long shadows, even though the contrast wasn’t strong. There were tire tracks, with a footprint impressed deeply over them.
“Is this ... the arroyo?” I asked.
“Yeah. I took some pictures while I was waiting.”
“Is that Mr. Roan’s footprint?”
“It matches his shoes.”
“So a vehicle was there, then he walked over the tracks.”
“Yes. The vehicle track is old, actually. See how soft it is?”
I nodded.
“What else do you see?”
I pointed to the lower left corner of the photo. “I think that’s a hoofprint.”
“Yes.”
“And there’s another footprint under the hoofprint.”
“Good. What else?”
I frowned. “There are streaks.”
“Yes.”
“They go partly across the hoofprint. It almost looks like someone swept.”
“Bingo. They dragged a branch, actually.”
I looked up at him. “So someone was trying to cover up the tracks?”
Tony nodded. “But it was dark, so they missed a couple. Actually, they missed a lot, because he went out there on foot. But they did obscure most of the m
arks at the scene.”
I handed back the phone and stared at the wall, picturing the killer at the crime scene. Darkness. A hanging. Brushing away tracks with a branch. And Tony had implied there was more.
“It was dark,” I repeated.
“Yeah. Time of death estimate is around eight p.m.”
“While we were at the concert.”
“Yes. That’s my alibi, thank you.”
“Oh, Tony!” I turned to hug him. “They can’t seriously think you’re a suspect.”
“They have to consider everyone. The guy did address a racial slur to me, in front of witnesses.”
I buried my head in his shoulder. The same gesture I’d seen Jeremy do with his mom. “They know it wasn’t you.”
“I think they do. But they have to check every possibility. So thank you for dragging me to that concert.”
I looked up at him. “You didn’t want to watch more football anyway.”
“With that asshole around? No way.”
I laughed, though it made me feel guilty. Asshole or no, the man was dead.
I tucked my feet up under me. Tony stretched out and leaned against the pillows, hands behind his head.
“What was Wesley doing walking around out in the arroyo?” I said. “It’s so far from the ranch!”
“He wasn’t a weakling,” Tony said. “According to his son, he liked to run, though he wasn’t regular about it. They found his tracks going in along the service road, and it looked more like jogging than walking. We figure he ran most of the way. We just don’t know why.”
I took a breath. “I might be able to help with that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I stood and paced to the window. The snow was starting to fall more densely. I didn’t want to betray Lisette’s confidence, and I certainly didn’t want to give the police any reason to suspect her more than they already did. But I thought I could guess why Wesley ran out so far from the ranch.
“He had an argument with his wife,” I said, turning to face Tony.
“A fight?”
“She bought some art supplies and was drawing with them. He didn’t like it.” I chose carefully how to put it: I wanted to be truthful, but still protect Lisette’s privacy. “She told me he tore up her picture, then stormed out.”
A Black Place and a White Place Page 13
