A Black Place and a White Place

by Patrice Greenwood

  “Yeah!” Jeremy said, eyes wide with enthusiasm. He headed for the desk. “I gotta make a list!”

  Lisette intercepted him as he was about to go for her art supplies. Instead she gave him the notepad and a pen, and sat him in the armchair, murmuring softly. Tony, who had flopped on the sofa, watched with a bemused expression.

  The kettle boiled and I made peppermint tea for Tony and Jeremy. Jeremy, absorbed in his list, complained that he wanted cocoa, then subsided as his mother spoke softly to him again.

  “Thank you,” she said, joining me on the couch. “He hasn’t smiled like that in I don’t know how long.”

  “If you need help in the morning, let me know. We were going to leave after breakfast—” I glanced at Tony, who didn’t quite shake his head, but tilted it. “—but I think we’ll end up waiting for the roads to be cleared.”

  “Thanks,” Lisette said.

  A few minutes later, Jeremy started to fidget in his chair. He tore his list off the pad, doodled on the next page, then tore off that page and balled it up, throwing it with unnecessary force at a nearby wastebasket, and missing.

  He’s remembered.

  “Well, we ought to go,” I said, standing. I collected my tea gear and packed it back into the canvas bag.

  “Thank you,” Lisette said softly, adding Jeremy’s mug. “This has been a big help.”

  I gave her a hug. “I’m glad. See you in the morning. Call us if you need anything.”

  She smiled at me. A brave smile, less strained than before. She still had a hard road ahead, but for now, things were peaceful, at least.

  Tony and I made our farewells and headed back to the Ghost House. Snow still falling, a bit heavier now. The ranch was quiet. Very few footprints in the snow. People were holed up inside, waiting for morning.

  I wondered how much Jeremy knew about his father’s death. Not much, I hoped. No details. Bad enough that it was a murder investigation, which he surely knew.

  Our casita was warm and dark. Tony stepped in ahead of me to turn on a light and look around. Cop habit: check for bad guys. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the dresser, then went into the bathroom.

  I hung my coat on a chair, then put my tea things back on their improvised table, ready for morning. Turned on the bedside lamp and turned off the brighter overhead. It was time to get cozy. I put on my pajamas, grateful for the warmth of winter flannel. Collecting my book, I slid into bed and propped myself up on the pillows.

  Tony finished his evening ablutions and emerged in pajama bottoms, no top. I hopped up to brush my teeth. As I passed him, he caught me in a hug and held me for a while. I relaxed, hugging back. It had been a rough day.

  When I came back to bed, Tony was propped on his pillows, hands behind his head, frowning at the ceiling. I slid between the sheets and curled up against him.

  “It’s late,” I said softly. “Let it go.”

  He looked at me and sighed. “Just thinking.”

  I stroked his hair. “You were very kind to Jeremy.”

  “Kid lost his dad,” Tony said, and swallowed.

  Oh, God. I hadn’t thought of that. Of course this would bring up old feelings for Tony.

  I hugged him. He rolled over and kissed me hungrily.

  We forgot to turn off the light.

  11

  It was dark, and I was sawing a tree branch, trying to drop it before the man hanging from it died of strangulation. “Zzzt, zzzt,” went the saw. “Zzzt, zzzt.” Almost through the branch, but it might be too late. The hanged man wasn’t moving.

  “Zzzt, zzzt.”

  Tony sat up, and I startled awake. His phone lit up the room, blinding me.

  That’s what I’d heard. Tony’s muted phone, buzzing against the table top. Sighing, I closed my eyes against the glare as tension drained from me.

  “It’s Trujillo,” Tony said. “The M.E.’s report came in.”

  He threw back the covers and stood. Cringing, I curled up in the blankets. “You’re going now?”

  “Yeah. I’ll meet you at breakfast.”

  From the refuge of the bed, I listened to him dress. He leaned over to kiss me, then was gone, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

  M.E. Military Educator. Meat and Eggs. Middle Earth.

  Oh. Medical Examiner.

  They must have taken the body away yesterday, before the snow started. Which meant the Medical Examiner had worked into the night, probably, to finish the autopsy.

  With speculations about the condition of the deceased revolving in my brain, further sleep was unlikely. I arose, despite the darkness, and nudged the thermostat up a notch, then took a long, hot shower. I sighed at the sight of the pretty dress I’d brought for our dinner at the Inn, still hanging on the back of the door. I should just pack it away, I thought as I put on my last set of clean jeans and shirt. Then I pulled on my sweater and made tea.

  It was still dark out. Ignoring the chill, I pushed aside the curtains in the Room of Many Chairs and sat watching the coming dawn. It was still snowing, although half-heartedly, as if the clouds were getting tired. I made myself as comfortable as possible in the modest chair, drank my tea, and thought back over the previous day’s events.

  I’d found another body. Kris and Julio would be merciless, but with luck I’d keep the story from spreading all over Santa Fe. Maybe I’d neglect to tell Gina.

  Actually, I had been pretty lucky, except for my annoying interview with Sheriff Romero. Deputy Trujillo had been meticulously polite and respectful, perhaps because of my connection with Tony. They were of a generation: colleagues, sympatico. And because of this, and because of my engagement, professional courtesy had been extended to me. An interesting sensation.

  My mug was empty. I got up for more tea, and returned to my vigil, watching for the first lightening of the sky. What would this day bring? Tony’s last day off—and he was up to his neck in someone else’s investigation. And, apparently, enjoying it.

  Quite possibly, I would never figure out what made Tony tick. Was he driven by grief? I didn’t think so. More like he wanted to carry on his father’s mission. He took the motto “serve and protect” to heart, more than most cops I’d encountered. Granted, I had been lucky enough not to encounter that many. But the news was full of complaints about police brutality, of bully culture and mistreatment of the vulnerable. I had never seen any indication that Tony was capable of that.

  Finally the blackness shifted to dark gray, and shapes began to take form outside the window. The cottonwoods were looming shadows, bark painted in snow. Flakes were still falling. As I stood to replenish my tea, I could see the trench Tony had made in the fallen snow on his way down to the welcome center. It looked knee-deep.

  “Holy Moly!”

  I might not get home today.

  I found my phone. Just past 7:00. I didn’t want to disturb Nat, but I’d have to tell her to be ready to stand in for me at the tearoom tomorrow. Likewise, I should give Kris a heads-up. And Julio, probably.

  But it could wait until after breakfast. Which started at 7:30. Considering the snow, it would be a good idea to leave a little early.

  I cleaned up my tea things, then put on my hiking boots and bundled up. Scarf, hat, gloves, and the winter coat. Making sure I had my phone in my purse, I headed out.

  The sky was now a uniform pale gray. Tiny snowflakes continued to fall in a desultory way. The snow was just over my knees, maybe eighteen inches deep. Other than the marks of Tony’s passage, I saw no disturbance, and I had to blaze my own way when I turned toward the dining hall. The road had not been plowed. Fortunately, the snow was still powdery, so it wasn’t hard to push my way through it.

  Not until I was close to the dining hall did I see the marks of other travelers. Several trails came across the field from the direction of the Staff House. Maybe the kitchen staff, as well as others?

  Great deduction, Inspector Rosings.

  Clearly I was in need of sustenance.

 
The cafeteria line was bright and cheery and steamy. Pancakes and oatmeal were offered in addition to cold cereal and fruit. I chose pancakes, but the only syrup offered was pancake syrup, and I preferred real maple. Disappointed, I picked up some butter, then in a stroke of inspiration, collected some packets of raspberry jam from the condiments table to adorn the pancakes. Very European.

  I looked around for Lisette or Tony, and saw neither. Stopping briefly for coffee, I made my way toward the fireplace, where the morning’s fire was crackling as if it had just been coaxed to life.

  Most of the guests who were present had collected near the fire. I took note of Flag Hat, sans the cap for once, and a couple of his buddies, with large stacks of pancakes and bacon on their plates. Several recognizable guests from either the trail ride or the O’Keeffe house tour were present, and I spotted Ted’s partner—I never had caught his name—at a table near the windows.

  Choosing a seat at the first unpopulated table away from the fire allowed me to keep all of these people in view. I made myself comfortable, drank some coffee, then took out my phone and texted Tony:

  I’m in the dining hall. Flag Hat is here.

  No immediate answer, so I put the phone down and proceeded to enjoy my pancakes. On this chilly morning, they were a delight. I kept an eye out for Lisette as best I could, but my back was to the entrance. I hoped she’d notice me and join me when she arrived.

  I finished my coffee and debated whether to get a second cup or some milk to accompany the rest of my pancakes. My phone buzzed with a text:

  Be there in a few.

  Milk, I decided. I fetched myself a glass, scanning the room for Lisette and Jeremy, then returned to my seat. A moment later, Ted strolled by, headed for the table where his partner was sitting. He paused beside me.

  “All alone this morning?”

  I shot him a “seriously?” look, and replied, “My fiancé is on his way.”

  “Oh. Well, have a nice day, ma’am.”

  He ambled away, leaving me annoyed. Maybe it was the disregard of professional distance, which I expected from someone I’d hired to perform a service. Maybe it was the suggestion of flirtation in his manner—also inappropriate for a professional. Or maybe I was still annoyed that I hadn’t been able to hear his narration on the tour. He rubbed me the wrong way, that was certain.

  I finished my breakfast, drained my milk, and considered refilling my coffee after all, just as an excuse to remain. Flag Hat and his friends were being slightly loud, but no raucous arguments broke out. I searched the faces of the others I had recognized, looking for furtive or unusual behavior, but everyone was acting tediously normal. The woman whose horse had tried to bolt on the trail ride was fretting about her flight home the next day, worried she wouldn’t be able to drive her rental car to Albuquerque. That was as unusual as it got.

  Still no Tony. He’d probably been unable to tear himself away from the MI’s report. I turned in my tray, refilled my coffee, and strolled toward the windows, looking out at the snow. The sky was a bit brighter, a hopeful sign that the storm was coming to an end.

  “Seen Ezra?” said a voice off to the side. It was Ted, the trail guide. I sidled a bit in that direction.

  “Nah. Bet he’s holed up in his cabin.” The other cowboy. “What’re we going to do today?”

  “Clean tack.”

  “What about the bay?”

  “I’ll deal with him.”

  What about the bay? I wondered. That big bay that had been saddled and waiting for the rider who would never come: Wesley Roan. I presumed that was what they were talking about, but they suddenly lowered their voices. Maybe they’d noticed me by the window.

  Wesley had been dragged behind a horse, I recalled.

  I finished my coffee and strolled away. Lisette and a sleepy-looking Jeremy emerged from the cafeteria line, and I went to greet them.

  “Good morning!” I said, smiling.

  Lisette smiled back, briefly. The shades were back. “Morning,” she said. “We slept in.”

  “Good day for it. How do you like the snow, Jeremy?”

  “It’s OK,” he mumbled.

  “Let’s find a table,” Lisette said.

  “Can we sit by the fire?” Jeremy said plaintively.

  She nodded, and glanced at me. “You’ve eaten,” she said.

  “Yes. I think I'll get a little more coffee.”

  “Come and sit with us.”

  She led Jeremy toward the fireplace. I fixed myself another improvised mocha and joined them, this time sitting with my back to the fire. Taking a sip, I watched Jeremy pick at his pancakes, then take a slice of bacon off of a stack on the side of his plate. Lisette poured milk onto a small bowl of oatmeal with granola sprinkled on top.

  “I hope you slept all right,” I said.

  Lisette shrugged, and looked at Jeremy. “We got some sleep.”

  I watched them try to eat, not bothering them with any more conversation. They were in shock, still. They needed time and rest to recover.

  Feeling I was watched, I looked up. Flag Hat Guy was staring at us, or maybe at the Roans. As I looked at him his gaze shifted to me, and for a second I saw sullen resentment in his eyes, then his expression changed to confusion. He looked down at his plate, picked up a piece of bacon, and stuffed it in his mouth in two bites.

  Refusing to be rattled, I watched him a bit longer. He did not look up again. My attention was finally drawn away by the welcome sight of Tony, cafeteria tray in hand, scanning the room until he saw me and started forward.

  “Morning,” he said as he sat beside me. “Hi, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy gave him a shy glance. “Hi.”

  Tony picked up his mug and took a swig of coffee, watching the Roans. Their lack of conversation didn’t bother him at all. He ate pancakes and drank coffee in comfortable silence, and I noticed Jeremy relaxing a bit in his presence.

  Catching Tony’s eye, I lifted my chin toward where Flag Hat was sitting. Tony acknowledged this with a slight nod.

  By the time Tony finished his pancakes, Lisette had finished her oatmeal. Jeremy had eaten all his bacon and was turning his remaining pancakes into mush with the back of his fork.

  “Time to go,” said Lisette.

  “Plans for the day?” I asked.

  “I have to make ... arrangements,” she said.

  I nodded. We all got up and disposed of our dishes, then put on our coats and went out into the snow.

  The storm had stopped, the sky was brighter, and people were trudging through the snowdrifts here and there. An engine’s roar preceded the sound of a jacked up dualie pickup with a plow blade, scraping snow from the road. A couple of the pedestrians cheered as it went by, throwing up a fan of snow to one side.

  We made our way back, following our own tracks from earlier, which had begun to pack down the snow into a reasonable trail. Tony and I parted from the Roans at the Ghost House, Lisette declining Tony’s offer to escort them to their casita. She dropped an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders as they started up the hill. We watched until they were out of sight, then went in.

  “Deputy Trujillo was at work early,” I commented.

  “He spent the night,” Tony said. “Crashed in a dorm room.”

  “Ah.”

  “Want to hear about the autopsy? It’s interesting.”

  Did I want to hear about it? Not really, but I’d promised Tony my support. If I was destined to be his sounding board, I might as well get used to it.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Tony hopped onto the bed and stretched out, inviting me to join him. I took off my boots first, then snuggled beside him. So nice to just cuddle.

  “Roan didn’t die from being hanged,” Tony said.

  “What?”

  “He was already dead when he was strung up.”

  I sat up. “But....”

  “He didn’t die from being dragged either. That happened after he died.”

  I met Tony’s gaze. He was enjoying
himself. “And he didn’t die from being shot, I assume?”

  “Nope. One round of buckshot, fired at a distance. Would have stung like hell if he’d been alive, but he wasn’t.”

  I frowned. “Then what killed him?”

  Tony smiled. “The blow to the head. And what’s interesting is, the blow itself only gave him a nasty gash. But apparently it rocked his head back so hard, it broke his neck.”

  I blinked. “So his neck was broken, but not by the rope?”

  “Right.”

  “Did he—die instantly?”

  “Pretty quick, yeah.”

  “Then why bother with the rest? The shotgun, the hanging?”

  “Good question.”

  I sighed, and snuggled back into Tony’s armpit. “Spite,” I said. “Or hate.”

  “Two slightly different views of the same motive.”

  Tony had on the sweater that Nat and Manny had given him for Christmas, I realized. How had I not noticed it before? Too preoccupied with the Roans and their troubles. I needed to regain my equanimity.

  And yet, there was an unsolved murder. Tony wanted my feedback. And if I could help the Roans in any way, I must.

  I stroked the sweater over his chest, following the narrow stripe with a fingertip. “What was he hit with?”

  “Another good question. We don’t know. Something hard, with an edge, but not sharpened.”

  “Like a board?”

  “Probably heavier than that. It—um—did significant damage.”

  “And the killer didn’t leave it at the scene.”

  “Well, the crime scene we found was not the murder scene.”

  “Oh. But the—criminal—took the trouble of covering their tracks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what crime happened there?” I asked, because I was getting puzzled.

  “Tampering with evidence. And a hate crime, possibly.”

  “Possibly. Depending on...?”

  “There were no messages of hate. Usually a hate crime is defined either by overt hate messages, or by context.”

  “And context in this case...”