“Feels creepy,” Spud stood up. His wide-brimmed hat shaded him to his knees.
“Not as creepy as I expected.” Willa rose to her feet and stamped the dust off her boots.
Edith glanced at Tony still perched above them in his car. His eyes were closed. Meditating, praying, napping. Edith couldn’t guess.
“I think it’s time for lunch,” Willa declared. “We can’t very well eat here, so let’s move on. What do you think?”
“I think we need to work our way back into the car first.” Spud grinned. “Or would you rather walk until Tony finds some level ground?”
“No level ground here,” Tony’s eyes were open again. “Get in, please.”
Easier said than done, Edith thought. Willa had to grab the back of Tony’s seat but still couldn’t pull herself all the way in until Edith braced herself and gave Willa a shove. Spud shut their door and asked Tony whether he would like him to stay outside and help steady the car.
“Too much danger,” Tony responded, so Spud eased himself in next to Tony. Once the starter caught Edith realized she had twined her arm around Willa’s and fairly clamped the side of her body against Willa. Willa was leaning uphill, too, with her head out the window and her left hand gripping the sill. Her right hand patted Edith’s arm and then held it tight against her side. Edith heard the clutch release and bit her lip when gravel spun away from under the rear wheel on her side of the car. Tony eased up on the accelerator after what seemed a very long time and the wheel gained traction. The Cadillac crawled forward, but Edith didn’t begin to breathe again until she could see the ridge widen ahead and felt the Cadillac begin to right itself. Then she took several very deep breaths and let go of Willa’s arm.
Spud sat cross-legged next to Tony’s car, a sharp knife in his right hand. Hope the next stops are on level ground was all he had said, but Tony’s driving had unnerved them all. Spud carved a piece of white meat off the roast chicken Amelia packed for their lunch and offered it to Willa.
They had spread their picnic cloth on sandy soil next to the car. Sage and cactus dotted the sand around them. Tony had provided shade by stretching the tarpaulin from the roof of the Cadillac to a pair of poles he kept in the trunk. Now he sat cross-legged on the cloth next to Spud. No sign of rain clouds but also no trees nearby, and the sun had become increasingly brilliant and hot as it moved though its arc.
Shade and a gentle breeze were all they needed to be comfortable for the moment. Edith rested her back against the car’s running board. From here they could see for miles in every direction. But there was nothing to see. Edith looked off to the south and east. Mountains in the distance, she corrected herself. Taos Mountain to be exact. They were actually surrounded by mountains, some relatively near, some far, some hiding behind others. And in between, Taos, Taos Pueblo, Taos valley and the invisible Rio Grande flowing so deep and dark through the gorge. With more mountains and mesas beyond. Vista, Edith sighed. Nowhere in the world is vista like this.
“You seem miles away,” Willa interrupted Edith thoughts. “Where did you go?”
Spud paused his chewing for a moment, apparently waiting for Edith’s reply. Tony reached for an apple.
“Just admiring the view,” Edith smiled at the three of them. “And enjoying this chicken,” she raised her plate in Spud’s direction. “I’ll have another wing if there is one.”
Amelia actually had sent the four of them off with two roasted chickens. “You’ll work up an appetite and your day will grow long,” she assured Edith. She was right, and of course, Edith guessed, Amelia wanted there to be food enough to feed the four of them and anyone else who might happen by. Chicken, tortillas, cheese, fruit, and fresh water. Perfect combination and so far today no one had happened by. Often men from the pueblo would show up miles from home. No explanation, no apparent plan, no hurry. And often as not, they would be on foot. Edith never could figure out what they were doing. Tony simply said hunting or farming with no elaboration.
Such an odd couple, Willa observed when they first met Mabel and Tony. Not only was their marriage in many places considered illegal — a white woman married to a Pueblo Indian — but Mabel was wealthy and garrulous, while Tony came from a culture where money meant little and using a lot of words showed weakness.
In Tony’s world, words had power and should never be spoken without forethought and intention. Mabel liked more than anything to use words and loved a good argument. Words were her primary means of entertainment, whether she was pleasuring herself by writing her memoirs or listening to others in one of the salons she created and filled with visiting intellectuals and artists wherever she lived.
In Taos Mabel had resorted to importing guests for her conversations. Not unlike themselves, Edith had to acknowledge, though they paid their own way. Tony generally ignored Mabel’s conversations. After dinner, while Mabel entertained guests in their living room or her library, Tony slept in his chair or drummed and sang quietly in the background. Yet he was never rude and Mabel and her guests took no offense. In fact, Edith thought, Tony’s silence might well be the reason Mabel fell in love with him, and why she never got bored, as she had with her previous husbands.
“Dust cloud,” Tony cut into Edith’s thoughts. “Behind you.”
Edith turned around to look.
“Horses? Wagon? Car?” Spud wondered.
“Too slow for a car,” Willa shaded her eyes, “but faster than a wagon.”
“Who on earth would be coming this direction?” Edith asked. “So far out of the way. We’ve been off any kind of road for quite a while now, haven’t we?”
“Whoever it is is coming the same way we did,” Spud squinted. “May even be following our tracks, I’d say.”
“Trail,” Tony reminded them.
“Mmm,” Willa nodded, still shading her eyes, “but a little-used trail. I’m beginning to see now that it was last year we made a wrong turn, not yesterday. This trail looks barely used. Yesterday’s seems like a major thoroughfare by comparison.”
Tony shook his head. “This trail is not used. The road is close,” he offered by way of explanation, “no need for trail.”
“But there are trails all around here,” Spud objected.
“Once a trail starts,” Tony’s smile was kind, “it never dies. Sometimes elk make trails.”
“I see,” Willa’s hand dropped to her lap. “No rain, no vegetation.”
“Whenever anyone crosses through, a trail appears and simply stays put whether others follow or not,” Edith finished Willa’s thought.
“Yes. And I suppose it’s impossible to know just how fresh a trail is or how frequently used.”
“Good trackers know,” Tony assured Willa.
“All trails must go somewhere,” Willa was thinking out loud now.
“Trackers know where and what,” Tony added. “Trackers know elk, deer, cattle, coyote, horse. Human, too.”
“Yes, of course.”
Edith wondered with more urgency just who used the trail to the camp they found yesterday, when and how often. This trail, too, she glanced ahead. It had become almost impossible to see the tracks now that they were in sand. No rain, no vegetation, yes, she thought, but wind and sand can make a trail disappear, too. So could rocks. She remembered the many outcroppings they crossed this morning on the way to the first burial site. Still, Tony always seemed to be able to pick up the trail again. Good trackers know, Tony’s words repeated in her mind.
The distant rider was much closer by the time Spud began to gather their plates and pack up what was left of their meal.
“Here, let me help you,” Edith offered.
“Not now,” Tony touched Spud’s arm. Spud settled back on his heels. “Rider comes here.”
“I thought perhaps we should leave before he gets here,” Spud appealed to Willa and Edith with his eyes. “We don’t know who he is. He may not have the best of intentions on this trail.”
“No,” Tony reiterated, “special agent.
”
“You can see that far?” Edith shaded her eyes. The rider, well beyond the first burial site where they had seen him pause to look around, had urged his horse into a jog trot again. Edith could just make out that he was wearing a ten-gallon Stetson like the one Tom Mix made famous. She had enjoyed meeting Tom Mix. He was nicer than some of the movie stars she had to deal with in arranging advertising photo shoots for J. Walter Thompson. And Tom Mix’s horse Tony was a gem.
“Yes, I can see, too,” Willa also shaded her eyes. “Big man, isn’t he?”
“With a hat like that he should be one of the good guys,” Spud nodded. “Guess we should wait and see what he’s up to,” he closed the picnic basket and returned to his earlier sprawl. He didn’t have long to relax.
“Second rider.” Tony announced, indicating the opposite direction from where the special agent was once more carefully picking his way toward them. “See her?”
Edith did her best to suppress a smile at Tony’s use of pronouns. Gender clearly meant nothing to him.
“Who on earth?” Spud leapt to his feet.
Willa and Edith turned in unison. They stared in silence. This rider was moving rapidly, standing in his stirrups, his horse moving at a brisk trot, the kind that would throw a rider high in the air if he were to try sitting it. A Remington rested in the scabbard strapped beneath his stirrup leathers, and a large dog ran along side, a German shepherd, Edith guessed, with markings like Rin Tin Tin’s.
This rider was closer than the special agent but moving toward them from the opposite direction and on a different trail. The riders would pass each other before the special agent reached their picnic site, but they probably would not see each other. Nor would this new rider see them, Edith decided, because he was on a trail well below their own. Neither he nor his dog or horse looked up. They were aware only of what was directly ahead of them.
“Downwind,” Tony said, his voice flat.
Unlike the special agent, this man wore jodhpurs and rode with a certain stiffness. Older. Edith guessed his joints must ache with that fast trot. He wore his low-crowned hat pulled down tight. Edith couldn’t see his face.
“Isn’t that Manby?” Spud wondered aloud.
Tony nodded.
“Manby?” Willa shaded her eyes.
“Manby,” Edith repeated.
VII
AFTER THE SPECIAL agent caught up with them and they made their introductions, they decided to join forces to locate the second burial site. None of them had seen it before, but the sheriff had given Agent Dan directions. Tony had a more exact description from friends of his from the pueblo. The sheriff had drafted Tony’s friends to haul the two women’s bodies out in a wagon. Agent Dan asked Tony what his friends at the pueblo felt about hauling the headless bodies out. Tony seemed not to hear. He turned his back to Dan.
“Not many wagons come through here,” Spud ventured. “Cars either,” he glanced at Tony.
Edith nodded.
Tony explained that they had to leave the trail they were on and drop about half a mile below to pick up one that meandered through scattered grasses, prickly pears, and occasional junipers.
“Not many cars through there either, I wager,” Spud observed. It was the trail they had seen Manby using. When they reached it they would turn east, away from the direction Manby travelled.
They finished packing their lunch wares in the car and prepared to follow Agent Dan to Manby’s trail. Tony had named Manby but said nothing more. Once reminded, Edith recalled seeing Manby strut about Taos in his old-fashioned, high-laced British boots. He was certainly a character and quite out of place. What made him memorable was that he had come from England with the singular purpose of turning Taos into his very own kingdom. He had almost pulled it off. Mabel told them that no one took him seriously until they found out he had gained control of thousands of acres through speculative dealings and fraudulent land-grant transfers. Then, just as unexpectedly, he lost everything except his twenty-room house, the same house Mabel had rented part of when she first moved to Taos in 1917.
Manby had also given his name to some hot springs on the Rio Grande where he built an odd stone bathhouse next to the river and drew up plans for an enormous hotel and spa. Mabel had taken Willa and Edith there when she knew Manby was elsewhere. The three of them hiked down to enjoy a long soak, but they really hadn’t learned many details about Manby. Mabel seemed to think he was more humorous than dangerous. Tony was even more tight-lipped than Mabel. But Spud’s bad business, that one stayed in Edith’s mind. She wondered what he was doing on the same trail where the two bodies had been found. Finally, to change the subject, she shook her head and pressed hard against the back seat of Tony’s car.
Agent Dan cantered ahead of the Cadillac and within half an hour pointed to what was left of an empty grave. Before they could get out of the car, he dismounted and dropped his reins. Edith took that as a good sign. He knew his horse would stay put, ground tied. Not all pueblo ponies were well trained but most knew how to ground tie. Not all outsiders knew that about them either, but Edith did and Agent Dan did. She approved.
Edith’s only acquaintance with the Bureau of Investigation was through increasingly frequent newspaper articles documenting sensational arrests where special agents in business suits and felt fedoras arrested infamous criminals. Well, this one might be a special agent but, Edith guessed, he was no stranger to horses or the Southwest. A good sign.
The ground here was more forgiving than the ground where the first body was located. This grave was larger and deeper and had no stones to mark its location or disguise the depression it made. Spud was first out of the car, then Tony. By the time Willa and Edith joined them, Tony was heading up the trail to join the special agent who crouched down about twenty yards ahead.
“Nothing here.” Spud shoved his hands in his pockets and watched Tony join up with Agent Dan.
“Probably not.” Willa tested the dirt with her toe. It was pliable. “Wonder where Manby was going?”
“Or coming from.” Edith could just make out the tracks his horse made. Shod. She didn’t remember many shod horses in the area. Maybe Manby rode on steep trails where rocks were a problem. She glanced up, her eyes following an imaginary trail north up the mountain. A pass near the top suggested a way through to some of those mining towns, Red River or Elizabethtown, places she hadn’t yet been. Another cut to the northwest looked like a trail could angle toward San Cristobal, the tiny town near Lawrence’s ranch. A long way from here, Edith guessed. She wondered how long it would take on horseback.
“Found something,” Tony returned holding a silver cross about two inches long, its bottom oddly angled and smooth as if it had been worn off.
Willa took the cross from Tony’s palm and held it up for a closer look. “Wonder what happened to the bottom of it,” she passed it to Edith, who rubbed its smooth base with her thumb.
“How did it get there? Pretty far from the grave.”
“Do you think it belonged to one of the women?” Spud looked over Edith’s shoulder.
“It must have had a chain.” Edith examined the small loop at the top of the cross. It was intact. “Did you see any sign of a chain there?”
“Just that,” Tony indicated the cross.
“Maybe a bird stole its chain?”
“Bird? What kind of bird would do that?” Willa took the cross back from Edith.
“Magpie maybe.”
“They do like shiny things. Could also have broken loose from the body,” Willa guessed.
“If the body was a body then,” Spud latched on to the idea. “Or maybe they were still alive and one of the women pulled it off to help someone find them. Like Hansel and Gretel with bread crumbs, you know?”
The four of them stood silent, stumped for the moment.
“What on earth happened to those women?” Edith ended the silence with a shudder. “And the one, the woman we came across last summer.”
Agent Dan rejoine
d them, and Willa turned to him. “You do think these deaths are connected, don’t you?”
“Too soon to think anything.”
“Yes, of course, too soon.”
“You take the cross back with you.” Agent Dan gathered his reins and prepared to mount. “I’ll ride on a bit. See if I find anything else.”
Willa and Edith lingered in the rocking chairs on the porch of their pink adobe before crossing through the plum trees to the main house for dinner. As he often had the previous summer, Charlie showed up to keep them company. Large and longhaired with a perpetual grin, Charlie was especially fond of Willa. This time he placed a large bone at her feet. When she didn’t reach to retrieve it, he picked it up and settled down next to her, as close as the chair’s rockers would permit. Then he placed the bone on his own paws and stared off into the distance as if to announce he would protect them from the rain. The brief shower that had greeted them on their return ended just as the sun was beginning its slide into the valley below. Wisps of rain clouds in the distance were turning a lovely peach.
Spud had asked to be dropped off at his house so he could get cleaned up after their expedition. It would be a while before he could join them for dinner. It would probably take still more time for the special agent, though his horse loped about as fast as Tony could drive. A big, handsome bay José had pulled out of the pueblo herd for the agent to use, appropriate for such a tall man. Edith appreciated the way horse and rider moved together. Agent Dan knew how to ride. Edith decided he was a good man for the job at hand, though she doubted many of the locals would trust him. She wasn’t sure she trusted him either, though she couldn’t say exactly why. But she knew why the locals wouldn’t.
To be considered trustworthy in northern New Mexico, your family had to go back at least six generations and even then you had to be on the right side of things, Edith chuckled at the thought. Spanish Americans who traced their lineage to the conquistadors preferred to be called Hispanos. They did not want to be confused with the Mexicans who came later and were generally much poorer. It was the Hispanos who owned the haciendas, held positions of authority, and derived pride in land grants deeded to their families at the time of the conquistadors. Now, whatever side Hispanos took was the right side, they would say, and so it had been for centuries. Indians, Mexicans, Anglos, well, unless they agreed with Hispanos, they would be in the wrong.
Death Comes Page 8
