Fire Dancer

by Susan Slater

  And Byron? A thin-lipped smile was pasted in place, but his hawk-eyes followed Arnold’s every move. Jonathan was no different than ever—grimacing, hostile, chip on the shoulder, distant. What a family. Ben suddenly felt sorry for Connie. He wasn’t sure Skip had been the go-between she would have needed.

  “Let’s start with the land. Each of you has a copy of the deed in the envelopes in front of you. I have contacted Governor Paisano and forwarded a copy to him. The ten acres and attachments now belong to the Sandia Pueblo. I was able to have the deed recorded this morning.”

  “Can she do this, Wayne?” Byron turned to his counsel.

  “Not only can, but did. All papers are in order and the will discussed today is her last will and testament recorded by Arnold’s firm in Denver. It replaces the will drawn up at your father’s death.”

  “Can we contest?” Byron seemed to be speaking for his siblings.

  “I wouldn’t suggest it. Everything’s in order. Her life, her money, her decision … I only regret she thought it necessary to hide information from the family, from me.”

  Arnold paused for other questions, looking from one to the other before continuing. “With the loss of Ms. CdeBaca’s home, I have suggested Sandia Pueblo still consider honoring her wish and establish a museum in her honor. Seeing Ms. CdeBaca’s Indian heritage and her generous gift, I believe the pueblo will consider it … start with a design agreed upon by the pueblo leaders and incorporate the tribe’s needs. The loss of Ms. CdeBaca’s collection of pottery and jewelry is a setback, but she kept the more important pieces in a vault off the premises. I believe there will be ample examples for a substantial exhibit.”

  A look of surprise skipped across Cherie’s face and she briefly made eye contact with Byron before asking, “Was any of the collection that was lost in the explosion insured?”

  “Not that I know of. It was to be left to her stepchildren. Several of the pieces outside of this grouping were left to her son. But these were in the vault.”

  “Son.” Jonathan spat out the word. “Just who here ever heard of this figment of her imagination? Cherie? Byron?” Both shook their heads. “He doesn’t exist. This is some hocus-pocus to steal from us—Dad’s rightful heirs.”

  “I’ve seen the birth certificate,” Ben interjected.

  “Just more of her bullshit.”

  “I don’t think so, Jonathan. I’m currently attempting to find this young man,” Arnold said. “Military records corroborate Ms. CdeBaca’s claim. She gave birth in Spain … Barcelona. I do not believe your father was aware of the pregnancy or birth. It would appear the child was not his.”

  “Whore.”

  “There’s no call to talk that way. Ms. CdeBaca isn’t here to defend herself. It’s always easy to pass judgment on a situation we know nothing about.” Arnold looked sternly at Jonathan then briefly at the others sitting around the table. “The child was adopted by a husband and wife residing on base in Barcelona. The birth certificate issued by the U.S. is legitimate.” Arnold rummaged in his briefcase and then handed a piece of paper to Jonathan.

  “So, just what does he get? This bastard son.”

  “The estate is worth approximately ten million dollars. Five million will be divided among the three of you and five million will go to Ms. CdeBaca’s blood offspring.”

  “And if you’re unable to locate this young man?” Byron leaned forward, “What happens to his allotted inheritance then?”

  “Of course, he would have to be declared deceased and after the prescribed waiting period, his portion would be reassigned. The three of you would be the recipients.”

  It didn’t exactly put Em in harm’s way, but he wasn’t in an enviable position either. Declared deceased … ominous words that didn’t give Ben a good feeling. Surely no one in the room, no matter how angry would attempt murder. His gaze strayed to Jonathan. Ugly personality, vindictive, perhaps, but would he ruin his life out of greed? Unlikely. The man was still a professional, an athlete. Angry outbursts seemed the extent of his nastiness. But couldn’t someone in this room already be a murderer? Connie’s killer? Someone not knowing that she was dying and had engaged a firm in Denver to handle her giving back the ten acres … Had losing the land been reason enough for murder?

  Ben tuned out Arnold’s explanation of how the construction business was structured and who was entitled to what. He’d heard enough and he was feeling the need to find Em—the sooner, the better. Arnold was summing up by saying once again that he would be working closely with Dr. Pecos and Ms. Conlin. He would be staying in Albuquerque until the paperwork was completed. He handed out business cards which included his cell number.

  Ben gathered his packet of copies and slipped on his jacket. Funny, in two and a half hours, Wayne had not said one word to him. No apology—but had he really expected one? No love lost. Ben idly wondered if he was still squiring Julie’s parents around.

  + + +

  “You look great!” And she did, too. Sitting on the edge of the bed eating a bowl of ice cream.

  “Mostly because I put on eyebrows. But thank you very much.” Julie smiled and tilted her head up for a kiss.

  “Hey, chocolate and peanut butter, my fav.” Ben licked his upper lip. “You taste yummy.” He kissed her again, then picked up the spoon from the tray and took a bite of her ice cream.

  “I didn’t say you could do that. That’s my lunch.” She playfully reached for the spoon.

  “What’d the docs say? Are they going to turn you loose?” He took another bite of ice cream before relinquishing the spoon.

  “They liked your plan. I passed my tests with flying colors.”

  “Tomorrow at noon? But you’re supposed to stay in the hotel room, kick back, watch TV, right?”

  “Something like that. I have to come back for more tests on Thursday.” The grin said she wasn’t taking their suggestions seriously.

  “We need to let Lieutenant Samuels know. He thinks security is paramount. Someone tried to …” Ben couldn’t bring himself to use the word ‘kill.’

  “Run me off the road, at least. I can’t imagine someone wanting to kill me unless they thought I’d seen something. Maybe the Hummer was the getaway car. I wish I knew the connection between the person who told me to get out, the explosion, and whoever was driving the Hummer.”

  “You’re sure it was a Hummer and it came up behind you in the drive? You hadn’t seen the Hummer when you pulled in?”

  “The BMW was the only car in the drive. I almost think the Hummer was in one of the garages.”

  “Didn’t Skip have a Hummer? Black, lots of chrome?”

  “You know, I think he did. I thought Connie had gotten rid of it. Had only kept the BMW and the Land Rover.”

  “Might be worth checking on. It should be in a list of assets. I thought I saw one among Connie’s papers.”

  “First, tell me what happened at the meeting. Who was there?”

  Ben pulled up a chair and gave her a play-by-play of the entire morning. “I forgot to tell you this morning that someone smashed the passenger’s side window on my truck.”

  “What’d they take?”

  “That’s just it—nothing—at least, not that I can tell. I think it was random and maybe they were surprised in the act. I need to check with the hotel. I know the Doubletree has security. Maybe their people saw something.”

  “Are you going to get any work done today?”

  “I’d better.” Ben grinned. “I’ve arranged to stay in Albuquerque for a couple weeks—camp out in the basement office. IHS is a little short-handed and Sandy seems glad to have me full-time for awhile. I told him I’d put in a couple hours this afternoon. It’ll give me a chance to follow-up on the number in the address book.”

  “And maybe you could come up with a Lotaburger for dinner?”

  + + +

  IHS was literally just a short walk across the parking lot—UNM Hospital was right next door. However irrational, it felt good having Julie ne
arby. It didn’t seem like he was shirking his duty to protect her. He smiled. Now, that was irrational.

  In the parking lot, he nodded to a couple docs he knew and hurried up the steps. He’d check his schedule at Gloria’s desk, pick up his mail and be ready to give his attention to the search for Em.

  “I didn’t know whether we’d see you today, so I didn’t schedule any appointments. I bet this is a sign that Julie’s doing okay?”

  “Better than okay. She wants a Lotaburger for dinner.”

  “That’s a good sign. Jell-O gets really old. Keeps me from getting pregnant.”

  “Jell-O?”

  “Um hmm. They make you eat it. Audrey’s father smuggled in KFC and look at her now—she plays soccer.” Gloria proudly pointed to the picture on her desk. A dark-haired, round-faced girl about ten years old. “See? Corn-on-the-cob, mashed potatoes and gravy—I breast fed and she’s strong. The fastest runner on the team. Who knows with Jell-O?” Gloria shrugged and turned back to her computer. Ben guessed that was the end of the conversation. Good to know the evils of Jell-O. He smiled to himself.

  He unlocked his office and checked phone messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait. He felt an urgency to find Em. Find out, at least, if he went home. And he needed to warn him—no, that was maybe too strong. Ben needed to caution him, tell him what had happened, find out how much he knew about Connie and what, if anything, he knew about his inheritance. If someone had tried to kill Julie, would they hesitate to get rid of a principal player? Someone who was inheriting five million?

  A quick check in the phone book revealed the area code 620 applied to western Kansas before turning into 317 about midway through the state. He picked up the phone and dialed the number from the address book.

  “Dr. Kaiser’s office.” A mature sounding woman answered.

  Paydirt? Maybe. Ben introduced himself and gave a thirty-second synopsis of why he was calling.

  “Just a moment. I believe Dr. Kaiser’s between patients. Your name again?”

  “Dr. Benson Pecos, Indian Health Services, Albuquerque.” A click put him on hold. Not even halfway through Gene Autry singing “Frosty the Snowman”—didn’t they wait until after Thanksgiving anymore?—Dr. Kaiser picked up the line.

  “Dr. Pecos. Good to finally meet you. Les Kaiser here. I can only hope Robby is well.”

  “Robby?”

  “Oh, sorry, you probably know our young man as Emmett. Emmett Merritt. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize he used his first name.” Ben was a little put off by the familiarity. The man seemed to know him—expected to meet him. How odd.

  A quick laugh. “I can understand the confusion. I’m sure you’ve found out by now his persona, let alone name, can vary day to day. I realize this must be an emergency of some sort or Sandy wouldn’t have shared my number.”

  “No. I had no idea the two of you had conferred.” Ben was feeling a little foolish. It hadn’t dawned on him to ask Sandy, his boss, if he knew more about Emmett than what was in his record. Ben had simply assumed he’d been randomly chosen—Ben was the doc with the most free time, wasn’t he?

  “Sandy and I go way back—in the early days, we were both at Pawnee. I left IHS about ten years ago but have consulted on cases involving Native Americans. When I knew Robby was going to Albuquerque, I called Sandy. He thought you would be perfect—closer in age than the rest of us fogies. I was reluctant to let him loose without knowing he was in good hands.”

  Ben felt a twinge of guilt. He’d let Robby down. He’d let him slip right through those “good hands.” He took a deep breath, “Do you have any idea why I would have found your number in an address book in the possession of Robby’s biological mother?”

  “I can guess. His mother hired a private-eye to find him. He got my name from the local police chief who conveniently was an old friend. The investigator was aggressive, belligerent. I tried to keep him from contacting Robby but I’m afraid I failed.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Stan …” Ben heard the rustling of paper. “Here it is, Devon … Stan Devon.”

  “Do you have a way to contact him?”

  “Address and phone. Ready?”

  Ben picked up a pen and jotted down the numbers, north valley prefix and a Fourth Street address. Not the most affluent part of town, but it might be a good idea to check in with Mr. Devon.

  “You know for certain that he talked to Robby?”

  “Yes. That’s what was behind his going out your way. Devon told Robby that his mother had hired him to encourage Robby to return to the land of his heritage. I think that’s the way he put it. Something romantic sounding which, at the time, had great appeal.” There was a pause. “I know I don’t have to tell you this; Robby was searching, trying to identify with something—someone. Even I thought becoming a Mescalero Apache, recapturing what had been withheld, might hold answers—help in the gender crisis. An Apache warrior is a pretty strong identifier.”

  Ben agreed. Somehow he was certain Geronimo hadn’t painted his nails. “Did he know his biological mother was dying?”

  “Dying? He didn’t share that information with me.”

  “She was in the advanced stages of leukemia.”

  “I wished I’d known. You use past tense. I’m assuming she’s passed?”

  “Not under the circumstances I’m describing. She was murdered two days ago.”

  “Murdered? You’re certain someone took her life?”

  Ben quickly reiterated the events and the doctor’s conclusion. “It was assumed a suicide at first. She was dressed in a wedding gown—her instructions for burial included this—so, it was easy to think she put on the dress and ended her life. Her hair was done, makeup—it very much appeared well planned.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, “Is Robby a suspect?”

  “No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it would be a repeat of something that happened before.” There was disappointment, resignation, maybe even sadness in the doctor’s voice. “When Robby was sixteen, his adoptive mother was murdered. They had had a tumultuous relationship after his father died when he was eight. His mother was overly protective—the older he got, the more controlling she became. The police were called many times over real or imagined slights to what she saw as her ‘duty’ as a mother. Throw in religion and the stage was set for rebellion on a grand scale. I was already working with Robby when he came home from school to find his mother dead. A blow to the back of the head, and the murder weapon was never found.”

  “The shock would have been horrific.”

  “I don’t think he’ll ever get past it. Now this.”

  “But didn’t you say this was a repeat of something? So far, the incidents are far different. We don’t even know if Robby knows his mother is dead.”

  “I think he knows. When Robby found his adoptive mother dead, he cleaned up the murder scene, bathed her, fixed her hair and dressed her in her Sunday best. Then he lived with the corpse for eight days.”

  “And Connie, dressed in her wedding gown—you think Robby did that? Combed and braided her hair?” Ben was beginning to think he was right. “Could something have happened—something that made him angry enough to take her life?”

  “Are you asking me if I think Robby is capable of killing?”

  “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “I was one of his biggest supporters. I still believe he did not kill his adoptive mother. But this gives me pause—it’s just too coincidental. But what is Robby saying? Is he a suspect? Have the police taken him into custody?”

  “That’s just it. He’s disappeared. He told me two weeks ago that he was going home—to the Midwest—maybe even follow up with his artwork. I don’t even know if he ever made contact with Connie. I do know that he’s inherited five million dollars and a number of very expensive artifacts.”

  “Five million. Quite a motive. I’m sure the police will be intereste
d—at least want to talk. To the best of my knowledge, he’s not in this area.”

  “Who knows about the death of his adoptive mother? I mean Robby’s part in it—the laying out of the corpse?”

  “Stan Devon for one. I’m sure he uncovered Robby’s record. His friend with the local police wouldn’t have overlooked that. I tried to get it sealed, his being a juvie and all. I’d like to think I understood the gesture, understood where Robby was coming from, and I didn’t want it to follow him.”

  “Sounds like exactly the wrong person to have the info. Mr. Devon appears to be an opportunist of the worst sort.”

  “Couldn’t agree more. I don’t trust the man. He’d be the type to try blackmail. Or take payment to set Robby up.”

  Ben made a note to look up this Stan Devon. As quickly as possible. “I’m not sure you gave me a definitive answer earlier. In your opinion, do you think Robby might have had something to do with Ms. CdeBaca’s death?”

  The pause was so long, Ben thought for a moment that he’d lost the connection. Then, “I’ve been thinking of that. Honestly? And I never thought I’d be saying this—I don’t know. The stage was set for a repeat—if you can believe he was involved the first time. Abandoned again. Too late to save his biological mother, to spend quality time with her, discover their common roots.” Another pause, “How do you know she didn’t ask him to help her end things?”

  Now it was Ben’s turn to pause. Interesting twist. Farfetched? Actually, not really. In fact, it made sense at a certain primal level. And didn’t it make sense that Julie had seen Robby? Dressed in Connie’s clothing, his hair pulled back, dark glasses … He looked like his mother; his voice would be familiar. But there was something brutal about strangulation—could he have done that? Ben really doubted it.

  “I just heard a knock. Must be my three-thirty. Listen, if I can be of any help, please call. And keep me informed. I care about that young man. I hope there’s an explanation for what’s happened.”