Beverly Byrne (31 page)

The
deputies began moving toward the door, collecting the belongings they'd
scattered during their encampment. Amy watched the exodus, anxious for the
strangers to go and the process of forgetting to begin.

"We'll
give you a lift home if you want, doc," Wilkins said. "You're in no
shape to drive." Rick nodded and followed the departing men. Wilkins
paused and turned back to Tommy. "Do you want me to leave a couple of guys
here to guard the house? Since we don't know a damn thing about the how or why
of this business, I can't say whether or not you need them. "

Tommy
looked questioningly at Rick. Ibanez shook his head. "No need,
sheriff," Tommy said. "Thank you again. I'll find a more concrete way
to express that sentiment pretty soon."

If
Wilkins thought to question Ibanez on the journey back to Santa Fe, he was
mistaken. Rick fell asleep as soon as he got into the Model-T, and he had to be
shaken awake when they parked in front of his door.

"I'll
be around to see you first thing in the morning," Wilkins said.

"Make
it the evening," Rick said. "I plan to sleep all morning. Then I'm
going to
las
Carmelitas
to see my daughter. The evening, Pete,
that's time enough."

23

RICK
SHOOK HIMSELF AWAKE SOON AFTER TEN THE next morning. He'd had only six hours
sleep, but the knowledge that the tragedy wasn't finished denied him any more.
He showered and shaved and dressed while his cleaning woman made coffee. Then
he went to his office. Elena was there, and he spied half a dozen patients in
the waiting room. "Is there anything urgent?" he asked.

"Nothing.
They're all well trained. They save the serious sickness for after
Thursday."

He
smiled at her. "Sorry you've had to cope on your own this week. There was
trouble at Santo Domingo after the party."

"I
know," she said. She had been at the party and she lived in the
barrio
.
She was aware of the deputies who had come asking questions, and the story
behind them. "I've managed ok," she said. "I put off the ones
that could wait, and the others I sent to your competition. "

"Not
the rich ones, I hope," he said with a grin.

"You
don't have rich patients, Don Quixote," she retorted. "You're too
busy doing good." It was an old argument and they both laughed.
"Except Senora Westerman," Elena added. "And she's too nice to
be rich." Her face grew serious. "How is she?"

"They're
all fine now."

"Thank
God! What a terrible thing to do. Do you know who? . . ."

"I
have to go out," he said, cutting off her question. "I'm sorry, but
it's necessary. Tell those who are waiting I'll see them first thing
tomorrow."

Elena
sighed. "There are at least twenty-five people planning to see you first
thing tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll work it out. Now go if you're going.
Otherwise you'll never get away."

He
looked for his car, then remembered he'd left it at Santo Domingo last night.
He'd have to ride to the convent later. He could walk to the Ortegas, and that
came first.

It
occurred to him to worry about being seen. When he thought of that he realized
that he didn't intend to tell the sheriff about Beatriz. Not if he was
convinced she'd do nothing like this again. He was debating that when he turned
into her street and headed for the shop. Then he saw Wilkins' automobile and
the cluster of people standing in front of the door.

So
Pete had figured it out for himself, and the matter was out of his hands. Ibanez
felt a mixture of sorrow and relief. He'd have to find someone to look after
Senora Ortega, a convent maybe.

All
his speculations ended when he made his way into the house. Beatriz was lying
on her bed. They'd covered her with a sheet, but they pulled it back when he
came in. He inhaled sharply. She wore a white satin fiesta dress trimmed with
emerald green ruffles. Her extraordinary figure was clearly outlined, but in
death it looked hard-edged and unreal. Her hands lay peacefully at her side and
two silk gardenias were tucked behind her ear. An image of them together in
this same bed superimposed itself over the corpse. Rick pushed it away. He felt
pity, but not guilt. In seconds the shock passed and he was in control.

"Never
saw her dressed like this before, did you?" Wilkins asked.

"No.
Where is Senora Ortega?"

 "Don't
worry, doc. She doesn't need your services. She's as dead as this one."

 "How
did it happen?"

"Can't
say for sure. But we think it was an overdose of medicine.

That
strike you as possible?"

"It's
possible," Rick said quietly. He'd prescribed tincture of belladonna for
his patient. Enough of that would kill them both. "When did you get
here?"

"About
half an hour ago. The neighbor who sometimes looks after the old lady got concerned.
Seems there ain't been no sign of either of them for the past week. She got her
son to force the lock on the front door. Found 'em both, just like this. Murder
and suicide I make it."

"Those
are ugly words," Rick said.

"Yeah.
We found this too. It's addressed to you."

Wilkins
passed him a note. "Don Rico" was written on the unsealed envelope.
Inside it said, "Do not imagine that I did it for you. It will be a
peaceful end for both of us and I am content." It was ambiguous and no
doubt she'd intended it so. Rick looked up. He felt tears sting the back of his
eyes, but he didn't know whether he was crying for Beatriz or her mother or
himself. Maybe for all of them.

Wilkins
had obviously read the message. "Any ideas?" he asked.

Ibanez
shook his head. "She was a strange and very intense woman. She'd had a
hard life. Perhaps it all got to be more than she could bear."

"Yeah."
Wilkins produced a small bundle and held it out for Rick's inspection. It was a
freshly laundered child's sunsuit made of blue and white checked gingham.
"We found this in the kitchen. Seems to me it fits the description of what
the Westerman child was wearing the morning she was abducted."

"Maybe.
You know more about such things than I do," Rick said. "But I'd risk
a guess that this sunsuit can be bought all over Santa Fe. I think my own
daughter has one just like it."

"You're
just bound to obstruct justice, ain't you, doc?"

 "For
God's sake, Pete! She's dead. Kate's safe and sound. What the hell do you
want?"

The
sheriff threw the sunsuit on the table in disgust. "I'm just doin' my job.
If anybody'll let me."

Rick
put a hand on his arm. They'd known each other since childhood. Both were
products of the amalgam that made up the city. In his own way each was able to
cross the invisible lines separating the different worlds of Santa Fe.
"Let it be," Rick said. "It's nothing to do with anybody else,
and it's not a matter for the law. Not anymore."

Wilkins
shrugged. "Ok, you say so and Westerman says so. Old blood and new money
in cahoots against me. I'd be a fool to buck that." He softened the words
with a sour grin.

"Thanks,"
Rick said. "You're not welcome."

"I'll
remind you of that next time your trick shoulder acts up." He left the
sheriff scowling at his back and went into the shop. A few women dressed in the
perennial black of the
barrio
stood silent among the bright frippery of
the display. They were ready to mourn as soon as the men left.

"What
are we to do with all this, Don Rico?" one of them asked. "No one
knows of any relatives except Manuel and Purisima. They have their own
troubles."

"Yes,"
Rick agreed. "Listen, tell Purisima I think the clothes should be
distributed among the girls here. Dona Beatriz would want that."

"It
is a good idea," the woman said. "I will tell her. The church will
not bury her, you know," she added. "The mother, yes, but not the
daughter. Suicide is a grave sin."

"Leave
it to God to decide what is a sin," he said tiredly.

"I
will." She nodded solemnly. "And I will see that there are flowers on
her grave."

On
Sunday afternoon Tommy watched Ibanez ride toward the house. The Mexican sat a
horse the way his ancestors had, with absolute grace and mystery. Time was when
that might have made Tommy jealous, but no longer. He rode just as well.

"We
expected you before this," Tommy said, taking the reins from Rick and
passing them to a nearby cowhand.

"I
couldn't get away. I had to see Estella, and there were a lot of patients
waiting. Is Kate all right, and Amy?"

"Both
fine. Come inside. They'll want to see you."

"In
a minute," Rick said. He took off his broad-rimmed black hat and studied
Westerman. "Have you heard?"

"About
the woman who killed herself and her mother? Yes, Wilkins came to see me. He
said you weren't very forthcoming."

"There
didn't seem to be any point. There still isn't, as far as I'm concerned."

"Ok,"
Tommy said easily. "She'd tried earlier to get me killed you know. Found a
way to pressure Diego, my foreman."

"How
can you be sure of that?" Rick demanded.

"It
figures, that's all. She was a cousin of one of the guys I bought out a couple
of months ago."

"Look,
Westerman, you seem hellbent on making enemies out here. There's no need. New
Mexico is big enough for all of us."

Tommy
cocked his head. "Are you really such an innocent, or is it an act?"

Rick
realized how wide was the gulf between them. He would not try again to bridge
it. "It doesn't matter now, does it? She's dead. Let her rest in
peace."

"That's
your choice. You earned it." They started for the house, but Tommy halted
before they reached the door. "Listen, I don't know what Amy's told you,
but there's some things we'd better get straight."

Rick
stiffened. "What things?"

"I'll
never let her get a divorce," Tommy said.

"That's
between you and Amy."

"Maybe.
But it concerns you too."

"I'm
not your wife's lover, Westerman." Rick couldn't keep the loathing from his
voice. "Whatever ideas you've got, you're wrong."

"No,
I'm not," Tommy said easily. "Don't answer, just listen to me. I owe
you. That's not a comfortable position for me, but it's a fact. I won't forget
it as long as you follow my rules."

"You
listen!" Anger was a white heat in Rick's belly and a red haze before his
eyes. "Amy is too good to breathe the same air as you. And if I can do
anything to get her out of this sham you call a marriage, you better believe I
mean to do it."

Tommy
laughed. "Too good? You've got a lot to learn, amigo. I'd like to be
around when you find it all out. Come to think of it, I probably will be. I'm
not going anywhere and neither is she."

**

Rick
found Amy in the patio. The two children were playing nearby.
"Hello," she said. Her voice sounded distant, removed from him.
"I'm sorry about your friend Beatriz," she added, but the words
conveyed no warmth.

"So
am I," Rick said. "She was a fine person, despite what
happened."

"She's
the one who took Kate, isn't she?"

"Forget
it, Amy. It doesn't matter now."

"No,
I suppose it doesn't." She rose and went to retrieve a toy lying on the
tiles beneath the gum tree. "I just keep wondering why she did it."

"She
was very unhappy and confused. A lot of bad things happened in her life,"
Rick said. "Besides, one of the ranchers Tommy forced out was her
cousin."

Amy
nodded gravely. "It will be hard for you now that she's gone, won't
it?"

"She
was my friend," Rick said.

Amy
turned to stare at him. The terrible emotions of the week still showed in her
face. There were lines of fatigue and strain that had not been there last
Sunday night when she joyously danced in his arms.

"Were
you in love with her?" she suddenly blurted out.

"With
Beatriz? No," he said. "I was never that."

"But
you were lovers, weren't you? That's really why she stole my child. She hated
me." Amy spoke the words in painful wonder.

Rick
didn't meet her eyes. "Why are you doing this? Do you just want to pick a
quarrel with me?"