Mexican hat (11 page)

"That's the right answer," she said, patting him on the cheek. "Now, go sit down, read your paper, and drink your coffee. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

"Where's Karen?"

"Meeting Phil for breakfast in Reserve."

"Any particular reason?" he asked cautiously.

"No," Margaret said, turning back to the stove. "Just to visit and catch up, I imagine."

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With Cody and Elizabeth to distract him, Edgar didn't get to read the Sunday paper until breakfast was over and the dishes were washed and put away. When Margaret went to dress for church, he sat in his favorite chair in the living room and unfolded the paper. The front page blazoned the story of a murder on Elderman Meadows. Edgar read it with interest. His curiosity quickly changed to apprehension. He didn't know the victim. Hector Padilla, but he sure as hell knew Jose Padilla.

He got up from his chair and walked rapidly to the bedroom. Margaret stood in front of the full-length mirror, fastening her brassiere. He prayed she wouldn't need a mastectomy and that the lump was benign. And he hoped to God Jose Padilla was dead in the Silver City hospital.

Margaret saw her husband's face reflected in the mirror and turned. A small twitch at the corner of one eye telegraphed Edgar's anxiety. "What is it?"

"I have to go to Silver City."

"Why?"

"Business."

Margaret slipped into her blouse, her eyes locked on her husband. "What does that mean?"

"Just what I said," he replied. "Take yourself to church. Karen should be back before you need to leave."

"Edgar?"

"Yes?"

"What kind of business?" she demanded.

"Old family business."

Margaret took a deep breath. Edgar's phrase was the euphemism he used to talk about Eugene. "I'll go with you."

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"I don't want you involved."

Margaret tucked her blouse into her skirt and walked to her husband. "It's forty years too late for that. Now, tell me what's wrong."

Edgar told her, and when he finished, Margaret wrote a note to Karen and left it on the kitchen table, so her daughter would know the clan was off for an impromptu Sunday drive and lunch in Silver City.

CHURCH BELLS TOLLED for late Sunday services as Kerney got up and dressed. He had time before Stiles was due to arrive. He walked the quarter mile to his landlord's house, and asked if it would be possible for the mice to be removed from in and under the trailer. Doyle Fletcher, a man who looked about Kerney's age, with a suspicious, stingy face, stood in the partially open doorway, grunted in agreement, and said it would take him a day or two to get around to it. Kerney thanked him, went home, and waited for Jim, wondering why Doyle Fletcher seemed so put out.

He shrugged it off and passed the time listening to a Haydn concerto, trying not to think too much about Karen Cox. He'd gone back to his solitary lifestyle after Sara Brannon, the Army officer who had worked with him on the White Sands case, left for her new duty station in Korea. That was more than a while back, and he found himself missing her.

After Stiles showed up, they drove to Silver City hospital and learned that Jose Padilla was still in the Intensive Care Unit. A hospital security guard at the ICU door asked Kerney and Stiles who they wanted to see. Kerney gave him Jose Padilla's name and showed his badge. The guard shook his head and said the state

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police had forbidden any visitors, Kerney asked to speak to the nursing supervisor.

ErHnda Perez came to the door and inspected Kerney's badge. "What does the Forest Service have to do with this?" she asked.

Nurse Perez, a thin, middle-aged woman with a long, narrow nose, had coal-black eyes and a rather stern demeanor. She crossed her arms and waited for an answer.

"We found the gentleman," Stiles said in Spanish, before Kerney could speak, giving the nurse his most winning smile. "We're interested in how he's doing."

Erlinda relaxed a bit. She answered in English for the other man's benefit. "Mr. Padilla will be with us for a while. He had a stroke a few hours after he was admitted."

"Is he oriented?" Kerney inquired.

"Not to time, place, or person," Erlinda responded. "We have him stabilized, but it will be some time tomorrow before the doctor can determine the extent of the cerebral damage."

"What's your prognosis?" Kerney queried.

"I'm not a doctor," Erlinda replied.

"That's why I asked."

Erlinda smiled. "I'd say fair, but you never can tell. He has some physical impairment. The right side of his body is paralyzed. He may recover from that, to a degree. With any trauma to the brain it's impossible to predict how much function can be restored. Especially at his age."

"Has he talked about anything at all?" Stiles wanted to know. "Names? Places? Events?"

"He calls me Carlotta. That's it."

"His wife's name," Kerney said. "He told me she was dead. Has the family been notified?"

i c h a e 1 M c G a r r i t y

"Yes. His daughter should be here shortly. She's flying in from Mexico City. It was her son who was murdered."

"Any other visitors?" Stiles asked.

"Just the two of you and some reporters. People may have called or asked about him at the front desk. You can check there. I've got to get back."

"Thanks for your time," Kerney said.

At the reception desk Kerney asked the volunteer lady if anyone had called or stopped by to inquire about Jose Padilla.

"Yes. An older couple," the woman responded. "They came in this morning."

"Did you get their names?"

"No, but I remember seeing them on Friday. I usually only volunteer on Sundays, but one of our girls was out sick, so I filled in for her that day. The woman came in with her husband for an outpatient test."

"What kind of test?"

"A mammogram. She asked me where she needed to go."

"Did she give you a name?" Kerney asked.

"No. But the admitting office is open. They might be able to help."

The clerk in the admitting office resisted releasing the names of the mammogram outpatients until Kerney convinced her he wasn't interested in medical information, just names. She checked with the administrator on duty, got approval to give out the information, and wrote the names on a piece of paper.

Kerney took it, read it quickly, and passed it to Jim. "Who is Margaret A. Cox?" he asked.

"I'll be damned," Stiles said. "The only Margaret Cox I know is Karen's mother."

M e X i c a D Hat

'Do any other names look familiar?"

'Not a one."

'Let's pay Mr. Cox and his wife a visit.

"I THOUGHT he might be somebody I knew," Edgar said. He sat back in his reclining chair, his long legs dangling over the foot-rest, looking at Kerney with an expressionless gaze. Margaret was across from Edgar on the overstuffed couch, sitting next to Jim Stiles. Kerney sat in an easy chair at the narrow end of a squat maple coffee table.

The room felt snug and lived-in. There was a television in a floor-to-ceiling bookcase that held a small but nice collection of Indian pots and framed family photographs. The furniture was ranch-style, all in good taste, with a few antique pieces mixed in.

"You thought you knew Jose Padilla," Kerney repeated back to Edgar Cox.

"I went to grammar school in Mangas with a boy by the same name. It was a one-room schoolhouse with about sixteen students. Jose was one of the older boys at school that I liked. I'd say he would be in his early eighties by now."

"And you got the information about Padilla from the Sunday paper," Kerney added.

On the wall behind Edgar Cox was a glass display box containing military memorabilia. It held four rows of service ribbons, the silver oak leaves of a lieutenant colonel, a Combat Infantry Badge, a World War II unit insignia, and an impressive array of medals, including the Purple Heart.

"That's what I said," Edgar replied.

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"So, you wanted to renew an old acquaintance?" Kerney probed.

"Look, my wife and I took our grandchildren out to Sunday brunch. The medical center was nearby. It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing."

"You were just checking to see if it was the same Jose Padilla you knew as a boy."

"This is getting old real fast, Mr. Kerney," Edgar replied.

Margaret Cox, her arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles, looked only at her husband. Everything about her posture was tense and secretive. Kerney's smile in her direction had no impact.

Kerney pushed on. "Was there something specific you wanted to say to Mr. Padilla?"

"Am I under suspicion for something because I asked about the welfare of a patient at the hospital?" Edgar retorted.

"Not at all," Kerney answered. "It's just that we know very little about Dr. Padilla. The more we can learn about him, the better our chances to find out why his grandson was murdered."

"I can't help you. I never got to see him. I'm not even sure if he's the Jose Padilla I knew or not."

Kerney fell silent and watched Edgar Cox. A minute passed without conversation. Cox's hands were gripping the armrests of the recliner when Kerney broke the silence.

"Assuming Senor Padilla is your old friend, can you think of any reason he would come back to Catron County?"

"When you get to be my age, Mr. Kerney, there's a tendency to want to reacquaint yourself with the past. If Jose Padilla is my old school chum, I will enjoy seeing him, and offer him a helping hand, if he needs one."

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"That makes sense," Kemey agreed, standing up. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to us. It was very kind of you."

Edgar Cox rose from his chair and said nothing in reply.

Kerney and Jim said goodbye to a distant and worried Mrs. Cox at the door. Her husband stood as though his feet were glued to the floor.

"What do you think?" Jim asked, as they climbed into the truck.

"He's holding something back," Kerney replied, "and his wife knows it."

KAREN HEARD A VEHICLE leaving as she left her house to round up Mom and Dad. Finally, everything was clean and organized. Even the books were arranged on the shelves that covered most of the walls in the small living room. Cody and Elizabeth were freshly scrubbed and neatly dressed—an achievement for Cody—and Karen looked forward to serving her parents the meal she had prepared to celebrate her homecoming. She found Edgar alone in the living room, looking wistfully at the family pictures on a bookcase.

"Did you have visitors?" she asked.

Edgar turned his head in Karen's direction and nodded. "Jim Stiles and a ranger. That Kerney fellow you met. They wanted to ask some questions about the black bear that was shot on the mesa. I wasn't much help. How was your visit with Phil?"

"We started out arguing, as usual."

"I wish the two of you could get along."

"That's hard to do when we're on opposite sides of a lifelong feud between two brothers, and neither of us knows what the conflict is about."

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Edgar winced at Karen's criticism. "I'm sorry it strains your relationship with Phil."

"It might help both Phil and me, if we knew why you and Uncle Eugene hate each other so."

"It would do no good to talk about it. Nothing would change."

"Phil told me you went to see Uncle Eugene yesterday."

"I sort of figured he would."

"What was it about. Daddy?"

"It was a business matter," Edgar replied shortly.

"You'll have to do better than that," Karen snapped, sticking her chin out.

"It doesn't concern you."

"If your meeting with Eugene has anything to do with the murder of Hector Padilla, it damn well concerns me."

"Are you accusing me of wrongdoing?" Edgar could hear the annoyance in his voice.

"No, and I didn't say that. But if there is a connection between Hector Padilla's delivery of a letter to you and his murder, in my official capacity I need to know about it. The case falls under my jurisdiction."

Edgar waved off his daughter's demand. "There is no connection."

"What did the letter say?"

There was a long silence before Edgar answered. "The letter was for Eugene, requesting payment on a shipment of Mexican cattle."

"The letter was addressed to you, and Hector Padilla asked for you by name, not Uncle Eugene," Karen countered.

"He made a mistake."

"Why didn't you drop the letter in the mail?"

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"Because I figured there was some urgency to the situation. Are you finished giving me the third degree?"

Karen bit her lip. It all sounded reasonable, expect for a feeling she had that her father was lying. The visit to his brother was an unheard-of event in the family. "We'll leave it at that for now," she said, studying her father's face intently. "Tell Mom dinner is ready. That's if you're still planning to eat with us."

Edgar looked away, then looked back and forced a smile. "Of course we are."

Karen could not recall a time before when her father had lied to her. Demoralized by the thought, she tried unsuccessfully to dismiss it.

WITH JIM OFF ON HIS OWN to interview the area ranchers who knew about the mountain lion translocation project, Kerney headed for the Slash Z. The homestead looked much the way he remembered it. His only visit had been years ago as a teenager when he had competed in the state high school rodeo championships. He and his best friend. Dale Jennings, made the trip in an old truck and camped out at the rodeo grounds to save money. Unable to get away, both Dale's and his parents were back at the Jennings ranch, where Kerney's father worked as the foreman.

Cory Cox, Phil's older brother, who was also competing in the championship, had invited Kerney and Dale out for dinner, which had turned into a rather gloomy event. Eugene Cox had not been a gracious or pleasant host.

The old man on the porch in the wheelchair grunted at him as he walked up the ramp.

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"Who the hell are you?" Eugene Cox demanded.

"Kevin Kerney."

Eugene squinted at him. "I know that name. Did I ever meet you before?" He looked exactly like his brother except for sunken cheeks that gave his face an unhealthy cast and a mouth fixed in a perpetual scowl.

"A long time ago, Mr. Cox. When I was in high school."

Eugene stared at him for a long time. "Damn if you aren't right. You're that kid from Engle who beat Cory in the finals of the high school rodeo championship, the year they held it in Reserve. Cory should have won that buckle."

Kerney smiled. "That's what you told me then."

"I still mean it. What do you want?"

"How is Cory?"

"Dead. Vietnam."

"Sorry to hear it."

"Don't be," Eugene said flatly.

Kerney sat on the porch rail and looked at the view. The Slash Z was close to the Mangas Mountains. The sun was low in the sky, about to drop below the crest. A red-and-gold sheen frosted the forest canopy. Kerney could imagine himself running a spread like the Slash Z. He couldn't think of a happier thing to do with his life. But it would take a mountain of cash to buy anything equal to the Slash Z these days; it was a multimillion-dollar ranch.

The thought of the ranch his parents had lost to the Army still made Kerney's gut ache when he dwelled on it too much. He shook it off. "Pretty country," he finally said.

"It'll do." Eugene pushed his chair closer to Kerney. "Did you drive out here to look at the view?"

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Kerney chuckled. "No. Phil asked me to stop by and visit."

Eugene pointed at the house at the other side of the horse pasture. "He's home."

"I see his truck," Kerney said. "What do you think about the murder at the meadows?"

"I'll tell you what I think. Last ten years or so there's been a hell of a lot of Mexicans coming up here trying to buy every ranch that comes on the market. I think somebody got sick and tired of it. I know I am."

"The victim was a medical student," Kerney noted.

"I know that," Eugene growled. "It doesn't change my feeling. It's a damn shame that our government lets foreigners buy American property. There ought to be a law against it."

"There was an older man with him by the name of Jose Padilla, who may have lived here at one time. Does that ring a bell with you?"

"Jose Padilla, you say? No. There were a lot of people by the name of Padilla living in Mangas back in the twenties and early thirties. I went to school with some of them, but I don't remember anybody by that name. Doesn't mean he wasn't living in the valley. But I don't recall him. I didn't socialize all that much with those folks. Still don't."

"Your brother said he might know him."

"Did he, now? That doesn't surprise me. He always took to Mexicans a lot more readily than I did."

Kerney smiled, tipped his hat, and took his leave.

Phil's wife, Doris, was setting the supper table when Kerney was ushered into the house by PJ, who introduced him to his mother. A tiny woman, Doris wore no makeup, and her brown hair was cut short. She had straight eyebrows that almost ran together. After a shy greeting, her brown eyes darted away as she returned her concen-

Michael M c G a r r i I y

tration to arranging place mats and setting out the knives and forks.

"Phil's cleaning up," she said. "He'll be with you in a minute. PJ, take Mr. Kemey into the living room and make him comfortable."