Mexican hat (4 page)

"Murdered?"

"Yes, murdered. Your grandmother and mother made me promise never to speak of it to the family. But I think I owe it to my father's memory to uncover the truth."

"Sixty years is a long time, Grandfather," Hector replied. "Perhaps it is too late."

Jose Padilla opened the passenger door. "I think not," he said abruptly. "I have a letter we must deliver. I will ask for directions at the store. Wait here."

"I'll go," Hector said hurriedly.

Dr. Jose Padilla waved a finger at his grandson as he stepped carefully out of the cab. "I am an old man, not an invalid."

When Jose returned, he guided Hector to a dirt road off the highway that bisected a small valley, pierced a series of arroyos, and climbed into the foothills. Hector maneuvered the truck and travel trailer cautiously, especially where the sides of the road dropped off into the arroyos. Grandfather had him stop in front of a ranch house and gave him a sealed envelope.

"This is for Mr. Edgar Cox," Jose said.

"Do you wish to see him if he is home?"

"Not yet."

Mr. Cox was not home, but a very pretty Anglo woman, who said she was his daughter, took the letter and promised to deliver it. Grandfather simply nodded his thanks when Hector returned and gave him the message.

Back on the highway. Grandfather navigated with a road map on his lap. Hector continued north, climbing steadily through mountain passes covered in dense pine forests.

34 ■ Michael McGarrily

Well past the town of Reserve, Grandfather spoke. "The tumoff to Mangas is not far ahead."

"What kind of road is it?" Hector inquired.

"The map shows it to be an all-weather road. If that is so, it has been much improved over the years."

"A dirt road," Hector corrected. "Unpaved."

Jose laughed. "You worry like an old woman who has left the barrio for the first time in her life. You are driving very well. I would be lost without your help."

Hector slowed the truck and pulled to the shoulder of the highway. "I think we have traveled far enough for one day," he said.

"But the day is still young, and I want you to see those beautiful mountains." Jose nodded at the peaks that rose up before them. "If I can remember the way, perhaps I will be able to show you Mexican Hat."

"It's not on the map," Hector reminded him.

Jose waved off the comment. "Not every place is named on a map."

"And not every day has to be spent driving from morning until night," Hector said, stifling a yawn. "Today, I would rather stop and stretch my legs for a while. Please look on your map for a campground."

"Of course," Jose said. "Will I be allowed to explore tomorrow?"

Hector saw the twinkle in Grandfather's eyes, nodded his head, and laughed. He checked for oncoming traffic, saw none, turned the truck around, and started driving back toward the town of Reserve.

KERNEY LEFT THE FOREST SERVICE TRUCK in front of the

old schoolhouse, now the Luna District Ranger Station, glad to be fin-

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ished with the Glenwood assignment. In the high country, no matter what the season, early morning was chilly, and across the valley plumes of wood smoke drifted from the chimneys of the homes that were still occupied. Over the years many houses had been abandoned, and the village presented a neglected face to the world.

The former classroom that served as an office for the commissioned rangers was a snarl of desks, file cabinets, map cabinets, and office chairs. The walls were plastered with posters, maps, memorandums, and aerial photographs of the Apache National Forest, which was managed as part of the Gila east of the Arizona border. There were several responses to Kerney's fax inquiry on the top of his desk. Clipped to them was a note for him to see the boss. He didn't have a chance to read the replies. Carol Cassidy, the district supervisor, came into the room and stood in front of the blackboard that stretched along one wall. A quotation from Edward Abbey, written on the board with a warning not to remove it, read, "The idea of wilderness needs no defense. It only needs defenders."

"What are you doing?" she asked, nodding at the fax papers on Kerney's desk. Carol's full lips accentuated her round cheekbones. She brushed her short blond hair back from her forehead. Her oval light brown eyes, usually impish and cheerful, were serious.

"Nothing, yet," Kerney replied, waiting for more.

"Are you trying to give Charlie Perry a heart attack?" she asked, walking to him. She picked up the thin sheaf of fax papers and let them float down to the desktop one at a time.

"From what I've seen, he doesn't need any help from me," Kerney answered. "He's wound up pretty tight." He scanned the replies quickly. No hits on his inquiry so far.

"He's hyper," Carol agreed. "But Jesus, Kerney, it's his investigation. I don't need any grief from Charlie."

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"Why would he give you grief?" Kemey asked.

Carol leaned back, hand on her hip, and stared at him. She was short and blocky—the legacy of a Nordic grandmother—but carried herself with poise. In her late forties, she was delighted to be running the Luna office and planned to keep doing exactly that until she retired, "This will be a turf issue for Charlie," Carol answered. "It's his district and his case. You did your part. The rest is up to Charlie. Did he put a burr under your saddle?"

"No burr," Kemey replied. "I'm just following up. I plan to pass along whatever comes in."

Carol liked Kerney, which was a pleasant surprise. Often the temporary personnel hired out of the regional office in Albuquerque either lacked a strong work ethic or couldn't adapt to the rural culture of the area. Self-contained yet easygoing, Kemey fit nicely into the team. "What's the issue?" she finally asked.

Kemey hesitated.

"Come on. Give," Carol prodded.

"From what I can tell, Charlie's wearing blinders. He isn't coordinating his investigations with other agencies or looking at trends. I thought it might be worth a shot to see what else is out there."

Carol gave Kemey's assessment some thought before responding. "You can make that same criticism about every district in the region," she replied. "The whole system is understaffed, under-budgeted, and under siege. Top that off with the Sagebrush Rebellion and the People of the West movement, and what we've got here is a damn near explosive situation."

"I understand," Kemey replied.

"Perhaps you do in a general way," Carol responded, "but you haven't been here long enough to know the depth of the anger that's out there. Logging has been curtailed because of the Endangered

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Species Act. Mines have shut down because of water pollution. Grazing fees have been raised. Everybody blames the environmental movement and the government. People feel that nobody outside the county gives a damn about their survival.

"In the last twelve months, four homemade bombs have been found on hiking trails in the wilderness. Bombs, for chrissake. Some people are more than angry."

"Any ideas of who is responsible?"

"Nobody has a clue."

"Not even rumors?"

"Some think it may be the county militia, but nobody is talking to me about it."

"Who knows about the militia?"

"I haven't the foggiest. Some time back, when the first bomb was found, I asked to have an investigator assigned from the Inspector General's Office to look into the situation. Instead the acting regional forester referred the request to Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms."

"And?"

"And nada. "

"Do you want me to drop the poaching research?" Kerney asked.

Carol took a minute to think it through. "No, you can follow up, as long as it doesn't cut into your other duties. Charlie won't like it. He's been handling all the Luna District cases, as well as his own, for the past two years. But it's my call to make, and I'd just as soon put your experience in law enforcement to good use. Remember, you're a ranger, not a chief of detectives in a police department anymore."

"I know that," Kerney replied dutifully. He wished he could

38 ■ Michael McGarrity

avoid the never-ending sermons that came with being a rookie newcomer.

Carol's expression softened, and she laughed. "I'm lecturing, aren't I? Sorry about that."

"It was more informative than what I learned from Charlie," Kerney allowed, grinning at her. "Tell me about him."

Carol's smile was half a grimace. "He's a golden boy. Can't seem to do anything wrong, as far as Sam Aldrich, our acting regional forester, is concerned. Charlie transferred here about two years ago. He's single and not very social. Keeps pretty much to himself. There's not much to tell."

She wiped the piqued expression off her face. "Like him or not, he does a good job. He's a Young Turk on a fast track. There's nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Are you ready to do something different for a while?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"We're finishing up a new campground at the foot of Mangas Mountain. It's nothing fancy. Parking for vehicles. A well and water line. Some picnic tables. An outdoor toilet. New hiking trails. I can use you there for a couple of days."

"No problem," Kerney answered with a smile. "Any special instructions?"

"Amador Ortiz will put you to work. Keep the area closed until the job is finished. I don't want anyone camping there until it's ready to open."

"You got it, boss," Kerney said, getting to his feet.

"Take a horse and trailer with you," Carol added. "When we open the campground it will be on your patrol route. Get to know the lay of the land."

They parted in the foyer, at the counter where generations of

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children had presented notes from parents to the school secretary. Carol's office, once the principal's domain, sat at the far end of the building with a clear view of the hallway leading to the classrooms.

Kerney drove a mile down the road to the housing and district maintenance compound, where Carol and her husband and family lived, along with several other senior staff. Tucked away under some full-growth pine trees, the area contained living quarters, horse bams, tack rooms, repair shops, a heavy machinery lot, a garage, and storage buildings.

The Luna Valley dipped away to the south, a shallow, wide depression of grassland ringed by deeply forested mountains. The spire of the Mormon church, prominent in the little settlement, caught the morning sun like a beacon. The highway cut through the valley, past a small cluster of vacant commercial buildings that once served the settlement and occasional tourists driving the scenic route to and from Arizona.

Kerney walked to the corral and inspected the small herd of horses. He took his time before settling on a white-stockinged chestnut stallion with strong legs that stood sixteen hands high. It was a powerful-looking animal with a prominent chest and solid legs that promised good balance. Kerney smiled as he hitched the trailer to the truck and led the horse out of the corral. It was going to be a good couple of days. Anything was an improvement over patrolling campgrounds filled with temporary refugees from urban America.

EDGAR cox sat at the table sipping his morning coffee and looking at the row of Royal Copenhagen Christmas plates carefully arranged on a long open shelf above the double kitchen windows. He didn't have

40 ■ Michael McGarrily

to count them; there were forty. One for each year of their marriage. Margaret had bought the first plate as a Christmas gift to herself when they were newly weds. After that, he made sure she got another plate each holiday season. It always pleased and delighted her. Edgar wondered if he'd get to give Margaret any more. It didn't look promising. He heard the hinge of the back door squeak, looked over, and smiled as Karen came into the kitchen.

"Hi, Daddy. You got home late," Karen said.

"You know how your mother is when she gets to visiting," Edgar replied, a smile easing across his face. "Are Elizabeth and Cody up?"

"Just barely. They helped me with the unpacking. I think the chaos is under control."

Karen walked to the counter, got a cup and saucer from the cupboard, and poured some coffee. Barefoot, in shorts and a loose undershirt with no bra, she was only just dressed. Edgar was used to it. At the age of three, Karen had started taking off her clothes and running around buck naked. His daughter hadn't really changed much over the years, especially when she was at home. The funny thing about it was that Karen was absolutely stunning when she got dressed up, which wasn't often enough to Edgar's way of thinking.

He waited for her to join him before speaking again. "Are you going to enroll the children in school?"

The question made Karen sigh. "We've talked about this before. Daddy, and the answer is still no. I'll tutor them at home for now. You know how I feel about public schools."

"You've got a teaching certificate and a law degree," Edgar countered. "That's not bad for a country girl who went to public schools."

"I want Elizabeth and Cody to learn how to think, how to love

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ideas and books. Then they can go to school. Besides, my job with the district attorney's office is only half-time. The kids will get lots of attention from me."

"What does Stan think about it?"

Karen made a sour face at the mention of her ex-husband's name. "It's not his decision to make."

"He's still their father."

"He couldn't care less. In fact, I think he's delighted to have us out of Albuquerque and far enough away to be conveniently forgotten."

"That's a pretty harsh judgment."

Karen laughed. "No, it's an honest one. The harsh judgment came from the court when I was awarded sole custody."

"You didn't tell us that."

"There was no need to drag you or Mother into the messy particulars of my divorce."

The look on Karen's face made it clear that further discussion was closed. "You start work on Monday?" Edgar asked.