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“Probably. Wouldn't be the first time she'd picked up someone. And I'd say that biker if there was one caught her on the rebound.”

***

Ortega's, opposite Santa Fe's old plaza and one city block from the Saint Francis Church and chapel, nestled into the lower floor of the La Fonda Inn and acted as an entryway to the famed hotel. Rueben Lucero, a university trained gemologist, met them at the door. After introductions he took them to a small office at the back. Dan placed the manila envelope containing Gert's signed release and the bag with the necklace on the edge of a large table.

“This is more private.” Rueben motioned to chairs and then sat behind the table and was instantly dwarfed by lamps and magnifying glasses on collapsible arms attached to the wall behind. A black velvet viewing cloth in front of him was covered with intricate instruments. For a moment Dan thought he was in a dentist's office. Rueben lifted the bag containing the necklace and placed it in front of him but before taking it out, he sat back.

“I find this a little awkward.”

When it didn't appear that he was going to continue, Dan asked, “How so?”

“Well, it smacks of duplicity—perhaps, things not reported?”

“I'm not following.”

“This is the fourth time I've seen this necklace in the last three months. I could only assume that…” He glanced at the card that Dan had placed on the table, “that United Life & Casualty was aware of the alterations taking place.”

“No. The company was not aware of ‘alterations.' May I ask what you mean by the term?”

“Oh, I dreaded this…I just felt things weren't right.” More fidgeting before slipping the necklace out and placing it on the velvet pad. “On previous visits I was asked to extract several of the larger diamonds and sell them, replacing those missing with high-grade Russian zirconia. In the old days no one wore their ‘real' jewels, everything was paste as it was called.”

“Wait. Let me see if I'm understanding this. You took out several stones, sold them, and replaced them with fakes?” Dan noticed the sheriff was leaning forward.

“Yes. This is a priceless necklace—I don't have to tell you that. The diamonds are the finest—perfect in color, cut, clarity, and carat weight. Every diamond, all four Cs. It used to be that a European cut—giving the stone a smaller table—wasn't as desirable as later designs, however—”

Dan didn't need a lesson in gemology but he sure as hell needed to know who brought it in. “How did you receive the necklace? Was it brought to the shop?”

“Yes, by the family representative.”

“And that is?”

“The family banker, Mr. Woods. It's my understanding that he represented Ms. Kennedy—handled all aspects of her estate.”

“You have papers to prove this?” Sheriff Howard was standing.

“Yes, of course, excuse me.” Rueben left the room and returned almost immediately with a folder. “Here's the first letter asking me to extract approximately one hundred thousand dollars' worth of diamonds, replacing them with cubic zirconia, and offering the store a commission of fifteen percent upon completion of a sale.” He handed the paper to Dan who placed it on the table in front of him.

“On the three previous times you received the necklace to extract and sell stones, was it always the same amount?”

“Yes.”

“And you were able to find a buyer each time?”

“The approximately three hundred thousand dollars' worth of stones was sold to the same individual.”

“And each time Mr. Woods was the one who brought the necklace to you and retrieved it?”

“Yes.”

“How was he paid and who was the recipient?”

“Mrs. Kennedy, of course, a check in her name less my commission of fifteen thousand. Each check to Mrs. Kennedy was for eighty-five thousand.”

Dan had put off a comparison of signatures long enough. He pulled the recently signed release from the envelope and placed it next to the document that Rueben had handed him. Even Sheriff Howard leaned in to look. To the naked, untrained eye the signatures were exactly the same. Palmer-perfect replicas. What the hell was going on?

Rueben pointed out which stones had been replaced. About half of the total diamonds that made up the platinum chain of bezel set stones attached to an ornate clasp of more diamonds at the nape of the neck. Again, to an untrained eye, the change was indiscernible. The necklace lay there glittering with all its secrets and not divulging a one.

Mr. Ortega himself joined them to sign the forms that placed the necklace in the store's vault for safekeeping. Dan received copies and after more assurances of the necklace's safety, they left.

First order of business was finding a park and walking Simon. Dan kept him on a short lead and brought him back to the squad car long before Simon would have wanted.

“Sorry, fella…we'll go on a long walk tonight.” He opened the back door and Simon jumped in. Great dog. He wasn't being fair to him with everything else that was going on.

Sheriff Howard turned onto I-25 and gunned it. It would be dark before they got home. Neither was talkative, but the sheriff put into words what Dan was thinking.

“Gives credence to the Alzheimer's theory.”

“Yeah, but every time I'm around her, I just don't see it. The normal forgetfulness of an eighty-five-year-old woman, yes, but not a progressive disease.”

“Then you think the signature's a forgery? That she didn't tell Lawrence Woods to dispose of certain stones?”

“Not impossible. I need to talk with Penny. She may be the only one with answers.”

“If this was done behind Mrs. Kennedy's back, without her knowing anything about it, would she have a claim?”

“Of course. The same as if the necklace had actually been taken in the robbery. If this was done without her consent or knowledge, she can reclaim market-value of all the diamonds.”

“That's good to hear. I like the old girl. How are you going to break the news?”

“I've been thinking about that. I'll want her daughter present—and you.”

“Not a problem. Just let me know.”

***

As night closed in, they were getting close to Wagon Mound. And the dread of going back to an empty apartment was almost more than he could handle. Dan checked his cell for messages. Again. Nothing. Not one response to one hundred and fifty flyers. He tried not to be defeated. Something had to work. Someone had to have seen something. It was only a matter of time—he had to believe that.

The yell from the sheriff instantly brought him back to the present. A split second in the headlights, enough time for his brain to register—deer—big—before the car hit it mid-leap, brown body sideways, full brunt of impact collapsing the hood, hooves clattering against the windshield, shattering glass, thrashing legs just missing his head, Sheriff Howard standing on the brakes, fighting the fishtailing cruiser not able to see past the bleeding mound of fur. And then it was over. They were on the side of the road both scrambling to get out; then each pulling on a set of long legs jerking the body back down to the hood, checking for life but finding a broken neck. Both leaning against the cruiser to get their breath knowing they'd just been damned lucky.

“Shit. Look at this car.” Sheriff Howard, arms akimbo, surveyed the damage. “Fourth time in two years. If the fucking druggies don't get me, the wildlife will. Boat's looking better and better.”

“Civilization is encroaching on their territory. This guy's a beauty. Sad to see him end up this way.” Dan thought he saw a retort pass unsaid as the sheriff opened, then closed his mouth. Dan had gotten Simon out of the backseat and was reassuring the big dog who was viewing the inert animal with suspicion and a low growl.

“Hope you didn't want to get home too soon. We need to dress him out and get him into cold storage. You ever field-dress game?”

Well, that went right to his manhood but this wasn't the time to lie, “No, I haven't.”

“You'll learn quickly enough. Let's get his head elevated. Grab that side and slide him up about a foot. Steady him there. I'm going to get some tools out of the trunk.”

Steady him? Sheriff Howard disappeared and, of course, the buck began to slide downward. Dan backed up and butt-to-butt pushed against the deer. Probably looked stupid but it stopped the animal's momentum. He still only had one good hand. Not a lot he could do with his right wrist in a soft cast.

The knife the sheriff handed him looked like it could do some damage in a fight. Without flicking a finger over the blade, he knew he could shave with it. He watched the sheriff secure the buck to the car's A-posts with bungee cords wound through his antlers. Then a cut around the anus, discarding the testicles, next a slit opening the stomach cavity to the ribcage, more precise cuts dislodging membrane until finally releasing the restraints and with a push from Dan, the animal was rolled onto his side to let gravity pull the intestines from its body.

Sheriff Howard snipped the last bit of sinew and tossed the entrails on the ground. Simon stood sniffing the air but sat down again. The dog seemed confused. Dan was pretty sure he was wondering if that was something to eat but for him Taste of the Wild came in a bag of small uniform chunks, not a steaming pile of gray viscous intestines. If left on his own in the wild, could Simon even survive? Had man bred the instinct for catching and killing right out of certain breeds? Come to think of it, Dan didn't know if Simon had ever seen a rabbit or a squirrel. This was a city dog who lived in an apartment and stayed at Pet Paradise when his owner traveled. And while there he could enjoy supervised play and splash in a doggy swimming pool, but there was certainly no wildlife. Dan made a silent promise to remedy all that. A dog needed to be a dog.

“You gonna help or not?”

“Sorry. What do you need?”

“We're going to have to get the carcass into the trunk. I can roll him off onto a piece of carpet I got back there—that'd make him easier to handle.”

“Then what? Don't we have to find cold storage pretty quickly?”

“Yeah. I think we're a couple miles from Doc's place. He's got some walk-in freezers out behind the lab. We've used them before for road kill.”

“What will you do with the meat?”

“Orphanage in Las Vegas just about exists on donations like this. Nothing goes to waste out here.”

If Dan were being truthful, after wrestling two hundred plus pounds of steaming venison into the trunk of the car, both men were winded. Nothing screamed out-of-shape and made Dan pray he didn't pull something like being forced to lift and balance that kind of awkward sprawling deadweight—all while trying to protect a broken wrist. But after moving a gas can and a number of tools to one side, and tucking in the legs, the deer fit nicely. Both men leaned against the trunk's lid and caught their breath.

“No rest for the wicked. We better get going.”

Dan pushed away from the trunk and opened the back door for Simon and followed Sheriff Howard to the front of the car.

“Just need to break out the rest of this windshield. Sure didn't do the car any favors.”

The cruiser started but from the clunking and whining, things were rubbing together under the hood that should never touch. Twenty miles an hour was putting the car to the test. Sheriff Howard called in for a tow truck to meet them at Doc's. Dan sighed. It was going to be a long night.

The gate to the ranch was closed but not locked. By now the cruiser was spewing steam and hissing like a pissed-off goose. Dan jumped out, opened the gate and closed it behind them before getting back into the car.

The sheriff pulled up even with the house, “I don't see any lights on. I'm just going to pull around back anyway. Oh, shit.” A shudder and the car slowly rolled to a stop. “Looks like we're going to have to drag that deer from here. Probably lucky we got this far.”

By leveraging the sprawling body, first backend then front, they were finally able to lower it to the ground.

“Let me go bang on the back door. Just want to make sure nobody's home. Then we'll get this guy put up for safekeeping.”

Dan opened the door for Simon but didn't bother to leash him. He didn't think the dog was going to go anywhere not with that fascinating mound of dead wild animal between them. Simon just about had his nose glued to the buck.

“Nobody home. Let's get going.” The sheriff grabbed his side of the carpet.

The three of them moved slowly but progress was being made. Dan felt like putting his side down just so he could straighten up but let the wuss-factor make him man-up and keep going. Couldn't let the sheriff see him sweat.

Three yard lights cast an eerie green fluorescent glow across the Quonset-hut greenhouses elongating shadows and giving the area a stalag-esque feel. And the quiet—that seemed abnormal somehow. Dan didn't know what he expected—the comforting chirp and rustle of the several hundred prairie chickens in the last barn? But birds didn't move at night—they hit that perch at sundown and it was lights out.

“I think that's what we're looking for.” Sheriff Howard, beads of sweat on his forehead and breathing through clenched teeth, put his side of the travois down and pointed to one end of what looked like a boxcar. “That's the one we've used before.”

The deer was now beyond heavy for someone using only one hand, but Dan leaned down and picked up his end of the rug and again started forward. The door to the cooler was bolted shut but not locked. No one seemed to worry out here about break-ins. The sheriff slid back the bolt and pulled the double-paneled door toward him, stepping back as it swung outward.

“Okay, on three…” Dan turned sideways, shifting the weight of the carpet evenly between the two of them, getting a better grasp with his left hand, “One, two—”

“Dan …” Elaine flew through the door. Suddenly there were legs around his waist, arms around his neck, the deer forgotten, “Oh my God…”