Mexican hat (2 page)

"Have you lost any stock?"

"Not that I know of," Phil replied. "I wouldn't shoot the damn bear and call the Forest Service to come and fetch it, if that's what you're getting at. That would be pretty stupid."

"That would be stupid," Kerney agreed. "Have you seen anyone in the area?"

Phil answered with a tight shake of his head.

"Did you hear any shooting?"

"No."

"Did you pass anyone on the road when you came in?"

"No." Phil stiffened and his eyes narrowed. "I already told you I didn't shoot the bear."

"I'm not accusing you, Mr. Cox," Kerney replied.

"It sounds that way to me."

"Maybe we should back up and start this conversation over again," Kerney proposed.

Phil gave Kemey a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Hell, I'm sorry I sound so gruff. It's not you. I guess I've got a knee-jerk reaction to anything that smacks of criticism. Nowadays it seems like us ranchers get blamed for everything that goes wrong in the national forest. At least you're not giving me a Charlie Perry lecture about how my cattle are destroying the forest."

"Is Charlie a hard-core environmentalist?" Kerney asked.

"And then some. He's one of those back-east, urban conserva-

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tionists. A big-city fellah who wants to save us from ourselves. I take it you haven't met him."

"I haven't had the pleasure."

"Well, you're in for a treat," Phil said sourly.

Kerney nodded vaguely, his eyes studying the mesa. From what he could see, the tabletop mesa fell off sharply on all sides. It was a rock-strewn piece of ground, no more than half a mile long and a quarter mile wide, with wide beaches of shale broken by clearings of grass, wildflowers, and clumps of pifion and cedar trees.

"Is the trail the only way in?" he asked.

"Unless you're a mountain goat," Phil answered.

Kerney smiled in agreement, took the hand-held radio from his pack, made contact with the Glenwood office, and gave a brief report. He was told to stand by until relieved.

"Charlie's on his way," Phil predicted.

"You think so?"

"Bet on it."

"While we're waiting for Charlie, would you and PJ like to lend a hand and help me look for the cubs?"

Phil found himself liking the ranger's manner. "Might as well," he replied with a smile.

They searched the mesa in sectors. Phil and PJ were good trackers. The boy found recent claw marks on a pinon tree near a cow path, and Phil found fresh bear scat by a rotten log. They fanned out, working between the trees, and Kerney discovered a shooter's nest behind a cedar tree. In the spongy, needle-covered soil a small blind had been constructed of branches and dirt, just large enough to conceal a prone rifleman. There were tracks of a four-wheel all-terrain vehicle in a sandy hollow off to one side.

PJ called out in an excited voice just as Kerney finished pho-

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tographing the tire tracks. Kemey jogged to catch up with the boy and his father, who stood looking down into a rock crevice. A bear cub, huddled behind the dead body of a sibling, whimpered as PJ bent over with his hands on his knees for a closer look.

Phil turned to Kerney and said something that was lost in the sound of an arriving helicopter.

"What did you say?" Kerney shouted.

"I said it's a damn shame," Phil Cox shouted, as they walked to where the chopper landed.

The pilot shut down the engine as a man disembarked and ran, head lowered, through the dust cloud kicked up by the rotor wash. He nodded at Phil Cox and turned his attention immediately to Kerney.

"You're Kerney," he snapped. He was a man in his early thirties, with a serious face and sharp brown eyes. Sand-colored hair flapped over his forehead. He wore a yellow firefighter's jumpsuit and hiking boots.

"That's right," Kerney replied.

"Charlie Perry," he said, brushing his hair back into place. A strand fluttered back down his forehead. "I sure hope you haven't fucked everything up."

The helicopter blades slowed to a dull thudding sound. "That would be embarrassing," Kerney replied.

Charlie's eyes narrowed at the sarcasm. "What have you done so far?" he demanded.

"Staked evidence. Took photographs. Did a field search."

"Show me the carcass," Charlie ordered, as he started walking away from Kerney.

Kerney didn't move. After a few steps Perry turned to face him.

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"There are two cubs over where PJ is standing," Kerney said, motioning toward the boy. "One is dead. The other one looks sickly."

Charlie walked back to Kerney and gave him a sour look. "Why didn't you call it in, for chrissake?" he demanded. "I would have brought my wildlife manager with me."

"We just found those cubs," Phil interjected. "Get off your high horse, Charlie."

Charlie gave Phil a tight smile and looked at Kerney. "Wait here," he ordered, as he turned on his heel and went to the chopper.

As he talked to the pilot, Phil nodded his head in Charlie's direction. "Now, isn't he a piece of work?"

"I like his warmth," Kerney replied.

Phil chuckled. "He sure puts a man at ease, doesn't he?"

Charlie returned carrying a canvas duffel bag. "I'm sending the chopper back for my wildlife manager after you've shown me what you've done," he said to Kerney. "The pilot will drop you off at your vehicle. I'll take it from here."

Kerney gave Perry a tour, while Charlie fired questions at him, each one more terse than the last, his tone peevish. When Charlie finished grilling him, Kerney turned over the Polaroids, exposed film, and evidence and stepped back to take another look at the man. Perry had close-set eyes and a pinched nose. His fingers were long and nervous. Almost skinny, Perry stood just under six feet tall. His shoulders sloped a bit.

Charlie flipped through the Polaroids without comment and stuck them in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit. He looked up at Kerney without any change in expression. "You can take off. Get back on patrol."

Mexican Hat

Dismissed, Kerney nodded wordlessly, gathered up his gear, and headed for the helicopter.

Phil Cox walked along with him. "It seems to me you did a damn good job out there."

"Thanks. This was my first case where the victim was a bear," Kerney admitted.

"What other kind of cases have you had?"

"The two-legged variety," Kerney said as he climbed into the helicopter. "But that was some time ago."

The pilot cranked up the engine. Phil stuck his head through the open door into the cockpit as Kerney strapped on the seat belt. "I didn't mean to sound so pissed off at you." He finished the apology with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You didn't. Thanks for your help. And thank PJ for me."

"I'll do it. Stop by for a visit when you have the time."

"Be glad to," Kerney answered.

Phil waited for Kerney to ask for directions. "I'm over by Old Horse Springs," he finally added, when Kerney remained silent. "Turn off at the Slash Z sign on the highway."

Kerney smiled. "1 know where it is."

THERE WAS NO ANSWER to Kerney's knock at the door of the Triple H ranch house. A station wagon with an Albuquerque car dealer's decal on the tailgate was parked in front of a double garage. He knocked harder and waited. The limbs of an old cottonwood at the back of the house overhung the roof. The home, a contemporary single-story ranch-style, was neat as a pin on the outside. The landscaping, apple trees bordered by a moss rock planting bed filled with flowers, was carefully tended. Against a small hill within hailing distance stood a weathered

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horse barn with a corral and a loading chute built out of old railroad ties nearby.

Kemey knocked again, got no answer, and gave up. On his way to the truck, he heard a woman's voice calling from the backyard.

"Cody, you get in here right this minute! I mean it, young man!"

He turned the corner of the house in time to see a shirtless, shoeless boy scoot up some steps and fly through the open door of an enclosed screened porch into an old stone house set back against a ridgeline. The screen door slammed closed behind him. It must be the original ranch house, Kemey thought. Square and chunky, it had a big stone chimney at one end, a rock foundation, and old-fashioned casement windows.

Kemey knocked at the screen door. The porch floor was stacked with moving boxes in various stages of being emptied. From inside the house he heard two children, a boy and a girl, arguing over who had been given permission to feed a puppy. The animal, a short-haired mongrel no more than twelve weeks old, answered Kemey's knock with a wag of its tail, pushed the screen door open with its nose, sniffed Kerney's boots, and wandered down the steps into the yard.

"Hello," Kerney called out.

The children's chattering stopped, followed by their rapid arrival at the porch door. They were attractive kids with brown hair, fair skin, and bright, inquisitive faces.

The girl, about eight years old, had long braids that she twisted absentmindedly with her finger. She gave Kerney a shy smile. "Hi," she said.

"Hello. Are your parents home?"

"My father doesn't live here."

"Can I speak to your mother?"

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"We're very busy right now," the girl replied.

"I won't take much of her time."

"I'll ask her." The girl retreated into the darkness of the front room.

The boy, about five, dressed in cutoff jeans, stood directly in front of Kerney, squinting up at him. He peeled an orange with his fingers, stuffed a wedge into his mouth, and dropped the rind on the floor.

"What kind of policeman are you?" the boy asked as he inspected Kerney's bolstered handgun and the badge pinned on his uniform shirt.

"I'm a ranger with the Forest Service."

The boy swallowed the orange slice. "I'd like to be a policeman when I grow up," he said. "Or a rancher like my grandfather."

Kerney hunkered down to get at eye level with the boy. "Which job do you think you'd like best?"

"Ranching," the boy replied. "You get to ride horses and drive trucks. I like driving the tractor best. My grandfather lets me sit on his lap and steer. That's fun."

"I bet it is."

The boy held out his orange. "Want some?"

Kerney pulled off a portion and thanked the boy.

A woman wearing shorts and a peach-colored sleeveless jersey stepped through a side door that led from the kitchen to the porch. She glanced at Kerney, who rose to greet her, and paused to look into some open boxes. "That's where my saucepan is," she said to herself, taking it out of the carton. "Cody, pick up that orange peel and go help your sister. I see Cody has been feeding you," she said to Kerney as she approached.

"He gave me a piece of his orange," Kerney answered.

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Cody gathered up his litter, stuffed it into a pocket, and refused to budge. He wrapped his arm around his mother's leg as soon as she moved into striking range. Her hand dropped gently to his bare shoulder. "Your fingers are sticky," she said.

Cody smiled up at her.

"My parents are in Silver City for the day," the woman said. "Is there something I can do for you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "It's not a forest fire, I hope. That damn helicopter flew over twice this morning."

Kemey shook his head. "No." With creamy skin, cobalt-blue eyes, and black hair that spilled against her shoulders, the woman was very good-looking. The bones of her face, fine and delicate, were set off by a strong mouth that hinted at toughness. Late thirties, Ker-ney guessed. He looked down at the boy, who still had his arm firmly wrapped around his mother's thigh. Slightly above average height, the lady had long, well-formed legs.

"Somebody killed a black bear on the mesa," Kemey explained. "I'm looking into it. Have you seen any unfamiliar vehicles go by recently? Or any strangers?"

"Why do people do that?" she demanded, stomping her foot. "That makes me so mad." She shook her head in disgust. "Just a minute." She pried Cody's arm from her leg. "Go," she ordered, in an even tone of voice.

Cody didn't move.

"Right now, young man," she added, with the hint of a threat in her voice.

Cody groaned, gave her a dirty look, and shuffled off to the kitchen.

"I've been so busy moving in, I haven't noticed anything except this mess," she answered, gesturing at the boxes. "Besides, that

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damn house my parents built blocks my view of the road. I swear I'm going to tear it down after they die. I just hate it. If they want to live in a house like that, they should move to Albuquerque."

"It looks well cared for," Kerney noted, trying to remain neutral.

"My father prides himself on keeping things in perfect order. But the house belongs in a subdivision, as far as I'm concerned."

"It does seem a bit out of place." Kerney took out a business card and wrote his name on the back. "Could you have your father call me?" he asked, handing her the card.

The woman studied the card. "Kevin Kerney," she said, looking over his shoulder. "Bubba, get over here!"

Kerney turned. The puppy was busily digging up a flower bed. It took one short leap, then wheeled and trotted off toward the house the woman hated.

"Cody. Elizabeth. Go get Bubba before he destroys all of Grandmother's flowers."

The children tumbled down the porch steps and started chasing Bubba.

"I named him Bubba because he's so damn stupid," the woman explained.

She looked at the card again, then back at Kerney and caught him staring at her legs. Her eyes measured him directly. He was tall, with square shoulders, brown hair with a hint of gray at the sideburns, and calm blue eyes that looked back at her without flinching. His features, angular and strong, were offset by a mouth that seemed on the verge of a smile.

"I'll give Dad your card."

"Thank you," Kerney said, smiling in earnest now.

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