Carol Cassidy stopped them before they could leave the meadow. She greeted Jim Stiles and turned her attention to Kerney.
"Are you taking off?"
Stiles answered before Kerney had a chance.
"Yep. We'll leave it in the hands of the experts."
Carol laughed, an amused, throaty chuckle.
"It is like a zoo out there," she agreed.
"If I knew what to do, I'd put it right," she added, looking directly at Kerney, waiting for him to volunteer.
"Ma'am?" Kerney said, as innocently as possible.
Carol laughed again.
"I can see that you two will make quite a team." Her expression became thoughtful.
"What would you have done, Kevin, if this crime had happened in Santa Fe when you were chief of detectives?"
"I'd kick everybody who doesn't belong off" the meadow, assign my best people, and give it top priority," Kerney answered.
Carol nodded as Kerney spoke.
"I've been thinking the same thing."
"Let me guess," Stiles interjected sarcastically.
"You're going to ask Charlie Perry to handle the case."
Carol didn't laugh.
"Don't do that to me, Jim," she snapped.
"I am not going to get sucked into sniping at a colleague."
Stiles clamped his mouth shut, swallowed hard, and nodded.
"You're right. Sorry. I was out of line."
"No damage done," Carol replied, turning her attention back to Kerney.
"Kevin, I want you fulltime on this investigation until further notice.
Tell me what you need and I'll try and get it for you. Use your discretion on how you want to proceed and keep me informed. But remember, your police powers are limited."
"I understand. I'd like Jim to work with me, if that's possible."
Carol's eyes widened in mock disbelief.
"I said use discretion, Kevin, not poor judgment."
Stiles groaned and clutched his chest.
"That hurts.
I am truly mortified, Mrs. Cassidy."
"Good," Carol responded with a chuckle.
"I'll call your boss, Jim. He's sat at my dinner table too many times to turn me down if I ask for a favor. It won't be a problem."
"Good deal," Jim said, his eyes dancing with pleasure.
"Thanks."
Carol nodded.
"Get going," she ordered the men.
After Carol left, the two men mounted and started down the trail. Jim Stiles looked over his shoulder, brushed his mustache with a finger to force down a smile, and said, "Hot damn! Real police work."
Kerney shook his head and rolled his eyes in response. From the meadow behind them the sound of Carol's voice, magnified by a bullhorn, floated down the trail. She ordered the area cleared of nonessential personnel.
One of the helicopters fired up and soon flew over the men as they pushed the horses through the canopy of the forest.
Amador Ortiz watched his crew through the windshield of the truck, one foot propped against the frame of the open door. He reached down and changed the frequency on his radio so he could listen in on the sheriffs traffic from Elderman Meadows.
Nothing but static. He switched back to the state police channel. The state cop was asking for an ETA on the forensic team. He saw a shadow move across the windshield and looked up. Kevin Kerney was standing by the open truck door.
"Keeping up with the local news?" Kerney asked.
Amador nodded.
"Who's the guy that got killed?"
"A Mexican national."
"How long has he been dead?"
"It's hard to say. Maybe twenty-four hours. Did anything unusual happen while you were camped here last night?"
"Nothing." Ortiz watched Jim Stiles put the horses in the trailers.
"Did you have any visitors?"
"No." Amador scratched his armpit.
"Why all the questions?"
"Was there any traffic on the road?"
"Just a few campers and trucks pulling boats down from the lake."
"You saw nothing? Heard nothing?" "That's what I said. Stop playing cop with me. If the guy has been dead for twenty-four hours, do you think whoever shot him would still be hanging around?"
"Sometimes it happens."
Amador snorted.
"Not likely."
"Did you leave the campsite at any time last night?"
"No."
"Thanks, Amador." Ortiz's crew had knocked down the fence to the temporary equipment pen and were finished loading stuff onto the flatbed truck.
"I'll see you around."
"Maybe," Ortiz answered. He pulled the truck door closed, cranked the engine, and waved at his crew, who were waiting for him. The men piled into the flatbed cab and followed Ortiz as he drove away.
Kerney found Jim bent over the trailer hitch to his truck. Jim unfastened the safety chain, pulled the pin to the hitch, and lowered the tongue to the ground.
"No need to pull the horse trailer up to the lookout station," he said as he stood up.
"I'll leave it here."
"I take it you're planning to interview the man at the fire tower,"
Kerney remarked.
"Is there something you'd like me to do?"
Jim blushed.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound pushy."
"I'll let you know if you get too obnoxious. Go ahead. Meet me at the Luna office when you're done.
You can introduce me to the good folks who live along the Mangas Valley road."
Stiles smiled in relief.
"You got it."
The blare of the alarm brought Karen out of a deep sleep. With one eye she squinted at the clock radio. God, it was only six in the morning.
She reached out, hit the off button, rolled onto her stomach, put the pillow over her head, and tried to go back to sleep. Then she remembered: she had agreed to meet Phil for breakfast in Reserve. She groaned, kicked the blanket off, got up, and walked into the living room.
Elizabeth and Cody were bundled in sleeping bags on the floor, fast asleep. They had been such dears during the move back to the ranch. As a reward to celebrate the final day of unpacking, she had rented their favorite movies, made popcorn to munch on, and let them stay up late. It had been great fun.
She tiptoed around her children, went to the small bathroom adjacent to the kitchen, and ran a tubful of water. There was time for a long soak before she needed to dress and leave. She wondered what Phil wanted to talk about. He was so insistent that they meet alone and away from the family as soon as possible.
Karen took off her panties, stepped into the deep cast-iron tub, and sank into the water. It felt wonderful.
Coming back home had been the right thing to do, she decided. It had been a happy place for her as a child, as it would be for Cody and Elizabeth.
It was Sunday morning, and Cattleman's Cafe on the main highway through Reserve, the premier drinking, dining, and recreation center in town, opened early, serving up good food along with local news, politics, and gossip. With no newspaper or radio station in the community.
Cattleman's was the de facto communication center for the county.
Kerney and Jim Stiles sat in the back dining room drinking coffee while they waited for breakfast to arrive. Dog-tired, Kerney was more than willing to let Jim do the talking. They had both been up all night, but Kerney thought Jim looked good for another nonstop twenty-four hours, while he felt like one of the living dead.
Two young cowboys were at the pool table in the front barroom. One of them, his cowboy hat pushed back at a jaunty tilt, looked no more than sixteen.
He bent low over the table, studied the angle of the cue ball, and made an excellent bank shot into a side pocket. His companion, a slightly older kid with a broad, open face, grimaced as the ball dropped. Both boys wore holstered pistols in plain view, and the two older men sitting at the bar were also packing weapons on their hips. As far as Kerney knew, the state law prohibiting firearms in drinking establishments had not been repealed.