"I don't need you ragging on my daddy," Phil shot back.
"And I don't need a family history lesson."
"Maybe you do."
"Let's stay on the subject. Until yesterday, our fathers haven't spoken to each other in sixty years.
What changed that?"
Karen took a long minute before replying.
"I'm not sure."
"Has anything unusual happened recently?"
"Daddy got a letter yesterday. A man dropped it off at the house while he was in Silver City with Mom. Dad read it and then left for town.
When I asked him about it, he said it was nothing to worry about, but he seemed upset."
"Who was the letter from?"
"I don't know. But the man who delivered it said he was Hector Padilla."
Phil looked surprised.
"Hector Padilla is the name of the man that was killed at Elderman Meadows."
Karen smiled vaguely at an older couple as they left Cattleman's, then frowned.
"That's a little more than strange. There was an old man with Hector Padilla. Daddy's age, a little older perhaps, but the same generation.
He stayed in the truck. Do you know what happened to him?"
"Jim Stiles and a temporary ranger named Kerney found him near the foothills of Mangas Mountain.
In shock, from what I've heard. He's hospitalized in Silver City."
"This fellow Kerney gets around. He stopped at the house yesterday to ask Dad about a black bear poaching."
"Yeah, that's how I met him, too. PJ and I found the bear."
Karen faced her cousin squarely.
"Didn't the family know some people named Padilla back in the thirties?"
"Padilla is a pretty common name in these parts.
At least, it used to be."
"Maybe the old man knew Daddy and Uncle Eugene."
"Isn't that stretching it a bit?" Phil rebutted.
"No," Karen replied.
"It doesn't seem like a stretch at all. Dad gets a letter, goes to see his brother he hasn't talked to in sixty years, and the man who delivers the letter turns up murdered."
"I don't think what happened sixty years ago has anything to do with the murder of some Mexican national."
"Do you know what happened sixty years ago? I sure don't. I'd love to know what it was."
"Ask your father," Phil snapped.
"Is that what you did?"
Phil shrugged.
"Of course you didn't. You wouldn't dare."
Phil threw back his head and laughed.
"What's so funny, Phil?"
"You are, cousin. You don't know me half as well as you think you do."
Karen closed her eyes and sighed.
"We're bickering, Phil. Just like old times. Let's give it a rest, okay?"
She opened her eyes, looked at Phil, and forced a smile. Jim Stiles and Kevin Kerney were standing next to Phil's truck. Both men looked dragged-out.
They had day-old beards and weary eyes and wore dusty, wrinkled uniforms.
"Hi, Jim," she said.
"Karen. Phil," Jim said, greeting both with a nod of his head.
"If you folks came to town for breakfast, the waitress is just now cleaning off our table." "Thanks," Karen said.
"Do you two know Kevin Kerney?" Jim asked.
"Sure do," Phil said.
Karen nodded in agreement.
Kerney nodded back.
"Mr. Cox," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion, "I'd like to stop by and see you this evening. Would that be convenient?"
"Sure, drop by," Phil replied.
"We'll set out an extra plate. You look like you could use a home cooked meal."
"Good enough."
"What about me?" Stiles asked jokingly.
"Don't I get an invite?"
"Come along," Phil replied.
"I guess we can feed you, too."
"Just kidding," Jim responded.
"Besides, I don't see the fun in spending time with two old duffers like you and Kerney."
"Watch what you say there, youngster," Phil shot back with a smile.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Cox, sir," Stiles said solemnly. He slapped his hand on the truck hood.
"Gotta go. See you, guys."
Karen leaned across Phil to the window and smiled sweetly.
"Wrong gender. Jimmy. Are you still confused about sex, girls, and the birds and bees?"
"I'm slowly working it out."
"God help her, whoever she is." She switched her gaze quickly to Kerney.
"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Kerney."
Her directness caught Kerney off guard. He'd been staring at her without realizing it. She was a damn fine-looking woman.
He smiled self-consciously.
"My pleasure."
As the two men walked away, Karen studied Kerney for a minute, a vague memory tugging at her consciousness. It faded without expression. She returned her attention to Phil, told him to get off his butt, take out his wallet, and buy her breakfast.
"You won't pick another fight?" Phil inquired.
"It's a deal. No more fights. You can fill me in on Doris and the kids."
"What's the story on the woman?" Kerney inquired.
He and Stiles were at their trucks. The overflow from Cattleman's Cafe had spilled across the street to Griffin's Bar, a long building done up with a slat-board facade, a porch with a railing covered by a sloping roof, and a wooden walkway, designed to give it a frontier appearance.
Stiles waited until a logging truck rumbled by before answering.
"Real good-looking for an older babe, isn't she?"
"She doesn't look like an older babe to me."
"I knew you were going to say that. Her name is Karen Cox. Phil's cousin. She used to be my babysitter.
Left years ago for college up in Albuquerque.
Dropped out. Stayed in the city. Got married, went back to college, and taught school for a while. Then she got herself a law degree, and a divorce, and took back her maiden name. She's our new ADA. Starts tomorrow, as a matter of fact. I thought you'd met her."
"I did, but not officially," Kerney answered.
"Wait until you meet old Gene Cox, Phil's daddy."
"Tell me about him."
"He's a tough old son of a bitch. Got himself crippled up in a shooting accident when he was a boy. He's been almost completely paralyzed from the waist down ever since. It didn't slow him down much when he was younger. He even got married and sired two sons.
"Until Phil took over the ranch. Gene worked it with a truck and a golf cart that were fixed up with special controls. For a long time he kept riding-he even trained a horse to respond to hand and rein signals. He installed a winch and hoist on the truck so he could cut and haul wood.
Used a walker to pull himself around when he was working outside."
"He does sound tough."
"And then some. What's next?" Jim asked.
"I need some rack time," Kerney replied.
"Meet me at my trailer in six hours. You can go with me to see Jose Padilla."
"Yes, sir," Stiles said, giving Kerney an offhand salute.
Kerney got to his trailer, gathered up every bath towel he could find, and soaked them in hot water.
He stripped out of his uniform and wrapped the hot towels, one at a time, around his bad knee. One full and one partial ligament held the leg together. He sat in the living-room chair and let the heat work on the pain. Through the open door of the trailer he could see the forested mountains east of Reserve that squeezed against the open fields and forced the San Francisco River into a confined, fast-running channel at the end of the valley. At the high school, children from a nearby subdivision were playing a softball game on the athletic field.
Under the floor of the trailer the mice were busy.
There were fresh rodent droppings on the carpet by a window. The threat of hantavirus registered in Kerney's mind. It was a pulmonary illness, spread by deer mice, that killed people. He tried to remember the precautions, but he was too damn sluggish to think straight. He would let his landlord deal with the problem.