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  My cellphone rang. I smiled at the caller ID. “Hi, sweetie!”

  “I can’t make it to the luncheon. Say hi to C.J. for me.” The tone of Nai’ya’s voice raised an alarm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Can’t talk now. Something’s come up.”

  “Nai’ya, what’s the matter?” My cellphone began beeping. Another call.

  “I have to go.” She hung up.

  “Nai’ya?” The phone flashed Sam Archuleta’s number. I punched it in.

  “How soon can you get back here?”

  “Can’t it wait ’til tomorrow?”

  “Let’s just say I’d appreciate it if you made every effort to get here. Pronto.”

  I didn’t need this. “You’re a hard man. Give me ten minutes.”

  “I’m a cupcake. Take fifteen. Bye.”

  C.J. cut in. “Something wrong?”

  “Some trouble back at the house. I’m having work done on my barn. Be back as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t take too long. Charmaine made sweet potato pies for dessert. They won’t last.”

  I motioned to Rebecca. She met me outside the front door. We climbed into the 1948 Hudson coupe I’d inherited as part of my great-aunt’s estate and sped north along Fourth Street.

  “What did Nai’ya say?” Rebecca asked.

  “It’s what she didn’t say. There was fear in her voice. Something’s wrong. She hung up without telling me.”

  Now I had Rebecca worried. “I’ll deal with the cops,” she said. “Just drop me off. Go to her.”

  We pulled up to the curb in front of my house. Two more vehicles had just slowed to a stop in my driveway. That made six. Three men carried a portable light kit out of the first car and rushed around to the barn. The other vehicle was an ambulance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Archuleta leaned against his car door and waved. He said something to Crawford who shrugged and slouched off toward the barn.

  Rebecca held onto my arm as we hurried up the walkway to my house. The considerate lieutenant flicked his cigarette butt on the ground and followed us inside.

  “More room in the library.” I led the way and sat down at my desk.

  Rebecca tossed her blonde hair over a shoulder. “Care for a drink, Lieutenant? We stock just about everything.”

  “I’m on duty. Thanks anyway.” His hands fidgeted. He checked out the furniture and the standing clock in the corner.

  “Would you get me a club soda with a twist, please?” I asked Rebecca.

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up so fast he should have gotten a speeding ticket. “Club soda?”

  “One day at a time. Tomorrow will be three months of sobriety. Now, why did you call us away from C.J.’s? This better be important. We’ve got someplace to be.” I checked my watch in case he wasn’t in listening mode.

  A few more lines creased the lieutenant’s face than two hours before. And he needed a shave. “Dead bodies are always important,” he said. “May I?” He took a pack of Camels from his jacket and waved it at me.

  I picked up an empty candy dish from the end table and handed it over. “Puff away.”

  Sam stood by the door and blew the first lungful of smoke into the hall. “We need some answers about this property.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How long has it been in your family?”

  “As I recall, great-aunt Nellie bought the place around 1990.”

  Rebecca returned with my drink and I held it in my right hand. “Before you sit down, there’s a folder labeled ‘Real Estate’ in the second drawer of my file cabinet. Could you please bring it out for the lieutenant?”

  “Sure.”

  Sam studied her curves, his hand fumbling with what might charitably be called his tie.

  I cleared my throat. “To our health, Lieutenant.” I slugged down a mouthful of club soda.

  He inhaled and coughed into his sleeve. A thin strand of smoke seeped through the fabric into the air. “Was that barn here when your great-aunt bought this place?”

  “The mortgage and title should tell us that.” What kinds of questions were these? “Where the hell are you going with this, Sam? Those bones have been here for a long, long time. I’ve done enough digging to see that. Ask Holtzmann if you don’t believe me.”

  Sam raised a finger. “Just because the corpse is old doesn’t mean it’s been in the ground here that long. Could’ve been moved.”

  “Don’t you think Aunt Nellie would’ve noticed?” I put my drink down on the desk. “Or are you suggesting she might have had something to do with this?”

  Rebecca closed the file cabinet with a bang. She crossed to the desk, handed the folder to me and sat down to my right. I put down my drink, located the title deed and Nellie’s original mortgage and slid them from the folder.

  Sam leaned forward, his hand outstretched.

  I held out the two documents and made him come over to me. He looked like he needed the exercise.

  He paged through the contents and carried the papers with him to the bay window. “So, the barn pre-dated the sale. The previous owner is listed as William Klein Associates. We’ll check them out.”

  I drummed my fingers on the desktop. “That answer your questions? May we leave now?”

  Sergeant Crawford and Medical Investigator Holtzmann charged into the library without knocking. She carried a clipboard, Crawford carried his scowl. They got Sam’s full attention. “What have you got for me?”

  Holtzmann did the talking. “Pelvic structure and height would indicate male, approximately six foot one or two. My estimate, subject to confirmation at the lab, is that he died at least fifty years ago. Somewhere between forty and seventy years old at the time of death.”

  “Cause of death?” Sam said.

  “Homicide.”

  “Marvelous. Details?”

  “His skull is virtually intact.”

  Sam’s eyebrows rose once more. “Odd, for a body loose in the ground that long. You sure it’s a homicide?”

  “There’s a clear bullet hole in the back of the head,” Holtzmann continued. “Likely an entry wound from the size of the aperture. No exit wound visible.”

  “Find a bullet?”

  Holtzmann shook her head. “The shot may have gone out through an eye socket. That’s my guess.”

  “I’m betting this guy was shot somewhere else and dumped.” Archuleta popped another antacid.

  The medical investigator checked her watch. “We have a few more hours’ work here before we can safely move the remains to the morgue. The skeleton, what there is of it, is fragile. We don’t want to miss anything that might be in the fine sand.”

  Sam stubbed his cigarette in the candy dish and let out a tired sigh. “Okay…anything else?”

  “Bits of fabric among the bones,” Holtzmann said. “We’ll do microscopic textile analysis tomorrow to see if there are any hairs present for DNA testing. Don’t expect anything.”

  “I never do.”

  “There’s more.” She flipped the page on her clipboard. “At one time the victim suffered fractures to both the radius and ulna bones of his left forearm. Could have been in childhood. They didn’t set properly. He might have had limited use of that arm.”

  Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Is that it?”

  “No. Our man didn’t have any teeth.”

  “None?” I asked.

  Crawford eyes burned into me.

  “None.” Holtzmann’s glasses slid far enough down her narrow nose that she pushed them back up with the eraser end of her pencil. “No gum tissue left after all these years, of course. The jawbone was worn down. The teeth may have been gone a long time. No sign of dentures. If he had them, either they weren’t in when he was killed, or they were left behind when his body was moved.”

  “Any personal articles with the body?” Sam said.

  Holtzmann turned to Crawford. “Show him the ring.”

  Crawford handed a plastic bag to Archuleta. As he h
eld it up for a closer look, I stood and moved forward for a better view. The bag held the black onyx ring I’d seen on the finger bone of the corpse. The large gold icon on its surface glistened as it caught the ceiling light.

  “Let me see that.” I peered through the plastic as Archuleta held the bag between his thumb and forefinger. A profile figure of an Indian chief in full headdress. Gold on black. “That’s Chief Tammany, Sam.”

  “Who?” Sam returned the bag to Holtzmann. She brought it closer to her eyes and adjusted her glasses.

  “A legendary figure from early-to-mid nineteenth century American folklore. The symbol of Tammany Hall—you know, the old New York political machine. I’d bet this guy was a member of that organization. A ‘Son of Tammany’ as they called themselves. The banner here below the figure—” I slid my finger along the bag in the Doctor’s hand.

  “Don’t touch that!” Crawford moved toward me.

  I pulled my hand back. “Sorry. Just trying to help, Sergeant. Can I offer you something cold?”

  Veins stood out on Crawford’s forehead. “I got no use for you, McKenna. None. You always think you’re the smartest guy in the room.”

  “That’s enough, Crawford!” Sam stared down the taller sergeant. “Outside.” Crawford held his ground for a moment until his boss pointed to the door. “Wait by the car. Do it now.”

  Crawford spun on his heel and disappeared into the hallway. The front door slammed.

  Sam waved toward the door. “Forget Crawford. He’s a hard-ass with a bad marriage and a sick kid.”

  “Life is tough.” I turned to Rebecca. “Ready to go?” She nodded but seemed to look at Sam for approval.

  “All right,” he said. His cellphone rang. He raised a hand toward us. “Wait a minute. Okay…right, boss. About two more hours, according to Holtzmann. Good.” Then his face brightened and he bobbed up and down, like he wanted to do a little jig before thinking better of it. “Excellent. I’ll get on it first thing in the morning. What about this one? He’ll be glad to hear that. Bye.”

  “Well?” I said.

  “You’re both free to leave. Give my best to C.J. I know he hates cops, but tell him just the same.”

  “I will. Mind if I lock up the house before we go?”

  “Not at all. My guys can always pee in your flowerbed. We won’t be seeing each other for a while, anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “That was my boss. I’m now leading the investigation into last night’s casino shooting. That’s more of a priority than any fifty-year-old cold case.”

  “Congratulations,” I said. “So who will I have to deal with on this mess?”

  Sam smiled. “Crawford.” He patted my sleeve and left the house with Holtzmann.

  Rebecca huffed out to my car. I cursed under my breath and locked the door behind me. Cleaning up the broken glass could wait.

  Most of the guests had left by the time we returned to C.J.’s. The zydeco band played on with no loss of energy, like they’d just been re-wound. Decorations still fluttered in time with the rotation of the ceiling fans. C.J. looked like he needed a nap, but he’d saved us two slices of sweet potato pie. Rebecca and I washed them down with fresh cups of coffee.

  “So what’s up, Gabe?” C.J. took a cigar from his breast pocket and peeled off the cellophane.

  “The crew working on my barn unearthed a body. An old one. The cops are all over it.”

  He looked around. “Don’t let Charmaine hear about this, okay? I called in all my chips just to get her to invite you today.”

  Before I could respond, somebody switched on the restaurant’s big screen TV. A local channel flashed its top story: the killing at Pueblo-66 Casino. The sound was muted, but the screen showed a bloodstained cloth over what must have been the body of the victim.

  Sam appeared onscreen, a microphone nearly stuck up his nose. At least he didn’t look so short up there on the big screen. The story’s final image was of a young woman. Under her face it read: Missing and wanted for questioning.

  I’d seen her before—in a framed photograph on the mantel in Nai’ya’s living room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rebecca’s car was in for repairs and I was her ride home. She anticipated me. “Listen Gabe, I’ll take a cab. You go to Nai’ya. If there’s anything I can do, call me.”

  So typical of her. I called a taxi and gave Rebecca enough for the fare and a generous tip. I rode the accelerator and brake down Fourth Street and then east on Lomas until I reached the area near UNM called Collegetown.

  Nai’ya’s dark blue Mini Cooper Countryman sat in her driveway. The living room blinds were closed, the front patio dark. I pressed the doorbell. Its ring echoed inside. There was no other sound, no movement, only the slow, steady sinking of my stomach.

  I looked through the peephole and laid a couple of hard raps on the door. “Nai’ya? It’s Gabe.”

  The patio light switched on. A dead bolt clicked and the door edged open a couple of inches. A feminine hand slid the chain behind the key slot. The door opened halfway.

  Nai’ya’s eyes looked red and puffy. “Come in.” She backed up and allowed me to wedge past her. A .45 dangled from her right hand. I closed the door and threw the dead bolt.

  Her face was little more than a foot from mine, but I don’t think she saw me. I glanced down. Her gun hand twitched. A tremor passed from her right hand to her arm. Her body swayed, her knees buckled. I caught her just before she fell.

  The gun slipped from her grasp and rattled on the hardwood floor. I reflexively shielded her, but the gun clattered to a harmless stop. The thumb safety was on.

  Nai’ya sagged into me. I helped her to the couch and propped her head on an end pillow. Her eyelids fluttered. I stroked her now-pale cheeks and rubbed her wrists.

  “Water. Let me get you a glass of water.”

  I hurried to the kitchen and back, but I couldn’t outrun her tears.

  “Here.” I held the glass as she sipped, then set it on the coffee table. Her head eased back against the pillow.

  The missing young woman I’d seen on C.J.’s wall-TV watched all of this from a picture frame on the mantelpiece.

  Nai’ya closed her eyes. I walked over and studied the photograph. Familiar, somehow. Mid-to-late twenties, dark brown shoulder length hair, widely separated dark eyes, strong cheekbones. A turquoise necklace, just like the one Nai’ya often wore. Native, probably. Beautiful, definitely.

  “Angelina.” Nai’ya whispered from behind me.

  “She’s lovely. Don’t think I ever met her, but she looks so familiar. What’s her full name?”

  “Angelina Harper.”

  I swung around. “A relative?”

  Nai’ya nodded.

  “I saw her picture half an hour ago on the TV at C.J.’s. Thought I’d seen her picture here. That’s why I came over.” I eased across the room and sat on the edge of the couch. “You need my help, don’t you?”

  “She’s gone.” Nai’ya raised her hands to her face and sobbed into them. “Gone!”

  I fumbled for something to say. “Talk to me.”

  She took a steadying breath. I helped her to a sitting position and guided her head to my chest. My left arm held her as close as I dared.

  Nai’ya lost it. She trembled. Her whole body grew rigid. She let out a wail the neighbors must have heard.

  I tried to rock her, but she resisted. “Tell me what to do,” I said.

  She gripped my leg and pushed herself out to an arm’s length. “There’s more to this than you realize.”

  I pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table and handed it to her. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. Whatever this is about, you don’t have to face it alone.”

  Nai’ya clasped the water glass from the table and drank it dry. I handed her a couple more tissues. Her face disappeared into a fistful of white and then re-emerged, lips quivering, eyes unfocused. She paused. “Angelina is my daughter.”

  I froze, the way a guy d
oes when his world is suddenly no longer the same. I lifted the wad of tissues from Nai’ya’s hand and crushed it in my own. “I had no idea.”

  Nai’ya dug her nails into my wrist. “I don’t know where she is.”

  I rested my hand on top of hers. “Can her father help find her? Is he around somewhere?”

  “He is.” She drew away a few inches and clutched her arms over her breasts.

  “Good. I’ll contact him. Where is he?”

  She looked at the floor. There was a pause. “Sitting next to me.”

  I sank back against the couch, my lungs trying hard to breathe. The wadded up tissues dropped to my lap. I turned to stare at the back of Nai’ya’s still-lowered head.

  “Are you sure she’s mine?” I spoke each word with care, afraid that any one of them might explode.

  Her voice crackled with defiance. “There was no one else.”

  She jumped from the couch before I could say another word. Without looking at me, she ran along the hall and into the bedroom. The door sounded like a jail cell when it slammed shut.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I hurried after her down the hall and stood outside the closed door. My mind flew back to a single August night a quarter century before. Our project team had completed a dig at Chaco Canyon. We celebrated with a wrap-up party back at UNM in Albuquerque.

  Booze flowed freely and pot filled everyone’s lungs, even a non-smoker like me who has always preferred to drink himself into oblivion.

  Nai’ya and I left early for my motel room, I think. The rest of the night…I was too far gone by then to remember what happened.

  My hand slid down the door to the knob. “May I come in?” I didn’t hear a “no,” so I took that as a “yes” and opened the door.

  Nai’ya lay on the bed with a pillow clutched against her body. Two tearful eyes blinked at me over the top of the white linen case. “Forgive me?” Her voice barely reached me.

  I entered the room and sat at the bottom of her bed, figuring she might need the distance. “What’s to forgive? I’m sure you did what you had to do.”