Michael McGarity - Mexican Hat

Kerney told the deputy he'd be there. stretched out on his back, fast asleep, Edgar Cox snored. After one final ripping snort, his breathing slowed and became tranquil. Margaret waited for a few minutes, got out of bed, gathered up her robe and slippers, and went softly into the living room.

Outside, false dawn had faded into morning and the first robin of the day sang. Bubba, the children's puppy, met her halfway to Karen's house. He sniffed Margaret's slippers, wagged his tail, and barked a greeting. She reached down and scratched his ears.

Karen sat on the top porch step of the old ranch house dressed only in a tank top, shorts, and sandals.

Margaret wrapped the robe tightly around her waist and wondered how Karen could be so warm in the morning chill.

Karen smiled, scooted to one side, and patted the porch step in an invitation for her mother to join her. They sat in silence for a moment watching the robin until it flew away.

"How do you like being back home?" Margaret asked.

"I love it," Karen replied.

"No regrets about leaving the city?"

"I don't miss Albuquerque at all."

"There was a time when I thought you'd never come back to the ranch."

Karen laughed.

"Neither did I."

"Are you absolutely sure you want to live here?"

"I am," Karen answered with an emphatic nod of her head.

"No regrets about Stan?" Margaret asked.

"God no. It wasn't a marriage. He wanted to own me. I think I knew I would eventually divorce him. It was just a question of when it would happen."

"I could never understand what made Stan believe he could hold on to you. In a conventional sense, I'm not sure any man can."

Karen's eyes danced in amusement.

"You've always known that about me, haven't you?"

"Has it changed?"

"No. I don't think marriage suits me. I'm sorry things were so tense at dinner last night." "Edgar said you had a rather heated conversation with him. You and your father are two of a kind.

That can make the sparks fly."

"I see no reason why he can't talk to me about Uncle Eugene."

"He doesn't talk to anybody about it."

Karen shook her head, rejecting the statement.

"That's not completely true. He talks to you about it. He must."

Margaret rubbed her daughter's arm affectionately.

Karen's skin was warm to the touch.

"That's different."

"This time the situation is different. If it's a legitimate inquiry into a homicide investigation, I may have to force him to talk about it."

"I'd rather you wouldn't push it. Your father has enough on his mind right now."

"Are there problems?"

Margaret remained silent. She had hoped Karen would ask the question.

"Is something wrong?" Karen prodded.

"Oh, he thinks I'm going to die. He can't stand the thought that he might outlive me."

Karen's hand covered her mother's.

"Die? What's wrong?"

"I had a mammogram last Friday. The doctor's fairly certain I have cancer. I was going to wait to tell you until the biopsy results came back."

"When will you know?"

"Tomorrow." Margaret could see tears in the corners of Karen's eyes.

She wiped them away with a fingertip.

"Don't cry."

"Why not? It makes me so damn sad and angry."

Margaret laughed gently.

"I'm going to beat it, sweetie. I plan to be around for a while. Long enough to become a very old, crotchety great-grandmother."

Karen sniffled.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Call it woman's intuition. I just feel it. I'll survive." Margaret got to her feet.

"Edgar will be up soon, wanting his breakfast. He loves you very much."

"I know."

Margaret bent down and kissed Karen on the forehead.

"And so do I."

Karen stood and hugged her mother tightly.

"Send the children down to the house when you're ready to leave for work," Margaret said.

"I can't have you watch them for me. Not now."

"Don't be silly." She kissed her daughter again.

"I'm looking forward to it. I need to spoil them a bit more."

Margaret returned home. Edgar was out of bed and in the bathroom shaving. She made fresh coffee, feeling somewhat guilty about her talk with Karen.

Everything she'd said was true, but her motives were sneaky. If disclosing her illness deflected Karen from pursuing Edgar's secret, it was worth the effort.

In the parking lot at the county courthouse, Jim Stiles lounged against the front of his truck, one foot on the bumper. He was wearing jeans, a straw cowboy hat, a white shirt, and a pair of snakeskin boots.

Kerney limped toward him. The hitch in his right leg seemed a little more pronounced. Kerney's getup Cretty much matched Jim's, except for a big rodeo buckle Kerney wore on the belt around his waist.

He stood with Jim facing the entrance to the sheriff's department, a forlorn annex to the courthouse, plastered adobe brown.

Stiles stared at Kerney's belt buckle.

"Is that the real McCoy?"

"Sure is. Somebody reminded me I won it, so I dug it out and decided to wear it."

Jim squinted to make out the date it was awarded.

"It's a damn antique."

"Watch what you say, youngster," Kerney cautioned lightly.

"Just kidding." Jim's green eyes crinkled with humor.

"I'm impressed. Hell, I'm jealous. I didn't know you were a rodeo cowboy."

"That's stretching it," Kerney replied.

"I was a ranch kid who liked to rodeo."

"Do your parents still ranch?"

"They're dead," Kerney replied.

"The Army took our ranch when White Sands Missile Range expanded.

My father got a job as a foreman at a nearby outfit."

"That sucks."

"It's old news."

"I don't think I could be so cool about it if it happened to my parents."

Kerney's laugh was tinged with bitterness.

"I only sound indifferent. It's not the way I feel." He started walking toward the sheriff's office.

"Got any idea why Omar Gatewood wants to see us?"

"None whatever," Jim admitted, as he walked alongside.

"How did your interviews go?"

"Chalk up a big fat goose egg. Not one of those good folks has had any problems with cougars killing their stock. They don't know where in the hell Mexican Hat is and never heard of Jose or Hector Padilla, and the closest thing to an ATV I saw was one of those sit-down John Deere lawn tractors.

How did you do with Phil Cox?"

"About the same," Kerney replied, holding open the door to the office.

Sheriff Gatewood had a guest with him, Karen Cox. At the front of Gatewood's desk were two straight-backed chairs. Karen sat in a padded vinyl armchair at the side of the desk, Kerney took the empty chair closest to Karen. In a dark blue business suit, a linen blouse, hose, and pumps, she looked elegant and professional. The office, a small space with cheap wood paneling, felt oppressive. On one wall hung Gatewood's framed commission as sheriff and a dozen training certificates from various law enforcement seminars, all of them listing slightly off center Karen nodded a greeting at Jim and Kerney. Her skirt stopped at mid thigh and revealed her slender, well-formed legs.

"Thanks for coming in, boys," Gatewood said, leaning back in his squeaky chair.

"What's up?" Jim asked.

Gatewood gave Jim his most winning smile.

"Miss Cox and I have a proposition for you."

As Gatewood explained the purpose of the meeting-commissions for Kerney and Stiles with primary responsibility to conduct the Padilla murder investigation on behalf of the department- Kerney kept his attention on Karen, who seemed to deliberately avoid making eye contact with him.

Finally she looked at him, and a small smile crossed her lips.

Gatewood finished his pitch, and Jim chuckled.

"Is this another one of your schemes to get me to go to work for you, Omar?"