Michael McGarity - Mexican Hat

"Now you have to feed me," she announced, as she spun around to give him a full view of the outfit.

He grinned, nodded in agreement, and paid the bill without complaint.

They arrived in Green Valley in the middle of the morning, with the temperature already in the three digits. Halfway between Tucson and the border town of Nogales, Green Valley paralleled the interstate that ran through the high Sonoran Desert. Except for a few businesses at the northern end of the town and one large strip mall on the main drag, there was very little commercial development, but there were a hell of a lot of churches. Cars along the wide boulevard moved slowly in spite of the absence of heavy traffic, and most were late-model Americanmade land yachts driven by gray-headed motorists.

There wasn't a baby boomer, adolescent, or thirty something person in sight.

Molly turned off the main street and passed row after row of single-story apartment condominiums that looked like cheap budget motel units. The native landscaping of saguaro cactus, paloverde trees, desert ironwood, brittle bush, and yucca didn't completely hide the cut-rate construction of the cement-block buildings.

After the condominiums petered out, the neighborhood changed into modest single-family ranch style tract homes on small lots. Recreational vehicles, pickup trucks with camper shells, and travel trailers filled about every other driveway. Finally they entered an upscale area of multilevel homes with brick exteriors and tile roofs that surrounded a golf course. Molly parked in front of a house that backed up to a fairway. It was expensively landscaped with crushed rock, native plants, flagstone walks, and a border of blackfoot daisies that covered a low stone wall.

With Molly at his side, Jim rang the doorbell. A tall woman, about seventy years old, answered. She had an angular face, a high forehead, and a long nose that gave her a birdlike appearance.

"Yes?" the woman said, glancing from the man to the woman. The young man's face looked as if it had been peppered with birdshot, his eye was covered with a patch, and his left arm was in a sling. The young woman was wholesomely attractive with lively blue eyes that sparkled with vitality.

"Louise Blanton Cox?" Jim asked.

"Yes."

He introduced himself and showed his', deputy sheriff's commission to the woman.

"I'm with the Catron County Sheriff's Department. We'd like to talk to you about your husband and brother-in-law."

Louise Cox began to close the door as he spoke.

Stiles blocked it with his foot.

"I have nothing to say to you," Louise Cox said.

"We can talk informally, or I can get a subpoena," Stiles bluffed.

Louise Cox hesitated and opened the door, her mouth drawn in a thin, anxious line.

"Come in."

She ushered them into a vaulted-ceiling living room and sat them in a conversation area in front of a freestanding natural-gas fireplace with fake logs.

She looked warily at them across a low glass coffee table centered on an off-white area rug. Next to the front picture window stood a grand piano. An accent table which held a vase of fresh-cut flowers was close at hand.

"What is this all about?" Mrs. Cox asked.

"Don Luis Padilla's son and great-grandson were murdered at Elderman Meadows," Jim explained.

"They had returned to New Mexico to investigate the death of Don Luis."

"Luis Padilla died long before I arrived in Catron County."

Jim smiled.

"But you do know about his death.

What can you tell us about it?"

"Talk to Eugene," Louise said flatly.

Molly leaned forward.

"Mrs. Cox, please help us.

We came a long way to see you."

Louise's hand fluttered to her cheek.

"I can't."

"You have a beautiful house," Molly said.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Ten years. I had it built when I moved from Sedona. My doctor said I needed to move to a lower altitude. My heart isn't very good."

"Were you teaching in Sedona?"

Louise shook her head and relaxed a bit.

"No. I haven't taught since I married Eugene and left Pie Town."

"You're still married to Eugene, aren't you?" Molly asked, looking at the wedding ring on Louise's left hand.

"Technically."

"After so long?" Molly probed.

"I have no desire to talk about my personal life," Louise said, caution creeping back into her voice.

"Sorry," Molly said quickly with a disarming smile.

"We're not here to pry."

"We came to ask you about Eugene," Jim said.

"Did he ever talk about what happened when he was shot on Elderman Meadows?"

"Not really."

"What did he say?"

"He talked about revenge."

"Against who?"

Louise hesitated for a moment, brushing an invisible bit of lint off her sleeveless polo shirt. Satisfied, she crossed her legs and adjusted the drape of her poplin skirt.

"Eugene is an angry man, Mr. Stiles. An unforgiving, angry man."

"Was he angry with you?" Molly inquired.

Louise laughed in harsh agreement.

"Always. I could never do anything right. It was a loveless marriage.

It became intolerable for me."

"You gave him custody of your sons," Molly said softly.

Louise's eyes blinked rapidly.

"I had no choice. I don't want to talk about it anymore.

"Stiffly, she stood up.

"Please sit down, Mrs. Cox," Jim said.

Louise hesitated and complied.

"You said you had no choice," Jim restated.

"I had to protect myself."

"From who?" Jim asked.

"I've said enough."

"You can't be forced to testify against your husband.

I'm not asking you to do that."

Louise's eyes flashed at Jim Stiles.

"I want you to leave."

Jim pushed on.

"Did Eugene tell you things he wanted to make sure remained secret?"

"Absurd." Her voice rose a few notches.

"From where I sit, it looks like whatever happened to you still hurts."

Louise turned her face away and stared off into space; the corner of her mouth turned down in a dour grimace.

Jim continued, "It must be hard to live with those memories."

Louise Cox looked ashen.

"It is," she said weakly.

She licked her lips, clasped her hands, and pulled herself together before continuing.

"But I don't want to be dragged into a police investigation of something that I had nothing to do with."

"You're a victim, not a criminal," Jim responded gently.

"Did Eugene mistreat you? Did he beat you?"

Louise took in Jim's words as if they were slaps across her face.

"Did he force you to give up your children?" Molly asked.

The breath rushed out of Louise, and her lip quivered.

"I've feared this moment ever since Emily Wheeler wrote to me. It was like opening a door and getting hit in the face with a past I wanted to forget."

She looked from Jim to Molly with a taut smile.

Molly slipped out of her chair, sat next to Louise, and took her hand.

"You don't have to be afraid," she said.

"But I am. I am not a brave person."

"I think you are," Molly said.

Louise swallowed hard and looked at Molly.

"What would you do?"

"Maybe it's time to let it go," Molly replied.

Louise nodded her head and stood up slowly, still clutching Molly's hand.

"Maybe it is. Wait here."

She returned promptly with an old leather diary and resumed her position on the couch.

"When I decided to leave my husband, I knew I needed something to keep him away from me. Don't let the wheelchair fool you-he is a vicious man. He was tremendously strong back then. His chest and arms were as hard as rocks. He frightened me. Just the thought of him still does.

When I told him I was leaving him, he threatened to kill me if I took Cory and Phil with me. He forced me to my knees, put a pistol to my head, and made me promise to leave the boys with him."