Stuart Woods: Santa Fe Edge

Dolly Parks spent the entire day of Tip’s departure for the Houston tournament directing the moving in of office furniture. She arranged things efficiently, not forgetting to give herself a nice view of the Jemez Mountains from her seat at her desk.

When everything was arranged as it should be and wiped down for dust she opened the box containing her new computer and set it up, hanging the twenty-one-inch flat monitor on the wall beside her desk. She had only to swivel her chair to the right to have the keyboard at hand and the screen before her. She plugged in all the cables, then tucked the tiny Enano PC away in a corner of her desk.

She took a box of writable CDs into Tip’s study and copied all his files, then loaded them into her computer. A few minutes of testing the bank program and she was up and running. She spent the rest of the day putting away her office supplies on the shelves she had had installed in the closet, and then she was done.

She went into the little powder room off her new office and put her own cosmetics into the medicine chest, then washed the dust from her hands and splashed some water on her face. Exhausted, she went into Tip’s study, opened the cabinet containing the bar and poured herself a stiff Scotch, then she stretched out on the leather sofa and watched the sun set behind the mountains as she sipped her drink.

Soon, healed and relaxed by the whiskey, she began thinking about Tip Hanks, his mop of sun-bleached hair and his taut body. She unzipped her jeans and pulled them down to her knees, then, with the Scotch in the other hand, she began to stroke her clitoris. She was already wet, and it took only a couple of minutes of fun to bring her to orgasm.

When she stopped panting she wiped herself with tissues, pulled up her jeans and soon fell asleep on the couch.

TIP LANDED AT HOUSTON’S Hobby Field at dusk and taxied to Atlantic Aviation for refueling and hangaring, then picked up his rental car and drove to the Four Seasons hotel and checked in. He showered and changed, then went down to the bar for a drink before dinner.

Everybody there was properly respectful of his mourning, and he couldn’t pay for a drink. There were the usual hanger-on girls, some of whom showed an interest in him, but in spite of his stir-rings, he was determined to remain chaste on the tour, at least for a while.

He had dinner with a couple of cronies and got to bed early. He was playing the pro-am the next day with some movie star, and he wanted to be fresh. The golf course had been renovated, and it was his first opportunity to play it since. He took a look at the pin positions in the book before retiring, and he liked what he saw. The course was set up well for his game.

Before he fell asleep he wondered, not for the first time, why he was not more upset about his wife’s murder. It was as if he was viewing a film of the event, and he was playing his part badly. All he felt was emptiness.

BARBARA HAD LEFT TUCSON early in the morning, driving east, and she arrived in Santa Fe at dusk and found the FedEx office still open and the package waiting for her. She got back into the car and examined the passports, driver’s licenses and credit cards the man in Venice Beach had created for her. They were of his usual excellent quality.

She had another hour and a half of driving to reach the Holroyds’ house beyond Los Alamos, and she was tired, so she checked into the Hotel Santa Fe, at Cerrillos and Paseo de Peralta, a place where she had not been known when she had lived in the town, and called the Holroyds, telling them she’d be there for lunch the following day. She had a quiet dinner in the bar, followed by a good night’s sleep.

The following morning she drove up the winding mountain road to Los Alamos, continued through what was visible of the town and followed the directions to the ranch that Hugh Holroyd had given her.

Charlene greeted her with a big kiss as she got out of the car. “You made it! We missed you last night.”

“I was whipped when I got into Santa Fe,” Barbara said, opening the rear of the station wagon so that a servant could remove her new luggage.

Hugh met her at the door with another big kiss, and she was shown to her room, which, not to her surprise, was connected to the master suite by a door and a short hallway.

She spent the afternoon unpacking, napping and watching a golf tournament from Houston, which featured a player she found very attractive. She was pleased to hear an announcer say he hailed from Santa Fe. Maybe she’d look him up later.

They were served a sumptuous dinner prepared by the Holroyds’ chef, then given after-dinner drinks before an open fire in the living room, where they lounged on large cushions. From that moment, Barbara noticed, there were no servants in sight.

Charlene got things started by giving Barbara a playful kiss, and soon they were all naked while Hugh watched the two women make love, and he weighed in from time to time. Then they rested and drank for a while and started in again, this time with Barbara and Hugh. She found them both very comfortable to be with.

AT ED AND SUSANNAH EAGLE’S house up the mountain from the village of Tesuque, they hosted the writer and producer who had arrived in Santa Fe to begin production on Susannah’s film project. She had taken the supporting role, on Ed’s advice, because the character had a couple of scenes the likes of which would be taken notice of by the Los Angeles film community and members of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences.

Susannah had been nominated twice before, and this seemed the perfect opportunity to seal the deal.

Eagle was interested to talk to Jim Long. Previously, he had seen the producer only on TV, when he had testified at Barbara’s trial. Eagle might as well break the ice, he thought.

“Jim, have you heard from Barbara since her incarceration?”

Long shook his head. “From what little I know of Mexican jails, people seem to just disappear into them. She’s going to be in for a long, long time.”

“I think that’s best,” Eagle said.

“Maybe you’re right,” Long agreed. “She was a bad, bad girl.”

The group drank, dined and talked on until after midnight, then the visitors excused themselves and drove back to their hotel.

Eagle and Susannah got ready for bed while the cook and her helpers cleaned up after the party.

“What did you think of Jim Long?” Susannah asked.

“Seems like a nice fellow,” Eagle replied. “He agreed with me that Barbara will be away for a long, long time.”

“I suppose she will,” Susannah said. “It’s a pity Mexico doesn’t have the death penalty.”

Tip Hanks stood on the eighteenth green and sized up his putt. Not good. He had been at the top of his game for four days, and now he had a one-stroke lead on the last hole. Trouble was, he had a thirty-five-foot putt that was going to go over a little rise in the green, then break on the downhill slope to the hole, while his opponent had a six-foot straight-in putt to tie the match and force a play-off. Tip did not want a play-off. He conferred with Mike, his caddie.

“Play it like the hole is at the top of the rise,” Mike advised, “and a foot past. Aim for a line a foot right of the hole. It’s going to break left and be very fast downhill.”

Tip took another look from ten feet behind the ball and agreed. He took a couple of practice swings, then stepped forward and struck the ball smoothly. It rolled up the rise, slowed nearly to a halt at the top, then curved gracefully down the slope and into the cup. The crowd went nuts.

Tip walked to the edge of the green and leaned on his putter. His opponent had to sink this putt to keep sole possession of second place. He sank it, and it was over. Tip had won it.