Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Edge

“That might explain why Long is headed back to L.A.,” Vittorio said. “He wants to get laid.”

“If he wants to get laid, why did he leave her and come to Santa Fe?”

“I think we should operate on the premise that Barbara is in Santa Fe,” Vittorio said. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense, given what we know about her, and if she’s not here she will be, when she gets around to taking a shot at Ed Eagle.”

“Okay, I buy that,” Cupie said. “If you were Barbara, and you were lying low in Santa Fe, waiting for an opportunity to kill Ed Eagle, where would you lie low?”

“Not a hotel,” Vittorio said. “Too expensive. An apartment maybe, or a house, but something nice. After all, she’s been in prison for months. She’ll want some comfort.”

“If she’s in an apartment or a house, she probably found it in the New Mexican ,” Cupie said.

“Why not one of those real estate magazines that are all over town?”

“She wouldn’t look there for a rental,” Cupie said. “Those are for sales.”

They got back into Vittorio’s SUV and drove to the newspaper’s office. Cupie bought ten days of back issues and took them back to the car. He handed Vittorio half of the papers. “Look for something comfortable, not too big and furnished,” he said.

Vittorio began opening the papers to the real estate section. “Here’s one,” he said, circling an ad.

“Let’s go through them all,” Cupie said.

They spent most of an hour cutting out and dating ads for possible houses and apartments, then sorted through them, finding seven likely properties.

Cupie went through them again, checking the dates. “There are ads for three houses that stopped running in the past couple of days,” he said. “That means they’ve been rented.” He handed the ads to Vittorio.

“Two of them are from the same agent,” Vittorio said. He got out his cell phone and called the agent’s office and asked for her.

“Hello?”

“This is Sergeant Rivera at the Santa Fe Police Department,” Vittorio said.

“How can I help you, Sergeant?”

“You ran ads for two rental houses in the New Mexican, ” he said.

“More than two,” she replied. “I specialize in rentals.”

“There are two that you stopped advertising: one in Tesuque, one at Las Campanas.”

“Yes, both those have been rented.”

“Can you give me the renters’ names?”

“Let’s see,” she said. “The Tesuque place went to a Mr. and Mrs. Torrance, and the Las Campanas house-it was a guesthouse-went to a Mrs. Keeler, from San Francisco.”

“Can you describe Mrs. Keeler?” Vittorio asked.

“Five-six or -seven, slim, auburn hair, very attractive.”

“Thank you so much,” Vittorio said and hung up. He turned to Cupie. “What was that guy’s name that Barbara married in San Francisco?”

Cupie screwed up his face. “Walter something, electronics zillionaire. I can’t think of the last name.”

“Could it have been Keeler?” Vittorio asked.

“It could have been, and it was!” Cupie said.

The two men exchanged a high five.

“Let’s get out to Las Campanas,” Vittorio said.

Barbara dressed carefully in casual but elegant clothes: tight silk pants and a tight cashmere sweater that showed off her cleavage.

At dusk she turned out the lights in her guesthouse and walked up to Dolly’s place, bearing a good bottle of wine. As she reached the door it occurred to her that she should have left a light on for her return home, but then it didn’t really matter, as she kept a small flashlight in her purse. She knocked on the door.

Dolly opened it, smiling. “Hi, there,” she said. “Come on in.” She was dressed similarly to Barbara but wearing a small apron.

“I don’t know what you’re cooking, but I brought some wine,” Barbara said, offering it.

“Zinfandel,” Dolly said, reading the label. “Perfect. We’re having a veal stew. Would you like something to drink?”

“Do you have bourbon?” Barbara asked.

“Bought some this afternoon,” Dolly said, going to the little bar and holding up a bottle of Knob Creek. “Tip drinks this, so it must be good.” She poured some over ice.

“My favorite,” Barbara said, accepting the drink. “Tip seems like quite a fellow,” she said. “I was very impressed with that last putt of his. He must do very well.”

“Yes, he does. He’s won only a few times on the tour, but he’s usually in the top ten, sometimes in the top five. I don’t think the public understands how much money a pro can make playing that kind of golf regularly and finishing high up consistently.”

“How much can he make?”

“A million or two a year, maybe.”

Barbara whistled. “I hope he’s paying you well.”

“He is, and he just added this house to my compensation package.”

“Is he single?”

“Yes. He was widowed recently. His wife was either murdered or committed suicide, I’m not sure which.”

“In that house next door?” Barbara asked.

“Yes, in their bedroom. Tip came back from playing a tournament in Dallas and found her.”

“He must be very shaken up, but he played so well in Houston.”

“He seems oddly serene,” Dolly said, “but I think he’s just a stoic. That’s my read on him, anyway.”

Dolly sat down beside her on the sofa with her drink. “Dinner’ll be ready in half an hour. There’s nothing left to do but serve it.”

Barbara started to say she was hungry, but she stopped in mid-sentence. She’d heard a car drive up and stop nearby, and now she heard two car doors close. She got up and peered through the little window in Dolly’s front door. “A car,” she said. “Two flashlights.”

VITTORIO STOPPED THE SUV at the locked gate of the main house, and he and Cupie got out. He handed Cupie a compact flashlight. “These are very good,” he said. “Lithium ion batteries: They’re bright enough to temporarily blind a man in the dark.”

They climbed over the low gate. “Let’s have a look at this guesthouse,” Vittorio said.

“Pretty dark,” Cupie replied. “No lights, and the garage door is closed.”

They reached the house and walked around it, shining their lights through windows. “Very neat and clean,” Cupie said. “Doesn’t look like anybody lives here.”

“Not even a toothbrush in the bathroom,” Vittorio replied. “Why don’t we ask at the house next door? There are lights on there.”

Cupie went ahead. “Let me do it,” he said. “You’re too scary on a dark night.”

“I HAVE TO TELL YOU,” Barbara said. “One of the reasons I’m in Santa Fe is that I’m being stalked by a man I went out with after my husband died. It would be just like him to show up here or to send a private detective to find me. Looks like two men coming this way.”

“Go into the guest room and close the door,” Dolly said. “If they come here I’ll handle it.” She put Barbara’s drink in the kitchen sink and her own on the counter. The doorbell rang.

Dolly went to the door, switched on the porch light and opened the door a foot, keeping her boot jammed against it. A plump, baby-faced man in a tweed topcoat and tweed hat stood there. A few feet behind him, in the shadows, stood another man wearing a flat-brimmed hat that partly hid his face.

Cupie swept off his hat and smiled. “Good evening. I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said. “I’m looking for the woman who lives next door, a Mrs. Keeler.”

“No one lives next door,” Dolly said. “The place is owned by some people from New York, but they’re only here in the summer.”

“I’d heard that this Mrs. Keeler had rented it in the past couple of days, and it’s important I get in touch with her on a business matter. Some papers have to be signed.”