Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Dead

“What are you thinking about?” Walter asked.

“Just about how improbably happy you’ve made me,” she replied.

“That’s my new job,” he said, grinning. “What would you like to do this afternoon?”

“I’d like to visit some wineries,” she said. “I’ve always thought that the making of wine was fascinating.”

“Of course. Tell me, do you play golf?”

“I tried it once; I was hopeless at it.”

“Everybody’s hopeless at it in the beginning. I’d like you to try again, with a really good instructor. I’m a lover of the game, and it would please me greatly if we could play together.”

“All right, I will.” Anything to keep him happy for a while-at least until he signed his new will.

“I love you, my darling,” he said.

“Not as much as I love you,” she replied, squeezing his crotch under the table.

ED EAGLE STOOD on the first tee of one of the two golf courses at Las Campanas, a large real estate development outside Santa Fe, and read the list of his partners. The tournament was for the entertainment of the Santa Clara County, California, Bar Association, and a lawyer friend with whom he had done some business there had asked him to play. Eagle’s playing partners had been chosen by lot, and now he was looking for them on the first tee. A man approached him.

“Ed Eagle?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Joe Wilen, one of your partners for the tournament.” He extended a hand.

Eagle shook it. “Good to meet you, Joe. I was looking for you.”

“The others are over here. We’re fourth to tee off, I believe.” Wilen lead him to where two other men were seated on a bench, waiting, and made the introductions.

The foursome waited their turn, then teed off. They passed the next four and a half hours playing the game they all loved and then settled into the bar at the clubhouse and ordered drinks.

“I’ve heard about you over the years,” Joe Wilen said to Eagle.

“You’ve had some impressive wins in California; I’m glad my company wasn’t among your opponents.”

“Company? Are you not in a firm, Joe?”

“Until recently I was general counsel for an electronics company. You’re a pilot, I expect you’ve heard of it: Keeler Avionics?”

Eagle’s heart skipped a beat. “Indeed, I have a panel full of your equipment in my airplane.”

“What do you fly?” "A JetProp-that’s a Malibu that’s had the piston engine ripped off and replaced with a turbine.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen a couple of them at my airport. I fly a King Air.”

“Fine airplane. Tell me, how did you get involved with the Keeler outfit?”

“Oh, I met Walter Keeler right out of college-on a golf course, as it happened. When he formed the company he asked me to do the legal work, and after the business grew a bit, he invited me to become general counsel. I got in almost on the ground floor, and by the time Walter sold out, I was the second largest stockholder.”

“Good for you. I read about the sale; that was a very nice payday.”

“Indeed it was.”

“I suppose you and Keeler are close.”

“Very. I’m still his personal attorney, and I was just at his wedding.”

“I heard something about that,” Eagle said.

“You did?” Wilen asked, sounding surprised. “I didn’t think anybody knew about it yet.”

“Oh, word gets around.”

“How long have you been in Santa Fe, Ed?”

“A little over twenty-five years.”

“I’m very impressed with the place, and I was thinking about looking at some property.”

“I’d be glad to introduce you to a good real estate agent, and if you decide to buy something I’d be pleased to handle the closing as a courtesy.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Las Campanas is a good choice to buy or build,” Eagle said, “especially if you want to play a lot of golf.”

“I really like this course,” Wilen said.

“It’s one of two, and they’re the best golf around here. There’s a nice public course, and a nine-holer at another development.”

“I like the idea of being out in the country, and the views are fantastic.”

“Well, when your convention is over, why don’t you stay on for a day or two, and I’ll get an agent to set up some showings.”

“Wonderful!”

“Buy or build?”

“Buy, I think. I’m too impatient to build.”

"I’ll work on it,” Eagle said. I’ll work on something else, too, he thought.

EAGLE SAT BEFORE the fire in the lobby of the Inn of the Anasazi, a luxurious small hotel just off the Plaza, across the street from the old territorial governor’s mansion, and waited for Donald Wells to arrive from Albuquerque Airport in the car Eagle had sent for him.

At the stroke of nine, a man walked into the lobby, followed by a bellman and his luggage. He was a little over six feet tall, slender and well dressed in a casual way.

“Don Wells?” Eagle asked.

“Yes,” Wells said, offering his hand.

“I’m Ed Eagle. Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, and I’m starved.”

“Why don’t you check in and get freshened up, then meet me in the dining room. We can talk for a bit.”

“Thank you, I’d like that. Will you order something for me? I eat anything.”

“Of course. Would you like a drink?”

“Chivas on the rocks, please.”

WELLS APPEARED, looking refreshed, a few minutes later, and Eagle signaled the waiter to bring their drinks.

“I expect you’re tired,” Eagle said. “I won’t keep you long.”

“Not too tired,” Wells replied. “I had last night in New York, and I got some sleep.”

“Our food will be along shortly. I want to bring you up to date on events since we last talked.”

“Please do,” Wells said, sipping his scotch.

“The medical examiner has issued his report. It’s pretty simple: both your wife and son were killed by two.380-caliber, hollow-point gunshots to the head. They didn’t suffer.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Wells said.

“They had probably been dead for one to two hours when I arrived.”

“That means they were probably killed shortly after I received the phone call in Rome.”

“Correct. Your hotel was right; the phone call you received in Rome was from the phone in your home, probably the one in the study, since that extension had been wiped clean of any fingerprints.”

“Any sign of how they got in?”

“When I arrived, the front door was unlocked, and the alarm system was not armed.”

“That’s the way my wife would have kept the front door and alarm system during the day; she would have locked the doors and set the alarm at bedtime.”

Their food arrived.

“Something the police want to know, and so do I: A safe in your dressing room was open and empty. Had there been anything in it?”

“That’s odd,” Wells said. “How could they have known the combination?”

“Why do you say, ‘they’?”

“Just a general pronoun. I suppose there might only have been one man… person.”

“What was in the safe?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and an equal amount in Krugerrands.”

“Why?”

“Call it mad money, in case of some catastrophe: nuclear bomb, terrorist attack, whatever. There’s an equal amount in my safe in Malibu. I guess I’m a little paranoid.”

“Back to the combination of the safe: How would they have opened it?”

Wells looked baffled. “I don’t know. Safecracker, maybe? The safe cost less than a thousand dollars; it was meant to be fireproof and burglarproof, but I don’t suppose it would stand up to a professional safecracker.”

“What is the combination?”