Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Dead

“I think we’ll decide that after seeing Mrs. Wells’s will.”

“We will be happy for Mr. Wells to authorize his attorneys to give you a copy of the will, even though we do not know its contents.”

“How soon?” Martínez asked.

“I’ll call them today,” Wells replied.

“What else can we do for you, Bob?” Eagle asked.

Martínez looked at Reese, who shook his head.

“Have his attorneys fax me the will,” Martínez said, handing Eagle his card. “That will be all for the present.”

“Bob,” Eagle said, “is Mr. Wells a suspect in this case?”

“Let’s just say that he remains a person of interest,” Martínez replied.

“I would prefer it if you would couch that in more positive terms when you speak to the press,” Eagle said.

“I’ll just say that Mr. Wells has not been charged. Will he be available in Santa Fe if we have further questions?”

Eagle looked at his client. “Don?”

“My wife expressed a wish to be cremated and have her ashes scattered on our property in Santa Fe,” Wells said. “I can stay for a few more days, until that is accomplished, but then I must return to Los Angeles for business reasons. I have just finished shooting a film in Rome, and I must begin the postproduction process, if I am to make our release date.”

“When will the bodies be released?” Eagle asked.

“Today, I should think. All right, Mr. Wells, you may return to Los Angeles, but I would be grateful if you would be available by telephone.”

“Of course,” Wells said, handing Martínez his card. “And I want to say how grateful I am for your and Detective Reese’s efforts in the solution of this crime.”

Everyone shook hands cordially, and the visitors left.

“What do you think?” Wells asked when they were gone.

“You did well,” Eagle said.

“They didn’t ask whether I was having an affair, as you did.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll ask everybody else you know.”

“Do you think I’m a suspect?”

“Right now, you’re the only suspect.”

EAGLE SPENT THE remainder of the morning working on briefs and meeting with clients. Just before lunch he had a phone call from Joe Wilen.

“Good morning, Joe.”

“Morning, Ed. I’ve decided to take you up on your offer to introduce me to a real estate agent.”

“I’d be delighted to. What is your cell phone number?”

Wilen gave it to him.

“You’ll hear from an agent with French and French, named Ashley Margetson. She has an outstanding knowledge of the market, and I’m sure she can show you properties that will interest you.”

“I’ll wait for her call,” Wilen said.

BARBARA/ELLIE WIPED Walter Keeler’s genitals with a hot facecloth, eliciting a happy groan, then pulled the sheet up to his chin. She walked outside, sat down and used her cell phone to call Jimmy Long.

"Hello?”

“It’s Barbara.”

“Eleanor! How are you? Your car arrived a few days ago. What was that all about?”

“I flew off to San Francisco with a gentleman,” she said.

“That was fast work.”

“You heard I was acquitted, that I’m a free woman?”

“I did.”

“I’m sticking with the Eleanor Wright identity, though. Will you go see our friend in Venice and tell him I need a certified copy of my birth certificate? I want to get a real passport and driver’s license.”

“Sure, babe.”

“I’ll reimburse you, of course.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just turned my new film over to the studio and got a very nice check. What do you want me to do with your stuff?”

“Get rid of it all. Sell the car and keep the money. That will make us more than even. Give the clothes to the Salvation Army or something; I already have a new wardrobe.”

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“Are you sitting down? Stand by to be further amazed: I was married in San Francisco the day before yesterday.”

“Holy shit! Are you kidding me?”

“I kid you not. I am, at the moment, on my honeymoon at a beautiful hotel in the Napa Valley.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“His name is Walter Keeler.”

“Hang on. I know that name, don’t I? From the Wall Street Journal, maybe?”

“You have a good memory, my dear. He sold his company- Keeler Avionics-a while back?”

“God, yes, I remember. He walked away with a bundle of money, didn’t he?”

“He walked away with a busload of money.”

“Man, you are something else!”

“We have a new apartment in San Francisco; got a pencil?” She gave him the address and phone number. “I’ll let you know when I get a new cell phone.”

“Well, baby, I hope this doesn’t mean we can’t fuck each other from time to time.”

“From time to time,” she said, laughing. “I won’t forget you.”

“I’ll send you the pink slip for the car to sign, so I can sell it.”

“You can mail me the birth certificate, too, and as soon as possible, please. I have to run now, sweetie, but I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll send you the birth certificate pronto. Take care!”

She hung up and sighed. Soon she would be legally documented again, and there would be no stopping her.

A DAY AFTER Joe Wilen’s call, Eagle received another.

“Hello, Joe.”

“Ed, I found a place, and it’s just perfect. I talked it over with my wife, and she’s all for it, so I want to proceed to closing. The house is empty, and it’s all cash, so I guess all I need is a title search.”

“Give me the details, and I’ll get that taken care of immediately. When do you want to close?”

“Do you think we can do it tomorrow? I want to get it done before my wife has second thoughts.”

“Tell Ashley to set it up at my office late tomorrow afternoon, and you’ll be home in that King Air by bedtime.”

“Will do.”

Eagle noted the details of the property, gave Wilen his account number for wiring closing funds and said good-bye. He called the title company and got the search started; they would do it quickly for him.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, Ellie and Walter were having lunch at Galiano Vineyards with the owner, Emilio Galiano, an old friend of Walter’s. He made some of the best wines in Napa, wines that people lined up to buy well in advance of their general release.

“I must say, Walt,” Emilio said, “you have outstanding taste in wives.”

“You bet your ass I do,” Walter replied.

“You’re sweet, Emilio,” Barbara said. “Walt, what would you think of buying a little vineyard in Napa? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Fun?” Galiano asked. “It’s bloody hard work, is what it is.”

“I’ve been trying for years to get Emilio to sell to me,” Walter said, “but he enjoys teasing me too much about how willing he is to sell.”

“I’m not playing with you,” Emilio said. “I might just sell. You know, I’ve been training my winemaker for eight vintages now, and he’s very, very good.”

Walter sniffed his glass and tasted the wine. “I cannot but agree. Your kids aren’t really interested in running the place, are they, Emilio?”

“Well, the girls are busy raising my grandchildren, and I have no sons, so…”

“Name a figure,” Walter said. To his surprise, Emilio named a figure.

Walter made a sucking sound through his teeth. “Woooo… you really think it’s worth that much, Emilio?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I do, Walt. Of course, that includes the acreage and the house. Besides which, I wouldn’t sell it for less. That price is only for you, because I know you won’t kick me out of my winery until you’ve sucked me dry of knowledge about how to run the place.”