Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Dead

“I filled out an application and sent it to Chief Sams.”

“I see you’ve had it for some years,” Rivera said, checking the date on the license, then returning it to Eagle. “It’s an interesting gun,” he said. “Tell me about it.”

“It was made by a gunsmith named Terry Tussey, who lives and works in High City, Nevada. One of his specialties is making small, lightweight.45s.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve seen photographs of his work. How much does it weigh?”

“Twenty-one ounces, empty. I would be grateful if you would return it to me as soon as your investigation will allow; it’s an expensive weapon, and I don’t want to lose it.”

“I’ll see that you get it back as soon as it’s released.” Rivera handed the gun to Riley. “All right, Mr. Eagle. Our preliminary investigative conclusion is that this was a legal shooting, so we won’t be arresting Ms. Wilde, unless evidence to the contrary emerges.”

“Thank you. I should tell you that Ms. Wilde and I plan to fly to Santa Fe tomorrow, where we both have residences.” He handed Rivera his card. “You are welcome to speak with her by telephone, through me. If you require her presence in Los Angeles, I’ll bring her back within twenty-four hours of the request. In the meantime, anything you can legally do to keep her name out of the press would be very much appreciated.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can. Mr. Eagle, do you always travel armed?”

“I always have a weapon in my luggage, and sometimes I wear it. I fly my own airplane, so I don’t have to deal with airport security.”

“Did you have some particular reason to be wearing it on this trip?”

“Yes, I think my ex-wife wants to kill me.”

“I read about the trial,” Rivera said. “It seems that, between you and Ms. Wilde, you have an abundance of murderous ex-spouses.”

“An overabundance,” Eagle said, “until today.”

The body was removed, and Eagle saw the two detectives out. The bloodstain on the carpet was the only evidence of what had occurred.

Eagle went into the bedroom to check on Susannah. She was lying on the bed, sound asleep.

BARBARA EAGLE/ELEANOR WRIGHT regarded her new auburn-colored, artfully streaked hairdo in the salon mirror and nodded. Even if she was no longer wanted by the police, she thought it a good idea to have a different look. Half the country had watched her trial on Court TV and the evening news, and she had no wish to be recognized. It was time to learn whether she would be.

She left the salon, went into the very chic El Rancho shop and tried on bikinis, selecting two, along with some suntan lotion. Her new, slimmer figure was shown to great advantage by the tiny swimsuits. She went back to her suite, got into a bikini, grabbed a robe and headed for the pool. It was nearly lunchtime, and she was getting hungry.

She selected a chaise at poolside, and a waitress materialized a second or two later. “May I bring you something, Mrs. Wright, or would you prefer to choose from our low-fat buffet?” she asked, indicating the setup at the end of the pool.

“Thank you,” Barbara replied. “I’d like a turkey club sandwich on rye toast with real, honest-to-God bacon and mayonnaise and a Bloody Mary.”

“Of course, ma’am, but I’m afraid it will be a virgin Mary, since we don’t serve alcohol.”

“All right, all right,” she said, and the young woman vanished.

There were some magazines on the table next to her chaise, and she had begun leafing through a Vanity Fair when she saw a man come from the direction of the rooms and drop his robe on a chaise two down from hers. He appeared to be in his late forties, but his hair was almost entirely gray; he was tanned and fit-looking, with a flat belly and well-developed musculature.

Barbara pointed her eyes at the magazine and used her peripheral vision. The man walked past her to the diving board, stretched a little, then performed a perfectly executed dive into the pool. He surfaced and began swimming laps, moving easily and gracefully through the water.

The waitress arrived with her sandwich and began setting up the table beside Barbara.

“Who is the gentleman in the pool?” Barbara asked.

“Oh, that’s Mr. Walter Keeler,” the young woman replied. “He was widowed recently and has been with us for the last month or so, resting and toning up.”

It’s working, Barbara said to herself. “What does he do?” she asked.

“I believe he sold his company not long ago-some sort of electronics, I think.”

“Thank you, dear,” Barbara said, signing the check and adding a crisp twenty from her purse.

“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” the young woman said. “May I get you anything else?”

Barbara wanted to say Yes, get me Mr. Walter Keeler, but she restrained herself. “No, thank you, dear.” She busied herself applying suntan lotion, while surreptitiously following Keeler’s progress with his laps. He must have swum fifty, she thought, because she had finished her club sandwich by the time he got out of the pool.

He looked toward her as he passed, smiling and nodding. She rewarded him with a small smile, then went back to her magazine.

He stood, drying himself with a large towel. He toweled his hair dry, then ran his fingers through it. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said.

She turned and looked at him, affecting surprise. “Sorry?”

“The weather, it’s lovely.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, it is.”

“It usually is up here. It’s cooler than in Palm Springs, what with the elevation.”

“Have you been here long?”

“A month tomorrow,” he replied.

“That’s a long stay.”

“You must have just arrived; I haven’t seen you before.”

“Yes, just last night. I just felt like getting away for a few days.”

“Away from where?” he asked.

“I’ve been staying in Los Angeles with friends. I came out from New York last month.”

“Is New York your home?”

“I’ve just sold my apartment there,” Barbara said, “and I haven’t decided where I want to alight.”

“You sound free as a bird.”

“I suppose I am,” she said. “It’s not quite as much fun as I thought it would be. I lost my husband a few months ago, and I thought a change of scenery might help.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “I know how you feel, because I lost my wife recently. I suppose I’m footloose, as well; I sold my business after her death, and I haven’t decided yet where I want to live.”

“Where were you living before?”

“In Palo Alto. I had an aircraft electronics business there.”

“A pleasant place?”

“Yes, it is, but I’d like to get away from the Silicon Valley crowd. I’ve been thinking about San Francisco.”

“Such a beautiful city.”

“Yes, it is. Oddly enough, I’ve spent very little time there, even though I’ve been living close by for more than fifteen years.”

“Where else are you considering?”

“Oh, I thought about Seattle, but there’s such a lot of rain there. The cool summers in San Francisco appeal to me.”

“I know what you mean; I’ve never liked the heat much.”

Keeler put down his towel. “May I join you?” he asked, indicating the empty chaise next to her.

“Please.”

He settled onto the chaise. “Lunch?”

“I’ve just eaten, thanks.”

“I hope you don’t mind watching me eat.”

“Not at all.”

He ordered a sandwich and a virgin Mary. “I haven’t gotten used to the no-alcohol rule, though I suppose it hasn’t hurt me. I’ve lost nine or ten pounds since I got here.”

“You look great,” she said, “but a man should have two drinks a day, according to the latest medical studies.”