there was a lawyer with her.”
Dashee was looking baffled.
“Did Tuve know her?” Chee asked.
“He seemed as surprised as you do,” Mrs. Sosi said. “But he walked right out with her. Climbed into the car she was driving.”
“What kind of car?” Chee asked. “Going where?”
“She said she was staying at the El Rancho Hotel. The car? It looked like one of those Ford sedans Avis rents out at the airport.”
“I can’t believe this,” Dashee said. “I think we better go find him.”
Chee held up his hand. “This lawyer with her. Was he in the car, too?”
“Just her and Tuve. And this other fella, I don’t know he was a lawyer. He just came in earlier. Big blond guy and he said he came from Tuve’s family, but he sure wasn’t no Hopi. Just said he wanted to talk to Tuve about getting money put up for his bond. The deputy took him back there awhile, and pretty soon he came out and said thank you, and went on out. That’s the last I saw of him.”
“But he was with the woman?”
She shook her head and laughed. “We don’t get an awful lot of out-of-town traffic in here, so I just connected them. Both interested in getting Tuve out. But I don’t know,” Mrs. Sosi said. “Now I sort of doubt it. He was gone before she got here. I never saw them together.”
“Let’s go,” Dashee said. “Come on. Let’s go talk to Tuve. Find out what this is all about.”
The ride up Railroad Avenue to the El Rancho was a splash through a rain mixed with occasional flurries of popcorn-size hail.
“What do you think, Jim?” Dashee said. “What sort of mess has the silly bastard got himself into? I can’t think of a thing he could do that would make him worth that much money to anyone.”
“You think maybe he actually did shoot that tourist shop operator?” But Chee answered his own question with a negative head shake. “No. That wouldn’t add up. Wouldn’t make somebody in New York come out here to buy him out for that much money.” He shook his head, thinking. “I was wondering who that man was. You have any ideas about that?”
“I don’t. Billy didn’t shoot anybody,” Dashee said. “Billy was a good kid. Not the brightest bulb in the house after he got his head hurt. But he never quit being nice. He used to ride in that rodeo for kids. Did calf roping. Then his horse fell on him when he was twelve or so. Rolled over his head. Skull fracture. Longtime coma. The whole thing. And when he finally got out of the hospital, he wasn’t quite right anymore. To tell the truth, he was sort of retarded even before that. But he was always a good boy.”
“Didn’t change his personality?”
“Seemed like it made him even better. He did things for everybody. Kept firewood cut for his neighbors. Didn’t make trouble even when he was drinking. And I think he might have quit that drinking.”
“Remember what we got together to talk to him about?” Chee said. “About that expensive jewel. I think all this must have something to do with that damned diamond.”
“Probably,” Dashee said, and produced a dour chuckle. “And Tuve told me that thing was a phony. He said he knew everybody thought he was dumb, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that was a real diamond.”
The El Rancho Hotel had been built in the long-gone golden days of Hollywood movie studios. One of the big names in the industry had financed it to house the stars and production crews making the cowboy-and-Indian films that filled the theaters in the 1930s and ’40s. Despite some refurbishing, it showed its heritage. Its walls were still lined with autographed publicity photographs of the Hoot Gibson/Roy Rogers generations, and its atmosphere was rich with old and dusty glamour.
“Yes,” the desk clerk told Dashee. “A Ms. Joanna Craig. She has 201. We call that the Clark Gable Suite. You want me to ring her for you?”
“Please,” Dashee said.
“No, wait,” Chee said. “You know how Joanna loves surprises. What’s the suite number again? We’ll just go up and knock.”
Dashee was looking puzzled as they went up the stairs.
“What was that all about?”
“I’m just being cynical,” Chee said. “Thought we’d surprise her. Who is this woman, anyway?”
Suite 201 was on the second floor, on the corridor overlooking the hotel lobby. Through the door came the faint sound of conversation. Chee knocked. Waited. The door opened. A small blond woman in a trim dark blue suit stood looking at him, then past him at Dashee, expression stern.
“I thought you were room service,” she said. “Who are you?”
Chee was reaching for his identification. “And I presume you are Ms. Joanna Craig,” he said.
“You’re a policeman,” she said.
“I am Sergeant Jim Chee,” Chee said, and showed her his identification folder.
“And I’m a cousin of Mr. Tuve,” Cowboy said. He waved at the young man sitting slumped in an overstuffed chair by the window and said, “Good to see you, Billy. How you doing?”
The man returned the gesture, with a happy grin of recognition.
“I would ask you in,” Joanna Craig said, “but Mr. Tuve and I are engaged in a conversation. It’s business.”
“We have business, too,” Chee said. “Police business.”
