The Survivors Club

Obscene.

Tess rubbed her arms, feeling the air conditioning cold on them.

It was just like the park.

Tess typed up what she had and added it to the murder book. She copied the new information to the report that would circulate to her superiors.

She left early. It was time to find out about the rest of George Hanley’s life—the one that seemed so normal. She would start by going over to interview the head of SABEL, a woman named Jaimie Wolfe. Jaimie’s place was on State Route 82 outside Patagonia, where Tess lived.

She stopped at the Circle K on her way out of Nogales, bought an energy bar, and roamed the tabloid racks. This time she saw something new—Max Conroy sharing a split page with an actress in a bikini, the droplets from her dip in the ocean accentuating her beautiful body. One hand held back the dark tangle of her hair and water beaded on her perfect breasts. She had exotic eyes.

The headline said, “Max’s Mermaid?”

The woman’s full name was Suri Riya, but she was one of those stars who went by one name: Suri. Her bikini wouldn’t cover a teacup Chihuahua. Make that two teacup Chihuahuas.

Tess opened the back door to the SUV and dumped the tabloid on top of the others—the Globe, Star magazine, Celebrity NOW—all of them thrown into a cardboard box. One of these days maybe, she’d get around to looking at them.

She drove out onto the highway headed in the direction of Jaimie Wolfe’s place.

CHAPTER 7

The sign out front said WOLFE MANOR PERFORMANCE HORSES and featured the silhouettes of a prancing horse and a jumper with the words ENGLISH - WESTERN - PERFORMANCE HORSES FOR SALE underneath. The property was in a natural bowl of land surrounded by the Patagonia foothills, not ten miles from where Tess lived.

Tess parked near a riding ring with low jumps. Three girls that Tess pegged to be between the ages of twelve and eighteen were riding around the edge of the ring, posting up and down in their English saddles. The horses were massive and obviously pricey—muscular animals that seemed much too large for the girls riding them. A woman stood in the center of the ring. She was as thin and breedy as a whippet. She wore vanilla-colored breeches and a black tank top that showed off her dark tan. Her long sun-bronzed hair was pulled back into a ponytail that poked through the back of a blinding white visor. Riding boots finished the ensemble—casual, elegant, and expensive.

Money.

The woman glanced in her direction, sun bouncing off her dark glasses, then turned away and yelled something to one of the girls. The girl sat up straighter and tilted her chin up. She seemed self-conscious.

The woman called out instructions for another fifteen minutes, ignoring Tess. Finally, she told them to cool down their horses and walked toward the fence. A pack of dogs materialized from the stable area—mutts and purebreds. The dogs joined up with the woman in the ring and accompanied her to where Tess stood.

“If you’re looking for the riding stable, it’s back off Highway 83,” the woman said. Tess knew Jaimie Wolfe was thirty-four years old, but she looked older. The sun had already done its damage.

“Jaimie Wolfe?”

She woman turned to look at her. “Is this about George’s death?” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “I wondered when you’d get around to me. You want some iced tea?”

Tails wagging, the dogs trotted along beside them en masse as they walked to the house. Jaimie talked as they walked. “I can’t believe what happened. He was such a nice man. Absolutely dedicated to ridding this part of Santa Cruz County of buffelgrass, and even put a lot of his own money into it. He worked like a longshoreman.”

“You mean digging out the grass?”

“Yeah, but also getting the news out. He’d give talks, he did the newsletter. Never missed a meeting, and I guess that’s why I wondered if something was wrong…”

“That would be, when?”

“Day before yesterday? Yeah, we were going to touch base. It all seems so unreal.” They stepped up onto the porch. Latticework corralled the porch and yellow jasmine gave off a heavenly scent.

“You go ahead and sit down and I’ll get us some iced tea.” She slipped through the screen door and was gone.

Tess watched the girls at the stable. One had her giant steed in a wash rack and was spraying him with a hose.

Jaimie Wolfe came back out with the iced tea, handed one to Tess, and sat down, tipping back and resting her booted feet up on the railing. “So what else do you want to know? I’ll do what I can to help.”

Tess said, “Did he talk about anything besides buffelgrass eradication?”

Jaimie cocked her head. “For instance?”

“For instance, if anything was bothering him?”

“Bothering him?” She seemed confused. “I don’t think so.”

“He didn’t have anything on his mind? Anything that might have been weighing on him?”

“No. But really, I didn’t spend that much time with him. Just the SABEL stuff.”

“By the way, do you have a list of SABEL members?”

Jaimie said, “Yes, but it’s on my computer. Give me your e-mail address and I’ll send it to you.”

“Did he get along well with everybody on the SABEL board?”

“From what I could tell, yes.”

Tess looked into Jaimie Wolfe’s eyes. “You know how he was killed?”

Jaimie looked away. “I saw it in the paper today—I can read between the lines. Awful.” She shuddered. “I can’t imagine who would do something like that. Nobody I’d know.” Abruptly, she stood up and yelled at one of the girls. “Don’t let him do that! If you’re not careful, he’s going to step right on your foot. Put your boots back on until you’re done with him. Flip-flops, for fuck sake!” Turned back to Tess. “You’re asking if he had any enemies? Let me think. He took the spread of buffelgrass very seriously.” She launched into a description of how the invasive, flammable African species came to the country, leaving the Sonoran Desert susceptible to wildfires. “Everything could go up, and fast,” she said, waving at the golden hills around them. “He was a true believer. He was also worried about his daughter and his son-in-law. He thinks—thought—they’re headed for divorce.”

Tess said, “Have you met them?”

“A couple times. That was enough for me.”

“What do you think of Bert Scofield?”

“What I know about Bert Scofield is that he came on to me. It was at one of our get-togethers we had here at the ranch about three months ago. I was in the kitchen and he kind of had me trapped between the door and the kitchen table.”

“What did you do?”

“I stomped on his instep. And I told him if he pulled that crap again, I would tell his wife.”

“What was his response?”

She shrugged. “He said he was gonna leave her anyway. He also said she didn’t care.”

“How would you characterize his relationship with his father-in-law?”

“I only met them socially, they weren’t the least bit interested in SABEL or anything that didn’t include eating—the two of them really put it away, a pair of greedy-guts—and I noticed she was sneaking leftovers from the spread into her purse. I didn’t say anything, because I loved George. I felt so sorry for him.”

“Why?”

“He pulled up stakes to come here to be near her. But she always seemed like a sour old ingrate, to me. Hate