fresh-cut flowers formed a centerpiece. From the aroma in the room, he knew Margaret had cooked up apple pancakes, one of her specialties.
'What are we celebrating?' he asked, smiling at his wife and grandchildren.
'A beautiful morning,' Margaret replied, wiping her hands on the seat of her jeans, the way she always did when she was cooking. She walked to her husband, gave him a warm kiss, and stroked his cheek with her hand.
Edgar studied her face. She wasn't hiding anything from him as far as he could tell, and she looked fine.
He loved the tiny over bite to her mouth. And her long, elegant neck was as flawless as it had been forty years ago. Margaret wore her hair in a bun the way he liked it, which was usually reserved for very special occasions.
He asked the gnawing question anyway, his worry a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach.
'How are you feeling?'
Margaret's expression changed to mild reproof.
'The question is, how do I look?' she asked, her head held high.
Margaret at sixty-five amazed Edgar. With soft brown eyes that didn't miss a trick, full lips above a strong chin, high cheekbones, and pale skin, Margaret Atwood Cox was still a beauty.
'Gorgeous,' he admitted.
'That's the right answer,' she said, patting him on the cheek.
'Now, go sit down, read your paper, and drink your coffee. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.'
'Where's Karen?'
'Meeting Phil for breakfast in Reserve.'
'Any particular reason?' he asked cautiously.
'No,' Margaret said, turning back to the stove.
'Just to visit and catch up, I imagine.'
With Cody and Elizabeth to distract him, Edgar didn't get to read the Sunday paper until breakfast was over and the dishes were washed and put away.
When Margaret went to dress for church, he sat in his favorite chair in the living room and unfolded the paper. The front page blazoned the story of a murder on Elderman Meadows. Edgar read it with interest. His curiosity quickly changed to apprehension.
He didn't know the victim. Hector Padilla, but he sure as hell knew Jose Padilla.
He got up from his chair and walked rapidly to the bedroom. Margaret stood in front of the full-length mirror, fastening her brassiere. He prayed she wouldn't need a mastectomy and that the lump was benign. And he hoped to God Jose Padilla was dead in the Silver City hospital.
Margaret saw her husband's face reflected in the mirror and turned. A small twitch at the corner of one eye telegraphed Edgar's anxiety.
'What is it?'
'I have to go to Silver City.'
'Why?'
'Business.'
Margaret slipped into her blouse, her eyes locked on her husband.
'What does that mean?'
'Just what I said,' he replied.
'Take yourself to church. Karen should be back before you need to leave.'
'Edgar?'
'Yes?' 'What kind of business?' she demanded.
'Old family business.'
Margaret took a deep breath. Edgar's phrase was the euphemism he used to talk about Eugene.
'I'll go with you.'
'I don't want you involved.'
Margaret tucked her blouse into her skirt and walked to her husband.
'It's forty years too late for that. Now, tell me what's wrong.' Edgar told her, and when he finished, Margaret wrote a note to Karen and left it on the kitchen table, so her daughter would know the clan was off for an impromptu Sunday drive and lunch in Silver City.
Church bells tolled for late Sunday services as Kerney got up and dressed. He had time before Stiles was due to arrive. He walked the quarter mile to his landlord's house, and asked if it would be possible for the mice to be removed from in and under the trailer. Doyle Fletcher, a man who looked about Kerney's age, with a suspicious, stingy face, stood in the partially open doorway, grunted in agreement, and said it would take him a day or two to get around to it. Kerney thanked him, went home, and waited for Jim, wondering why Doyle Fletcher seemed so put out.
He shrugged it off and passed the time listening to a Haydn concerto, trying not to think too much about Karen Cox. He'd gone back to his solitary lifestyle after Sara Brannon, the Army officer who had worked with him on the White Sands case, left for her new duty station in Korea. That was more than a while back, and he found himself missing her.
After Stiles showed up, they drove to Silver City hospital and learned that Jose Padilla was still in the Intensive Care Unit. A hospital security guard at the I.C.U door asked Kerney and Stiles who they wanted to see. Kerney gave him Jose Padilla's name and showed his badge. The guard shook his head and said the state police had forbidden any visitors. Kerney asked to speak to the nursing supervisor.
Eriinda Perez came to the door and inspected Kerney's badge.
'What does the Forest Service have to do with this?' she asked.
Nurse Perez, a thin, middle-aged woman with a long, narrow nose, had coal-black eyes and a rather stern demeanor. She crossed her arms and waited for an answer.
'We found the gentleman,' Stiles said in Spanish, before Kerney could speak, giving the nurse his most winning smile.
'We're interested in how he's doing.'
Eriinda relaxed a bit. She answered in English for the other man's benefit.
'Mr. Padilla will be with us for a while. He had a stroke a few hours after he was admitted.'
'Is he oriented?' Kerney inquired.
'Not to time, place, or person,' Eriinda responded.
'We have him stabilized, but it will be some time tomorrow before the doctor can determine the extent of the cerebral damage.'
'What's your prognosis?' Kerney queried.
'I'm not a doctor,' Eriinda replied.
'That's why I asked.'
Eriinda smiled.
'I'd say fair, but you never can tell. He has some physical impairment.
The right side of his body is paralyzed. He may recover from that, to a degree. With any trauma to the brain it's impossible to predict how much function can be restored. Especially at his age.'
'Has he talked about anything at all?' Stiles wanted to know.
'Names? Places? Events?'
'He calls me Cariotta. That's it.' 'His wife's name,' Kerney said.
'He told me she was dead. Has the family been notified?'
'Yes. His daughter should be here shortly. She's flying in from Mexico City. It was her son who was murdered.'
'Any other visitors?' Stiles asked.
'Just the two of you and some reporters. People may have called or asked about him at the front desk. You can check there. I've got to get back.'
'Thanks for your time,' Kerney said.
At the reception desk Kerney asked the volunteer lady if anyone had called or stopped by to inquire about Jose Padilla.
