through.'
Kerney pulled himself out of his chair with a rueful look on his face.
'In the morning,' Andy ordered, holding up a hand.
Kerney nodded.
'Yeah. In my current state, I'd just have to read them all over again anyway.'
'Go home. Better yet, get a home.'
'Hetcher would be heartbroken to know that you don't approve of my living arrangements.'
'Hetcher may not want you staying in his guest quarters for the next couple of years.'
'I doubt the investigation will last that long.'
'I didn't make you my chief deputy to work one case. As soon as we get through this mess, I'm going to fill your plate. There's a hell of a lot of work we need to do in this department.'
'Don't try to shanghai me for the long haul, Andy.'
'You're in for the duration.'
'We'll just have to see about that,' Kerney noted as he left the office. carlos found De Leon in the living room, sitting in his favorite chair, reading some papers. The patron was dressed to go out. He wore a lightweight camel hair jacket, a silk shirt buttoned easily at the collar, and a pair of charcoal trousers.
Carlos hesitated before entering. The preserved head of a fighting bull, famous for its performance in the Plaza de Toros in Mexico City, looked over the room from above the fireplace. It glared at Carlos forebodingly with its glass eyes. He composed himself and walked toward De Leon Enrique waited for Carlos to draw near.
'A sus ordenes, Don Enrique,' Carlos said.
'Ingles,' Enrique snapped.
'Speak English.'
'I am sorry, patron,' Carlos said, lowering his head slightly. 'I am at your service.'
'That's much better. Are the men in the guest quarters?'
'They are. With orders to stay out of sight until instructed otherwise.'
'Very good.'
'Do you have orders for them?' Carlos asked.
'Not yet. Why do you look so troubled, Carlos?'
'Because I failed to completely destroy the van, Don Enrique.'
De Leon flashed a reassuring smile.
'No blame attaches to you. Palazzi's stupidity created the circumstance.
You did all that I asked to correct the situation.'
'But now you are exposed to Kerney,' Carlos replied.
'It is Kerney who is at risk. You must complete the dossier on him. I want to know where he is the most vulnerable.'
'Do you wish to kill him yourself?'
'I may allow you that privilege.'
'I am glad that you still retain confidence in me, patron.'
'As always, Carlos. Go now. You have work to do.'
Carlos departed with the feeling that he might soon be a dead man lifted from his shoulders. plbtchbr's reputation as an artist who sold his work at high prices had given him sufficient cachet to arrange a late dinner meeting at the clubhouse with the exclusive broker who worked for Rancho Caballo. The broker had a visitor's pass waiting for him at the security gate.
He met her in the lobby. She was a cheery, perfectly dressed young woman with a big hairdo that framed her glossy face and cascaded down to her decolletage.
She oozed with the desire to find the perfect Rancho Caballo home to meet his every need.
Over dinner, the woman patted his hand and talked about the host of contractors who could build a house exactly to his specifications if there was nothing available that he liked.
The food and service were excellent and the large number of dinner guests surprised Pletcher. He had expected far fewer people. He knew not a soul, nor did he want to. But it was dear that the rich had made Rancho Caballo a haven from the rigors of the outside world.
The dining room had a California decor, with two walls of windows that looked out over the golf course, where the lights along the golf cart paths cast a glow over the fairways. A fireplace crackled with cedar and pinon logs, and a series of wrought-iron chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling. The paintings on the wall were mundane pastel watercolors that Fletcher's trained eye had immediately dismissed as bogus hackwork.
'Do you plan to sell your home in town?' Heather Griffin asked as she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. Fletcher could see the wheels turning as she contemplated the possibility of two fat commissions.
'Oh, I suppose my accountant will insist on it, if I decide to buy in Rancho Caballo,' he replied.
'Rancho Caballo is blessed with many talented people,' Heather crooned.
She named two prominent entertainers who owned vacation homes.
'You would fit right in.'
'An elite community in every way, I'm sure,' Fletcher said, eyeing a tableful of richly dressed young matrons wearing squash blossom necklaces, concho belts, and turquoise earrings.
'The ambiance must draw them here.'
'Exactly,' Heather replied gaily.
'I suppose it would be best to have one broker handle the sale of my house and the purchase of a new one.'
'That's the most efficient way,' Heather agreed as she leaned forward to give Pletcher her pitch.
Half-listening, Fletcher nodded and smiled every so often to keep her talking. His visit to Rancho Caballo, which Kerney would most certainly reproach him for, had yielded nothing. He had hoped to come away with something useful. He eyed the young woman across the table and thought what a nice warm blaze it would make if all Santa Pc realtors were burned at the stake, the fires fueled by the catalogs, brochures, and marketing material they spewed out to attract potential buyers. Next summer's annual city fiesta would be the perfect time to do it.
After dinner, Pletcher made his excuses and said good night. He arrived in the lobby just as Bucky Watson entered with a male companion-one of the unidentified guests in the O'Keefie benefit photographs.
He approached Watson with a smile, hand outstretched.
'My dear Bucky, how are you? It's been so very long since I've seen you.'
'I'm fine, Pletcher,' Bucky answered, shaking Hartley's hand, a little perplexed by the cordiality. He knew the old queer didn't like him.
'Who is your friend?' Pletcher asked, turning to look squarely at the man for the first time. He was definitely Hispanic, perhaps in his mid to late thirties, with a fair complexion, blue eyes, and curly light brown hair.
'Vicente Fuentes, meet Fletcher Hartley,' Bucky replied.
'Pletcher is one of our living treasures.'
'Ah,' De Leon said.
'I have heard of this custom.
Your city honors elders who have contributed their talents to the community. It is an admirable idea.'
'I've enjoyed the distinction,' Fletcher said.
'Have you been with us long in Santa Pc, Senor Fuentes?'
'I am only an occasional visitor,' De Leon answered.
'I believe you've met a friend of mine, Frank Bailey.
At the O'Keeffe benefit last month.'
'I don't recall the name,' De Leon said.
'I've met so many people since I arrived, it is hard to keep everyone sorted in my mind.'
'Of course. Perhaps I am mistaken,' Fletcher said.
'Perhaps,' De Leon replied. He touched Watson's back in a signal to move on.
'Good night, Mr. Hartley.'
'Good night, Senor Fuentes.'
