Dead Man's Rules (6 page)

As sheriff, he believed in reality. Like Diego Diaz in his black Escalade. He couldn’t be detained without a reason but Naldo’s acquaintance with the man was surprising. In his years as a police detective, Rafe learned to sense when someone was hiding something. Diaz fit that bill.

Trouble waiting to happen.

So was Cere Medina and her crazy ideas about Marco Gonzales.

Chapter Six

“Exile! I swear we’re in exile.” Cere guided the rental car northwest along a two-lane highway. “They may call it New Mexico, but the truth is we’ve been banished from civilization. When was the last time we saw a car?”

Freeda studied the passing countryside. “There weren’t that many on the interstate.”

More than an hour ago they had turned off northbound Interstate 25 onto the state road that led toward Rio Rojo. They passed through towns nestled in rows of canyons surrounded by parched, rocky hills dotted with scrub brush, ground hugging cacti, juniper and piñon trees. The towns consisted of boarded up buildings, sprawling discount stores and fast food places linked by rows of aging brick houses, newer low profile stucco homes and scattered mobile homes. The hills were populated by cows, scrawny horses, and a few goats. Overhead hovering buzzards circled as they patiently waited for their next meal. Every so often they passed a small cross by the side of the road, surrounded by fading flowers. A ridge of mountains outlined in blue rose along the distant horizon.

Cere pounded a fist on the steering wheel, unable to contain the frustration that had gripped her for two days. “I should go back. File a protest. Alan can’t suspend me.”

Freeda sighed. “I wondered how long it would take you to start up again. You’re not suspended. You’re on vacation.”

Cere pressed her lips together, her muscles tensing. “I’m in exile.
Scope
gets the glory of a major scoop, Audrey gets a great new gig, you get job offers, and me? I get sent on vacation. Alan as good as told me to leave town or I’d be suspended.”

“It’s only for two weeks.”

“You know why they did it. Richard Waverly is personal friends with the network CEO. They play golf together, I hear.”

Freeda’s voice grew bored. “And I’ve heard all this about twenty times. You knew there would be repercussions when we followed the limo. You said so.”

“I didn’t know Waverly and his lawyer would try to get me fired for interrupting their beautiful family moment. Hah! Any tourist from the street could have gotten that picture of the kid and his dad.”

Throwing up her hands, Freeda squirmed in her seat until the car shook. “Enough! How many times are you going to go through it? They sent you on vacation. I say, enjoy it.”

“I can’t afford to. They could still fire me. Well, I’m not giving up. I’m going to work that Marco story and return with something outstanding. Alan called me the Queen of Chaos. Can you believe it?”

“Everyone calls you that. They just don’t do it to your face.”

“At least he seemed interested in the Marco story. He might pay my salary if it pans out.”

“Old news,” Freeda said in a sing song voice.

“Did I tell you he told me to look around for Hollywood connections? Lots of stars are buying up land here. How could anyone
choose
to live here?”

“
Tia
Lottie likes it.” Freeda twisted to look out the window and heaved a big sigh. “Dad saw something in it. There’s a strange beauty.”

Cere’s frustration dissipated at the sound of her cousin’s voice. How insensitive could she be? Of course Freeda was thinking of her dad.

They entered a narrow canyon lined with craggy sandstone walls. Only the winding two lane road and a rushing creek between thickets of cottonwood and spruce trees fit between the imposing walls.

“Do you remember living here with Uncle Joe?” Cere asked.

“I remember the commune. It has always seemed weird that your mom’s family lived so near my dad but they didn’t meet until they went to school in Los Angeles.”

Cere knew the story from her mother, but she doubted Freeda’s dad ever explained it. “I think it’s why they became friends at UCLA. Both were from New Mexico. When my dad started dating Mom they set up Uncle Joe with his sister.”

“Dad’s commune isn’t far away. It’s near the Colorado border.” Freeda tapped a postcard against her knee, probably the card she’d received a month ago from Uncle Joe.

Where was he now? Still in New Mexico? Was that why Freeda insisted on coming? To look for her father?

“Maybe we can go up that way before we go back.”

“Maybe.” Freeda’s normally animated face grew glum as she glanced at the card. For all her openness, she never wanted to discuss why her father took off and disappeared. Maybe it was time to change the subject.

“I don’t remember this place much at all,” Cere said. “We only visited one time and my memories are of that dance hall. At least I’m no longer having spooky dreams.” Three dream-free nights had convinced her that seeing the picture had triggered the unpleasant memories from her childhood.

“But you’re going to do the story.”

“Oh, hell, yeah. I called Gary Riggins, who wrote the article, but he’s on assignment in Mexico. I left voice mail and talked to his assistant. I brought my video camera so I might have you shoot my interview with him and the sheriff—if he talks to me.”

A laugh burbled from Freeda. “You think he’ll agree after our drunken phone call?”

Cere wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. “It was your idea. He knows Mom, but I don’t think he told her. I kept waiting for a lecture.”

“Won’t happen. She’s just thrilled you’re coming.”

“I had to get out of town. Take a vacation…” She stopped, as Freeda tilted her head toward her and gave her a warning look. Cere waved her hand. “Okay, I just remember this place scared me last time when we went ghost hunting. Thinking back, it had to be because of that stupid kid who told the ghost story. I think he got a charge out of scaring us.”

“I had a crush on him. Ten years old, and I thought he ought to notice me.”

Cere rolled her eyes, but she joined in Freeda’s quick laughter. “Me too. He was my first crush, except I don’t recall his name. All I remember was that he had the longest, curliest eyelashes I’d ever seen.”

“His name was Chico.”

“So much for first love.” She waved at Freeda’s purse. “Write down that name. We should look up good old Chico.”

“He’s probably bald and paunchy with five kids.”

Cere reached out and punched her cousin on the arm. “That would be your first thought. If he’s still sexy. I don’t care how he turned out. Maybe he’ll take us to see the hand again.”

Freeda punched her back. “Naturally that would be your first thought—the damn story.”

Cere guided the car around a rocky outcropping and relief swept through her as the road dipped down a hill to a wide green valley dotted with houses.

“Well, look at that. A rusty welcome sign with what looks like bullet holes. Looks like we made it.”

On first glance, Rio Rojo didn’t appear any more welcoming than the fading sign. It spread across the valley between sandstone-topped mesas. The town was a conglomeration of paved and gravel streets with small squat buildings that looked like they had been tossed there by some careless giant playing a game of build-a-town.

Freeda put away the postcard and sat up straighter, interest shifting. “Small town, USA. Obligatory junkyard, followed by a cemetery. Wow, look at how tiny it is. And no grass.”

“Lots of flowers, though,” Cere said. “I wonder if that’s where Marco is buried.” At Freeda’s frown, she turned her attention in another direction. “Look, an old drive-in. It hasn’t been used since the 80’s. ‘Top Gun’ was the last movie to show.”

The center of town arrived quickly as the highway transformed to Main Street, a wide avenue that hosted a cluster of sandstone and brick buildings—none higher than two stories. Many of the store fronts were empty with wide, dusty windows. Faded facades above the functioning stores bore faint reminders of former owners. An old grocery store building advertised hardware, and what looked like a converted burger stand housed a real estate office. A theater marquee with missing letters offered showings of a movie that was two months old.

“Shades of 1960,” Freeda said with a good-natured laugh. “It’s like we drove through a time tunnel in that canyon or we’re on a tour of the back lot at Universal Studios. If we turn down a street, we’ll discover the fronts being held up by two-by-fours. Marco transported us to the
Twilight Zone
while he was haunting your dreams.”

“I don’t see the shops, bistros, or galleries Alan mentioned.” Cere craned her neck as she drove by each side street. “I promised Audrey silver and turquoise earrings. I doubt I’m going to find anything here.”

“There’s a Walmart.” Freeda pointed at a wide lot leading to the big box store. The lot held more cars than they’d seen since leaving the freeway. “They’ll have postcards and T-shirts.”

Cere grimaced at the scene. “If this story doesn’t pan out, maybe we can convince Mom to go to a spa in Santa Fe.”

“The ghost won’t like that.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re leaving town.” Cere pointed at another junk yard followed by open prairie. “You better call Mom and find out where we turn.”

“I thought you printed a map.” Freeda twisted toward the back seat to find Cere’s purse.

“I think I misplaced it when I was printing out the map on how to get to the Palladium.”

Freeda sank back onto her seat. “So we have a map on how to get to the story location, but no idea how to get to your mom’s house?”

“Something like that,” Cere snapped. She knew what Freeda was thinking. She was more interested in the legend of Marco than visiting her mother. “Call her.”

Freeda picked up her cell phone, squinted at it and waved it impatiently. “Still no service. It’s been that way since Albuquerque.”

“Even in town?” Cere pulled over to the side of the road to make a U-turn and stopped. “Hey, I remember that sign. Lockhart Lake. With the cabins and the big trout? We saw that sign when we were headed up toward the Palladium that night.”

“You remember that?” Freeda asked, her voice filled with amazement.

Cere’s heart began to pound as excitement pulsed through her. “That means it’s somewhere on this road. You want to go there before we head to the house?”

“You didn’t want to do that story and now you’re all over it like gangbusters.”

“I need to do something big. I want to be able to call Alan with some ideas and get taken off suspension. Don’t you see how important that is?” Cere stiffened and she clenched the wheel as her insides twisted. “My suspension could end up being dismissal.”

Freeda blew out a heavy sigh. “Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s do it.”

“The directions are in the side pocket of my bag.”

Twisting in her seat, Freeda picked up the bag and removed the map along with the folded up copies of the newspaper articles. She studied the printed page.

“Looks like it’s five miles out.”

She pulled the car back onto the road. “Good. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

“In the meantime,
Tia
is waiting lunch and I gotta pee.”

“You can go in the bushes. You’ve done that plenty of times before.”

The far side of Rio Rojo was only slightly different from the canyon entrance. The creek reappeared as a wide flat river on one side. Small houses and mobile homes dotted the other side. Some properties had corrals with horses and cows, old weathered barns or chicken coops. Tiny front lawns were bordered by gravel driveways filled with pick-ups and old cars.

After five miles only a sagging overhead sign and a narrow line of parallel tracks indicated the turn off for the dance hall. The sign carried the faded letters “Pal di m” grooved into gray wooden boards. Amid Freeda’s protests, Cere jerked the rental car to the right. It bounced over dirt and gravel bordered by thin wispy grass.

“We’re not getting off,” Freeda protested. “I really have to pee.”

“This whole thing was your idea and you’re wimping out? Afraid we’ll run into Marco? I just want to look around.”

“I’m not scared. Oh, hell, let’s go. Maybe there’s an outhouse or something.”

“It’s gonna be a big story.” And if it wasn’t, she’d find a way to make it important.

They bounced along at least two miles before a large, long building came into view. It sat forlorn and deserted near a huddled group of cottonwood trees. Its sagging rock structure was exactly like the picture in the newspaper. Cere could also see the slanting roof was rusting and the wooden boards of the front entrance were dusty and gray. Boards covered the line of windows. She stared at it, calling up memories from their youthful visit. That night it rose against the dark sky like a hulking monster. Now it hunkered like a wounded animal. She pulled the car to a stop in a gravel parking lot.

“I’m gonna pee behind that bush,” Freeda said and launched herself from the car.

Cere moved slower, stepping out and stretching to ease the stiffness caused by the long morning drive. The dry air hit her like a hot, sharp slap across the cheeks, though its warmth felt good on her legs after the car’s air-conditioning. “I’m going around back,” she called. “I remember that’s how we got inside.” Cursing at the uneven ground and the rocks that she could feel through the thin sole of her sandals, she rounded the building and drew up short. A man sat on the edge of a slanting stone wall that bordered the stairs up to the building’s veranda.

Was that a ghost? Her ghost?

He jerked to his feet at the sound of her footsteps, looking as discomfited as she was.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“I’m sorry… I thought this was public…”

He was tall, lanky, wearing a beaten up black cowboy hat and Oakley sunglasses, even though he stood in the shade. His jeans looked new and the boots resembled the snakeskin designer type Alan wore. His bolo tie had a huge shiny black rock at its center. Onyx?