A Black Place and a White Place

by Patrice Greenwood

  “Don’t be mad,” he said in my ear.

  “I’m not.”

  “You sure?”

  I took a breath. “Remember what you said about them that first morning? How he didn’t respect her?”

  Tony glanced toward the casita. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m asking for your respect. If I think you ought to know something I know, I will tell you. Trust me.”

  Tony held me at arm's length, gazing at me. “OK,” he said finally.

  We walked up to the casita. Tony knocked on the middle door, and I called out, “Lisette? It’s Ellen and Tony.”

  The door opened after a brief pause. Lisette, sans shades, looked cautiously out. In the shadows, her shiner was hard to detect.

  “We thought you might like company walking to dinner,” I said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Jeremy’s still sleeping.”

  “Well, we could bring something back for you both.”

  “Or you could bring something back for him,” put in Tony.

  She hesitated, then opened the door wider. “Come in. I’ll write him a note in case he wakes up.”

  The room we entered was a sitting room or a small living room, with a sofa, an arm chair, and (to my surprise) a television—a new, large, wide-screen. I wondered if Wesley had actually brought it with him, or more likely, gone to Española and bought it when he found out there wasn’t a TV in the room. If so, he’d have been disappointed. No cable here, no satellite, probably not even decent reception with a good old-fashioned antenna.

  Lisette sat down in the arm chair with a notepad, leaving us the sofa. I noticed a large pad of art paper with a large box of pastels on top of it, sitting neatly on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  So this was where she’d last seen her husband.

  Where she’d last been hit by him.

  How long had he been hitting her? She hadn’t seemed cowed, like a woman who’d suffered long-term abuse, but then she was very good at hiding her feelings.

  I watched her write, noting the long, elegant movements of her hand. Her face was calm now. She was relaxed, I realized. Maybe for the first time since I’d met her.

  No, she hadn’t seemed cowed, but she’d been tense. Tense and bitter. And resigned? I’d thought so ... but Tony had persuaded me to doubt.

  Until she invited us in. That wasn’t the act of a guilty soul.

  Maybe I wasn’t any good at this. My heart seemed to be getting in the way of detached observation.

  She finished her note and stood. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said softly as she disappeared through a door in the side wall. Apparently, the room could be combined with the neighboring one. Had the Roans taken all three units in this casita? That would have given them a bathroom to themselves, I realized. Extravagant, but then, that fit with what I knew about them. About Wesley, particularly.

  Tony poked at the art supplies. I glanced around the rest of the room, seeking any other object that would give a clue to the personalities of the Roans. All I saw were the kind of decorations we had in our own room.

  Lisette returned, carrying a dark green scarf, a long, leather coat, and a cream-colored knit cap. “Still asleep,” she said, pulling the hat on low and wrapping the scarf high. She put on the coat and headed for the door. Tony and I hastened to follow.

  “Thank you,” she said as we started down the path. I noted she was wearing the same low-heeled boots she’d worn for the trail ride. The heels were pretty narrow: not spikes, but sort of a skinny French heel. Not the best shoes for slippery footing. As she minced down the hill, arms in the air for balance, I kept an eye on her, ready to offer a steadying hand.

  “Thanks,” she said when we reached more level ground. Her breath fogged in the evening air.

  The snowflakes were lighter now, I realized. Still falling steadily. On the ground, we were up to a couple of inches.

  As we neared the dining hall, the snow was packed down by multiple footprints, coming in from all directions to form one line outside the cafeteria door. A couple of people a few steps ahead of us opened the door to go in, emitting light and a yummy baking smell.

  I saw movement in the darkness to my left and froze, on alert. Beside me, Lisette halted as well, and whispered, “What?”

  The moving shapes resolved themselves into deer. Lots of deer. I counted eight before I lost track. They crossed the road about twenty feet from us, heading for the open field. The last one was a young buck, with six antler points. He paused and stared back at us, looking offended, before following his herd into the field.

  “Wow,” Lisette said softly.

  “You haven’t seen them before?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I wish Jeremy had seen them.”

  “Maybe he’ll get a chance.”

  We entered the cafeteria line. Warmth, light, wonderful food smells. Happy voices chatting, and the staff smiling as they kept the food trays full. I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them in a pocket, then took a plate.

  There was pizza along with spaghetti and meatballs, and the perennial salad bar. A kitchen worker slid a fresh tray of pizza into place, cementing my choice. Salad on the side.

  We moved out into the dining hall, and I dressed my salad with a nice homemade vinaigrette from the condiments table. A gentle hubbub of voices filled the room. There were plenty of empty seats, and a fire was roaring in the fireplace at the far end. I would have headed straight there, but I glanced at Lisette.

  She was standing still, staring at the fireplace. Memories of yesterday, I figured. Then she swallowed and looked at me.

  “Where would you like to sit?” I asked.

  She nodded toward a table in the middle of the room. Tony headed for it at once, and we set down our plates. Lisette chose a seat with her back to the fireplace, and I took the one beside her, while Tony sat across the table.

  “I’m going to get a hot drink,” I said. “Can I bring you something?”

  “Coffee,” Tony said, picking up a piece of pizza.

  Lisette joined me and we both picked up mugs. I spotted packets of instant cocoa, which looked good except I knew it would be too sweet. I thought about coffee instead, then grabbed a cocoa packet, emptied half of it into a mug, and added coffee. Instant mocha!

  “Oooh, that looks good,” Lisette said. I offered her the rest of my cocoa packet, and she made her own mocha. I filled a mug with coffee for Tony and we returned to our table to chow down.

  Loud, male voices issued from the food line. I looked up and saw Flag Hat Guy emerge from the line carrying two large, foil-wrapped packages. The pudgy guy and the gossipy tanned guy were with him, also with takeout. Flag Hat set down his packages to fill a thermos mug with coffee while the other two argued about who would win The Game. None of them looked our way.

  I became aware of Lisette sitting stiffly, arms clamped to her side, gaze on her plate as she swallowed. Maybe it was just the presence of men who had argued with her husband. Maybe it was the loud voices. Whatever it was, she relaxed a bit when they headed outside with their boxes.

  “Guess there’s an important game tonight,” I remarked.

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “I might go watch for a while.”

  Lisette drew a breath, then picked up her pizza and took a bite. I stabbed a forkful of salad.

  “I’m not much of a football fan,” I remarked. “Too violent for me. Always has been.”

  Lisette gave me a grateful glance. I smiled back.

  “Lisette, do you like wine? I have a bottle, if you’d like to share it. I could bring it to your room if you want to get back to Jeremy.”

  She paused, frowning slightly. “I do drink wine,” she said finally. “But I don’t like drinking around Jeremy. I’m trying to set a good example.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  “You see,” she said, and paused to swallow, “Wesley was an alcoholic.”

  An alcoholic who owned three bars? Ay, yi yi!

 
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Never mind the wine. I can bring the tea kettle, if you’d like.”

  She managed a smile. “Thanks. I would like that.”

  I met Tony’s gaze. He gave a little nod of approval.

  I finished my salad before eating my second piece of pizza. As I picked it up, I saw the two cowboys—our trail guide and his buddy—take seats at the next table.

  Ted. That was the trail guide’s name. He sat with his back toward us.

  The other one had been out sick that morning. He looked fine now, as he tucked into a large plate of spaghetti.

  Could Ted, or his partner, be the killer?

  No, I thought. Awfully ballsy to hang a guy and then lead a trail ride within fifty yards of the body.

  Unless that was a bold strategy for appearing innocent.

  I took a swallow of mocha, feeling like I wasn’t very good at this detective stuff. I seemed to get mired in a welter of conflicting conjecture. How did Tony manage it?

  “I’d better get back,” Lisette said. She had finished her single slice of pizza and small salad. “I need to get some dinner for Jeremy,” she added as she stood and picked up her plate and mug.

  “I’ll come with you,” I said, and stuffed the last bite of my pizza into my mouth.

  Tony remained, placidly finishing his meal while we turned in our dishes. Lisette returned to the food line, which was short now, and asked for takeout pizza for Jeremy. I glanced at the dessert—a platter of cookies, each large enough to choke a horse. Too sweet, I decided, but maybe Jeremy would like one. I suggested this to Lisette, who agreed and added a cookie wrapped in a paper towel to her takeout. We returned to the dining hall, where Tony was just rising from the table.

  “I’ll walk you back,” he said, picking up his plate.

  We bundled up and headed out with our burdens. I paused at the Ghost House to collect the tea things and mugs, stuffing them all into a canvas bag. Lisette and Tony were waiting by the cottonwood trees, and as I rejoined them I glanced up into the branches, listening. All I heard was the sighing of the wind.

  We headed up the hill to Lisette’s casita. “I’m gonna check on the game,” Tony told us at the door. “Text me when you want to leave, and I’ll come walk you back,” he added to me.

  The offer wasn’t necessary, but it was kind. He was keeping an eye out for me as well as for Lisette. He kissed my frozen cheek, his breath warm, his smell enticing.

  Lisette opened the door. The casita was silent. She and I went in, setting our burdens on the coffee table. With a wave, Tony pulled the door shut.

  I unpacked my canvas bag and found a plug for my travel kettle while Lisette went through the door into the next room. Her voice, speaking softly, and Jeremy’s groggy response reached me from the depths of the casita. I filled the kettle and set it to boil, then set up the teapot with some peppermint teabags I had nabbed from the dining hall. Lisette would need to sleep well that night.

  As the kettle boiled, Lisette and Jeremy came in. Jeremy looked tired and sad, but brightened at the sight of the pizza. I set the tea brewing, then joined them in the sitting room.

  “Hi, Jeremy,” I said. “I’m Ellen, remember?”

  He nodded, mouth full of pizza.

  “Guess what?” I said. “It’s snowing! Do you get much snow in Houston?”

  Jeremy shook his head, eyes wide, then looked toward the window.

  “We’ll look at it after you’ve eaten,” Lisette said.

  Jeremy swallowed. “Is there enough to make a snowman?”

  “There might be by morning,” I said.

  Jeremy looked at his mother with a blinding smile, then went back to the pizza.

  Wow, I thought. What a great kid.

  No way could he have killed his dad. No way.

  I hated to think it, but there might have been times when he wished he could kill Wesley, or just stop Wesley. But this boy was too sweet, I thought, to actually commit such a crime.

  Not to mention the impossibility of his hoisting Wesley into a tree. Even together, he and his mother wouldn’t have the strength to hang that man, much less subdue him. Not that I considered either of them a likely suspect.

  My timer went off, and I poured tea for Lisette and myself. We drank, chatting about the weather in Houston and in New Mexico. Jeremy asked shyly if it snowed in Santa Fe. I told him it did, and asked if he’d ever seen farolitos.

  “Faro-what?”

  “Farolitos. Some people call them luminarias. They’re paper bags, like a lunch bag, with a bit of sand in the bottom and a candle.”

  “Oh! Luminaries!”

  Ugh. “Yes,” I said, smiling.

  “We have those. But they’re plastic, not paper.”

  I explained the tradition, and described how streets all over Santa Fe were lit with farolitos on Christmas Eve. Jeremy turned to his mother, excited.

  “Can we go to Santa Fe next Christmas?”

  “Maybe,” Lisette said. “We’ll see.”

  Jeremy was so excited about the snow that he actually postponed devouring his giant cookie in favor of going outside. His mother gave permission as long as he bundled up first, so we all put on our coats and hats and stepped out into the snow, which was about three inches deep now.

  Good thing Tony and I hadn’t tried to drive to the Abiquiu Inn. Getting back in this would have been Not Fun.

  We stayed in the arc of the casita’s porch light. Jeremy played with the snow, running it through his gloved fingers, then trying to make a snowball. It was too dry and powdery, and fell apart in his hands. In the morning it might be better, when things were a little warmer.

  I wondered how the football game was going. Had Tony picked up any clues? Had he been sucked into watching the game? God, I hoped he wasn’t a big-time fan. The prospect of being a cop’s wife was bad enough without the added risk of becoming a football widow.

  Well, there was always tea.

  My thoughts drifted to the murder. Plenty of people had a casual interest in shutting Wesley up, but did any of them really have the nerve, the means, and the opportunity to kill him? Lisette (and Jeremy) had the strongest motive, but the least likely means. Jeremy, at least, had an alibi. And I was certain, just from their personalities and their behavior, that they were both innocent.

  Who, then, had killed Wesley? Could Tony’s speculation that it was a hit job be right?

  Except what professional assassin would stage a murder out in the boonies, and bludgeon the victim and shoot him full of buckshot before stringing him up? If it was a hit, it was a very odd one.

  There was one factor I’d left out, I realized as I watched Jeremy play. Hate crime.

  A crime that made no sense, at least to me. Maybe Wesley had been killed, not because he was obnoxious, but simply because he was black.

  I looked at Lisette, her face soft as she watched her son. If the murder was strictly a hate crime, then they were both at risk. Which was why Tony and Deputy Trujillo were being watchful.

  And the killer could be anyone. Anyone at all. How could we know which of the guests, or the staff, at Ghost Ranch carried that kind of hate in their hearts?

  And to top it all off, I realized, the Roans were Texans.

  New Mexico and Texas had hated each other for centuries. I had grown up with Texas jokes, thinking they were normal. It wasn’t until I went away to college that I realized that not everyone in the country told Texas jokes. And what expressed itself in jokes nowadays had been open warfare not so very long ago. In Captain Dusenberry’s time, Texans had invaded New Mexico. Even now, every few decades, some nutjob organization—usually extremist and heavily armed, but fortunately small in number—tried to claim that New Mexico belonged to Texas.

  Texans, black and female (in Lisette’s case) or underage (in Jeremy’s). Unfamiliar with New Mexico’s culture and customs. The deck was seriously stacked against them.

  Movement to the side made me turn and peer toward the parking lot. A solitary figure w
as approaching. I watched, ready to shout an alarm, until I recognized Tony’s shape. He joined me and stood watching Jeremy, who was making a design in the snow with his footprints. Lisette glanced at him and he gave her a smile.

  “How’s the game going?” I asked.

  Tony shrugged. “Nothing special. Texans are getting whomped.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  Lisette did not react to this news. She seemed to be as uninterested in football as I was.

  Jeremy came up to us, breathless and glowing. “Hi, Mr. Aragón! Will you help me make a snowman?”

  Tony brushed at the snow with a foot. “Not with this stuff. It’s too dry. But you could make a snow angel. Ever done that?”

  Jeremy shook his head.

  “I’ll show you.”

  So Lisette and I watched Tony and Jeremy lie down in the snow, sweeping it with their arms and legs. Following Tony’s lead, Jeremy hopped up, peered at his handiwork, and laughed with delight, then found a fresh spot and flopped down in it to make another.

  Tony joined me, brushing snow from his arms and legs. I helped, brushing off his back. He grinned at me. “Haven’t done that in a long time.”

  “That’s enough for now,” Lisette called as Jeremy got up again and began to range farther from the light to find fresh snow. “You can do some more in the morning.” She brushed down her son, then led us all inside, where I put the kettle on again. My toes and fingers were chilled, and I hadn’t even been playing with the snow.

  I shed my coat and draped it over the desk chair. Jeremy pelted Tony with questions about how to make a snowman.

  “I need a carrot, and coal for the eyes, right? Where do I get coal?”

  “It doesn’t have to be coal, Tony said. “You can use rocks, or prunes.”

  “Prunes?” I said.

  “Yeah, Abuela used to give us prunes to use. Old ones that had dried out.”

  Lisette and I both laughed. Jeremy asked, very seriously, where he could get prunes.

  “And I need a scarf, right? A scarf and a hat? And mittens?”

  “Not necessarily,” Tony said. “You can keep it simple. Couple of sticks for arms.”

  “Or you can get creative,” I told Jeremy. “Maybe tomorrow morning you can go on a scavenger hunt for what you need. I bet the kitchen staff would give you a carrot.”