A Black Place and a White Place

by Patrice Greenwood

  Now I understood the sign, and I understood something more. In the dark, the pale arroyo would have appeared to lead straight into that fence. Could Wesley have stumbled into it, or even across it?

  But there was the sign. He must have seen that, even if he didn’t have a flashlight. The moon hadn’t been full, but it had been bright. Could he have been so stubborn and defiant as to ignore such a clear warning?

  “We can go back, ma’am, if you’re ready,” said Deputy Trujillo gently. He was standing beside Tony. I hadn’t noticed his approach.

  I looked at him, wanting to explain what I’d just understood, but unable to pinpoint its significance. It just felt important, maybe because it hadn’t occurred to me before.

  “I was just looking at that sign,” I said.

  Trujillo nodded. “Yeah, that’s old Ezra’s. His land’s the other side of that fence.”

  “Is he the ... the miner?”

  Trujillo gave a soft laugh. “He’d like to be, if he could find something to mine. So far he’s just been tearing up his land.”

  I looked back at the rockfall. Had it been caused by a human? If so, he was either very strong, or very persistent.

  “There’s no gold in these hills,” said Milagro, still standing where he had sung. He looked up at the sky, then turned and started walking back toward the ranch.

  We all followed.

  By the time we got back it was past noon. Lunch would be underway in the dining hall. I was hungry, thirsty, and footsore, but immeasurably glad that I’d witnessed Milagro’s singing. I thanked him, stumbling over my words of gratitude. He just nodded.

  “You needed it too,” he said.

  His dark eyes held my gaze for a long moment. “Spirit friend,” he said, so quietly I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. Then with a small smile he turned to talk to Trujillo.

  I looked at Tony. Had he heard?

  “Hungry?” he said.

  I sighed. “Starving.”

  “Let’s get lunch.”

  The dining hall was subdued. Of the football crowd, only Flag Hat Guy was present—sans hat, for once—at the far end of a table by the windows. There probably wasn’t a game on; it was Monday, a holiday, at midday. Maybe the others were sleeping off the previous night’s excitement.

  Or maybe most of the weekend guests had left. This was a vacation spot after all. I’d almost forgotten that Tony and I were here on vacation. Ostensibly.

  Lunch was burritos, with cornbread on the side and green chile stew at the soup station. I skipped the salad bar, promising myself I’d be more virtuous at dinner time. The Roans were not in the hall. Tony and I chose seats at the middle of a table near the fireplace. Though the fire had been allowed to die down, there was still some residual warmth, and the smell of pine logs burning.

  “Has Mrs. Roan texted you?” Tony asked.

  I checked my phone. “No. Why?”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  What now? I thought it, but didn’t say it.

  Watching the comings and goings in the dining hall, I noted that some of the guests were heavily bundled in winter gear—they looked more like hunters than tourists—and wondered if they were camping. There was a campground on the ranch, though January didn’t seem to me to be an ideal time.

  I finished my cornbread, and considered getting another piece as I ate the last of my stew. Every time someone came out of the cafeteria line I looked up, hoping to see Lisette and Jeremy. No sign of them yet, but I did see Deputy Trujillo emerge from the line with a plate. He added a bowl of stew and a cup of coffee, then spied us and came over.

  “Can I sit with you?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Tony said. I smiled and nodded.

  Trujillo flashed me a grin as he sat across from me. Trusting for a cop; it placed him with his back to the room. Tony and I were side by side, facing the main entrance. Maybe Trujillo was counting on Tony to cover him.

  “Got tired of those turkey sandwiches,” he said, picking up his cornbread.

  “Have you seen the Roans this morning?” Tony asked in a low voice. No other guests were near us.

  Trujillo shook his head, chewed his mouthful, and swallowed. “I talked to her on the phone,” he said quietly. “She doesn’t know anything about a will.”

  Tony leaned back in his chair. “What about the lawyer?”

  I gave him a questioning look.

  “Lawyer was Roan’s business manager,” Trujillo explained to me, then he looked at Tony. “Talked to him, too. Far as he knows there’s no will. He’d been trying to pin Roan down and get him to make one.”

  No will. Poor Lisette! Another mess to deal with.

  “What will happen?” I asked.

  “Texas law says the kid gets half, wife gets half,” Tony said.

  Well, it could be worse. I watched Tony and Trujillo, trying to get a read on them. Were they still suspicious of Lisette?

  “Have you interviewed Flag Hat Guy?” I asked, glancing in his direction.

  Trujillo gave me a confused look.

  “Cartwright,” Tony said. “Yes, they did. He’s got an alibi—the football game. He and his buddies were in the cantina all evening. Jeremy confirmed that, so they can be grateful to him.”

  Damn. Who did that leave?

  The cowboy trail guides. I didn’t much care for them, especially Ted, but it really was unlikely that he’d have chosen to hang his victim where the tour guests might spot him. There was his partner’s absence, but maybe there was an explanation there.

  “Did you talk to any of the staff?” I asked. “The stable staff?”

  “Yep,” Trujillo said. “Talked to all of them. They were all in the Staff House Saturday night, playing poker.”

  Damn.

  What if they had made a posse, and agreed to the poker story as a group alibi? No—that was too far-fetched. And as far as I knew there were hoofprints from only one horse at the scene of the hanging.

  Regretfully, I abandoned the stable staff as suspects. Who was left? I thought back over the last couple of days, all the people I’d met or observed, trying to recall any anomalies. Lots of people had seemed annoyed by Wesley, but which ones had exhibited extreme behavior?

  “Ezra,” I said, thinking aloud.

  Trujillo gave me an interested look. “Why? He never met Roan.”

  I shrugged. “He’s so angry about protecting his land.”

  “That’s just how he is,” Trujillo said. “Been like that forever, but he’s never done any harm. He’s all bark, no bite. Worst I ever heard of was he fired his shotgun in the air at one of the ranch hands, and a couple of spent balls rained down on them.”

  “When was that?” Tony asked.

  “Four, five years ago. He got hauled into court, ranted a little, paid his fine and that was that.”

  “No remorse?”

  “I wasn’t here at the time, but I think he convinced the judge he was sorry.”

  I frowned, thinking about Ezra. I’d seen him in Bode’s Sunday afternoon, buying canned goods. Stocking up for the storm.

  “How far away is his cabin?” I asked. “I heard the trail guides saying they hadn’t seen him.”

  “That’s not unusual,” Trujillo said. “He’s really a recluse. Comes out for a meal now and then, but mostly keeps to himself. I guess we could do a welfare check.”

  “You interviewed him about the crime?”

  “Romero sent someone over and asked him to come in. Ezra cussed him for his trouble.”

  “But did he come?” Tony asked.

  Trujillo looked as if he was just realizing he might have missed something important. “I’ll have to check Romero’s notes. I was out talking to ranch staff most of the day Saturday, after we spoke to you,” Trujillo said, nodding to me.

  “There’s Lisette!” I said, as I saw her coming out of the cafeteria line with Jeremy. They headed for the soup station.

  “I’ll go check whether Ezra came in,” Trujillo said, standing and
picking up his plate. He stuffed the last of his cornbread in his mouth as he strode away.

  I looked at Tony. Cop face; impassive.

  OK. Trujillo must be leaving it to us to talk to Lisette. He and Tony must have agreed to that. Was Tony counting on my friendship with Lisette to get her to be more open?

  Well, if he was, I intended to help her show him her innocence.

  Having served herself a bowl of stew, Lisette turned and scanned the room. I gave a small wave when her gaze crossed mine, and she smiled, then headed our way with Jeremy following.

  “I’ll get us some coffee,” Tony said, standing. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Just cream,” I said.

  The Roans made their way over to our table. “Hi,” I said as they arrived.

  Lisette took the chair Trujillo had vacated. Her shiner was already less noticeable. Besides the chile stew she had a plate of salad and a piece of cornbread.

  Tony returned with the coffee, nodded to Lisette, then sat down and kept his eyes on his plate, methodically cutting small bites of his burrito. Trying to be invisible, I thought.

  Jeremy’s plate held two burritos, which he had smothered in red and green chile sauce from the condiments table. Having tried some of both with my own burrito, I knew that they were pretty spicy. His drink, I noted, was a large glass of soda.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of chile,” I said. “Did you taste it?”

  “It’s Christmas!” Jeremy said, picking up his knife and fork.

  Lisette looked at me. “He saw one of the ranch hands doing it that way,” she said. “That’s what they called it: Christmas.”

  “Red and green,” Tony said, without looking up.

  “Do you like spicy food?” I asked, but Jeremy had already taken a large bite. As I watched, his eyes widened, and he hastily gave his mouthful a couple of chews, then swallowed and reached for his soda.

  “You might not want to—” I began.

  “Aaaaahh!” Jeremy said after one pull at the soda.

  I jumped up and dashed to the coffee and tea station, grabbed a pint of milk from the refrigerator, and hurried back. “Drink this,” I said, handing the milk to Jeremy, who was fanning his open mouth with his hands.

  He took a big swig, and after a few seconds calmed down. Gasping (a trifle dramatically), he continued to drink the milk until it was gone. Lisette quietly set his plate aside, and when he’d finished his milk, offered him her cornbread. He accepted this, and nibbled at it.

  “Thank you,” Lisette said to me.

  I smiled ruefully. “Sorry I wasn’t quicker.”

  “It’s OK.” She looked at her son. “Now he knows to taste things before taking a lot of them.”

  Tony coughed, and took a deep pull at his coffee. I glanced at him, suspicious, but if he was concealing amusement he did it very well. He caught me looking, finished the last of his burrito in one larger-than-usual bite, and stood.

  “Be right back,” he said, picking up his empty plate and heading toward the kitchen. He grabbed Jeremy’s burritos on his way.

  I looked at Lisette. “I hope your morning wasn’t too awful.”

  She shrugged. “It’s going to be awful for a while,” she said softly.

  Jeremy looked up at her with sad eyes. She put an arm around him for a shoulder hug.

  “Feeling better?” she asked him.

  He nodded, and took another small bite of cornbread. Lisette smiled at him, a sad smile, but not a broken one. This horrible weekend, I realized, was the beginning of a better life for them. I didn’t want to think about what life with Wesley had been like. I’d seen more than enough to know it had been unhappy and probably frightening. Life without him might be challenging, but it would be better.

  “Did you do something fun this morning?” Lisette asked me.

  “Ah—” I said, wondering how to describe the excursion with Trujillo and Bernardo Milagro. Deciding it was better not to, I simply said, “We went for a walk in the snow.”

  Lisette nodded, and flashed a small smile. “It’s beautiful. I’d love to paint it.”

  “You could sketch it,” I suggested gently.

  She met my gaze, and for a moment her chin trembled, then she took a breath. “Yes,” she said. “I think I will.”

  Tony returned, carrying a plate with two pieces of cornbread, and a wrapped ice cream bar. He set the plate beside Lisette, and handed the ice cream to Jeremy, who commenced tearing it open at once.

  “Where’d you find that?” I asked. “I didn’t see them.”

  “I asked one of the cooks if they had any ice cream.”

  “That was kind of you,” Lisette said. “Thank you.”

  Tony smiled. “De nada.”

  “What do you say?” Lisette said to Jeremy.

  He paused in destroying the wrapper to look up at Tony. “Thank you,” he said meekly.

  “You’re welcome,” Tony told him. He picked up his mug. “Anyone want coffee?”

  Lisette’s head rose, then she glanced at me.

  “I’m fine,” I said, lifting my mostly-full mug. My coffee was lukewarm, but that was all right.

  Lisette looked at Tony. “Yes, please.”

  “How do you like it?” Tony asked.

  “Black.”

  As will sometimes happen, the word rang out into a moment of silence in the hall. Lisette looked flustered and frozen simultaneously, like a deer in the headlights. Tony nodded and went away to the coffee stand.

  “Do you have a favorite painting of O’Keeffe’s?” I asked Lisette, to fill the silence.

  She gave me a grateful look, and nodded. “I’ve always liked New York with Moon, because it reminds me of New Orleans, but I think my favorite is From the Plains I. What about you?”

  “A favorite? I’m not sure ... so many of them are wonderful. I adore the datura paintings. I think she called them jimson weed.”

  “Like the one she did for Elizabeth Arden?”

  “Yes. But I think ... actually, my favorite may be Black Place III.” I lowered my voice a little, to avoid another awkward moment.

  Lisette gave me a long, steady look, then nodded. “Yes. I like that one, too. It resonates with so many different things. Did you notice that the gray and red hills around here are like the ones at the bottom of that painting?”

  “No!” I tried to remember the painting, but that detail had not leapt out at me. “I know the hills you mean, though. There’s more of that formation just to the east. Now I want to look at the painting!”

  “I’ve got a picture of it in a book in my room, if you want to come see,” Lisette said.

  “Thanks, I’d like that.”

  Tony returned with a mug of coffee for Lisette, and sat beside me with his own mug. Lisette gave him a brief smile.

  “Thank you.”

  Tony nodded, then raised his head, looking past her. I followed his gaze and saw Flag Hat Guy approaching.

  Now I felt like a deer in the headlights. What could he want?

  My heart started racing with fear for Lisette’s safety. I tried to tell myself it was irrational, but there was a chance it wasn’t. What could I do to protect her, if need be? Throw my coffee in his face?

  But Tony was here. Tony would take care of us. I sensed his readiness.

  “Ma’am?”

  Flag Hat had come around to stand by the empty chair next to Lisette. She looked up at him, rather haughtily.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your husband.”

  Lisette’s face was a formal mask. She blinked once, and a swallow moved her throat.

  Flag Hat shoved a hand in his pocket. Next to me, Tony stiffened. The hand came out holding a wallet, and I was able to breathe again.

  Flag Hat pulled a wad of cash out of the wallet and put it on the table next to Lisette’s plate. “I won this off your husband in a bet,” he said. “I want you to have it.”

  It was twenties. There had to be at least five hundred dollars in that stack, I thou
ght.

  Lisette’s gaze was fixed on the money. “Keep it,” she said finally. “You won it fair and square.”

  “I did,” Flag Hat said, “but I don’t feel right keeping it, after what happened.”

  “Then donate it to the ranch,” Lisette said.

  Silence. No one moved for a long moment, then, “All right, I will,” said Flag Hat Guy quietly. He picked up the money but did not return it to his wallet. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said, and his other hand went to his brow, where the brim of his hat would have been. He glanced at me and Tony, then quietly walked away, toward the west doors to the hall, where there was a donation box.

  Lisette closed her eyes, her brow drawn into a furrow of grief. Jeremy watched her with anxious eyes. Tony and I remained silent. I glanced up in time to see Flag Hat stuff the money into the donation box before leaving the building.

  “You OK?” Tony asked softly. He was talking to Lisette.

  She opened her eyes to look at him, swallowed again, then nodded.

  “Shall we give you some space?” I asked.

  “No, please stay.”

  Jeremy leaned over to whisper to his mother. She nodded, and he got up. I watched him head for the restroom.

  Lisette took a sip of coffee, then looked at Tony. “I’d like to leave today,” she said, a note of challenge in her voice.

  “We’re still trying to locate a will. Can you think of anyplace Mr. Roan might have stashed one?”

  “Wesley didn’t write a will,” she said.

  “How can you be sure?” Tony asked. “He might not have told you about it.”

  She fixed him with a hard stare, then picked up her mug with a sigh. “Wesley couldn’t read.”

  12

  Couldn’t read?” I echoed, astonished.

  Lisette nodded. “He was illiterate. He could recognize a few words, could sign his name, but ...” She shook her head. “I paid all the bills, ran the household, talked to the business manager. And I read every contract before I let him sign it,” she added fiercely.

  My mind went back to the arroyo, to a flash of blue and white. “My God. Tony, he couldn’t read! He wouldn’t have understood that warning sign! What if he left the arroyo and stumbled into those rocks in the dark? He could have fallen....”