Santa Fe Mourning

by Amanda Allen

  “Hello, Dr. Cole,” she said.

  “Mrs. Alwin.” He took his hand from the pocket of his white coat and held it out to shake hers. It was warm and firm, a few calluses along the base of his long fingers. “I was hoping to see you again one of these days. I’m glad it was so soon.”

  He was glad to see her too? A warm glow seemed to spread over her cheeks at the thought. She reminded herself why she was really there and pushed away that tiny touch of heat. Surely, maybe, there would be time for that later?

  “I thought you would call me Maddie,” she said.

  He laughed. “You said only your friends call you Maddie.”

  “I do hope we’ll be friends,” she said. “I could certainly use one right now.”

  His expression changed, became serious, like the sun vanishing behind the mountains. “Are you ill? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No, no, I’m very well. But I could use your professional opinion on a matter.”

  He glanced around at the bustle of nurses and patients around them. “Shall we walk outside? You can tell me all about it.”

  “I don’t want to take you from your work too long.”

  “It’s time for my lunch anyway.” He offered her his arm and led her outside, back into the bright sunshine.

  They strolled along the gravel pathways that wound around the croquet lawn and a patch of grass where a group of ladies in fluttering white gowns did stretching exercises. It all seemed so peaceful, so far away from what had happened. Dr. Cole’s presence, quiet and steady, made her feel calmer as well, able to think a bit more clearly.

  “I have to say I’m intrigued to hear what brought you out here, Maddie,” he said. They sat down on a bench under a large cottonwood tree with a gorgeous view of the mountains, all purple and gray and blue in the distance. “I was rather hoping you’d invite me to one of your parties at La Fonda. Your friends sound like a fascinating bunch.”

  Maddie thought of people like Gunther and Olive and laughed. Yes, they were a riot. “They are that, certainly. And of course, you are welcome, at any time at all. But today I—well, I need to ask a favor, Dr. Cole.”

  “Only if you call me David. That’s only fair if I call you Maddie.”

  She smiled. “Yes, David.”

  “Now what’s your favor?”

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit complicated.” She quickly told him all about the Anayas, of her friend Juanita and what had happened to Tomas, the fact that now the police were looking for Eddie.

  He listened to it all with a thoughtful frown, nodding, never interrupting as men so often seemed to do when a woman was speaking. “I’m sorry for Mrs. Anaya then. I was a medic in the war, you know, and met too many ladies in just such a terrible situation, losing their menfolk unexpectedly. What can I do to help?”

  “I remembered you said you had a friend who sometimes worked as coroner here. Is it a man called Dr. McKee?” she asked.

  “Yes, that’s him. We met in the war. I only saw him briefly when I arrived here.”

  “The inspector says he’s gone to Las Cruces and the autopsy can’t be done until he gets back, so of course the body can’t be released for burial. Juanita is quite upset she can’t take him back to the pueblo in time for the correct rituals. It would be one less thing for her to worry about since Eddie is still missing. I was wondering—could you possibly do it?”

  He seemed to think this over in silence for a moment. “If the police agree, of course I’ll do it. I’ve done such things in England before.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Maddie cried. “I know she will feel a tiny bit easier once the funeral rites are properly over.”

  “You may have to be patient for a couple more days, Maddie. Some of those tests take a bit of time, even with recent medical advances.” He rubbed at his beard. “Tell me, did you see the body yourself?”

  Maddie shivered as she remembered that terrible, still figure in the alleyway. “Only for a minute. It was very dark, and I—well, I’m afraid I felt a bit ill.”

  “Perfectly understandable.” He briefly pressed her hand. “I sometimes feel sick myself, even now after the war.”

  “I do remember there seemed to be a great deal of blood in the alley. Not so strange, I guess, if the police think it was a beating.”

  “A beating? Not a stabbing or shooting?”

  “They didn’t say anything about that. I didn’t see a single wound, though like I said, I didn’t look too closely.”

  David frowned. “So much blood. He probably wasn’t just dumped there then. But the hotel was busy that night?”

  “Oh, yes. There were loads of people in the lobby and the restaurant.”

  “And no one heard anything?”

  “I had only just arrived. I was in the ladies’ necessary when I heard the maid scream. I’m afraid most people were already a bit tiddly and noisy. No one goes back to that part of the hotel much.” Maddie thought of the maid’s screams and the boy who walked her past later.

  “And there’s nothing on the other side of the alley?”

  She shook her head. “Not for a few blocks. Across the street in the other direction is the chapel and the school of the sisters. It was all dark when I walked past on my way to La Fonda.”

  “Strange. It must have been an awfully noisy and messy affair.”

  “Oh, yes,” Maddie said, feeling rather dim she hadn’t thought of that herself. She had to find a way to talk to some of the staff, the only people with reason to be near the alley. Or maybe a guest with a window facing that direction or something. Surely the inspector should be looking there instead of at innocent boys?

  “Is there anything else you remember?” David asked.

  Maddie closed her eyes and forced herself to remember that night, details she might have missed. It had all happened so fast, in such a blur. But there was one thing . . . “When they were carrying the body away, his hand fell from under the sheet. It was an odd color.”

  “Odd?”

  “Yes. I don’t have even a bit of your medical experience, but I did do some Red Cross volunteering when soldiers were shipped back from the war, and then during the flu epidemic. I saw a few bodies. His skin looked grayish already, but the nails were almost purple. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in either.”

  “Fascinating,” David said quietly. He had a faraway look in his blue eyes, and Maddie knew it was same look she got sometimes when she was painting. Thoughts whirling away in another world. “When can we get started then?”

  “Your patients . . . ?”

  “I’ll ask one of the other doctors to cover them for a couple of days. It sounds as if there might be something going on with your murder case, Maddie.”

  “My murder case?”

  “Well, ours now, I suppose. We’ll have to figure it out together. Can you give me a ride back into town?”

  Maddie rather liked the sound of that word—ours. We. She hadn’t been a “we” in so long. “Of course. My car is out in the front drive.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Maddie watched him hurry back into the hospital, and she went to wait for him by the Duesenberg. She was very curious about what he might be thinking about Tomas’s murder, what clues he might find. Between his medical knowledge and her social contacts in town, maybe they could figure something out. It seemed like the police might look no further than poor Eddie.

  David met her at the car within half an hour, a tweed jacket replacing the white coat and a valise and medical case in his hands. “Is this beauty yours?” he asked, running an admiring hand over the Duesy’s cream-colored hood.

  Maddie laughed. She had never thought she could be jealous of a car! “I wish it was. It’s my friend Gunther’s car, though he seldom drives it.”

  “Now that is a pity.”

  “It is indeed. Want to see how fast it goes?”

  He needed no more urging. He tossed his bags into the back and jumped into the passenger seat. Maddie slid her dark glasses back
onto her nose, started the car, and sent them flying back down the road into Santa Fe.

  It was an exhilarating ride, with them talking about New York and London over the purr of the engine. She left David at the hospital behind the cathedral, but before going home and having to give up the Duesy, she decided to stop at the post office to see if any mail had yet to be delivered that day. She was expecting a parcel of art supplies ordered from New York and maybe another scolding letter from her mother.

  There were no boxes waiting behind the counter, just two letters. One was from her cousin Gwen in California, no doubt full of movie star gossip and weather reports of endless sun, as Gwen’s letters usually were. Maddie tucked it into her handbag to read and savor later, a bit of vicarious glamour. The other letter looked unfamiliar.

  Maddie carefully studied the block letters that formed her name and address. They were dark and plain, the paper cheap, and there was no return address. She tore open the envelope and read the short message in growing horror.

  You don’t know what you’re doing. Better leave it alone and stay in your art studio or you’ll get hurt, just like your friends. Don’t talk to the police or go searching anymore.

  Maddie felt her cheeks turn hot, and she stuffed the paper into her bag. To her surprise, the post office looked just the same as it had a moment before. The shuffling, bored people in line, the rows of mailboxes. Yet she felt horribly as if a hundred eyes were watching her. Seeing everything she did.

  She hurried out into the bright light of day. The town around her—the adobe buildings, the dusty lanes, and the people hurrying past on their errands—also seemed like an odd, new place. She decided suddenly to go by the police station, see if they had any ideas on the letter-sender. Even if the inspector was careless, someone there would surely know something.

  She didn’t have to go all the way to the jail to run into Inspector Sadler, though. He was on the corner of the plaza, munching on a sandwich from one of the vendor’s carts, his bowler hat pulled low over his brow.

  Maddie pulled the car over and called out to him. “Inspector,” she said. “I have something I must show you.”

  He lowered his sandwich with a frown. “Mrs. Alwin,” he said unenthusiastically. “How did you know so quickly?”

  “Know?” Maddie said, puzzled.

  “I—never mind. I guess you’ll find out soon enough. What is it you need to show me then?”

  “I just received this.” She took out the note and thrust it under his nose. He looked at it as if she held out a day-old sardine, which she thought it might as well be.

  “What is it?” he asked again.

  “Read it yourself. It’s a threat,” she answered. “It seems someone has been watching me.”

  He looked it over, his eyes narrowing. “Looks like a prank to me.”

  “A prank!” Maddie cried. “No one I know would pull a prank like that.”

  He handed it back. “I see things like that all the time. It’s usually silly kids. But it wouldn’t hurt to be more careful, Mrs. Alwin. Stay inside for a while. Mind your own business.”

  “My own business?” What on earth could be more important business than trying to help her friends?

  He gave her a smile that was dripping with phony sweetness. He reached out as if to pat her hand, and Maddie drew back. “You paint pictures, right? Better stay with that. My job is to catch criminals, and rest assured, we’re doing just that. You definitely might want to stay in after dark, as well, just to be on the cautious side.” He tipped his hat and strolled away, taking out his sandwich again.

  “The cautious side,” Maddie hissed. Men. They always thought the “little ladies” needed to stay out of real life, stay on the sidelines waving handkerchiefs and simpering, like maidens in Ivanhoe or something. Well, nuts to that. If he wouldn’t help her, she had to help herself. She stuffed the horrid note back into her bag and turned toward home. Much to her surprise, Juanita was already back from her own errand of asking Eddie’s friends about his whereabouts. She paced the walkway outside Maddie’s gate and waved frantically as Maddie turned off the car.

  “What is it?” she called. “Did you find Eddie?”

  “Oh, Señora Maddie . . . Eddie is in jail!”

  CHAPTER 9

  As Maddie drove Juanita to the jail where Eddie was being held, she told her about Dr. Cole and his promise to do all he could to see that Tomas could be buried as soon as possible. She wasn’t sure what to say about the blood, the strange little details she had almost forgotten about the scene of the crime, not until David could tell them more. And she said nothing about the strange note she had received. She would have to take a closer look at it later.

  “He sounds like a kind man,” Juanita said, her face solemn under the brim of her black straw hat. It had once been trimmed with yellow ribbons and a white silk flower, but it was now plain to match her newly dyed black dress. She watched the houses and shops flying past, still looking as if she was far away in her own world. Usually she was a bit nervous when Maddie borrowed the car; now she didn’t even clutch at the black handbag on her lap. “There aren’t enough of those in the world.”

  Maddie had to agree. Dr. Cole did seem like a good man. “He wants to do what he can. He said he saw too many bad things in the war. What did you hear from Eddie’s friends?”

  Juanita shook her head. “These boys today. They do as they like, never listening to their elders. We wouldn’t have done such things in my day.”

  Maddie nodded. Juanita sounded much like her own mother. Cornelia Astor Vaughn always bemoaned her daughter’s lack of duty and proper etiquette. She knew proper behavior and respect for authority and elders ran just as deep in Juanita’s world as in New York society.

  Yet Juanita and Tomas had left their home for some reason. Something Eddie seemed to resent. But enough to do harm to his own father?

  Maddie doubted it, due to what she knew about Eddie. He had a rebellious streak, as most teenagers seemed to, but he was kind and loving to his mother and sisters. Yet she also had a feeling the boy knew more than he said to her. It wasn’t in the Anayas’ nature to confide in anyone, quite natural when they came from a world where so much had been betrayed. Maddie hadn’t even known they couldn’t go back to the pueblo until that conversation in the kitchen.

  “Eddie’s friends said they haven’t seen him since they were playing dice outside Kaune’s Grocery that afternoon, after he brought you home from the station. He told them he had to leave early for some reason,” said Juanita.

  “And no one saw him after that at all?”

  “I asked all over town. No one at all. He wasn’t at his usual places, like the livery stable.”

  No alibi. Even Maddie—who knew little beyond what her attorney cousin, Gwen’s brother, would talk about at dinner parties and information she’d picked up from reading the G. K. Chesterton novels she and Gunther passed back and forth—thought that sounded dangerous. She knew she had to find Eddie a good lawyer, but who?

  They pulled up in front of the police station, where she had left David not so long before. It was an unprepossessing stucco and brick-fronted building that had replaced the old, small stone structure on Canyon Road, which had resembled a medieval dungeon of sorts. This one, as plain and modern as it was, was no less intimidating.

  Maddie parked the car on the dusty street outside the iron-bound front doors that held Eddie inside. In contrast to the brilliant, blue-gold light outside, the building was dark inside, but not the comfortable, serene shadows of Sunmount. There was a thickness, a stickiness, to the air, the smell of stale fried food and sweat. A policeman stood behind a counter piled high with papers in haphazard stacks.

  His gaze took in Juanita, with her dark hair and skin, her plain coat and hat, and he turned away without a word. Now even angrier, Maddie peeled off her gloves and marched forward, deliberately flashing her large diamond wedding ring and her mother’s pearls that she had impulsively looped around her neck before t
hey left the house. She slapped her palm hard on the counter, making a loud cracking sound, and he looked up. His expression slowly changed to wary politeness.

  Maddie felt her face turn hot, but she made herself keep staring back.

  “How can I help you, Mrs. . . . ?”

  “Mrs. Vaughn-Alwin,” Maddie said, using her mother’s haughty opera-committee voice. “And Mrs. Anaya. We have come to see Mrs. Anaya’s son, Eduardo Anaya, who I believe you are holding here without the proper due process of an attorney’s advice.”

  He appeared most uncertain. He looked every bit as young as the uniformed officer who had been at La Fonda, and she wondered if they were related. In any case, she was glad he seemed new at his job. An older lawman, seasoned in Western ways, would have been much harder to crack with snooty New York society manners. She hoped she could bluff her way through and get Eddie out of there before the police knew what was what.

  “The inspector says . . .” he began.

  “We want to see him now,” Maddie insisted. “He is just a boy and has been locked up alone for hours. I am sure people like Senator Jones would be most interested to hear such treatment goes on here. New Mexico has only been a state for ten years. We have a reputation to build as a place of American justice, don’t we?”

  “Señora Maddie, do you really know Senator Jones?” Juanita whispered.

  Of course she didn’t. Her only friends were artists and writers. She avoided politics, except for voting after women’s suffrage passed; there was enough of that name-dropping business among her relatives. “Just go with it,” she whispered back. She glanced at the bewildered young policeman. Yes—he definitely had to be related to the one at La Fonda.

  He scowled. “Okay, but only for ten minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Maddie and Juanita followed him down a dark, narrow hallway, past a series of locked doors that only had tiny grilled windows where guards could peer in at inmates and slide in trays of food. It smelled even worse here, of urine and bleach, and Maddie couldn’t stand thinking about poor Eddie locked inside.