The New Mexico Scoundrel

by R Scott Wallis

  “That’s nice.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Brenda asked as she fiddled with the coffee maker.

  “Look outside.”

  ​Brenda hadn’t put in her contact lenses yet. She pulled her glasses off the top of her head and glanced out the picture window. It was snowing and there was a light dusting on the limbs of the trees and on the rocks. “Snow. So?”

  “Leonard and the boys are about to get on a tiny prop plane and take off in this? I love airplanes, but I do not love airplanes mixed with snow and ice. It’s not a good combination.”

  “What are they predicting?”

  “Scattered snow showers off and on all day,” Skyler said. “Maybe heavier tonight. Maybe not. The television weather people are useless and they mostly talk about Albuquerque anyway. They don’t know what’s going to happen here in Santa Fe any more than the dogs do.”

  Mulder and Scully looked up from their nap causing Skyler and Brenda to chuckle.

  “The boys will be fine,” Brenda said as she lowered herself into a chair at the table. “The charter pilot won’t take off if he thinks it’s in any way unsafe. What about the weather in Flagstaff?”

  “Clear.”

  “Good.” Brenda took a long sip of the dark roast and gently placed her mug on the table. “I have a few trinkets for Leonard and the twins I can put under that tree. But I don’t have anything for Darby or Georgia.”

  “Presents? Oh, goodness. I have next to nothing. I shipped Leonard’s stuff to Maine, remember? I have something for you, of course. That’s it. Should we go shopping? Do you think they’ll care?”

  “Georgia is getting back to reality after quite a dreadful ordeal. The woman was kidnapped, knocked unconscious, escaped, and spent the last few days in the hospital all alone. We should try to give her some semblance of a normal Christmas.”

  Skyler pointed at the tree. “Hey, I did that, didn’t I?”

  “That was very nice of you, yes,” Brenda said. “And thank you for packing some clothes and essentials from her house, too. She’ll appreciate all of it, I’m sure.”

  “I hope I picked out stuff she’ll actually want to wear. My goodness, I completely forgot to mention this last night…” Skyler picked up her iPad and pulled up a photo of a front porch. There was a large, smartly wrapped Christmas present sitting to the left of the front door. She showed it to Brenda. “This is sitting on Georgia’s front porch. It doesn’t have a card or a tag and I didn’t have the guts to touch it.”

  “Rightly so,” Brenda said. “It could have exploded in your face. We should alert the authorities.”

  “I think so, too,” Skyler said. “I put that F.B.I. agent’s information into my contacts file. I’ll text him right now. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear from me on Christmas Eve.”

  This is Skyler Moore. I was a

  guest at the Reece party.

  Sending photo of a mysterious

  gift left on her front porch.

  We decided not to touch it.

  Good call. I will send someone to

  have a look. Have tried calling Ms.

  Braxton but got voicemail — We have

  a ping on Modena’s credit card. He’s

  apparently on his way to Roswell.

  Local police investigating.

  Thank you for the update.

  Cell service is not good

  here. Text is best.

  Roger. Merry Christmas.

  Merry Christmas. And

  don’t call me Roger.

  ☺

  Skyler laughed out loud. “At least he has a sense of humor.”

  “What did he say?”

  Skyler handed over her phone. “Read it. My coffee is kicking in. I’ll be right back.”

  Relieved that one of the main suspects was probably not lurking around outside, the friends busied themselves with a bit of housework, then retired to their respective suites to take showers and get dressed for the day. They decided that if the snow let up a bit, they’d brave the winding country roads and head into town for a few last-minute gifts, including something special for the opera singer. And Brenda wanted to pick up some more wine. There could never be too much wine, she always said.

  * * *

  The storm clouds had pretty much cleared out over the Santa Fe Regional Airport when the boys pulled up in front of Advanced Aviation. They checked in at the front desk and were directed to take seats in the lounge. Minutes later, a young man of about 23 or 24 years old, dressed in tan slacks, a brown leather bomber jacket, and aviator sunglasses approached.

  “You must be the Lowerys? And Mr. Little?” the young man asked as he took off his glasses and extended a hand to Carter. “I’m Cody Thalhimer, your pilot.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cody,” Carter said as he got to his feet. “I have to say, you don’t look old enough to drive, let alone fly.”

  “Carter, really,” Sullivan scolded. “Cody, hello, I’m Sullivan Lowery. This rude person is my brother Carter, and this is Leonard Little. He’s the acting chief of police of Wabanaki, Maine, and he has a police-issued weapon that he’d like to bring on the plane.” He studied the kid’s face for a few moments. “How old are you?”

  “I get this a lot, gentleman,” he said pleasantly. “I have over 3,000 hours, I’ve been type-rated on the King Air 350i for most of that time, and I first soloed when I was 15; I started early. And the company has no problem with the service weapon coming aboard, but it will have to be locked in a box we have located in the exterior baggage compartment. That’s the deal, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s an easy deal,” Leonard said as he showed his badge to the pilot.

  “Let’s go.” Cody lead the way out onto the tarmac and not more than a few yards to the waiting plane. It was a beautiful, white and teal painted, twin turbo prop and it looked like it had just come off a showroom floor. The passenger entrance was on the left side of the fuselage. Stairs were attached to the back of the door, which was hinged at the bottom and folded down to the ground. After the gun was locked away in the compartment, Leonard, Carter, and Sullivan climbed inside and selected their seats. Leonard sat facing forward. The twins took rear-facing seats across from Leonard. Cody closed the rear door then squeezed past the passengers and entered the open cockpit.

  “Only one pilot?” Leonard asked.

  “This thing is easily managed by one person. No worries,” Carter said.

  “You are white as a ghost,” Sullivan said. “You gonna be okay?”

  The cop nodded. “I’ll be fine. I just need to concentrate.” He glanced out the window as the props whirled to life. “I don’t know how you guys can ride backwards. That’d certainly make me sick.”

  “Are you going to be sick?” Carter asked. “You could have stayed at home, you know. I’m certain that we’re capable of getting Georgia out of that hospital and back onto this plane without incident.”

  “I’m sure you could, too,” Leonard said. He was gripping his armrests as the plane began taxiing toward the runway. Then his cell phone vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket and read the text from Skyler. “Ah. I guess I really could have stayed behind.”

  “Why’s that?” Sullivan asked.

  “Apparently your friend Massimo has been tracked to Roswell, New Mexico. The police are moving in. That’s over 200 miles from here, right?”

  Carter beamed. “Now that’s the best Christmas present I could have possibly received.”

  The plane was cleared for takeoff and the engines spooled up to full power. Leonard wanted to close his eyes, but he also didn’t want to look like a total dolt in front of the twins, so he looked out the window, forced a small smile, and prayed to the little baby Jesus as the King Air lifted off the runway and began a steep climb into the New Mexican sky. He was all but certain that they were going to slam into the mountain side, but Cody banked the plane to the left and reached their cruising altitude of 21,000 feet in no time. And a quick 50-minutes later, they star
ted their descent into Flagstaff’s Pulliam Airport.

  And a relieved Leonard survived another flight. He was a little weak in the knees as he climbed out of the aircraft and immediately lit a cigarette while he waited for his firearm to be freed from the baggage compartment.

  * * *

  Massimo stuffed his plastic drugstore bag behind a planter on Emma Wade’s front porch then rang the bell. After a few moments, the door cracked open and she peeked out.

  “What are you doing here?” Emma asked as she opened the door slowly to allow him to enter her apartment.

  When the door was closed again, he locked it then walked into the kitchen. “Do you have any liquor? I need a drink.”

  “I don’t drink alcohol, Massimo. You know that. I have milk and water. Maybe a diet soda or two.”

  He rummaged around in her refrigerator. “Not even a beer.”

  “No,” she said, growing agitated. “I thought you were taking Georgia and leaving town. I thought I was done with this. Why are you here?”

  Massimo slammed the refrigerator door, causing several telephone books that were stacked on top to tumble to the floor. “You could say that it did not go as planned. None of it. She escaped.”

  “I’ve been watching the news,” Emma said. “There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. They’ve kept it all very quiet. Where is Georgia now?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “But I suspect that she’s on her way back here to Santa Fe.”

  “You aren’t going to kill her.”

  “That was never my intention, no. I explained this to you. I thought you understood me. But I can’t let her get away with this. I made that woman what she is today and she has completely and 100 percent rejected me. Threw me away like garbage. Spazzatura!”

  “I’m so sorry. But I am not surprised.”

  He went to the living room and flopped down on the girl’s thread bare couch. “Has anyone approached you? The authorities?”

  “No. No one.”

  “The American F.B.I. is not very thorough, are they?” he said. “Although, to be fair, I don’t believe you were ever on their radar, mio caro. Georgia never named you after the bombing as someone who’d been in the house. You slipped her mind completely. That was convenient. For both of us.”

  Emma sat on the ottoman opposite him. “I did everything you asked me to do.”

  “I know that,” Massimo said quietly. “But it was not enough. I should have planned this better.”

  “What is your end game, Massimo?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Well, I can tell you this, you really should have killed her. She’s going to talk. She’s going to implicate me.”

  “Why would she do that?” he spit. “She doesn’t know you did anything to her. But on the other hand, if she were dead it would make you the infamous decorator to the recently departed celebrity opera singer? It could help your interior design career, no? Is that why you want her dead?”

  “Did I say I wanted her dead? I don’t think I ever said that.”

  Massimo exploded. “You just said, 45 seconds ago, that I should have killed her.”

  “That’s different from saying that I want her dead. I don’t want her dead. Not that.”

  “You are confusing me, young lady. I’m too tired for this.” He closed his eyes. “I’m not going to kill her, Emma. It’s just not in me. I may have done some screwed up things in the last few weeks, but I’m not a murderer. I’m just extremely mad about all of this. At her! Mad and frustrated and disappointed. And now I’m fucked.”

  “But you came back to Santa Fe nonetheless. And everyone must be out looking for you. What do you intend to do?”

  He thought about that for a few long moments. “I’m going to take her most prized procession. I’m going to take away her voice.”

  “How?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You can’t stay here.”

  “You have no choice about that,” he said straightening up. “I’m going to stay here until I come up with a plan.”

  “I have roommates. How will I explain you being here?”

  He opened his eyes. “Where are they now? I see no one.”

  Her face crinkled up. “They’re home for the holidays. School is out until January 6th.”

  “Perfect. Then I’ll stay awhile.” He closed his eyes again.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

  “One anonymous phone call and you’d have a slew of cops on your front porch. You helped me with a kidnapping, my dear. You broke in and trashed her house. You planted the bomb at a party attended by the New Mexican governor, for God’s sake. You’re as guilty as I am. Maybe more so. They already know that I’m involved, obviously, but no one else on Earth, besides me, knows that you had anything to do with any of this. Yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “Mmm hmm. Yet.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve and you are in my house threatening me because you need a place to hide out.”

  He opened his eyes. “That’s exactly what’s happening, yes, Emma. Buon Natale. Don’t ever say I didn’t get you anything.”

  A few very uncomfortable hours later, Emma quietly left a napping Massimo in the living room and locked herself in her bedroom. She got on her hands and knees in front of her over-stuffed closet and gently pulled out a banker’s box from behind a mound of shoes and boots. Inside, scores of high school snapshots, her junior and senior yearbooks, greeting cards sent to her from her father and grandmothers, and a shiny handgun.

  After she heard the gunshot in the woods the day before and watched until the two men retreated to their house, she doubled back and literally stepped on the weapon near the base of a tree. And, now more than ever, she was most thankful that she’d kept it.

  She thought, for a moment, that she’d use it on Massimo, but he was the least of her problems.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Georgia was looking photo-session perfect, but still dressed in a thin cotton hospital gown when the boys arrived at Room 312 to collect her. Before anyone uttered a word, she bolted up right in her chair and extended her arms.

  “Tell me, please, that you brought me some of my actual clothes that I can put on,” she said excitedly.

  Sullivan smiled and handed her a duffle bag. She grasped it to her chest and he leaned in to kiss her lightly on a cheek. “We brought you your very own clothes and your cell phone. I charged it up. And I’m glad to see you in one piece, by the way.”

  “I’m glad to be in one piece,” she said. “And I can’t wait to get out of this hell hole. Tell me that we are not driving. Tell me that we are flying first class. Please. It’s Christmas. It’s the absolute least you could have done.”

  “Even better,” Carter said as he stepped forward and hugged Georgia. “We’re flying private.”

  “That is the best thing I have heard in a very long time,” she cooed.

  “Georgia Reece, this is Sheriff Leonard Little,” Sullivan said. “He’s here to see that we all get back to Santa Fe unscathed.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s packing heat.”

  Georgia rose out of her chair and shook hands with the handsome police man towering above her. “I’m pleased to meet you, Leonard Little. Skyler has told me nothing but wonderful things about you. She’s a very lucky girl.”

  “Well, that was nice of her and very nice of you, too,” Leonard said. “Skyler lies, but I love her. And I’m thrilled that I was able to get away from Maine to be in Santa Fe for Christmas.”

  “Which is where I want to get to A.S.A.P, gentleman.” She walked to the hospital room’s private bathroom and closed the door. From inside she yelled, “Give me five minutes.”

  Exactly an hour later, Cody fired up the King Air again and the foursome were ferried back to New Mexico without incident. When they landed at S.A.F., thick white clouds were starting to spill into the valley.

  “Looks like you’re in for a very
white Christmas,” the pilot said as he handed Leonard his gun from the locked compartment. “I’m going to hightail it out of here and get back to my family in Phoenix before it starts coming down again.”

  And before the Lowerys, Leonard, and Georgia had even driven off the airport property, Cody was back in the air.

  On the long car ride back to Carter and Sullivan’s house in the hills east of town, Georgia and Leonard sat in the backseat and she gripped his hand for a few seconds. “Thanks for being here. It makes me feel so much safer.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “I really mean it. If I were a sane person, I’d get on an airplane and fly right back to New York, but I like it out here in the high desert very, very much. Despite the insanity of the last week or so, I’m so happy to be in Santa Fe. New York City will always be my home, but it can also drain the life right out of a person. Especially at the holidays.”

  Leonard smiled awkwardly. The opera singer seemed to be trying desperately to believe what she was saying. “I was there in New York City this past summer for the first time in my life. It’s a very different world from the one I grew up in down Maine. I think Santa Fe is probably more my speed if I had to pick.”

  “Well, yes, the city is not for everyone. I’m curious, how did you and Skyler meet?”

  “Grade school, actually,” Leonard said. “We both grew up in Wabanaki. It’s a very small town where everyone pretty much knows everyone else, whether you like it or not. But it wasn’t until this past July that we took the friendship to…well…to a new place. It was kind of unexpected on both our parts. I’d just lost my wife.”

  ​“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Georgia said, squeezing his hand again. “I had a husband die not too long ago. We’re too young for such things, aren’t we?”

  “We are.”

  “How’d she go?”

  Leonard swallowed hard. “It’s a long, complicated story. The short version is that she was murdered in a seafood restaurant’s bathroom.”