He grabbed his hat and headed for the front door of the police station. Maybe some exercise and fresh air would take his mind off the pain in his hand. Doris was at her usual place behind the counter that separated her from the front door of the city building and the good citizens of Enchantment. She looked up from the computer screen when he walked by. “Heading home, Chief?” she asked.
“Nope. Just thought I’d take a turn around the town square. Foot patrol.”
“You look like you could use a nap, and maybe a couple of pain pills.”
“I’m okay.” He hated taking pain pills. They helped the pain but made his brain fuzzy.
“You don’t look okay,” she said with her customary bluntness. Doris was a no-nonsense single mother who had put two kids through college with no help from the drunken bum she’d married. She’d been with the department twice as long as Miguel, and knew where all the bodies were buried, and what it took to keep everything and everyone working smoothly. In other words she was indispensable. “Take your radio. Both Lorenzo and Hank are out in the hills on calls. I’m holding down the fort alone.”
His radio was clipped on his belt. She could see it as plain as day. She was just letting him know who really ran the Enchantment Police Department—and it wasn’t him.
“Okay, I get the hint. I’ll take the Durango. That way, if anything comes up I’ll have my wheels.” So much for his half-hour stroll.
She nodded her approval and went back to her work.
It was a hot sunny morning and traffic was light. He’d stop by his parents’ house first and tell his mother about the burn on his wrist before she heard it at the market or the hairdresser and went looking for him at the hospital.
“Hey, Miguel. Got a minute?” Nolan McKinnon was waving at him from the sidewalk in front of the newspaper office. Miguel sighed and pulled into an empty parking spot two doors down. He lowered the window and waited for his friend to jog over.
“I thought you got everything you needed last night out at Manny’s,” Miguel said as Nolan leaned into the passenger side of the big SUV.
“I got a couple of good pictures and I damned near got my eyebrows singed off when that bale of straw next to the barn caught fire, but I didn’t get any memorable quotes from the chief of police,” Nolan said with a grin.
Miguel narrowed his eyes and gave his friend a closer look. Sure enough, his left eyebrow looked a little sparse. “Hope to hell that grows back before the wedding,” he drawled. “No way am I going to the drugstore all decked out in my tux and getting you an eyebrow pencil to fill it in. That’s above and beyond the call of duty for a best man.”
Nolan frowned a little. “God, do you think Kim would make me do that? The wedding’s not for a couple of weeks. Does it show that much?” He examined himself in the side mirror. “How long does it take for eyebrows to grow back?”
Miguel shrugged. “No idea. What do you need to know?”
Nolan gave himself one more critical look, then pulled a small tape recorder out of his pocket and flicked it on. “The usual. I already got fire-safety quotes from the fire chief. Now I need the usual warning about the ban on outdoor burning and campfires.”
“Okay, you got it.” Miguel grinned. “The usual. And you can add it’s a federal offense to start fires on public land without the proper permits.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.” Miguel was still grinning.
“Want to tell me how you got that burn on your wrist?”
“I had a lousy fire extinguisher in my truck and I paid the price for it. I’m heading down to the hardware to buy a better one.”
A chirping sound came from Nolan’s shirt pocket. He flicked off the tape recorder and fished out his cell phone with two fingers. “McKinnon here.” He lifted his shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I’ll catch up with you later, Miguel.”
“You know where to find me.” He backed the Durango out of the parking space and continued on around the square. After he saw his mother, he needed to call Devon and make arrangements to meet somewhere private. He didn’t quite have the nerve to show up at The Birth Place and talk to her in front of a dozen other women. He’d all but proposed marriage to her the night before up there on the mountain, and it was going to make for awkward conversation.
He slowed at the crosswalk in front of the courthouse and caught a glimpse of Manny Cordova heading into the hardware store across the square.
“What the hell’s that old coot doing in town already this morning?” He hadn’t left Manny’s place up on Switchback Road until 3:00 a.m. At that point, his granddad’s crony, also an ex-Marine, was still patrolling his fence line watching for hot spots and blowing cinders. That’s how Miguel had gotten the burn on his hand, from a flaming ember of dry grass that had landed along the fence line as he was driving up to Manny’s place.
He hadn’t stopped to get his patrol car after dropping Devon at the foot of her driveway and hightailing it out of town. That was how he learned that the fire extinguisher he carried in his truck wasn’t worth a bucket of warm spit. Hell, a bucket of spit would have been more effective. He’d given it a toss into the bed of the truck and then went at it with his coat. By the time one of the Enchantment volunteer firemen saw what was happening and drove up to lend a hand, a blazing tangle of dried grass had wrapped itself around his left wrist and branded him. When it was all over, there hadn’t been enough of his sports jacket left to bother picking up out of the ashes. He couldn’t do much about the jacket right now. That would require a trip to Taos. But he could replace the fire extinguisher.
Miguel pulled into a parking spot in front of the hardware that his maternal great-grandfather had started in the 1920s. Daniel had retired and sold the business to Miguel’s cousin Joe about fifteen years earlier, but he still helped out around the place. His granddad was probably working today, since Joe and his family were off at his cousin’s to help get ready for their daughter’s kinaalda, the days-long, coming-of-age celebration that traditional Navajos gave when young girls in the family entered womanhood.
His boots thumped on the weathered boardwalk that fronted the store. He took off his sunglasses and gave the vintage Schwinn Corvette leaning against the storefront the once–over. The bicycle was in sorry shape, but new handle grips and seat, and a little work on the chrome would make a world of difference. Even in its present dilapidated shape, the bike was worth a pretty penny. He hadn’t seen one like it around town. He wondered whose it was. Since the owner was most likely inside the hardware, he’d soon find out.
Someone had made an attempt to wash the display window in the not-too-distant past, but the glass was so old and wavy you still couldn’t get a good look at what was inside. Not that it mattered. His cousin hadn’t changed the merchandise in the window in as long as Miguel could remember. When he opened the door, the old-fashioned bell above his head jangled, alerting whomever was behind the counter. The place smelled of horse feed and leather, as well as the linseed oil Joe used on the wooden floor. Like the display window, the crowded aisles and overflowing bins hadn’t changed much since he’d worked for Joe and made deliveries in his grandad’s ’51 Ford pickup the summer before he went to boot camp.
The summer he’d first made love to Devon.
Hell, he couldn’t seem to keep his mind off the woman for more than ten minutes at a stretch. Especially when she’d sounded so lost and confused when she turned down his half-baked proposal up on the mountain last night.
Even without his sunglasses the place was gloomy and dark. Miguel gave the store a quick survey, the habit of eight years in police work. His grandfather was behind the counter, Manny in front. Halfway down the third aisle from the left, where the bicycle parts and tires were kept, was a young Hispanic kid, tall and rangy, with the beginning of what might one day be a pretty good-looking mustache fuzzing his upper lip. He gave Miguel the same kind of once-over he was getting and looked away, just a hair too quickly, so as not to look guilty doing
it.
Enchantment was a small town. Miguel came across most of the high-school kids at one time or other during the year. He’d never seen this boy before. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out he must be one of the kids Devon had taken under her wing. He fit the description she’d given of him. Miguel watched him for a moment longer, then shifted his attention to the two old men. He lifted his finger and pushed the brim of his hat back on his head. “Manny, I thought the EMTs told you to take it easy for a day or two. You swallowed a lot of smoke.”
“This old jarhead don’t know what the word rest means,” his grandfather growled from his accustomed place behind the long wooden counter that fronted the store. His expression was serene, but Miguel knew him as well as anyone and he caught the flash of concern in his old eyes. “Looks like you got yourself singed up there, too,” he remarked, nodding toward the bandage.
“Don’t move as fast as I used to,” Miguel said, dismissing the injury.
Manny eyed the bandage, as well. “Sure sorry about that, Miguel.”
“My own fault,” Miguel said. “I should have let the guys in the turnout coats take care of it.”
The fire could have gotten out of control, with tragic consequences, and all three knew it. Two years of drought and a town surrounded by thousands of acres of government forest land that hadn’t been logged or even thinned out in Miguel’s lifetime was a recipe for disaster. They’d dodged a bullet last night, but the next time Enchantment might not be so lucky.
“Manny’s looking to buy a new incubator for them chicks he’s having delivered today. He’s going to have to set it up in his kitchen now since he went and burned down his chicken coop trying to get it to heat up one more time.”
“It heated up all right,” Manny said, dropping his head to hide his shame. “Madre de Dios, I thought my whole place was going up in smoke.”
“We’re all just lucky the wind wasn’t blowing last night,” Daniel said. “And while we’re at it. You’re too old to be raising chickens, you old coot.”
“You still got chickens out at your place last time I looked,” Manny shot back. “At least no one’s been stealing mine out from under my nose.” The kid in aisle three dropped a tire pump with a bang that brought three sets of eyes to bear on him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and set the tire pump carefully back on the shelf.
Manny drew himself up as straight as a recruit. “I’m gonna keep my own birds so I can make huevos rancheros whenever I want them. I make pretty damned good huevos, hey, Miguel? You used to come up to my place and eat them with my boys, remember?”
“I remember,” Miguel said with a grin. From the corner of his eye he saw the kid was watching him again. He turned his head and the boy immediately focused on the inner tubes in front of him.
“Trouble is,” Daniel said in his slow, deliberate way, “don’t have no incubator on hand. Gotta be special-ordered. Best I can think of is for Manny to get him a big old lightbulb and hang it over a box for the chicks when they get here.”
“Too hard to regulate the temperature,” Manny said, shaking his head. “They’ll be okay during the day, but it gets cold at night up there on the mountain. And if I keep a lightbulb shining on them, they’ll drive me loco peepin’ away all night long.”
“How about a heating pad?” Miguel suggested. “They got waterproof ones over at the drugstore. Lots of temperature choices, too. Put an old feed sack on top of it and they’ll be fine until you can get your incubator.”
Manny’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. “Hey, that just might work. You’re one smart Indian, Miguel. And then when the chicks are old enough to put outside, I’ll have a new heating pad to keep me warm at night.”
“You’ll need it for all the aches and pains you’re going to have putting up a new coop. Want me to add a roll of chicken wire to your bill while I’m figuring it up?”
“Nope,” Manny replied. “Most of the fencing’s still good. I’m not lettin’ it go to waste so you and Joe can get more money outta me.”
Miguel turned away from the two old men. They would go on squabbling and telling tall tales of the old days for hours if no one else came into the store to interrupt them. He walked down the aisle toward the Hispanic kid, who stiffened his shoulders and turned to face him. The guarded expression on the boy’s face alone was enough to set off Miguel’s internal radar. The kid had something to hide. He held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Miguel Eiden, chief of police. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before today.”
The boy hesitated, then shook Miguel’s hand. “I’m not from around here,” he said. “I’m…I’m staying with a friend.”
Miguel nodded. “What’s your name?”
Again the boy hesitated. “Jesse. Jesse Molina.”
“Looking for inner tubes for that Schwinn out there?”
“Yeah.” Jesse looked as embarrassed as any other fifteen-year-old male would who had to admit to riding a bicycle at least three times older than he was.
“Don’t see bikes like that often anymore.”
“Yeah.” Jesse glanced toward the window. “Some wheels.”
“You’d be better off selling it. Some polish on the chrome and that bike’d be worth a fair amount to a collector. Or just to someone old enough to remember when Eisenhower was president.”
For a moment the dark eyes brightened as if considering the possibility, but then the guardedness returned. “It’s not really mine. My friend’s just letting me borrow it while I’m staying with her.”
It wasn’t Devon’s bike, either, Miguel surmised. It probably belonged to the Zimmermans, the elderly couple who owned the cabin she was renting. Miguel leaned forward and the kid took a step backward so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. Miguel pretended not to notice. “Probably nothing out here that would fit that relic, but there might be a couple of old inner tubes in the back that would do. Hang on a minute and I’ll ask.”
“You don’t have to do that.” The boy’s voice bristled with pride and embarrassment. “I don’t have any money with me to buy them, anyway.”
Miguel nodded. “Won’t hurt to look and see if they’re back there for when you do have the money.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What do you need, Miguel?” Daniel had come out from behind the counter. He was dressed Navajo style this morning, a dark purple velveteen shirt over blue jeans, cinched around his ample middle with a belt of elaborately worked silver circles. Daniel must have plans for the evening. He wouldn’t wear his best clothes to work at the hardware on an ordinary day. Miguel cast his mind over the town’s schedule of events and service-club meetings that Doris printed off for him on a calendar sheet every Monday morning. Tonight was the regional meeting at the American Legion. His grandfather was sergeant-at-arms. Miguel should probably try to make that one himself if nothing happened to keep him from getting off duty on time.
“He’s looking for inner tubes to fit that old Schwinn bike outside. Think there’s anything in the back room that would do?”
Arms folded across his chest, Daniel surveyed the boy down the length of his nose. Jesse kept his gaze at the level of the silver clasp of Daniel’s bolo tie. “Might have a couple. My nephew don’t throw much of anything away that might have use in it yet. I’ll go look.”
“I already told the chief here I don’t have no money.”
“We could work something out. Don’t get much call for that size no more.”
“Listen, old man. I told Marshal Dillon here I don’t have any money. And I don’t have any way to get any, comprende?”
The kid pushed by Daniel, knocking him slightly off balance. Miguel reached out with one hand and grabbed the kid by the shoulder. “That’s no way to talk to someone who’s only trying to help you.”
“I don’t want your help. I don’t care about that old bicycle. I have a—” He shut his mouth so fast Miguel could hear his teeth click together. He wriggled to be free. “Let me go.”
“Not until you apologize to my grandfather for your smart mouth.” Miguel tightened his grip on Jesse’s shoulder enough to let him know he meant business. The kid was almost skin and bones, not much muscle and no fat. Not as skinny as some of the teens in Somalia that smiled one minute and pointed an AK-47 at you the next, but pretty close.
“I ain’t apologizing to nobody.”
“Okay, have it your way. We’ll go down to the station. Pushing an eighty-year-old man comes close to assault, the way I see it.”
The boy went deathly still. “I didn’t mean to push him. It…it was an accident. Look, just let me go. I won’t come back in here. I won’t bother you no more.”
“What do you say, Granddad?” The kid was shaking like a leaf. More with fear than anger, Miguel guessed.
“Accidents happen.”
“Lo siento. I’m sorry,” the kid said, his voice cracking.
Daniel inclined his head in gracious acceptance of the grudging apology. “If you decide you want those inner tubes, just let me know.”
Just then the bell over the door jangled and Devon stepped inside. A dark-haired, dark-eyed little girl held on to her hand, hopping from one foot to the other. Devon’s head was turned. She was smiling at something the very pregnant teenager behind her was saying.
Her head turned back and she blinked. “Jesse? We saw the Schwinn outside, so we thought we’d come in and see what—” She stopped. Her smile was replaced by a frown when she saw that Miguel was hanging on to a handful of the boy’s T-shirt. “Miguel? What’s wrong? What’s going on here?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I TAKE IT THIS IS ONE of the kids you’ve got staying with you,” Miguel growled, giving Jesse a little shake.
“Yes, he is.” Devon felt a wave of near despair wash over her. This morning she’d gotten Sylvia to agree to at least minimum medical care. She and Lydia had worked together as a real team to accomplish that goal. Maria was healthy and happy and looking forward to a play visit with Nolan’s niece, Sammy Davidson. Later she had planned to take Sylvia or Jesse with her to Angel’s Gate in another attempt to locate their aunt. She’d been feeling pretty good about the way she was handling things. And now she’d walked in on what looked like an arrest. “Jesse, what did you do?”
The Midwife and the Lawman Page 11