by Come Sunrise
Rick passed a hand over his face and noted the stubble of beard. His eyes felt like they'd been dipped in sand. No sleep and a lot of worry was a recipe for disaster. Think, he told himself again. They'd been waiting for a ransom note, but none came. Wilkins had hemmed and hawed a lot, and finally told Westerman that the kidnapping might be personal, an attempt to get at him. So they'd made a list. Rosa Mandago and the two ranchers Tommy had squeezed out were on top. Only nobody produced results. Not Tommy and the guys who went with him to see Rosa, or the Spanish-speaking deputies who went into the barrio asking questions.
The barrio. Ibanez felt in his gut that the answer was there. Why? He didn't know. Yes, he did! Because of something Maria said. He'd had to give her a sedative because she was beside herself with guilt and worry, and just before she went under she'd said, "Her osito, Don Rico, they took her osito too." He hadn't thought about it much at the time, but it had stayed with him.
"Because," he muttered aloud, "it's so damned Spanish!" Kidnap a child, terrify her by removing her from her home and her parents, but bring her teddy bear. And it was cause for hope. Whatever the motive of the crime, they couldn't mean Kate any harm if they took her toy too.
Ibanaez pulled on the break handle, and the car came to a screeching squealing halt. For a few minutes he just sat on the road. Then he began driving again-faster than before, because he knew where Kate was, or at least who did. Not they, her.
Taking Kate was an act of vengeance-Wilkins had been right about that. Only the sheriff hadn't known all the people who had cause to despise the Westermans. Rick was able to supply the one name that had been missing from the suspect list.
Beatriz.
The shop was closed when he arrived. It was eight in the evening, so that wasn't surprising, but the fact that the shutters were bolted over the display window was. Ibanez looked around. A man lounged in a nearby doorway, "Has Dona Beatriz gone away?" he demanded.
"No se, Don Rico. I know only that the tienda has been shut yesterday and today."
He remembered that there was a rear entrance and, he started for it, picking his way through a narrow opening between two buildings. It was littered with garbage and stank of urine. The passage ended and he was in a tiny yard that belonged to the Ortegas. In this space of no more than ten square feet, Senora Ortega had created a garden. It was beautiful even in December. Spikey cacti contrasted with velvety geraniums whose flowers were insignificant, but whose leaves exuded spicy scents as he brushed past them. A lemon tree dominated one corner. Its branches were heavy with pale yellow fruit that shimmered in the moonlight. Many years had passed since Senora Ortega was well enough to tend the garden, Beatriz must be keeping it up. Ibanez sighed and crossed to the kitchen door.
He raised his hand to knock, then thought better of it and tried the handle. Locked. No choice now. He pounded on the thick ancient wood with his closed fist. "Beatriz, it's me, Don Rico. Open up. I know you're in there." Where could she gave gone with an invalid mother and a baby?
The door swung open and Beatriz faced him, as neat and self-possessed as usual. He tried to read her expression, but the light was behind her and it was impossible. "I did not expect you, Don Rico," she said coolly. "This is not a good time to visit. My mother is well. Please return in a few days. If that is convenient," she added hastily, still playing at the old deference.
"Let me in, Beatriz. I know." His voice was thick with exhaustion, and he willed himself to think clearly. She must be close to the edge, perhaps already over it, or she would not have done this thing. "Let me in," he repeated when she didn't move or answer. "It's much better if we discuss it between ourselves, Beatriz," he added gently. She remained where she was a few seconds longer, then stepped aside.
The kitchen was spotlessly clean. The pale light of a single gas lamp spilled in a circle on worn linoleum polished by years of scrubbing. The table was covered with a starched and embroidered cloth, and there was a potted begonia in its center. A picture of the crucified Jesus hung by the stone sink, and another of La Conquistadora filled the space over a shelf of china. The dishes had been arranged to allow room for a candle and a tiny vase of flowers. It was all so pitifully ordinary. And now she'd torn it apart by doing this unthinkable thing. "Why, Beatriz?" he asked.
"I do not know what you mean,"
"Yes, you do."
And then, as if on cue, a child's cry filled the silence between them. Beatriz started, shot him one guilty and terrified glance, then moved jerkily in the direction of the summons. "I must see that she is all right," she said simply, as if merely apologizing for the interruption. Rick felt a flood of relief. Beatriz's instinctive response to the cry told him Kate was safe. He followed her out of the kitchen and down the hall.
The little girl sat on Beatriz's bed, surrounded by cushions and quilts and clutching her teddy bear. She was dressed in a clean linen nightgown that had belonged to Senora Ortega before it was hastily cut down. A candle burned on the table, and there was light enough for him to see that Kate was flushed with recent sleep. She'd wakened and been frightened by her strange surroundings. That was the only thing wrong with her.
"Hello, little pet," he said, moving quickly to reach the bed before Beatriz did. "Have you had a nice visit? I've come to take you home to Mommy and Daddy."
"Daddy," Kate repeated. It was the only word she understood, but she stretched out her arms to Rick's familiar figure, and he gathered her up with a sense of deliverance so profound that it made his knees weak.
"Has she eaten?" he demanded of Beatriz. It was the only thing he could think of.
"Of course," she said. "You did not think I would mistreat her?" Beatriz stretched out her hand and lay one gentle finger on the child's cheek. "We have had fun together, haven't we, mi nina?" Kate buried her face in Rick's shoulder, but it was playful coyness, not fear.
"What about your mother?" Rick asked. If the senora suspected anything, she must be beside herself with worry. Her old heart would withstand little of that.
"She is well," Beatriz said calmly, "I told her I'd been asked to look after a friend's child. She enjoyed having a baby in the house again."
Rick nodded and took a blanket from the bed. "It's a long drive back to the ranch, I'll need this to keep her warm." He wanted to ask how she'd arranged the kidnapping, but he could spare no time for questions. The agony at Santo Domingo was continuing even as he stood here. He started for the door, but Beatriz stepped into his path. Her mood had changed suddenly, and her face was contorted by fury and loathing. Rick stepped back, repelled by what he read in her twisted features.
"Do you understand why I did it?" she hissed.
He shook his head. "I could never understand such a thing. Have you any idea of the grief you've caused? The terror?"
She stared at him, her eyes black coals in her face. "Do you think there is anything I do not know of suffering?" she said. Then, when he didn't answer, "It is right that they should pay! They and all their kind."
Ibanez could think of nothing to say. Besides, there was no time now for recriminations or decisions about the future. "I must take her home," he said. "I'll come back later. We'll talk then."
She exhaled softly, and it was as if her anger was dissipated with her breath. Her muscles relaxed, and the anguished grimace disappeared. "Yes, you'll come back," she said dully. She turned and led him not to the kitchen, but through the shop to the front door. She unbolted it with calm and deliberate movements and held it open. "Adios, querida," she whispered. The endearment was only for the child who slept peacefully in his arms.
Ibanez was too dead on his feet to register much of the reunion. He noted the joy in Amy's face and the way Kate clung to her father. Then he sagged against the wall and said, "I've got to go home. Sorry, I just need some sleep."
"You can't do that drive again," Tommy said over the top of his daughter's head. "It's past midnight. You'll sleep here."
"Thanks, but no." It seemed to Rick vital that he get o
ut of this place. Besides, he'd have to talk to Beatriz and decide what to tell the sheriff. He looked again at Amy. "Tomorrow's Thursday, isn't it?" He was confused, but he was pretty sure he was right. "I'll have to see Estella tomorrow. It's better if I go home now."
"Yes, tomorrow's Thursday," Amy said. She came to him and put her hand on his cheek, unaware of her husband and the other men in the room. "I can never thank you, Rick dearest," she said softly. "I won't even try."
"Just a minute, folks." Sheriff Wilkins' voice cut through the tangled emotions eddying in the room. "I've a few questions for the doc. There's been a crime committed here."
"Not unless I say so," Tommy said. He handed Kate to Amy and went to where the lawmen stood apart. "Dr. Ibanez is in no condition to explain anything just now. And there's no question of a crime unless I press charges. That's correct, isn't it?"
"Maybe, but damn it, Mr. Westerman, we've been chasing our tails for three days! Now he just walks in and produces the baby like a rabbit out of a hat. There's got to be some questions and some answers."
Tommy walked slowly to the drinks cupboard, as if considering the sheriff's words. He poured a brandy for Rick, then a round for the rest of them, "You're a good man, sheriff," he said quietly. "I've been glad of your efficiency throughout this nightmare: Now I'm sure you'll show some common sense as well."
He didn't actually say that elections were coming up, but the fact was present in the room like a silent guest. "It's as plain to me as it must be to you that Dr. Ibanez figured out where to look for Kate. That's why he found her and we didn't."
Ibanez felt the tension disappear from the back of his neck. No more questions, thank God. Suddenly Tommy said, "Maybe you can just put the sheriffs mind at rest about that, Rick?" Westerman's eyes hurled a challenge. For a moment the two men stared at each other. Ibanez was the first to look away.
He sipped his brandy to gain a few seconds of time. Across the top of Kate's head he saw Amy watching him. Her eyes too Were full of questions. He set his glass down and spoke very softly, conscious that everyone in the room was hanging on his words.
"On the drive back to town I realized that in a crazy way the kidnapping was aimed at me, an attempt to punish me through my patients and"-with another look at Amy-"through my friends."
Ibanez and the Westermans were an isolated triangle of tension in the room, but Wilkins was the next to speak. "Maybe that's the why of it. It tells us nothing about who."
Rick turned and faced him. "I'm not going to answer that, Pete. At least not until I've had a chance to think. "
"You could be charged as an accessory, you know," Wilkins said.
Ibantez shrugged.
Tommy noted the way the two men glared at each other. It was obvious that Wilkins was ready to invoke all the ponderous power of the law. The temptation to let Ibanez hang himself was strong. Just then Kate woke and squirmed in her mother's arms. "Daddy," she said, holding out her arms toward her father. The child's movement created a momentary break in the tension.
"I'll take her," Tommy said.
Amy relinquished her burden and stood with her arms hanging empty at her sides and her gaze fixed on Rick. Tommy watched the pair of them, then tightened his grip on his daughter and spoke. "Let it lie, sheriff. We all know the eminent doctor didn't snatch Kate." The words came out hard and tight, betraying what they cost him.
Wilkins sighed and moved to where his assistants stood waiting. "Ok, for now," he said. "But we'll have to talk more about it later."
Rick turned to Tommy, "Thank you," he said quietly.
Westerman shook his head. "No, don't thank me." His voice was pitched low, meant only for Ibanez, and perhaps Amy, to hear. "I've got reasons not to like you much, but at the moment I owe you a big one." He stroked Kate's silky blond curls while he spoke.
The deputies began moving toward the door, collecting the belongings they'd scattered during their encampment. Amy watched the exodus, anxious for the strangers to go and the process of forgetting to begin.
"We'll give you a lift home if you want, doc," Wilkins said. "You're in no shape to drive." Rick nodded and followed the departing men. Wilkins paused and turned back to Tommy. "Do you want me to leave a couple of guys here to guard the house? Since we don't know a damn thing about the how or why of this business, I can't say whether or not you need them. "
Tommy looked questioningly at Rick. Ibanez shook his head. "No need, sheriff," Tommy said. "Thank you again. I'll find a more concrete way to express that sentiment pretty soon."
If Wilkins thought to question Ibanez on the journey back to Santa Fe, he was mistaken. Rick fell asleep as soon as he got into the Model-T, and he had to be shaken awake when they parked in front of his door.
"I'll be around to see you first thing in the morning," Wilkins said.
"Make it the evening," Rick said. "I plan to sleep all morning. Then I'm going to las Carmelitas to see my daughter. The evening, Pete, that's time enough."
23
RICK SHOOK HIMSELF AWAKE SOON AFTER TEN THE next morning. He'd had only six hours sleep, but the knowledge that the tragedy wasn't finished denied him any more. He showered and shaved and dressed while his cleaning woman made coffee. Then he went to his office. Elena was there, and he spied half a dozen patients in the waiting room. "Is there anything urgent?" he asked.
"Nothing. They're all well trained. They save the serious sickness for after Thursday."
He smiled at her. "Sorry you've had to cope on your own this week. There was trouble at Santo Domingo after the party."
"I know," she said. She had been at the party and she lived in the barrio. She was aware of the deputies who had come asking questions, and the story behind them. "I've managed ok," she said. "I put off the ones that could wait, and the others I sent to your competition. "
"Not the rich ones, I hope," he said with a grin.
"You don't have rich patients, Don Quixote," she retorted. "You're too busy doing good." It was an old argument and they both laughed. "Except Senora Westerman," Elena added. "And she's too nice to be rich." Her face grew serious. "How is she?"
"They're all fine now."
"Thank God! What a terrible thing to do. Do you know who? . . ."
"I have to go out," he said, cutting off her question. "I'm sorry, but it's necessary. Tell those who are waiting I'll see them first thing tomorrow."
Elena sighed. "There are at least twenty-five people planning to see you first thing tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll work it out. Now go if you're going. Otherwise you'll never get away."
He looked for his car, then remembered he'd left it at Santo Domingo last night. He'd have to ride to the convent later. He could walk to the Ortegas, and that came first.
It occurred to him to worry about being seen. When he thought of that he realized that he didn't intend to tell the sheriff about Beatriz. Not if he was convinced she'd do nothing like this again. He was debating that when he turned into her street and headed for the shop. Then he saw Wilkins' automobile and the cluster of people standing in front of the door.
So Pete had figured it out for himself, and the matter was out of his hands. Ibanez felt a mixture of sorrow and relief. He'd have to find someone to look after Senora Ortega, a convent maybe.
All his speculations ended when he made his way into the house. Beatriz was lying on her bed. They'd covered her with a sheet, but they pulled it back when he came in. He inhaled sharply. She wore a white satin fiesta dress trimmed with emerald green ruffles. Her extraordinary figure was clearly outlined, but in death it looked hard-edged and unreal. Her hands lay peacefully at her side and two silk gardenias were tucked behind her ear. An image of them together in this same bed superimposed itself over the corpse. Rick pushed it away. He felt pity, but not guilt. In seconds the shock passed and he was in control.
"Never saw her dressed like this before, did you?" Wilkins asked.
"No. Where is Senora Ortega?"
"Don't worry, doc. She doesn't need you
r services. She's as dead as this one."
"How did it happen?"
"Can't say for sure. But we think it was an overdose of medicine.
That strike you as possible?"
"It's possible," Rick said quietly. He'd prescribed tincture of belladonna for his patient. Enough of that would kill them both. "When did you get here?"
"About half an hour ago. The neighbor who sometimes looks after the old lady got concerned. Seems there ain't been no sign of either of them for the past week. She got her son to force the lock on the front door. Found 'em both, just like this. Murder and suicide I make it."
"Those are ugly words," Rick said.
"Yeah. We found this too. It's addressed to you."