Santa Fe Dead

31

ED EAGLE AND Susannah Wilde sat at their table at Santa Café and waited for Joe Wilen and his wife to arrive. “I told you about helping him find a house, didn’t I?” Eagle asked.

“Yes, you did and about closing the sale, too.”

“They’re back to move in, I think,” Eagle said. He looked up and saw them walk into the dining room. “Here they are.”

“Hello, Ed. I’d like you to meet my wife, Sandi. Sandi, this is Ed Eagle and…”

“Susannah Wilde,” she said.

The couple sat down.

“Good flight in?” Eagle asked.

“Yes, and the return trip will be my last in the King Air. I’ve sold it to an old friend.”

“You must’ve bought something else,” Eagle said.

"I bought Walter Keeler’s CitationJet Three; I start training in it for my type rating next week.”

“That will make the trips from the coast to Santa Fe quicker.”

“I’m pleased about it, too,” Sandi said. “I never liked the idea of propellers; I was always afraid that one would fall off. Or both.”

They ordered drinks and dinner.

“By the way, Ed,” Wilen said, “I can answer that question you asked me last time we spoke.”

“What question was that?”

“The answer is yes, Walter did read your letter before signing his will, and as a result, his wife’s inheritance was sharply limited. She gets a monthly stipend and the use of an apartment, and that’s it.”

“And how did she take the news?” Eagle asked.

“Not well. I had the pleasure of delivering it personally.”

“Joe, I hope you got the message in my letter to Walter, that she is dangerous when crossed.”

“Oh, at my suggestion, Walter included a clause cutting off her payments and evicting her if she is convicted of criminal activity, so I don’t think she’ll be out to get me.”

“That was a smart move. Did you explain that to her, as well?”

“You bet I did and in no uncertain terms. I’m glad to see the back of that woman.”

“I hope you have.”

“Does she know about my letter?”

“Oh, yes. I showed her a copy when I delivered the news, so she knows that you were the cause of her downfall from billionairess to pensioner.”

Eagle and Susannah exchanged a glance. “Oh,” Eagle said.

“I hope I did the correct thing,” Wilen said. “You didn’t ask that I keep it confidential.”

“You’re quite right, Joe, I didn’t, and nothing you did was incorrect.”

“Are you in your new house, yet?” Susannah asked Sandi Wilen.

“In would be too strong a word, but we’re got all the basic furniture, and before I go back to Palo Alto I expect to have it in pretty good shape. We’ll be sleeping there from tomorrow night.”

“I bought Walter Keeler’s home furnishings from his Palo Alto house,” Wilen said. “Had everything valued, then bought it from the estate, including two cars. The moving van will be here tomorrow.”

“That should save a lot of time,” Eagle said.

“Walter and I had similar taste,” Sandi said, “so it’s a good fit. It will remind us of him, too. We’re going to miss him.”

“I’m sure,” Eagle replied.

“I’ve joined the golf club at Las Campanas,” Wilen said, “so Ed, you and I will have to play before I start my jet training.”

“I’d like that,” Eagle said. “Joe, you said that Mrs. Keeler got occupancy of an apartment. Where?”

“In San Francisco. Walter bought it a week before he died, paid seven million dollars for it.”

“Whew!” Susannah said. “She’ll be well housed.”

“She can’t sell it, though?” Eagle asked.

“Nope, and she can’t rent it, either.”

“Well, Mrs. Keeler is going to be a very angry woman,” Eagle said, half under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, Joe. Tell us about the house.”

BARBARA/ELEANOR EAGLE/KEELER GOT off an airplane in Los Angeles and took a cab to Jimmy Long’s house. Jimmy greeted her with a big hug.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Oh, Jimmy, I’m glad to see you, too,” she said.

He took her bags upstairs and had a drink waiting for her when she came down.

“God, I’m glad to be out of San Francisco,” she said, sinking into a chair.

“I guess the memories are not good.”

“Right, but not for the reason you think.”

“I don’t understand. The town made you a billionaire; why wouldn’t you love it?”

She told him about Eagle’s letter and Walter’s change of heart. “I got fifty grand a month and the use-the use, mind you-of the apartment, and that’s all.”

“That’s horrible, sweetheart,” Jimmy said. “Still, you did all right for the work of a week or two.”

“I guess so,” she said, “but it’s depressing.” She took a long draw of her drink. “Jimmy, darling, can I ask you a question in confidence?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it. This is just between you and me.”

“Of course.”

“You know a lot of people, a lot of different sorts of people, right?”

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

“Did you ever run across anyone in your travels through life who would do anything for money?”

“Boy, have I! That pretty much describes everybody in this town!”

“I mean this quite literally, Jimmy.”

“What, specifically, did you have in mind that somebody might do for money?”

“I suppose what I’m talking about is a hit man.”

Jimmy looked at her for a moment. “Are you quite serious?”

“Quite.”

Jimmy took a sip of his drink and looked thoughtful. “There have been rumors around town for years about a guy named Al who owns a gun shop on Melrose, but I’m not even sure he’s still alive. And if he is, he’s probably too old for that sort of work.”

“Who else?”

Jimmy thought some more. “You know, I produced a western over at Centurion a couple of years ago. Remember The Long Ride?”

“Sure, I do. I loved it.”

“There was a stuntman on that picture that I heard a rumor about. Somebody told me that he had arranged a car ‘accident’ some years back. Out on the Pacific Coast Highway, I think.”

“What was his name.”

“Jack… Cass. No, Cato. Jack Cato.”

“I’d like to meet him,” she said.