The big gamble

Chapter 3

It took a while for the night supervisor at the Bernalillo County lockup to copy Felix Ulibarri's arrest records. Clayton left the detention center with a last-known address, a photograph, and some pertinent information about the man. Over the years, aside from his DWI convictions, Ulibarri, age forty-two, had been jailed for petty crimes and misdemeanors ranging from criminal trespass to shoplifting and disorderly conduct-all typical busts associated with garden-variety chronic alcoholics. He also had one fourth-degree felony assault charge stemming from a domestic disturbance involving a former live-in girlfriend.

Not trusting Sparkle to be the most reliable of informants, Clayton drove to Ulibarri's residence, a single-wide mobile home sandwiched between two small houses on a lane just off Second Street about two miles from downtown. He knocked at the front door unsuccessfully and was about to leave when a porch light flicked on at one of the nearby houses. An elderly woman in a housecoat stepped onto the porch.

"Felix isn't home," she called out in Spanish. "Go away."

Clayton stepped quickly to her, showed his shield, and because his Spanish wasn't the best, introduced himself in English. The woman's name was Francis Ulibarri.

"I'm sorry to disturb you so late at night," he said. "But I need to speak to Felix. Are you a relative?"

Mrs. Ulibarri's face was heavily wrinkled and glum looking.

"I'm his grandmother," she said, pulling the housecoat tightly around her body. "What has he done now?"

"Nothing. I have a few questions to ask him about one of his friends."

Sternly Ulibarri shook her head. "I do not allow Felix to bring his friends here. All they do is get borracho and then the police come."

"Did Felix mention plans to go out of town with a man named Joseph Humphrey?"

"He tells me nothing. He comes, he goes. Sometimes he works for a paving company on jobs out of town."

"Is he working now?" Clayton asked.

"Maybe, pero I think he's otra vez la burra el trigo. Back to his old tricks, drinking again."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he stole money from me like he always does when he wants to get drunk. Fifty dollars."

"When was that?"

She closed her eyes to think. It made her face look even more world-weary. "My memory is no bueno. Maybe three, four days ago."

"Is that when you last saw him?"

"Si." Ulibarri opened her eyes.

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"No nice woman would have him."

Clayton persisted. "But is there a woman he spends time with or sees regularly?"

Ulibarri shook her head and answered in Spanish. "He knows only women who are sinful in the eyes of God."

Clayton translated her words as best he could. "I am sorry your grandson has brought you so much pain," he replied. The comment won him a slight, approving nod. "Do you know the name of the company Felix does work for?"

"JG Paving. He has no phone, so I take their messages."

"Have they called for Felix in the past week?"

"No, pero sometimes he calls them looking for work when he needs the money."

"Did anyone else call for Felix in the last week?"

"One man, on the day I last saw him," Mrs. Ulibarri replied. "He said for Felix to meet him at a motel on Central Avenue. I don't remember which one."

"My apologies for having woken you," Clayton said.

Mrs. Ulibarri forced a cheerless smile. "You did not wake me. I am old and sleep little. Soon, I will rest forever in the arms of Jesus."

Clayton left Mrs. Ulibarri and checked with the two nearby Indian casinos to see if Humphrey really had hit it rich at blackjack. The books at the second casino confirmed a fifty-six-hundred-dollar payout. He got a room at a franchise budget motel near the interstate. In the morning, he'd check with JG Paving, and if Felix wasn't working, head back home to Lincoln County. Humphrey's casino winnings were more than enough motive for murder, and Felix Ulibarri was starting to look like a strong suspect.

Satisfied that his time in the city had been well spent, Clayton set the alarm for an early wake up and went to bed.

In early March, after Kerney had arranged for a tour of two sections of land for sale in the Galisteo Basin and a meeting with a local architect he'd known for some years, Sara had flown in for the weekend. By the time she'd boarded a plane back to Fort Leavenworth, they'd signed a land purchase agreement, retained the architect's services to design their house, leased a furnished guest house on Upper Canyon Road to live in until the new house was built, and rented a storage unit so Sara could have the family treasures she'd inherited from her grandmother shipped to Santa Fe from her parents' Montana sheep ranch.

Recently made a rich man by way of an unexpected bequest from a dear old family friend, Kerney had the money to spend. With Sara's encouragement, he was slowly learning to enjoy his newfound financial freedom after living for so many years on a cop's salary.

Behind a high wall, the adobe guest house had two bedrooms, two baths, a two-car garage, an expansive great room that served as a living and dining area, and an adjoining kitchen with high-end appliances. At three-thousand square feet, the house was the largest and most expensive place Kerney had ever lived in. It came with a tidy backyard tended by professional gardeners, and a shady portal that included an expensive natural-gas barbecue grill, a bar sink, a built-in refrigerator, and a hot tub.

The main house, a mere seven-thousand square feet, was tucked against a hill with views of the valley below. According to the estate manager, the compound was one of ten residential properties owned by a Wall Street stockbroker.

Raised on a working cattle ranch in southern New Mexico, Kerney had been taught by his parents to rise early and get as much work as possible done before the heat of the desert drove both man and beast to seek shade. The habit was so ingrained that unless job demands forced him to work late, he was always up by five in the morning. Recently he'd been devoting the hour or so of uninterrupted time before he had to leave for the office to various tasks that needed doing to get the house built.

Two weekends ago Sara had flown in on a quick day trip for a Saturday closing on the land. Today he was overnighting the architect's plans to her, along with snapshots he'd taken of the property on a rare day off.

Kerney looked through the photographs. The two sections, a little over twelve hundred acres, were located on a ranch southeast of town that was being sold in large parcels zoned for agricultural use only. The property appealed to them from the moment they first saw it, and learning that the surrounding tracts couldn't be developed for residential use cinched the deal. Additionally, the owners, a couple Kerney knew and liked from his days managing a small gentleman's spread in the basin, would continue to ranch a large swath of land that abutted Kerney's two sections, providing added protection from the urban sprawl that kept creeping south of the city limits.

Four miles in off the highway, Kerney's sections consisted of a combination of canyon land and open pastures. Two wells produced good water, and a ranch road ran past the building site Kerney and Sara had selected for the house. When built, the house would be sheltered by a ridge and face south, overlooking a canyon that opened onto a wide meadow with views of the Ortiz and Sandia Mountains. The ridge behind the house, treed with juniper and pinon, rose gently to the north, exposing the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, but hiding the city from view. The panorama of the Jemez Mountains stretched across the horizon to the west, where at night the lights of Los Alamos and the nearby commuter town of White Rock glistened.

He packed the photos and the house plans in a mailing tube, sealed it, and turned his attention to the old Montoya case file. He had a lot of ground to cover, not much to go on, and a gut feeling that he'd missed something the first time around.

The thought made him grumpy. He forced himself out the front door, thinking maybe his heart wasn't in the job anymore. He would much rather spend his time building the house, putting together a small ranching operation, and establishing something positive for himself, Sara, and their unborn child. Soon Sara would have an ultrasound test, and with any luck they'd know if she was carrying a boy or a girl. The thought made Kerney smile. Either way, he was ready to be a dad.

After striking out on his attempt to locate Ulibarri through his employer in Albuquerque, Clayton arrived at the Mescalero Apache resort and casino, hoping he would find him there gambling with Humphrey's money, which, not surprisingly, hadn't turned up in the ruins of the fire.

Situated in a high valley a few miles outside the city of Ruidoso, the tribal enterprise was a cash cow that drew year-round vacationers and gamblers from all parts of New Mexico and surrounding states. It offered skiing in the winter and all the usual summer recreation activities, such as golf, boating, trail rides, tennis, and swimming, along with twenty-four-hour gaming at the casino, which was within easy walking distance from the lodge and guest rooms.

The lodge had cedar-shingle siding, a high-pitched roof, and an expansive deck that overlooked the lake and the mountains beyond. Small streams, some coursing over man-made rock beds, others cutting through carefully tended lawns, flowed down the hill in front of the lodge into the lake. Small stands of pine and aspen trees and winding walkways gave the grounds a parklike feel.

Most of the permanent employees were tribal members, and the woman at the reception desk was no exception. Barbara Chato, an old classmate from high school, smiled as Clayton approached.

"You never come here anymore, stranger, now that you've left us," she said.

"I haven't left," Clayton replied. "I just work off the rez."

Barbara shrugged. "That's too bad. Billy Naiche made sergeant last week. I heard you would've gotten the promotion if you hadn't quit the department."

"Good for Billy," Clayton said as he put Felix Ulibarri's photo on the counter. "Have you seen this man?"

Barbara shook her head.

"Can you check and see if a Felix Ulibarri is registered?"

Barbara's fingers clicked away at the computer keyboard while her eyes scanned the monitor. "We don't having anybody by that name staying here."

"Maybe he already checked out."

Barbara punched a few keys. "There's no guest record under that name."

"How about somebody with the same initials?" Clayton asked.

"No."

"Can you check on people who paid in cash when they registered?"

"Give me a minute," Barbara replied as she opened another computer file. "We had two in the last week. A Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Weber from Lubbock, Texas, and a Fred Villanueva from Albuquerque."

"Is Villanueva still here?"

"He left yesterday."

"Does his registration form show any vehicle information?"

"I'll have to get that from the business office," Barbara said, picking up a telephone.

She dialed a number, made her request, and after a few minutes handed a scribbled note to Clayton. He read it and smiled. The vehicle make and license plate number matched that of Humphrey's car.

"Thanks, Barbara."

"Well, at least now you're smiling," Barbara said as Clayton stepped toward the administration wing.

Moses Kaywaykla, chief of security, wasn't in his office, but his secretary called for him on the radio and he arrived within a few minutes. Just an inch shorter than Clayton's five-ten frame, Kaywaykla was dark skinned, and had deep creases on either side of his mouth and deep-set eyes that gave him a crabby, somewhat wary appearance. In fact, Kaywaykla had a reputation in the tribe as a good storyteller. Moses was also particularly admired among the men for his bawdy jokes.

Kaywaykla, Clayton's uncle by marriage, dropped his handheld radio on his desk and nodded a greeting at Clayton. In his late forties, Moses always wore a business suit to work with a pair of expensive cowboy boots. Today the suit was dark brown, the shirt blue with a regimental striped tie, the boots a pair of black alligator Larry Mahans.

"So, are you tired of working for the sheriff yet?" Moses asked.

"Not yet," Clayton replied.

"When you are, come and see me. I'll make you my assistant, pay you good money."

"Maybe after I qualify for a pension," Clayton said.

Moses laughed. "That's a long time for me to wait, nephew."

"If I make you wait long enough, maybe I can have your job," Clayton said with a smile, handing over a photograph. "I'm looking for this man. He was registered as Fred Villanueva. Checked out yesterday. His real name is Felix Ulibarri."

"What did he do?" Moses asked, studying the photograph.

"Maybe murder."

Kaywaykla's eyes narrowed. "I don't like murderers in my casino. It happened in your jurisdiction?"

"Yeah, that burned body we found in the fire outside Carrizozo," Clayton replied. "The victim's name was Humphrey. Ulibarri was one of his drinking buddies and supposedly came down here with him. Humphrey had just won a lot of money up at one of the pueblo casinos near Albuquerque. I'm thinking Ulibarri killed him for the money and went on a gambling spree here."

"You say he left yesterday?" Moses asked, handing back the photograph.

Clayton nodded.

"Let's look at some security videotapes," Moses said, "and then we'll talk to some people."

They viewed videos and found Ulibarri playing poker intermittently over a two-day span and mostly losing. In between long sessions at the card tables he drank in an upstairs cafe and broke even playing a row of quarter slots. In the last video, which Moses fast-forwarded, he won heavily at poker.

The sight of Ulibarri raking in a hefty stack of chips discouraged Clayton. His suspect was bankrolled again and possibly on the move. Was he heading back to Albuquerque or to one of the other Indian casinos in the state? Was he in Juarez drinking in a brothel?

Moses froze the tape. "Want to know what he cashed out?"

"Yeah," Clayton said. "He seemed to be doing a lot of talking in the last tape. Do you know any of the people at his table?"

"Two of them," Moses replied, pointing out two players on the frame. "Gus Hogan is a serious player. We comp him his room and meals. He comes up from El Paso about once a month. Sometimes he plays at the high-stakes tables, sometimes not. Jasper Nava is local. Everyone calls him JJ. He owns an appliance repair shop in Ruidoso. He's here once a week usually. Comes in with a couple hundred in his pocket and plays until he either loses it or wins. He does pretty well most of the time, but won't move up to any of the high-stakes games."

"What does Hogan do for a living?" Clayton asked.

"Nothing. He's a rich guy. I'll get you his home address and phone number, if you want to talk to him."

"Good deal," Clayton said. "I'd sure like to know who else was at the table when Ulibarri won big."

Moses shrugged. "Maybe the dealers know who they are."

They walked from the lodge to the casino on a pathway that led them past the swimming pool, tennis courts, boathouse, and the restaurant that overlooked the golf course. It was too cool and early in the year for swimming, and the tennis courts were empty, but several foursomes were out on the greens.

At the casino Clayton learned that Ulibarri had walked away from his last poker game with seventeen thousand dollars. Two of the dealers who had had Ulibarri at their tables were on duty. They remembered Ulibarri when Clayton showed them his photograph, but didn't know any of the other players by name. None had been regulars.

He got the names, phone numbers, and shift schedules for the three other dealers, said good-bye to Moses, and drove to the sheriff's department in Carrizozo, where he put together an advisory bulletin. It read:

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING FELIX ULIBARRI FOR THE MURDER OF JOSEPH J. HUMPREY

Subject is Hispanic male, age 43, DOB 3/03/59, height 5'8", weight 148 lbs, brown eyes, brown hair, clean shaven, with a knife scar on right forearm approximately 2 inches below the elbow, approximately 3 inches in length. Recent photograph attached. Subject is known to frequent casinos and is likely to be driving victim's vehicle, a 1979 Mercury Cougar, two-door coupe, dark blue in color bearing New Mexico license 782 KCG. Subject's driver's license has been revoked for repeated DWI convictions. See attached arrest record. Subject's permanent address is 4 Camino Azul, Albuquerque, NM. Ulibarri is an alcoholic and is known to associate with prostitutes. Subject last seen yesterday at the casino on the Mescalero Apache reservation, is presumably traveling alone, and may be currently using the alias of Fred Villanueva. Subject is known to have gambling winnings of $17,000 and could possibly be at or planning to visit other casinos in the region. Victim was killed with a knife, type unknown. If located, detain Ulibarri for questioning, secure all evidence, and immediately contact the officer below at the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department, Carrizozo, NM.

Clayton spent the next hour faxing the documents to every law-enforcement agency, casino, and gaming establishment in New Mexico, West Texas, and Arizona. As he finished up, Paul Hewitt came into the room and read the advisory.

"You're making some progress," Hewitt said.

"Some," Clayton replied.

"Is Ulibarri a solid suspect?"

"I think so."

"What's your next move?"

"Ulibarri mostly played poker while he was at the casino and won big," Clayton replied. "We need to talk to a few more off-duty poker dealers to learn if he got friendly or talkative with any other customers. Sergeant Quinones and Deputy Dillingham are following up that angle, plus trying to contact two possible informants. I wanted to get the advisory out ASAP in case Ulibarri has already hit the road."

"Makes sense," Hewitt said. "Have you got reports ready for me to read?"

"Not yet," Clayton said. "I'll leave them on your desk before I go home tonight."

Hewitt clapped Clayton on the shoulder. "That'll be soon enough. Good job, Deputy."

Clayton shrugged off the compliment. "I haven't made an arrest yet, Sheriff. Is anything happening with the Montoya case?"

"Not as far as I know. Just stay focused on what you're doing. I'll keep you informed if I hear from Chief Kerney."

Clayton nodded, gave the dispatcher a copy of the bulletin to enter in the national and state crime information data banks, and started in on his reports.

Kerney picked up the paper on his way out the front door and glanced at the front page, which featured the discovery of Montoya's body. The headline read:

MURDERED BODY OF LOCAL WOMAN FOUND

The body of Anna Marie Montoya, reported missing from Santa Fe over eleven years ago, was discovered in the basement of a burned-out building after a recent fire in Lincoln County. According to Deputy Police Chief Larry Otero, autopsy results of the remains indicate a strong possibility that Montoya was murdered. "We're treating it as a homicide," Otero said, "and cooperating with Lincoln County law-enforcement officials in a joint investigation."

He quickly read through the rest of the story, which gave the facts of Montoya's disappearance, and glanced at the sidebar articles. One summarized information about six other women who'd been reported missing from the Santa Fe area over the last decade and never found, and the other quoted the spokesperson of a women's criminal justice coalition, who took the department to task for "not caring enough to provide sufficient resources and personnel to locate these missing women and end the unnecessary suffering of families and friends."

Yeah, right, Kerney grumped silently as he closed the door of his unmarked unit and tossed the paper on the passenger seat. He forced down his irritation. Unsolved missing-person cases, especially those involving women and children, always sparked criticism of law enforcement. Kerney understood people's fears that they would never see their loved ones again, fears that were all too frequently and tragically realized. But it irked him when civilians thought that cops didn't care about the mothers, wives, and children who'd gone missing, never to be found.

At the office, he shut his door and started working the list of Anna Marie Montoya's old friends, colleagues, ex-employers, and graduate student classmates. As he'd suspected, many had moved on, changed jobs or residences, or were no longer living in Sante Fe. He spoke to a few, left phone messages for others, and got leads on a couple of the people who'd moved out of state.

Larry Otero, his second in command, popped in briefly to get approval to hire a new civilian crime scene tech. Kerney signed off on the paperwork. With slightly more than two months in his present position, Otero had been cautiously feeling his way in his new job.

Kerney's decision to appoint Larry had been challenged by the city manager, who for political reasons had tried to torpedo Otero's career shortly before Kerney became chief. He'd placated the city manager by putting Otero in the job on a sixty-day trial period. He'd said nothing to Larry about it, and now the probationary time was up.

"Did we screen, test, interview, and conduct a background investigation on this candidate?" Kerney asked, handing Otero the signed personnel action form.

Larry looked nonplused. "Of course. We do it with every new hire. It's procedure."

"My point exactly," Kerney said. "I'd like to review applications and meet prospective employees once they've been selected. But unless either of us sees a problem, in the future just sign these things yourself."

He leaned back and gave Otero a smile. "From now on, think of your job this way: When I'm not here, you're the chief. When I'm sick or on vacation, you're the chief. When I don't want to be found, bothered, or I'm out of town on business, you're the chief. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Otero smiled back. "I do. What happens when I get my ass in a sling?"

"Then I'm the chief," Kerney said with a laugh, "and I get the privilege of taking full responsibility for all the screwups, including yours and mine."

"So, it's full speed ahead," Otero said.

"Yeah, your honeymoon is over," Kerney replied.

"I can handle that," Larry said. "How's the Montoya case going?"

"I could probably put thirty people on it with the same results," Kerney replied.

"Nothing?"

"Zilch, but there's still a lot of ground to cover," Kerney said.

He waved Otero out the door, made a few more phone calls, and left to visit with Anna Marie's brother and sister, who'd agreed to meet him at their parents' house.

Cars parked along the narrow lane forced Kerney to leave his unit at the corner. A somber group of visitors filled the small porch and spilled onto the lawn in front of the Montoya residence. Kerney approached slowly, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. His uniform drew some questioning looks as he walked up the pathway, and a few people deliberately turned away. Anna Marie's brother waited for him at the door.

"I've come at a bad time," Kerney said, looking into the crowded front room.

"We can talk in my mother's craft studio," Walter Montoya said shortly, "although I don't see what good it will do. My sister's waiting for us there."

Platters of food filled the coffee table, and empty plastic cups littered the lamp tables bracketing the couch. A framed photograph of Anna Marie, surrounded by lit candles, was centered on top of the television. Mr. and Mrs. Montoya sat on the couch in the company of a priest. Kerney paused and paid his respects as friends and family watched.

"I won't take much of your time," Kerney said, after stepping away from Anna Marie's parents.

"Does that mean you have no leads?" Walter Montoya replied, loud enough to hush a couple standing nearby.

"Let's talk privately," Kerney said, touching the man's arm to quiet him down.

Walter pulled his arm back and led Kerney to a small bedroom that had been converted into Mrs. Montoya's studio, where Carmela, Anna Marie's sister, waited. A long worktable with folding legs held neat stacks of fabric, swaths of canvas, and a sewing machine. Within easy reach of a second-hand secretarial chair was a clear plastic four-drawer cart on rollers, filled with yarns, spools of thread, scissors, and embroidery needles.

Both siblings were in their late thirties. Walter, the older by a year, now sported a receding hairline and a mustache that showed a touch of gray. Carmela, who had been married when Anna Marie disappeared, no longer wore a wedding ring. Slim and tense, she shook Kerney's hand reluctantly.

"To have so many show so much sympathy and support must be very heartwarming to you and your parents," Kerney said.

His attempt to be conciliatory fell flat. Carmela nodded tensely as though an invisible wire inside her neck had been pulled, and said nothing.

"When will you find the person who killed her?" Walter asked, dismissing Kerney's words.

"I don't know."

"That's not good enough, Chief Kerney," he snapped.

"Let me tell you what we're doing," Kerney said. He took them through the investigative drill, noting how a lack of evidence and the absence of a targeted suspect made for slow going.

"We've heard those same rationalizations from your department for eleven years," Walter said when Kerney finished. He pointed a stern finger at the window, where in the backyard a bare-branched apple tree had yet to announce the arrival of spring. "My sister's killer is out there a free man, and you've done nothing to catch him."

"Don't lose hope," Kerney said, skirting the criticism. He took out a pocket notebook. "I have a list of people we originally interviewed who have left Santa Fe. It would be a big help to me if you or your sister might know where some of them are currently residing."

"What good will that do?" Walter demanded.

Kerney ignored the remark and read off the list. Carmela gave him the locations of two out-of-state people in a flat voice that didn't quite mask her anger.

"Anyone else?" Kerney asked, glancing at Walter.

He shook his head. "But some man called me at home one night about two months ago, asking if I was Anna Marie's brother. He said he'd just moved back to the area and wanted to get in touch with her."

"Did he give his name?"

"I don't remember it, but it was an Anglo name and he called himself doctor."

"Did he say what kind of doctor he was?"

"No."

"Did you ask him how he knew Anna Marie?"

"I didn't ask, but he said he'd once been her coworker."

"How did he take the news of Anna Marie's disappearance?"

"He sounded shocked and caught off guard."

From the notebook Kerney rattled off the complete witness list.

Walter shook his head. "None of those names ring a bell."

"With a little legwork I should be able to locate him," Kerney said.

"I'd like to say something to you before you go, Chief Kerney," Carmela said, her tone brimming with hostility.

"Yes?"

"Our parents are polite, old-fashioned people who believe in being gracious to everybody. However, my brother and I see the world a bit differently. We're perfectly willing to talk to members of the city council if you fail to make significant progress."

She nodded her head at the closed door. "And many of the people who have gathered here today are more than willing to join with us."

"I understand your frustration," Kerney said, stepping to the door.

"No, you don't," she said. "You haven't a clue."

Clayton got home just in time to tuck Wendell and Hannah into bed and give them good-night kisses. He sat with Grace at the kitchen table, ate the meal she'd kept warm for him in the oven, and told her about the Humphrey murder investigation and how it had stalled.

"I was hoping Ulibarri might have done some talking with one of the dealers or the poker players about his plans. We learned nothing."

"You sound frustrated."

"I am, but not about that. It was a long shot to begin with."

"What's bothering you?"

"Today, the sheriff gave me a big pat on the back and told me I was making good progress."

"Well, you are," Grace said. "From what you said you have a strong suspect."

Clayton took a bite of green beans and shook his head. "Any reasonably competent officer would have zeroed in on Ulibarri. The way I see it, Hewitt was just flattering me. Sort of a be-nice-to-the-Indian kind of thing. I hate that kind of stuff."

Grace cocked her head. "Really?"

"What does that mean?" Clayton asked, pushing the empty plate to one side.

She was silent for a long moment. "I sometimes wonder if one of the reasons you married me was because I'm full-blooded Apache."

Clayton gave her a startled look. "That's crazy."

"In high school you never dated a mixed-blood, and when we were in college together you never went out with an Anglo or Hispanic girl."

"I was seeing you in college," Clayton answered.

"Not all the time," Grace said.

"We broke up a couple of times and I just didn't date, that's all."

"Once, we stopped dating for almost a year," Grace said, "and you never had anything good to say about Anglo boys who were my friends."

"That was just jealousy."

"Was it?"

"What are you saying?"

"Secretly, I think you resent the fact that you have an Anglo father, so you try to be two-hundred-percent Apache."

"I'm not like that," Clayton said.

"And now that you've met your father face-to-face, you've gotten worse. You think that anything an Anglo says that strikes you the wrong way has got to be prejudicial or racist."

"That's not true."

"Really? Sheriff Hewitt pays you a compliment and you can't even accept it graciously. What is that all about?"

Clayton lowered his eyes.

"I'm not saying all this to hurt your feelings," Grace said, reaching across the table for Clayton's hand.

"I know," Clayton said with a sigh. "I was short with Kerney on the phone yesterday. He accused me of trying to push his buttons. Said he expected me to treat him with civility in professional matters."

"Well?"

"He's right, I guess."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Clayton smiled. "Think about stuff."

"That's a start."

"But you did say one thing that's wrong," he said, squeezing her hand.

"What's that?"

"I married you because you're smart, beautiful, and I fell in love with you."

Grace took his hand, kissed it, and placed it against her cheek. "I know that."

Clayton's pager beeped. He read the message, reached for the phone, dialed, and identified himself. As he listened, his eyes shifted away from Grace and his expression turned sour.

"I'll be there in a few," he said shortly, punching the off button and dropping the phone on the table.

"Is something wrong?" Grace asked.

"That was Moses," Clayton said. "One of his security officers just reported finding Humphrey's car in the parking lot behind the towers at the resort with an expired guest permit. I have to go."

"That should be good news, shouldn't it?" Grace said, responding to Clayton's tone.

"It would be, if I hadn't been so stupid," Clayton replied. "I didn't even think to look for the vehicle when I was at the resort. I just assumed Ulibarri drove away in it when he checked out."

He snatched his car keys, gave Grace a quick kiss, and hurried out the door.