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  TWENTY

  I think they’re CAE.” Oris made the comment as everyone was staring out the window at the diner.

  “CIA,” Bea corrected him. She was the one closest to the door, and she was the one who had announced the arrival of a dark sedan, two men in suits seated in the car, both talking on cell phones. They had been in the parking lot for almost twenty minutes.

  “CAE,” Oris repeated.

  “What are you talking about, Oris? CAE? Do you mean the DEA?” Fred had come out to take a look for himself and was watching from behind the counter. “The Drug Enforcement Administration?”

  “CAE,” Oris announced again. “ ‘Certainly Ain’t Eating’ here.” He grinned. “But I guess that’s really CAEH.”

  Fred rolled his eyes. “Bea, get away from that window. They’re likely to come in here and arrest you for spying.” He walked back into the kitchen.

  “I heard there were some meth labs over in Red Hill.” Fedora Snow had asked Oris to drive her into town that morning. She was meeting someone from Quemado who was driving down to Socorro. They were planning to visit a friend in the hospital. She thought it would be nice to have breakfast before leaving.

  “What do you know about meth labs, woman?” Oris asked. “Your yard boy was growing marijuana in your greenhouse for years and you thought they were miniature palm trees.”

  Fedora waved away her neighbor’s comment. The two of them had fussed this way for years, and even though a bond had formed between them, some strange friendship since they both participated in building the new church, everyone knew that Oris’s teasing of the older woman would never change.

  “I read in the Glenwood Gazette that a family of gypsies from Arizona had camped out in a trailer near Forest Road 19 and were making that meth and selling it to school bus drivers in Catron County.” Fedora sat up in her seat in the booth and took a sip of coffee.

  “Arizona gypsies?” Oris asked. He was sitting at the table next to her. “You’re telling me we got Arizona gypsies on our forest roads?” He pretended to be deeply concerned.

  “Well, I’m going right out there to that car and get those boys to drive me out 19, and I am personally going to hog-tie and whip ’em all. Nothing I can’t stand worse than an Arizona gypsy.” He started to get up from his seat.

  Fedora could now see what her neighbor was doing. She just shook her head and turned away from him. “You keep making fun of me, Oris Whitsett, and one day when you need my help you’re going to come over to my house and I am going to see who it is and shut my door right in your face.”

  “Fedora,” Oris said, leaning in her direction, “if I ever come across the street claiming I need your help, then you have my permission to do more than just shut the door in my face. You can shoot me in the head, because if I have come to that, if I have come to the place where I need your help, you can be pretty sure that I am on my way to glory and you might as well shorten the trip.”

  Fedora hissed at her neighbor. “Oris Whitsett, you are an old coot,” she said. She watched out the front window. A car was pulling in from the highway. “Here comes my friend to take me to Socorro. Thank God I don’t have to sit here and listen to you mouth off anymore.” She opened up her pocketbook and pulled out her wallet. She fished out a few bills to cover her breakfast and the tip and stepped out of the booth. “You are an old coot,” she repeated as she walked past Oris.

  When she was beside him, he reached out and pinched her on the behind, causing her to jump. “Make sure you stop off and tell those officers about the gypsies,” he called out as she headed to the door.

  She threw up her third finger and walked outside. Fred and Bea laughed.

  “Why do you pick on her so much?” Fred asked Oris. He had come out of the kitchen again and taken a seat at the counter. “Fedora isn’t a bad person.” He had a cup of hot tea with him. “I mean, she’s ornery and nosy, but I doubt she deserves all you give her.”

  “Oris has to pick on somebody.” Francine was sitting in the back booth. Up to that moment, she had not joined the conversation; however, like everyone else in the diner, she was also interested in the men waiting in the parking lot. She was eating breakfast and reading a recipe book. “It’s just his nature.”

  “My nature?” Oris asked. “Well, ain’t that a fancy way of saying something nobody can figure out.” He had a toothpick in his mouth, and he pulled it out and took a sip of coffee. He glanced over at Bea, who was cleaning up the area around the cash register. She wasn’t paying any attention to the two of them. Fred had started reading the paper.

  Francine shrugged. “I think anybody who has known you more than a day can figure out what I’m talking about,” she said as she jotted down the ingredients she had found for a new recipe.

  “He’s an old coot,” Fred chimed in.

  “Bea, help me out here. They’ve gone and ganged up on me,” Oris called out to the other woman in the diner.

  “You’re on your own.” She pulled out a new pack of napkins and started sliding dispensers from across the counter to fill them. “But if you ask me, I’d agree. You got an old coot nature, always have.”

  Fred smiled.

  Oris didn’t respond. He stuck the toothpick back in his mouth and stretched out his legs in front of him.

  Bea had turned again to glance out the window at the men still sitting in the car in the lot. One of them had stopped talking on his cell phone and seemed to be looking into the diner. “What do you really think they’re doing here?” she asked.

  Fred glanced up from the paper and turned to see what was going on in the parking lot. He shrugged. “Could just be two businessmen driving down from Phoenix.” He knew Highway 60 was a popular route from Albuquerque to towns west and across the border. The diner got a lot of those travelers.

  “Don’t look like tourists,” Bea noted. She kept studying the men as she filled the dispensers. “Look like cops.”

  Francine glanced up. “Or insurance salesmen.”

  Oris could see out of the window too. “I suspect they’re here about Raymond Twinhorse,” he said.

  The other three turned to him.

  “Why would insurance salesmen want to talk to Raymond Twinhorse?” It was Fred who asked.

  Oris chewed on the toothpick. “Well, first of all, they ain’t insurance salesmen. We all know that.” He studied the car in the parking lot and the men inside. “They’re feds all right, and Raymond Twinhorse is now officially wanted by the law.”

  Francine waited to hear more of what Oris had to say. She knew he was crazy, but she also knew that he was the sheriff’s father-in-law. Francine respected Roger and knew he didn’t have a loose tongue, but she had heard that everybody was talking about Raymond and what had happened the night the power went out across the county. If Oris did know something from the inside, she wanted to hear it. After all, even though she guessed that no one really knew it yet, she and Bernie were probably the last folks to see Raymond before he ran off.

  “Roger said they have a sudden interest in the Silver Spur robbery.” Oris took a sip of coffee. The others were waiting, and he was enjoying having all the attention. “Claims the FBI wants to talk to Raymond. Them and the Drug Enforcement Administration.” He put down his cup. “Hell, it sounds like everybody with some letters after their name is trying to find Frank and the boy.”

  “Why are they trying to find Frank?” Fred asked.

  “He took off a couple of days ago, searching for Raymond. Nobody’s seen him either.” Oris turned to face Francine. “Roger said that Bernie told him he stopped by the garage day before yesterday and told him he saw Frank just before he took off.” He waited to see if Francine was going to add anything.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Did Bernie know where Frank was heading?” Bea asked. She considered Frank a good friend and had not heard that he was missing for two days. The news unsettled her.

  Oris kept eyeing Francine.

  She dropped her head a
nd pretended to be reading her cookbook. She clearly had nothing she wanted to add.

  “Nah,” Oris answered. “Roger said that Bernie didn’t have any idea. He just claimed Frank seemed to be in an awful hurry. Garage’s been closed three days in a row now.”

  Francine could feel Oris watching her. She didn’t look up.

  “Trina missing too?” Bea asked.

  Oris shook her head. “She had some accident with radiator steam. Burned herself pretty bad,” he added. He hadn’t seen her, but he had heard Malene explaining to Roger about the proper medical care for radiator burns when he had been over at their house eating dinner earlier in the week. For some reason that Oris didn’t know, Malene had been called out to help Trina when it happened.

  “Well, I still don’t understand why the feds would be interested in a bar missing cash in Catron County. Sounded to me like it was just a case of Gilbert forgetting where he put his money.” Fred folded the paper and was about to start reading the sports section. “I hate it for Raymond,” he continued. “But I would think he could find a good lawyer and give an alibi for himself the night of the robbery.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about, Fred,” Oris commented. “You been accused of stealing or you watching those Andy Griffith lawyer reruns again?”

  Fred turned to Oris and grinned. “I have a history,” he replied. “And I also have satellite TV.”

  Oris laughed.

  “Well, it appears like you were wrong about them not coming in to eat,” Bea said to Oris. She finished with the napkins and placed the dispensers back on the counter. “They’re either hoping to get breakfast or they’re coming here thinking we know more than just how to fry an egg.”

  The other three turned to see the two men stepping out of the car in the parking lot and heading in their direction.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Are you sure it’s all right for you to be working again?” Father George had stopped by the garage after Trina called to tell him that the part for his car had been delivered. She wasn’t sure, however, when Frank could work on the station wagon; she hadn’t seen her employer since the morning she was at the church.

  “I’m taking antibiotics to decrease the chance of infection. I’ve got some really good pain meds if I start hurting. Besides, I don’t plan to work on engines yet.” She sat up a bit. It was still a bit uncomfortable for her to sit upright and lean against the back part of the chair. “Malene was right; that doctor at the clinic in Socorro was real nice, didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

  “Still, are you supposed to return to work so soon?” George asked again.

  “I just figured I could check on the bills and do some paperwork. I thought Frank might want me to hang around at least for folks when they show up.”

  “Have you seen or heard from him?” the priest asked. He was sitting in the office across from Trina, who had taken a seat behind the desk.

  “No,” she replied. “I thought maybe you had.” She had hoped that was the reason Father George was stopping by.

  He shook his head and glanced around the office. He knew that the longer the garage owner was out, the worse it was going to be for him when he got back. He had heard that the FBI agents weren’t making any bones about the fact that they were searching for Raymond and his father, that they had now concocted a story that the father and son were involved in some drug ring. He thought it was ludicrous and had told the agents so when he encountered them at the diner the previous day. “No, not since I drove him out to the church to see you.” He sighed. “I don’t even know if he’s heard what kind of trouble Raymond is in.”

  Trina had heard the news about the robbery in Datil from Malene, who had come by the house when she got off work the day after the power outage, the day Trina was hiding in the church. Malene had told her that she heard the report from Christine and expected that Roger would be looking for Raymond.

  Malene had said that Trina should expect a call from the sheriff, but she had promised that she wouldn’t tell her husband what happened between the young woman and Raymond. She had already explained to Roger, she told Trina, that she had treated her for some injuries she thought she got at work. She had even volunteered to stay with Trina that first night, but Trina had said she would rather be alone. Trina hadn’t explained to Malene why she didn’t want company, but she thought Raymond wouldn’t come in the house if he knew someone else was there. Even though she wasn’t sure that she was going to let him stay, she had still been hopeful that he would return, even after she heard about what happened in Datil.

  Malene, of course, had been right about the sheriff. She hadn’t been gone fifteen minutes before he pulled up in the driveway, claiming that he was stopping by to check on her. Trina had realized that his story was partly true—he did care about her, and she knew it—but she also knew he was hoping to find Raymond. When she asked him why he wanted to see her boyfriend, pretending not to know about the robbery in Datil, he had given her the same report Malene gave her. Even to hear a second time that Raymond was a person of interest in a breaking-and-entering case, and with the information coming this time from the sheriff, Trina still didn’t want to believe that the story was true. She knew that the crime behind these accusations would have been completely out of character for Raymond.

  “I called Frank every hour after Roger left. He never went home that night,” Trina said, recalling how she had tried to contact Frank after she heard about the trouble from Malene and then Roger.

  “I think he must have found him,” Father George guessed. “I think Frank found Raymond, and he’s trying to talk him into coming home.” He was worried about his friend. To be gone for a couple of days, close the garage, and not explain even to Trina where he was or when he’d return, George knew this wasn’t like Frank.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Trina responded softly. “But it sure is taking a long time to talk him into it.”

  George could see that the young woman wasn’t convinced by his idea. He could see she was thinking something else. “What?” he asked her.

  Trina moved up and then back into the office chair. She seemed uncomfortable. Considering that she might be in pain, George was about to suggest that she go home. He would even drive her if she needed him to—drive her home and go pick up the baby for her.

  “I’m worried that Frank found Raymond and that Raymond is still like. . . .” She hesitated. “ . . . Like he was when he left.” She slid her feet back and forth under her. “That maybe Frank found him and Raymond hurt Frank too.”

  Father George had not thought of this. It was possible she was right. And yet, he just didn’t think that Raymond could harm his own father. He looked up at Trina to say as much, but then, remembering her wounds, realized that he had also thought the boy would never have hurt her either.

  “Do you think Frank knows about the robbery? That he knew before he went out to find Raymond?”

  Trina shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered. “How would he have found out?”

  Father George shrugged. “Doesn’t he have a police scanner in his truck?” he asked, recalling that he had seen one when he had ridden with the garage owner before.

  “Yeah, he keeps it so he’ll know if there’s a wreck or so he can get the report if a vehicle breaks down. Sometimes he tows for the county,” she explained.

  “I thought that’s what he told me before” came the reply.

  “So you think he found out and he’s trying to keep Raymond hidden?” Trina asked.

  George thought about the possibilities. Either Frank didn’t know about the robbery—and was trying to talk his son into coming back and getting help for what he thought was just the one violent episode that had happened with Trina—or he did know about what happened at Datil. George didn’t have any idea what Frank would do once he learned about that. Would he try to hide his son or try to talk him into returning and facing the situation? He didn’t know.

  “Or maybe,” Trina said, “
Raymond’s told Frank about getting thrown out of the Silver Spur and . . . the robbery.” Like George, Trina wasn’t sure what was happening between the father and son.

  George didn’t respond. He really didn’t know what Frank would do if he knew about Raymond being kicked out of the bar and the threats he made to Gilbert. He didn’t know what Frank would do if he found Raymond with the money he was accused of stealing. He thought the man would want his son to do the right thing and return to answer the questions of the authorities and deal with the consequences, but he also knew that Frank had some serious issues with the government and what it had done to his people, the Navajo, as well as with what he thought the military had done to his son. Maybe he would prefer for Raymond to stay hidden. Maybe the father didn’t want his son to face any charges, any time in jail. These thoughts ran through George’s mind, but he didn’t think he should share them with Trina.

  “I’m just worried for them both,” Trina said, leaning forward. “You know how close they are.”

  Father George nodded. “He was really concerned about Raymond after the explosion. He practically moved into his hospital room in Albuquerque. And then, since Raymond’s been home, he’s been like a mother hen.” He rested his head against the wall behind him. “Remember how he acted with Raymond at the party?”

  “I remember,” Trina noted. “He kept going back and forth to the table, bringing Raymond whatever he wanted, trying to get him to eat. Then when he went outside for so long, Frank kept trying to get him to come in.”

  “If I recall correctly, Raymond wasn’t too keen on the idea of the party,” Father George commented. “I think Frank felt guilty for agreeing to it before he had checked it out with his son.”

  “Frank just thought it might lift his spirits; we all did. He thought he needed something after the hospital stay. And besides, Raymond used to like parties. I mean, he was never interested in being the center of attention, but he used to enjoy being around folks, from what I’ve heard from the people in town.”