Santa Fe Dead

“It’s breathtaking,” she said. “But what are we doing here?”

Walter turned to the real estate agent. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” The woman disappeared, and he turned back to Ellie. “Do you think you could be happy living here?”

“Why, of course. Who wouldn’t be happy living here?”

“Good. But I’m an old-fashioned guy; you’ll have to marry me first.”

“But Walter, we’ve known each other for only a few days. You hardly know me.”

“Let me ask you something: Do you think you know me?”

“Well… yes-unless you have some deep dark secret you’re hiding.”

“Nope. What you see is what you get. My feeling is that you are the same way. Am I wrong?”

She put her arms around his neck. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“I love you, Ellie. Will you marry me?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, kissing him, not worrying about her lipstick.

“I’ve arranged for a license; a judge will bring it at noon. A few friends are coming up from Palo Alto. Is there anyone you’d like to ask?”

“I have no friends in California,” she said. “Only you.”

“Then I will just have to be enough,” he said. “The judge will marry us at noon, then we’ll have a luncheon on the terrace.”

“Will the real estate agent let us do that?”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, beckoning to the woman, who was waiting in the living room. She came out onto the terrace, and he produced a cashier’s check. “Here you are; you may close with my attorney immediately.” He handed her a card.

“The place is yours, Mr. Keeler,” she said. “And may I offer my congratulations?” She shook both their hands and left.

“All the furnishings come with it?” Ellie asked.

“It was an estate sale. The owners died in a yachting accident three months ago, and the agents had the place repainted and freshened up. It comes with two servants, too, a very nice couple, who will be here shortly with the caterers.” The doorbell rang. “That will be our clothes arriving from the hotel.” He went to let them in.

Barbara/Ellie turned and took in the view again. “There is a God,” she said aloud to herself.

12

EAGLE SAT, clearing up his desk. Everybody else in the office had left for the day. The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Ed Eagle.”

“It’s Cupie.”

“What’s up?”

“They checked out of the Four Seasons this morning, but the airplane is still at Hayward Executive. I haven’t been able to find them.”

Eagle thought for a moment. Where would they go without the airplane?”

“Not another hotel; I’ve been checking reservation lists all day. Anyway, why would anybody move out of the presidential suite at the Four Seasons in favor of another hotel?”

“Maybe there was a fly in the soup. Find them.”

“Ed, if I have to leave my computer to find them, I’m going to need some help.”

“Hire anybody you need.”

“I’d like Vittorio.” Vittorio was an Apache Indian who lived near Santa Fe. Cupie had worked with him the last time they had to find Barbara, and he had testified at Barbara’s trial.

“Great, call him.”

“I think Vittorio would like it better if you called him. He can reach me at home; he has the number.”

“I’ll see if I can reach him,” Eagle said. He hung up and found Vittorio’s cell phone number.

Voice mail picked up. “You have reached the number you dialed,” Vittorio’s voice said. “Leave your name and number.”

“Vittorio, it’s Ed Eagle. I need to speak with you as soon as possible.” He left his office, home and cell numbers.

MR. AND MRS. Walter Keeler sat on their new terrace, watching the sunset and sipping martinis. Their guests for the wedding luncheon had only just left.

Eleanor Wright Keeler hadn’t much liked the three couples Walter had invited. She had played them carefully, laughing at the men’s jokes but paying particular attention to the women. They had all known Walter’s late wife, and each of them had made a point of telling her what a wonderful person she had been, by which they meant that Eleanor had better be a wonderful person, too. She concentrated on giving them absolutely no reason to hate her. She’d make friends with them later, if it became absolutely necessary.

Walter, bless his heart, had stressed to his friends how he had swept her off her feet and that she had married him against her better judgment.

Now it was time for some practical conversation. “Walt,” she said, “I know you just sold your company, but what sort of company was it?”

“Well, you know those four big screens you saw in the cockpit of the CitationJet?”

“Yes, that was an impressive display.”

“I designed and manufactured them. I began twenty-five years ago, right out of Caltech, by designing an aircraft radio. It was smaller and cheaper and just as effective as anything else on the market, and it made me a small fortune in just a few years. Being a private pilot-I owned a little Cessna 182, at the time-I started dreaming up new ideas for the cockpit. I bought a couple of other companies that made other aircraft products, and I took in a couple of partners by trading stock for their companies. A few years later we had a whole suite of avionics for light aircraft, and then I heard about the global positioning system, which is a network of twenty-five satellites circling the earth and which, at that time, could be used only by the military. I saw the possibilities, and I got a license from the government, in my own name, to design a civilian receiver. Both my partners were older than I and wanted to retire, so I borrowed a lot of money and bought them out, giving them a handsome profit, and when the government finally opened GPS to civilian use, I was ready with the first receiver. That was the smartest move I ever made. The second smartest was to incorporate the screens used on laptop computers as cockpit displays and to design systems for corporate aircraft like mine, which sell at a lower price than the competition.”

“And you’re completely retired now?”

“Yep. I’m going to concentrate on you, now.”

“Well, I assume that, since you seem to spend money like a drunken sailor, you must be fairly well off.”

“Ellie, my darling,” he said, “you will never have to worry about money again.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. I’m afraid my late former husband died without a will, and a huge fight with his children over the estate ensued. I had no stomach for the courts, so I lost out.”

“I’ve already given my lawyer notes for a new will, and it will be signed in a day or two.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’ve no idea what a relief that is to me.”

“By the way, you’re free to do anything you want with this apartment. Throw everything away and start from scratch, if you like.”

“I like most of it very much,” she said. “Maybe a new paint color here and there; it’s mostly Wright as it is.”

“Spend like a drunken sailor, as you put it; I can afford it if you spend like a drunken navy.”

Barbara laughed and squeezed his hand again.

“By the way, I thought I’d take you on a little honeymoon tomorrow.”

“That’s fine with me,” she said. “I would like a little time to think about what to do with the apartment. Where do you want to go? Where will we jet off to this time?”

“It’s close enough to drive,” Walter said. “Let it be a surprise.”

“You may surprise me all you wish,” she said, pouring them another martini from the shaker.

EAGLE AND SUSANNAH were finishing di

“Hello?”

“Ed, it’s Vittorio.”

“Thanks for returning my call, Vittorio,” he said. “Are you available for some work?”

“Yes, but I’m still in Los Angeles. I finished another job yesterday, and I thought I’d take a day or two off.”