the propane tank.”
“Well thank you. Some guy in a coonskin hat shooting out windows. That makes me feel lots better.” Parris bagged and tagged the lumpy artifact, dropped it into his pocket.
Moon leaned on his pickup. “I’d like to get this Billy Smoke business behind me. I’ve got a lot of work to do at the ranch.”
Parris grinned. “Like what?”
The stockman’s expression was solemn. “For one thing, we got a big cougar threatening the stock. He might even be a danger to my cowboys.”
“A cougar. Boy, I’d change places with you in one second flat.” The white man grinned at his best friend. “So when’re we gonna go fishing?”
“Soon as I get this work for the tribal chairman finished.”
“You do seem to be awfully focused on that.”
“Well, now that you mention it—”
“You’d sure appreciate any help.”
“Glad you took the hint.”
“Whatever you want—all you got to do is ask.” Parris looked up at the taller man. “For starters, would you like to read the official report on the investigation into Mr. Smoke’s death?”
“Cover to cover, pardner.”
“It’ll be dull as daytime TV.”
“That’s good—if I’ve suffered some, it’ll help my conscience when I cash the tribe’s check.” He had an afterthought. “The postmortem, it turn up anything unusual on Billy’s remains?”
“Unusual—like what?”
“Tiny transmitters hidden under his skin by aliens. A twenty-dollar gold piece in his stomach.” Moon hesitated. “Or drugs.”
Parris shook his head. “Not unless you count the legal kind. Mr. Smoke was just a smidgen under the blood-alcohol limit.”
“Tell me the rest.”
“Word has it, the man was drunk fifty percent of the time and not quite sober the other half.”
“Sounds like Billy had no business driving a motor vehicle.”
The chief of police almost shuddered. “Gives me the cold chills to think about a drunk chauffeuring our senior senator around in that big Lincoln.”
Moon frowned. “I just remembered something I was supposed to tell you about.”
“So tell me.”
“Aunt Daisy met this young woman at a discount store in Durango. She was just a kid—probably needed to talk to a social worker.”
“So what was her problem?”
“My aunt thought she was scared of somebody.”
“Who was she?”
“Didn’t mention her name.”
“When did this happen?”
“A few months ago.” Moon grinned. “Like I said, it sorta slipped my mind.”
The chief of police stared at the Ute. “Last night on a TV talk show, there was this Harvard psychologist. She said as we get old, the memory’s the second thing to go.” He feigned an expression of intense concentration. “But damned if I can remember what the first thing is…”
“The reason I forgot might be important. Just a few hours after my aunt had her chat with this gal, something happened that distracted my attention.”
“And what was that?”
“Billy Smoke was murdered. Senator Davidson got his legs busted up.”
Parris raised an eyebrow. “You think there might be a connection?”
The tribal investigator shrugged.
“Any notion where this Jane Doe hangs her hat?”
“Aunt Daisy said the gal mentioned Arroyo Hondo.” The old mining settlement was in GCPD jurisdiction. Which made it Scott Parris’s official business.
The busy chief of police shook his head. “Nobody stays at Hondo on a permanent basis. And it’s been quite some time since your aunt talked to this young lady.”
“I know it’s a long shot.” Moon looked toward the western highlands. “But what if she’s out there in the wilderness, hiding from some bad-ass.” His eyes twinkled. “Poor thing could be living in a cave. Wearing filthy, flea-infested rags. Eating roots and grubs.”
Parris grimaced at the image. “I guess I could send a couple of officers up to have a look.”
“Now you’re talking.”
“What does she look like?”
“Aunt Daisy said she was white. Early
“Well thank you. Some guy in a coonskin hat shooting out windows. That makes me feel lots better.” Parris bagged and tagged the lumpy artifact, dropped it into his pocket.
Moon leaned on his pickup. “I’d like to get this Billy Smoke business behind me. I’ve got a lot of work to do at the ranch.”
Parris grinned. “Like what?”
The stockman’s expression was solemn. “For one thing, we got a big cougar threatening the stock. He might even be a danger to my cowboys.”
“A cougar. Boy, I’d change places with you in one second flat.” The white man grinned at his best friend. “So when’re we gonna go fishing?”
“Soon as I get this work for the tribal chairman finished.”
“You do seem to be awfully focused on that.”
“Well, now that you mention it—”
“You’d sure appreciate any help.”
“Glad you took the hint.”
“Whatever you want—all you got to do is ask.” Parris looked up at the taller man. “For starters, would you like to read the official report on the investigation into Mr. Smoke’s death?”
“Cover to cover, pardner.”
“It’ll be dull as daytime TV.”
“That’s good—if I’ve suffered some, it’ll help my conscience when I cash the tribe’s check.” He had an afterthought. “The postmortem, it turn up anything unusual on Billy’s remains?”
“Unusual—like what?”
“Tiny transmitters hidden under his skin by aliens. A twenty-dollar gold piece in his stomach.” Moon hesitated. “Or drugs.”
Parris shook his head. “Not unless you count the legal kind. Mr. Smoke was just a smidgen under the blood-alcohol limit.”
“Tell me the rest.”
“Word has it, the man was drunk fifty percent of the time and not quite sober the other half.”
“Sounds like Billy had no business driving a motor vehicle.”
The chief of police almost shuddered. “Gives me the cold chills to think about a drunk chauffeuring our senior senator around in that big Lincoln.”
Moon frowned. “I just remembered something I was supposed to tell you about.”
“So tell me.”
“Aunt Daisy met this young woman at a discount store in Durango. She was just a kid—probably needed to talk to a social worker.”
“So what was her problem?”
“My aunt thought she was scared of somebody.”
“Who was she?”
“Didn’t mention her name.”
“When did this happen?”
“A few months ago.” Moon grinned. “Like I said, it sorta slipped my mind.”
The chief of police stared at the Ute. “Last night on a TV talk show, there was this Harvard psychologist. She said as we get old, the memory’s the second thing to go.” He feigned an expression of intense concentration. “But damned if I can remember what the first thing is…”
“The reason I forgot might be important. Just a few hours after my aunt had her chat with this gal, something happened that distracted my attention.”
“And what was that?”
“Billy Smoke was murdered. Senator Davidson got his legs busted up.”
Parris raised an eyebrow. “You think there might be a connection?”
The tribal investigator shrugged.
“Any notion where this Jane Doe hangs her hat?”
“Aunt Daisy said the gal mentioned Arroyo Hondo.” The old mining settlement was in GCPD jurisdiction. Which made it Scott Parris’s official business.
The busy chief of police shook his head. “Nobody stays at Hondo on a permanent basis. And it’s been quite some time since your aunt talked to this young lady.”
“I know it’s a long shot.” Moon looked toward the western highlands. “But what if she’s out there in the wilderness, hiding from some bad-ass.” His eyes twinkled. “Poor thing could be living in a cave. Wearing filthy, flea-infested rags. Eating roots and grubs.”
Parris grimaced at the image. “I guess I could send a couple of officers up to have a look.”
“Now you’re talking.”
“What does she look like?”
“Aunt Daisy said she was white. Early
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