Five O’Clock Shadow (19 page)

“You don't know anything…” Archer managed.

“That's pretty profound. Care to elaborate?” Pauly settled herself in the chair and crossed her legs. “What might I not know?”

“This is stupid. I'm not going to play games.” Archer stood behind the desk in a dismissive attitude. Pauly didn't move.

“There might be a lot of people interested in the kind of materials that…how would I put it? Pass through your hands.”

More sweat. Archer was beginning to look ill.

“What would they be called? Hobby materials? Or lifestyle preference materials? But somehow that doesn't quite capture it either, does it?”

“What are you talking about?” Tom looked at Archer and back at her. Incredible actor? Or was it possible that he didn't know? Archer didn't appear ready to divulge anything.

“Analysis of the Pajarito well. Was that a code name?” She asked and watched the corner of Archer's eye twitch. Tom just frowned, no hint of recognition, nothing to give away that he knew anything about the pictures.

“I won't clean out my office. I'm looking at this as an extended leave of absence until the investigation for a clearance is complete and you can call off your private dog. Then I'll return as an active partner. I suggest you hasten said investigation and attempt to undo whatever it is that you did. My lawyer will contact you regarding interim compensation. I expect amends to be made in a reasonable amount of time. Are there any other ‘loose ends' that we need to discuss at this time?”

Still Archer didn't offer anything, but he was leaning against the desk's edge, propped there with locked elbows.

Suddenly she was tired of all the cat and mouse. They had the advantage. She was effectively off the project. She knew how the FBI worked. Slowly, at best. And if information had been leaked, intimated by more than one person interviewed, it would be researched ad infinitum, checked and double-checked for months even if Archer called to say he had been mistaken. And she had better things to do. Maybe she didn't know what those things were just yet, but after last night, life was precious.

She began to feel calm, which was odd under the circumstances. Someone had tried to kill her and now, for all intents and purposes, she was challenging the very men who were behind it—which made her feel good but put her on the defensive big time. Talk about looking over her shoulder—she'd just be glad if someone didn't fire-bomb her car. She rose to go. The threat had been made. It was Archer's turn now. She'd savor the fact that she'd called their bluff. But victory felt empty, and she knew the price would be enormous.

“I told you this wouldn't fucking work,” Archer exploded.

The rush of anger felt like a burst of heat in the room, but Archer wasn't talking to her, he was looking at Tom. “I can't believe you took her off the project without discussing it with me first.”

Pauly looked at Tom. Could this be true? Tom acted alone?

“I'm worried about your safety. The water conservancy project isn't made up of amateurs. The stakes are high. There's a lot to lose. I tried to reason with you at lunch and then the other night. When I realized that you wouldn't listen to me, I…I've probably prolonged the investigation for your clearance.” He looked up sheepishly. “It's nothing permanent. A little checking and a lack of substantiation and you're back on board. In the meantime you're safe.” He managed to look somewhat proud of himself.

Pauly sank back down in the chair. Shit. There was no reason not to believe him. Safe. What irony. She'd just done everything but tie on the blindfold before the squad took aim and he was babbling about her being safe. She laughed, a sharp explosive sound, not the usual reaction to something humorous. It sounded forced; it was. She looked at Archer. He wasn't laughing, but he had sat down. She couldn't read the closed look that veiled his features.

“I'll make it up to you.” Tom turned towards her, his voice pleading. “I didn't think you'd be so upset. I just felt the need to slow you down. I wasn't sure you really understood the danger, that's all. There's been a lot of opposition to the project. You're trying to take on something that could derail some careers. I never expected you to react so…so….”

He left the sentence unfinished. Hadn't he really meant to say “overreact”? Would she ever be able to work on an equal basis with chauvinist assholes? Even if she could change them, would it be worth it? Did she even want to try?

“I know this will cramp your style. But if I were you I wouldn't do anything rash.” Archer broke his silence, back in power, unconsciously steepling his hands, index fingers tapping together in a point. He wasn't putting a description with what he might consider “rash.” But it had the sound of a threat. So, what was new?

Pauly took a deep breath. “I'm taking thirty days leave. I'll be back the last week in January. We'll sit down and discuss what progress has been made at that time.” She rose to go.

“Pauly, I did what I thought was best for you. Once you've calmed down, I think you'll see that,” Tom said.

“It will never be your place to make decisions for me.”

She didn't react to “calmed down,” even though it made her bristle. It was going to feel good to get out of there. She walked to the door and turned to look back at Archer. He seemed deep in thought, removed from the scene around him, but the skin of the lip pulled over his lower teeth was splotchy white. What would he do now that she'd played her trump? One thing she was certain of, she needed to be prepared.

She didn't go back to her office but kept walking, past the receptionist and out into the parking lot. It was colder today but she hardly noticed the lack of a coat. She sat a minute behind the steering wheel of the truck. What was she going to do? Formulate a plan, for starters. She had one month to solve the mystery of Randy's death. And she had a good idea of where she'd start.

The child. Who else had the answers? He was the only one who could tell her about Randy. But how did you start a conversation with a child porn model who was supposedly the adopted son of your dead husband and didn't speak English? The last thing she wanted was to spook him, chase him away for good, never to have any chance to question him.

Had he seen something on the morning of the accident? Murder, she corrected herself. She needed to keep reminding herself of the severity of it all. Murder. Randy's—plus the attempt on her own life. That was her reality, the reality of the situation and not something to be taken lightly. And until she had some answers, she'd be looking over her shoulder. And being careful. Not trying to second-guess how Archer might use the fact that she knew how he pandered to Sosimo…maybe shared Sosimo's tastes…and all to keep the perks flowing to MDB.

She'd wrestled with how she could approach the child. It wasn't going to be easy, and it would be better if they could have an interpreter. She didn't feel that she could walk down to the trailers and make inquiries. Why did she want to talk with him, if someone should ask? And they probably would. Nothing really plausible came to mind. She'd stayed away from the carnival and it would seem suspect, perhaps, if she suddenly showed up trying to get information. And she couldn't involve Steve. That would lead to too many questions. And could she trust him? The ski mask rose to mind. She started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot.

***

The cardboard sign tacked to the telephone pole at the edge of the drive was homemade, a child's block letters in black, large and slightly slanted uphill. Pauly had just slowed to make the turn onto the winding dirt road that led to Grams' B&B, when she saw it and slammed on the brakes.

CHRISTMAS PUPS-J.R. TERRIERS
AND ONE SPADE FEMALE OLDER

The misspelling of “spayed” didn't even bother her editor instincts. This was a godsend. Of course she'd want to see puppies. The excuse to visit was perfect. Was it premature to think her luck might be changing?

She parked the truck at the far end of the triple garages. She'd change clothes and walk down to inquire. Some of the carny kids were playing softball in a field to the left of the trailers. They'd be able to direct her to the puppies.

“And just where are you going? We haven't seen you for two days and you're running off again.” Grams was standing in the kitchen doorway as Pauly was going out the back. “Will we see you at supper tonight?”

“I'm planning on it.” A quick peck on the cheek seemed to appease her, but out of guilt Pauly followed Grams back into the kitchen. She hadn't spent much time at home, and with Christmas just two days away, she felt really guilty. “I'm going to go down and try to find the puppies that are advertised.”

“Oh, Lord. That's all we need, something that isn't housebroken and cries all night.”

“I didn't say I would get one.”

“I've never known a bigger sucker for something small and furry than this one.” Grams pointed her way, and it was then that Pauly saw Hofer sitting at the island cradling a cup of something steaming.

“Hi,” Pauly said. He nodded. She'd never seen Hofer in the house before—when he wasn't there for meals, that is. If the romance was as hot as Grams had hinted it was a few months ago, wasn't it strange that they didn't spend any more time together? But, then, maybe things had cooled. Pauly had suspected the religious thing might turn out to be a problem.

“What are we having?” Pauly asked and walked closer to the stove.

“Are
we
suddenly particular?” Grams laughed and threw her free arm around Pauly's shoulders, not missing a turn with a long-handled wooden spoon that was cutting circles in something that looked like green chili stew. “Be ready by five. Early night tonight. Everyone's getting ready to pull out in the morning.”

“The carnival's leaving?” Pauly asked.

“Yep. The whole kit an' caboodle pulls out Christmas Eve morning for a couple days' stint in El Paso.”

“Will you be going?” She addressed the question somewhat generally to either Grams or Hofer. Hofer just shook his head and reached for the evening paper. What a conversationalist.

From the pulpit he was the silver-tongued orator—but not in the kitchen apparently.

“Not this time, honey. I've never liked to spend the holidays on the road. Done it plenty of times, though. Guess I've earned a break.” Grams opened the fridge and squatted down to pull out five packages of flour tortillas and tossed each up on the oak island. She stood, then with two more packs in her hands, bumped the refrigerator door shut with her hip. “Besides, I thought we might want to do something together tomorrow night. Take the luminarios tour, spend a little time in Old Town. You just name it, sugar, and we'll do it.”

Pauly realized that Grams was making herself available because she thought Pauly might feel down, first holiday after the death of her husband.

“Oh, Grams, thanks for thinking of me. Let's talk about it later. Maybe the tour would be nice. I haven't been for a few years.” Pauly started out the door.

“I was only teasing about a puppy. It might be nice to have a little guy around the house. If you see one you like, we'll just consider it a little something from Santa,” Grams called after her. Was the puppy ruse beginning to backfire? Pauly didn't really want a puppy, the responsibility of feeding and housebreaking. There was recent evidence that she wasn't taking care of herself very well.

“Thanks. I just want to look.” Pauly walked back to hug her grandmother and promised herself once again she'd spend more time with this pretty woman who cared for her so much. This time she meant it.

“See you later,” Pauly said, including Hofer in her wave. The slight nod in return seemed forced. Yet, she'd felt his eyes on her when she'd talked to Grams. Hard one to figure, she guessed.

“Remember, supper's early tonight. Don't be late, you hear?”

Pauly smiled. The warmth of the kitchen, the tantalizing scent of green chilies, pork, and potatoes simmering in a kettle—it would be easy to be lulled into feeling safe in the big, brightly lighted room. She hung back a moment before going out in the cold, reluctant to begin her search for the child, afraid that she might not find him. Or was she afraid of the answers that he had? Wasn't speculation less hurtful than hard evidence? How badly did she want to know? She sighed. She didn't have to rehash. Didn't her life now depend on finding out?

She pushed the back door open, pulled on gloves and started across the driveway. She could see the group playing ball and headed in that direction. She found herself hoping that Jorge might be with them. But he wasn't. She scanned the backfield. No familiar small child. These boys seemed older, pre-teen but closer to twelve.

“Do you know who has the puppies for sale?” The boy nearest her was more interested in the game than in giving directions, but he paused long enough to say, “Second trailer on the left.” She headed that way. The big tent no longer separated the playing field from the housing units. It must be dismantled somewhere, ready for the road trip to El Paso. It left a gap, a big trampled, mussed-looking area of flattened brown grass and gravel.

Pauly walked slower when she came to the trailers. They looked different in the day. Bleaker somehow, but was that just her prejudice? Her dislike of small closed-in spaces? It took three loud knocks on the tinny door before anyone answered.

“Don't tell me you're here about the puppies?” The woman was in her thirties, mousey hair pulled into a ponytail, a cigarette in her hand. “I told Davy to take the sign down. We only had three and they were gone before noon. Christmas and all. Sorry.” She shut the door. It wasn't so much in dismissal as from the need to keep the cold out.

Pauly stepped back. Now what? No puppies. It was difficult to fight off the overpowering sense of defeat. She looked down the two facing rows of trailers and motor homes, some twenty in all, with the carnival paraphernalia parked in two fields beyond. It was quiet where she was; everyone seemed to be working with the equipment out back. Shouts of directions, pull this, push that, drifted her way. The size of the caravan that would be leaving in the morning would be enormous, some half dozen eighteen-wheelers plus the company living quarters.