Santa Fe Dead by Stuart Woods Read Free Book Online Page A

glared at Cupie. It was obvious that his memory of their last meeting was an unpleasant memory.
    “Now, my friend,” Cupie said, in his most avuncular voice. “All I want is her new name.”
    The man stared at him and said nothing.
    “Come on, you and I both know that holding out on me is not going to be good for business. Tell you what: I’ll sweeten it just a little.” He reached into a pocket for a wad of bills, peeled off two hundreds and tossed them onto the desk. “For your trouble.”
    Finally, the man spoke. “Five hundred.”
    Cupie sighed and tossed three more C-notes onto the desk. "I know it’s not really necessary to mention this,” he said, “but if you give me a wrong name, I won’t even need to come back. You’ll be raided before you can spend the five hundred—LAPD or the Feds, take your pick.”
    “The name is Eleanor Wright,” he said.
    Cupie stared at him.
    “And I colored her hair auburn, photographically. It was a good job, even if I do say so.”
    “Did you give her the whole package: passport, driver’s license, Social Security, credit cards?”
    The man nodded. “And they’ll all stand up. Now, that’s all you get for your five hundred.”
    Cupie stood up. “It’s so much easier talking to me than working for a living, isn’t it?” He gave a little wave and walked out of the office. “Good day, sweetheart,” he said to the daughter as he passed.
    He walked on down the sidewalk until he found a bookstore. He located the travel section and found a shelf of books on spas, settling on one that covered Southern California. He paid for his purchase, pocketed the receipt and walked back outside. He found another bench, this one overlooking the sandbox where the muscle boys played. They glistened in the sun, stretching, lifting and assuming poses. Half a dozen gay men were happy spectators.
    Cupie began leafing through the spa book. “Now, I’m Eleanor Wright, formerly Barbara Eagle,” he said aloud to himself. “If I had just decamped from a courthouse while the jury in my trial was still deliberating, where would I choose to go and rehabilitate my image?” He took a highlighter from his coat pocket and began marking likely spots. His criteria were luxury, seclusion, exclusivity and easy access from greater L.A.
    When he had highlighted twelve spas, he took out his cell phone and began calling them. Each time the phone was answered he asked for Mrs. Eleanor Wright. Surely Barbara would not pretend to be a single girl but rather a divorcée or widow. On the ninth phone call he hit pay dirt.
    “Oh,” a woman’s voice said, “you’ve just missed her. She checked out less than half an hour ago.”
    “I’m so sorry to miss her,” Cupie said. “This is her father. Did she say where she was going? Back here, to L.A.?”
    “No, but I don’t think so, because she hired one of our employees to drive her car there and leave it with a friend.”
    “Oh, that would be Jimmy Long,” he said.
    “Why, that’s right.”
    “It’s rather odd that she would suddenly send her car back but not come back herself. How was she traveling?”
    “Well, she left with Mr. Walter Keeler, and I know that he had flown into Palm Springs in his own airplane. He’s from up in Silicon Valley, the electronics entrepreneur.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t know the gentleman,” Cupie said. “Do you think she’ll be all right in his company? I worry about my girl.”
    “Oh, Mr. Keeler is a very upstanding citizen,” she said. “I know Mrs. Wright would be safe with him.”
    “Well, I’m relieved to hear that,” Cupie said. “I’m sure she’ll give me a call when she reaches her destination. Thank you so much for your help.” He hung up.
    Cupie walked back to his car and drove home. He couldn’t wait to get to his computer. Once at his desk he Googled “Walter Keeler.” His eyes widened as he read of the sale of Keeler’s company. “Two point seven bil!” he said aloud. He then went