The Big Gamble by Michael McGarrity Read Free Book Online

walking distance of the historic Santa Fe Plaza. On the fringe of a prestigious neighborhood, the lane consisted mostly of two rows of modest homes, all built just before or after World War II. The few houses that had changed hands from Hispanic to Anglo ownership were easy to spot. Enlarged, lavishly landscaped, and given the Santa Fe look, they dwarfed the simple farm-style cottages that were so out of vogue among the gentry and the new-rich immigrants.
    Kerney had called ahead to arrange a meeting with the elderly couple, and they were waiting on a small porch when he pulled to a stop behind a beautifully maintained old pickup truck parked in a gravel driveway. Both looked apprehensive as he approached. Mrs. Montoya, a short, round woman, clutched a string of rosary beads. Her husband, equally round and just a few inches taller, seemed to flinch as Kerney drew near.
    On the telephone, he’d given no reason for his visit other than to say he had fresh information to share. A deep sadness showed on their faces as he reintroduced himself and shook George Montoya’s hand. His palm was moist and his grip vise-hard.
    “Our Anna Marie is dead, isn’t she?” George Montoya asked.
    “Yes.”
    He let go of Kerney’s hand and gestured at the screen door. “Please tell us what you know,” he said, his voice cracking.
    Inside, Kerney sat in the front room with the couple. Nothing in the room had changed in the years since his last visit except for a new television and an oak stand to hold it. On the walls hung Mrs. Montoya’s stretched canvas embroideries of New Mexico song-birds—at least a dozen—all nicely framed. Kerney recognized a flycatcher, a warbler, and a goldfinch. He summarized as gently as possible the facts surrounding the discovery of Anna Marie’s body.
    Mrs. Montoya crossed herself. Her lips trembled slightly. “Was her body burned in the fire?”
    “No,” Kerney answered. The couple was silent for a time.
    “Did you see her?” George Montoya asked. The years had aged Montoya. His hair was thin, the skin under his chin above his Adam’s apple was loose, and his eyes were glazed.
    “No,” Kerney said.
    “How did she die?”
    “A blow to the head,” Kerney answered.
    “Murdered,” Mr. Montoya said hesitantly, as though the word could beget the act.
    “We believe so. Can you think of any reason for her to travel with someone to Lincoln County?”
    Mr. Montoya shook his head. “She had no friends or relatives there.”
    “Perhaps she knew a person from the area,” Kerney said. “A classmate from graduate school, an old Santa Fe friend who’d relocated.”
    “Anna Marie never mentioned anyone like that,” Lorraine Montoya said.
    “Did she ever spend time there on business or vacation?” Kerney asked.
    “I can’t recall that she did,” George added, looking at his wife for confirmation.
    “It’s possible,” Mrs. Montoya replied. “But it may have not been important enough for her to mention.”
    “So, a weekend jaunt out of town or a business meeting she’d attended might not come up in conversation.”
    Mrs. Montoya nodded solemnly. “We felt blessed that she lived close by to us, and we saw her frequently. But she didn’t tell us everything about her day-to-day activities.”
    “No old boyfriend from that neck of the woods?”
    Mr. Montoya slowly shook his head. “She would have told us about somebody that important to her. Why are you asking these questions?”
    “I know it’s hard right now. Based on the facts we have, I’m inclined to believe your daughter knew her killer. She disappeared for no apparent reason, her car was abandoned, and her body was hidden near a very busy state road a hundred and fifty miles away. If it had been a random act by a stranger, the chances are likely Anna Marie’s body would have been discovered soon after the crime, much closer to home.”
    “Someone she knew killed her?” Mrs. Montoya asked, her voice shaky. “How can that be?