Deception Man by M.E. Smith

Author:M.E. Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: western suspense, desert noir, western crime, southwest mystery, desert mystery, american indian mystery, native american mystery, navajo nation mystery, pueblo indian mystery, southwest suspense
Publisher: M.E. Smith

Chapter 17

June 26, 2013, Santa Fe Cait and Bonita sat in the Jeep and watched people come and go from the Blue Agave. So far, no one who resembled Joe Wilkins had turned up.

“It’s after eight.” Cait dialed Joe Wilkin’s number. “Darn. His voicemail isn’t set up. I hate that.”

Bonita sniffed. “Sounds a little weird.”

“Maybe he got a new phone and forgot to activate voicemail. Let’s wait a little more.”

A fistful of raindrops pelted the windshield, a prelude to the action promised by thunderheads rolling in from the west.

“Classy wheels.” Bonita patted her leather bucket seat. “And you’ve got gnarly off-road tires. I bet you could have outrun that truck in this baby.”

“I’ve got to take good care of it, since my insurance is paying the tab. They weren’t happy to hear about my station wagon. The tow truck driver couldn’t even find it.”

“They’ll need a crane to raise it out of that wash.” Bonita chortled. “Tell the agent to call that trading post for directions.”

By eight twenty, Cait was drumming her fingertips on the steering wheel. She called Joe Wilkin’s number again. No answer.

“What a flake.” Bonita scratched her chin.

“I’ll check inside and then we’ll give up. Back in a minute.” Cell in hand, Cait stepped out of the Jeep. The sidewalks were clear except for a man and woman getting out of a Porsche in front of the restaurant.

“Keep an eye out,” Cait said. “Call me if you see a tall guy in a cowboy hat. And keep the doors locked.”

“Yeah. Watch out for that Canyon Road gang,” Bonita said. “They’re disguised as rich white people.”

Cait approached the Blue Agave. She ascended broad flagstone steps inlaid with turquoise, and stood under a long portico that ran along the front of the building.

Inside the restaurant, a maître d stood behind a counter in the foyer. Ottmar Liebert played softly over the sound system.

“I’m meeting a man named Joe Wilkins and his wife. They might be in the bar or at a table.”

“I’ll see.” After checking around, the man returned. “I don’t believe your party is here yet.”

Cait returned to the portico. The darkening sky growled. A rain-scented gust riled sidewalk dust into a mini whirlwind.

Restaurant patrons came and went as she called Wilkin’s number again.

She looked up to see a lanky man wearing a cowboy hat emerge from a side street. He headed for the restaurant.

He flashed a confident smile as he got closer. “Cait?”

“Joe?” Cait shook his hand. He was past middle age, but looked like he was in good shape. Clean-shaven except for a trim goatee on a strong chin. Despite the gloom, he wore reflective aviator-style sun glasses.

“Thanks for meeting me here. I was stuck in a meeting so I didn’t get a chance to go home and pick up the jewelry. We’ve had a change of plans. Would you mind coming to our place? It’s only ten minutes from here. My wife is entertaining some friends who stopped by. She’d love to meet you.”

Her vertebrae tightened with unease.

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