QUINTRELL RANCH
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
"WHAT ABOUT JIM SNEAD?" MELISSA ASKED, RESTING HER HIP CASUALLY AGAINST
Josh's desk. "Do you want to keep him on?"
Josh looked at the employment log, hesitated, and shrugged. "Keep him. He doesn't cost much and he's a hell of a shot."
"Blaine?" she continued.
"I didn't know Jim's twin was on the payroll."
"Not full-time. Just whenever we need an extra hand for odd jobs or running ranch errands in town. He's had a tough life. We help out when we can. You don't remember it because you almost never came here, but he pretty much grew up on the ranch. We all did. It was a lot of fun." Melissa smiled, remembering tagging along with the twins for raids on orchards. "Anyway, Blaine can be handy for the small stuff."
Josh frowned and weighed the political consequences of hiring a felon. On the plus side, it polished his liberal image. On the negative side, it polished his liberal image.
New Mexico's voters were a divided lot.
The sound of a helicopter flying up the valley reverberated through the air.
Impatiently Josh waved his hand. "As long as Blaine doesn't show up drunk or loaded, hire him. Otherwise, send him away."
"Of course." Melissa made a note in the margin of the employee log. "What about the maids and the cook?"
Windows rattled lightly as the chopper set down.
"You take care of adding or subtracting people and hours," he said. "That's what the Senator hired you for-running the place. As long as I keep the ranch, I'll defer to your judgment. What's the point of having good people if you don't trust them?"
Melissa smiled. "Thank you, sir. Do you need to see Pete again?"
"Has he found out anything about those charities?"
"He's working on it."
"Good. As soon as he has anything, I want it. Even using Anne's family money, I need every bit of cash I can get my hands on for my campaign."
"Yes, Governor."
Josh stood up and strode out of the room with the vigor of a man half his age. Quintrell blood might throw some wild cards, but the survivors tended to live long and healthy lives. He walked quickly through hallways and rooms without noticing their wealth and tasteful furnishings. Unlike the governor's Santa Fe mansion, which was a showcase for the finest in New Mexican art and artisans, the Quintrell ranch home reflected a cosmopolitan lifestyle not bounded by any local artistic tradition.
He knocked on the door to Sylvia's suite and entered without waiting. Not for the first time, he thought that walking into the room was like turning back the clock. The youngest piece of furniture in the suite was thirty years old. Most pieces were sixty or older, much older. Only the medical equipment was recent.
As usual, Winifred was in the chair beside her sister's bed, holding her sister's limp hand. Sylvia's eyes were open, black, and empty, looking toward the door and focusing on nothing. Slowly, slowly, her head turned to the window and the outside pool's dance and shimmer.
"We're leaving now," Josh said to Winifred.
She just looked at him.
"Be careful what you let your historian print," he reminded her.
"Good-bye, Governor. Ask Melissa to-Oh, there she is."
"I was just coming to check on you," Melissa said. "Would you like tea and cookies?"
"Yes. And some of that soup we had for lunch, if there's any more."
Without a word Josh turned and left.
Winifred's black eyes tracked every step he took until he was out of sight. When the sound of his footsteps faded into the lazy whap whap whap of the idling helicopter blades, she switched her fierce glance to Melissa.
"What is he going to do?" Winifred asked bluntly.
"Nothing yet."
Winifred let out a rasping breath. "He's smarter than I thought."
"Don't count on it staying that way."
"You think he's going to sell everything?"
Melissa nodded.
"Over my dead body," Winifred said, coughing.
Melissa looked at the slack outline on the bed. Or hers.
But Melissa didn't say it aloud.