"Yeah." Kerney hung up and headed for the bedroom, hoping he could push Sara out of his mind and get a few hours sleep.
Kerney arrived at Horse Canyon Ranch as the morning sun washed the deep purple off the mountains. He eyed the headquarters as he drove down the paved ranch road, thinking that sooner or later one of those trendy, glossy magazines would undoubtedly feature Alida Bingham and her marvelous hacienda in an issue on living the good life in northern New Mexico.
It would be a gross distortion of how the local people in the valley lived in their mobile homes, ramshackle farms, and subdivision-type stick houses plunked down in the middle of five-and ten-acre tracts.
But it would sell copies, and have people from coast to coast dreaming of pinon logs crackling in a kiva fireplace, sweeping vistas of mountain ranges, and private trophy homes nestled near the wilderness.
His quick and dirty background check on Alida Bingham had revealed that the woman was an English dozen, part of the Hollywood film scene, divorced, wealthy, and a member of several international horse breeder and riding competition organizations.
He rang the doorbell at the hadenda and waited, wondering what, other than a love of horses, had drawn Alida Bingham to New Mexico.
Alida Bingham opened the door and studied the man standing under the portal at her front door. Tall, with wide, square shoulders, brown hair touched with gray at the sideburns, and keen, deep blue eyes, he was quite good looking.
She took the business card from his hand and glanced at the policeman's badge held up for her inspection.
"Griffin said you might be stopping by for a chat," Alida said.
"Do come in. Chief Kerney."
Kerney stepped inside the vestibule. Along one wall stood a large flowered vase used for umbrella storage. A pair of Wellingtons sat under a coat rack that held an assortment of rain gear, jackets, and barn coats. A three-legged occasional table opposite the coat rack contained fresh-cut flowers in a blue-and-white milk pitcher, a ceramic table lamp, and an assortment of family photographs in gold frames.
He followed Alida Bingham into the living room.
Oriental rugs were scattered around the floor, family portraits and photographs filled the walls, and chintz curtains in a spring flower print draped the long windows.
Deep sofas and chairs, separated by an oversize ottoman used to hold an array of books and magazines, occupied the space in front of a large fireplace. Somehow, the very English decor blended nicely with the clean lines of the double adobe house.
"Join me in the conservatory," Alida said as she led the way through the room.
Never having seen a conservatory before, Kerney followed along curiously. It turned out to be a sun room used for dining that took full advantage of the morning light. The round gate leg table centered in the middle of the room was antique oak with matching high ladder back chairs. On an exposed adobe wall hung a nineteenth-century sampler made by Marjorie Higgins, age ten. Below an elaborate alphabet and numbers, young Marjorie had embroidered a three-story Georgian mansion surrounded by lush grounds.
"Would you care for some coffee or tea?" Alicia asked as she sat.
"No thank you," Kerney repUed, joining her at the table. He made Bingham to be somewhere in her early forties. Dressed in a, gray-striped cashmere sweater and designer blue jeans, she had perfect teeth, wide set brown eyes, and short, light brown hair that covered her ears.
"I shouldn't like to rush you, but please ask your questions straight away. I have a very busy morning ahead of me."
"Emmet Griffin said you might know why Luiza left her position."
Alicia Bingham smiled.
"I'm afraid during Luiza's time with us I was frantically engaged in so many different projects, I didn't give her very much attention."
"She gave you no reason for leaving?"
"Homesickness certainly was an issue for her. I don't believe she realized that she would be viewed by the local Hispanics more as an Indian than a Latina."
"She felt shunned?"
"I would say so. The locals pride themselves on their Spanish heritage. Many view Mexicans with disdain."
"She made these feelings dear to you?"
"Yes. Luiza spoke passable English. She attended a Baptist missionary school in Chiapas for several years. I was sorry to lose her. She was a very capable housekeeper."
"Did she complain of any inappropriate attention from your male employees?"
"The men flitted around her for a time until I put a stop to it. She was quite an exotic-looking creature."
"She made no complaints about anyone specifically?"
Alicia shook her head.
"She simply asked me to keep the men from interrupting her at work."
"Was she more agreeable to their attentions on her free time?"
"Insofar as I could tell, no. She rarely left the ranch when I was here."
"You don't live here full-time?"
"Heavens, no. My ex-husband and I own and operate a special effects studio in Los Angeles. I divide my time between here and California."
"So, you can't say for certain what Luiza did during your absences."
"Griffin would have advised me of any concerns or issues. There were none as far as I know."
"Did Luiza leave suddenly?"
"Yes, but that's not uncommon with immigrant workers. They tend to come and go without much warning."
"Did she have a green card?"
"Yes. I follow the immigration rules carefully. Chief Kerney. As an Englishwoman, I certainly do not wish to violate any American laws that would jeopardize my permanent resident status."
"You have documentation?"
"In my files."
"Did Luiza leave any personal belongings behind?"
"As a matter of fact, she did. A box of clothing, most of which I had passed along to her. We were almost the same size. I still have them stored in the garage. I expected that she would write to have the box sent along by post, but I never heard from her."
"I'd like to see it."
"Of course."