The Famous and the Dead

55



Hood sat in the October shade of his courtyard and saw Reyes’s car coming up the road. Owens looked up from her book and lifted the floppy brim of her hat. “Are you expecting him?”

“No,” said Hood.

“I’ll batten down the hatches in case he’s not alone.”

Owens started with the grate under the carport roof. Hood heard the metal clang of the lid sliding and the squeal of the latch closing and Owens strode across the courtyard and into the house. Music came on inside and from new outdoor speakers disguised as rocks. The car ground up the rise and came level near the carport and Reyes pulled in and parked directly over the grate, next to Hood’s new/used Camaro.

Gabriel climbed out and looked at Hood, then the passenger door opened and out stepped a stout woman with straight, short orange hair. She wore a denim pantsuit and sky blue cowboy boots. She took off her sunglasses and gazed around with a formal air. Then they came across the gravel and through the courtyard gate, where Hood and Owens stood and welcomed them.

Reyes introduced her as Camille Gomez, city manager of Buenavista. Hood had seen her in the paper and on TV. She was short and heavily hung with turquoise, the centerpiece being a squash-blossom necklace that was half as wide as her torso and reached clear to her beltline. Plus turquoise earrings, bracelets, rings, and buttons on the denim jacket. Her eyes were green and surrounded by laugh lines defeated by her dour expression.

Reyes and she sat on a bench on one side of the courtyard picnic table and Hood sat across from them. Hood heard the music get just a little louder. Reyes asked after Beatrice, whom Hood had not seen or heard from since September. Reyes seemed hurt that she’d vanished without a word, but Hood figured she’d been doing it for centuries. Owens came back with four glasses of tea and joined Hood on his side of the table.

They drank and made small talk until Camille Gomez interrupted Reyes mid-sentence. “I came here to offer you a job as the Buenavista chief of police. Gabe here was good, but his replacement isn’t . . . confident. He has in fact received death threats from the North Baja drug cartel, though I think pretty much every border cop between here and Texas has gotten some kind of threat, too. Real or implied. I need a man with hair on his chest. Or a woman. Maybe not that. Anyway, it pays okay and the bennies are decent but nothing like the old days. I can offer you a take-home car and—”

“I accept.” Owens squeezed his leg under the table.

“I’m not done, cowboy,” said Gomez.

“When do I start?”

Camille Gomez considered Hood, then smiled, the lines of her face now fully employed. “Well, Mr. Hood. That was about the easiest recruitment pitch I ever made.”

Reyes toasted the new chief and they lifted their glasses and drank.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



Deepest of gratitude to everyone at Trident Media Group for your unflagging alliance. And respectful thanks to Dutton for helping bring these stories to life.





About the Author



T. Jefferson Parker is the bestselling and award-winning author of nineteen previous novels and a three-time winner of the Edgar Award. Formerly a journalist, Parker lives with his family in Southern California.