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CHAPTER 1
It was a typical February Day. Locals referred to the month as Febrero Loco, crazy February, because the daily weather was as unpredictable as a roulette wheel. It was unseasonably warm and just to be on the safe side, the air conditioning at Buffalo Thunder Casino, north of Santa Fe, was cranked up.
The casino was gearing up for the upcoming Valentine's Day, pulling out all the stops with promotions geared toward attracting patrons with the cherry red Toyota Camry give-away. Blackjack modules formed a large circle around the Craps and Texas Hold'em tables. The electromagnetic field and the thousand flashing lights could easily illuminate an entire city. Waitresses attired in short frilly skirts and low cut tank-tops stopped at each console to offer cold sodas, water and coffee, and friendly smiles to encourage tips.
She walked through the automatic doors, the strong odor of cigarette smoke assaulting her senses. Vanity precluded her from wearing sorely needed eyeglasses and she squinted her eyes in hopes of seeing a familiar face, preferably male and old enough to buy her a drink. She navigated her world in a blur, peering out of heavily made-up brown eyes and beneath thin, perfectly arched eyebrows. Dark red lipstick and a heart- shaped face framed by recently touched-up auburn hair completed the picture. She was dressed in black pants, a sparkly jacket and stiletto heels. The first was to hide the extra ten pounds she carried and the second was to give her four-eleven height a boost.
She found her favorite slot machine in a corner next to the lounge, where she could sometimes score a few drinks and maybe a place to stay for the night. Of late, she frequented the casinos on Highway 85, staying until closing and hitching a ride back to Santa Fe, where she hung out in the laundry rooms of motels on Cerrillos Road. She was not a hooker. She was a forty-year-old woman down on her luck, having burned all the bridges behind her. She was desperate to win a jackpot to get her back on her feet.
She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the man playing next to her. He was exactly her type — brown-skinned, tall, sleeveless t- shirt to show off bulging biceps, tattooed arms, long hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. Before the night was over, they were snuggled in a corner of the lounge, sipping rum and Cokes. If she played her cards right, she had a good idea where the evening was going to end up.
CHAPTER 2
Santa Fe County Sheriff's Deputy Rick Romero could see the crest of Sun Mountain from the living room of his adobe house in the South Capitol area of Santa Fe. More a big hill than a mountain, it was one of Romero's favorite places. He had spent his childhood years scaling its piñon covered trails up to the top, where he could view the entire city. Not so these days. The mountainside was peppered with massive houses built by recent transplants to the City Different. Santa Fe wasn't different any more. Romero thought it had begun to mimic every other tourist destination in the Southwest. Trendy galleries and gift shops surrounded by more trendy galleries and gift shops.
Romero was in his early forties and had been a Santa Fe County sheriff's deputy for more than fifteen years, starting at the bottom rung of the ladder and working his way up to Lieutenant Detective. For the past three years he had been in charge of the substation in Cerrillos, a small burg south of Santa Fe. His almost six-foot frame was muscular but trim. His dark curly hair had a tendency to grow out of control, and deep hazel green eyes competed for attention with a heavy row of lashes. Even as an adult, he hadn't forgotten how his classmates in elementary school had teased him. They were relentless. Little Orphan Annie, curly locks awhirl. Does your mommy dress you like a girly girl?
His parents were of Spanish descent, and that was his first language. Being bilingual caused a number of problems. Between his looks and fractured English, hey stupido was another moniker he was branded with, and the words, "Who taught you to talk mocho like that?" followed him through junior high. The constant teasing served to propel him forward at a pace that all but completely eliminated any hint of an accent by the time he graduated from high school. He rarely spoke Spanglish, except in the company of family and friends. On the other hand, his light complexion bore little resemblance to the stereotypical Hispano, and it didn't bother him a bit when people wondered if he was raza or Gringo.
Dressed in blue warm-ups, Romero was about to take off for a jog when the house phone rang. He hesitated before answering, knowing that early-morning calls were either from local fundraisers or one of his deputies, and he was not in the mood to hear from either. He succumbed when his cellphone started to ring. It was Detective Artie Chacon.
"This better be important, Artie. You know it's my day off and I was about to head out."
"Tough break, Boss, but you'd better head back in."
"Can't Sheriff Medrano handle this? I haven't had a day off in weeks."
"Already called him. He said to call you."
"All right. What is it?" Romero plopped himself on the couch in the living room.
"Dispatch got a call a few minutes ago about a body being discovered out past Cerrillos near the Ortiz Mine. I'm on my way there."
"I'll meet you out there."
Romero hung up, reached for his keys, and then dialed the number of Jemimah Hodge, the forensic psychologist for the county.
"Is this a social call, Detective?" she said. "I was about to head out for a meeting." Jemimah occupied office space at the County Detention Center where the Sheriff's Office was housed.
"'Fraid not, Jemimah. Just got a call about a body found out near your ranch. Looks like we're going to be working together on another case. I thought you might want to get in on the start of the investigation."
"I sure would. Let me make a few calls to clear my calendar. Can you pick me up or should I meet you there?"
"I'm about fifteen minutes out. I'll honk when I arrive." He grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter. It might turn out to be a long morning.
The crime scene was already taped off as Romero and Jemimah drove up. Artie Chacon was standing by his squad car.
"Bring us up to date, Artie."
"Not much to tell. That fellow over there was gathering rocks in his truck, saw what appeared to be an arm sticking out from under a pile and contacted police. We're waiting for the coroner to arrive so we can see if there's anything else under those rocks."
Romero lifted the yellow tape so Jemimah could scoot under and followed her to a rocky ledge where the witness indicated he found the body. The County Coroner's van drove up before they reached the spot.
"Hold it right there, Romero. You know better than to disturb a crime scene," said Harry Donlan, Santa Fe County's Chief Medical Examiner.
"Not disturbing, Donlan. Preliminary investigation."
"My ass. You people gotta learn to be more careful. Follow the rules."
Donlan was a hulk of a man with unruly gray hair, rosacea reddened cheeks and an intimidating manner. Romero had become accustomed to the coroner's rants. He winked at Jemimah.
"Yes, sir. I understand."
Donlan directed the techs to remove the rocks covering the body, careful to preserve any blood evidence that might still be present. After about an hour, he knelt next to the partially nude body.
"Homicide, for sure. Female, somewhere in her thirties, maybe older. Bullet hole right through the head. I'm not seeing any brain matter or any indication that she bled out here. Looks like she might have been strangled first. Whoever did this was in a hurry to cover the body with rocks. Lots of postmortem bruising. Hard to say whether this is the scene of the crime or if she was dumped here. She's still wearing jewelry, so we can probably rule out robbery." He motioned for the techs. "Check this area for personal effects belonging to the victim and get those bagged."
The coroner shifted the body, feeling her clothes for pockets. "Nothing here but a player's card from one of the casinos." He handed it to the tech, who secured it in a plastic envelope and handed it to Romero.
"Amy Griego," he said. "Not much to go on. Artie, see what info you can obtain from the casino. I understand they need some sort of identification when they give these cards out to their patrons."
"I'm pretty sure they keep a record of driver's licenses in that regard," Jemimah said. "You can play without one, but if you want to gather up points, you need a card. They also photo the ID if you win a jackpot."
"Why, Dr. Hodge. I didn't know you frequented such establishments," Romero said.
"Hey, don't knock it. They're great places to take guests for a good meal and some quick entertainment," she smiled.
"We're done here, people. It's all yours, Romero," Donlan said, directing the techs to bag the body. "Nothing else we can do." He left the area without another word.
Romero and Jemimah walked around the scene. Romero gestured at some tracks. "The ground here is covered with fine gravel. I can see there was a vehicle here, but I doubt if it's possible to make an impression." He glanced at Jemimah, who had her hand over her mouth. "You all right, Jem?"
"Sorry. I never seem to get used to being around dead bodies. You can still make out her outline on the rocks. There's no telling what this poor woman went through before she died."
CHAPTER 3
Romero was window shopping in downtown Santa Fe, where most every shop window was decorated with red hearts and cupids. It had been a while since he'd been on San Francisco Street, just a few blocks down from St. Francis Cathedral where he had been married so many years before. Looking back, he knew the marriage had been doomed from the beginning. His wife was a popular girl, always ready to party, but he was just getting established in law enforcement. At every turn she complained that he was never home and that his job was more important than she was. After the divorce it took a month-long drinking binge and a series of AA meetings before he could once again begin to face each day sober.
It was Valentine's Day and he was trying to understand just what it was women want men to do. No easy task for this handsome native of Santa Fe, because despite his looks, he was shy and reserved where women were concerned. It had taken him a long time to loosen up sufficiently to consider dating again. Then a year ago he found himself drawn to Jemimah Hodge, a Utah transplant by way of Texas who dropped into his life when they worked a case together. She was also the County's highly skilled forensic psychologist, and now that they were in a relationship, he wanted to get her something nice.
Coming out of his reverie, Romero caught a glimpse of his high school friend David Garcia, who stood under the portal of his upper-end jewelry store in the middle of the plaza.
"I hope you're not here on official business, Officer." Garcia smiled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. With boyish good looks, Garcia appeared younger than his years. Dressed in a tailored dark suit, he leaned forward to embrace Romero.
"Hey, David. Long time no see, compadre. Actually I'm just here to finger the merchandise."
"Looking for something special? Don't tell me you're getting ready to make the leap? 'Bout time." Garcia directed him through the doors of the shop.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Davey."
"Well, are you thinking about it and just need that extra push?"
"Just need something for Valentine's Day. That's all."
"Something sparkly ought to do the trick."
"Maybe, maybe not," Romero laughed. "I'm not sure if she's into bling. Let's see what you've got."
"For you, amigo, pretty much anything." They walked together toward the glass cases.
Early that evening on his way to meet Jemimah, Romero checked his jacket to make sure he'd remembered to slip the black velvet pouch into his pocket. Nothing like showing up empty-handed on this lover's day celebration. He felt like a teenager, hoping the diamond heart he chose would be well received. His jeweler friend kept nudging him toward the engagement rings, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. It had taken long enough to corral this filly, and he didn't want to spook her. He chuckled as he recalled a conversation he'd had with Tim McCabe some months previous as they discussed women in general, and Jemimah in particular. Tim McCabe was a transplanted retired lawman from Idaho who assisted the sheriff's department with cold cases. He and his wife owned a high-end gallery in Santa Fe. Romero and Jemimah had both developed a strong relationship with him over the past two years.
"Here's the advice I promised," McCabe had said when the two of them met for coffee. "I think you should approach Jemimah a little at a time. Kind of like breaking in a wild horse. Let her come to you. Keep your reactions to a minimum. Don't spook her. Just give her a lot of room, and reel her in a little if she goes too far afield."
Romero smiled. "That's quite an analogy there, Tim."
"Listen, I'm just an old cowboy with a limited knowledge of women other than my wife, and I'm not even sure I'm an expert on her any more. But I do know horses, and I know Jemimah knows horses."
"You saying women are a lot like horses?" Romero motioned to the waitress.
"I'm saying Jemimah is intelligent, strong-willed and stubborn. The last filly I broke had those same characteristics. Get the connection?"
"Yes, sir. I think I do."
"Well then, once you learn to stop letting her irritate you about every little thing, you might get something going."
He had followed Tim's sage advice to the letter. So far, it had been right on point.
* * *
Jemimah was already in the parking lot of La Choza, a small Mexican restaurant at the edge of the rail yard park where they had their first date. She greeted him with unbridled enthusiasm.
"You're in a cheerful mood," he said. "Good day at work?"
"More like long day." She smiled. "Just happy to be off work for the weekend".
As they walked to the patio entrance, she shifted her sunglasses to the top of her head. She was wearing skinny black jeans and a plum-colored tank top, her hair pulled back into a stylish ponytail. As they waited to be seated, she leaned forward to kiss him.
It was going to be a very special night, he hoped.
CHAPTER 4
Jemimah Hodge was smiling as she arrived at her office late Saturday morning. She was wearing the diamond heart Detective Romero gave her during dinner. She fingered it gently, thinking how happy she finally was. They had spent a romantic night together.
It had taken a long time to get to this point in her life, and she couldn't ask for a more fulfilling relationship. No thanks to her childhood. Her parents were dyed-in-the-wool fourth generation members of the LDS Mormon church, leading a normal life until her father decided to relocate the family to a small community in Utah and join a fundamentalist cult that embraced polygamy. Within a few years, he added two additional wives and several children to the flock. By the time Jemimah was sixteen, she lived in fear that she, like many of her friends, would be married off to someone three times her age. Her one saving grace was a mottled skin condition that made her appear less attractive to potential suitors.
Months before her eighteenth birthday, her mother and one of the wives drove her to Las Vegas, Nevada, for a consultation with a dermatologist. Her father encouraged the appointment — Jemimah would be more marriageable without the skin problem. While one of the wives was at the fabric store purchasing bolts of cloth, Jemimah's birth mother sat with her through the appointment. The physician assured them the samples of the new drug he prescribed would clear her complexion of the red blotches covering most of her skin. He could almost guarantee it. Jemimah thanked him and placed the sample packs in her backpack. The nurse directed them to the front desk, where the young trainee asked them to wait while she retrieved the file.
Feigning nausea, Jemimah told her mother she was going upstairs to use the bathroom. Her mother stood up to accompany her. In a life- changing moment, the receptionist motioned the mother to come forward to arrange for payment and complete the insurance forms. Jemimah assured her she would be all right; after all, she was just going to the bathroom.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Treasure among the Shadows"
by .
Copyright © 2013 Marie Romero Cash.
Excerpted by permission of Coffeetown Enterprises, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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