The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [48]
With the grainy but serviceable photos of the blonde in hand, he canvassed the lodge employees again, without success. He hurried to Casey’s Cozy Cabins, hoping Harry Staggs could ID the woman as Jackson’s companion.
Staggs wasn’t home. From the front porch, he called Tredwell on his cell phone and asked the attorney where he could find Staggs.
“I don’t baby-sit my clients,” Tredwell said.
“He hasn’t left town, has he?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“You’re a big help, Tredwell.”
“Please, no thanks are necessary,” Tredwell said.
Clayton punched the off button. A light snow was falling. Maybe it would be a wet year. The wildlife needed it. If he’d stayed with the tribal police, he’d be out checking boundary lines, reporting cattle that had strayed either on or off the reservation, posting new signs to replace the ones stolen by tourists, chasing off the occasional trespasser who had wandered onto Indian land by way of the national forest, and maybe breaking up a fight or a domestic squabble.
But he didn’t have time to ruminate about the past or feel sorry for himself. If he wasn’t going to catch a break, he’d have to make one for himself. How to do that was the question.
In college Detective Ramona Piño had taken a few drama classes and appeared in several student plays. The experience had served her well in police work. During her time on the force, she’d worked an undercover narcotics assignment and posed as a fence for stolen goods, both with success, so she knew the value of convincing performances.
She’d called ahead to schedule an appointment with Cassie Bedlow and now knocked tentatively on the woman’s open office door.
Cassie Bedlow smiled at the young woman standing nervously in the doorway. Somewhere in her mid to late twenties, she was no more than five three and was wearing a short skirt that displayed well-toned, nicely formed legs and a knit sweater that indicated shapely breasts in proportion to her body. Her face was classic northern New Mexico Hispanic, with arched eyebrows, large pupils, dark round eyes, small, thin lips, high cheekbones and even features.
“You must be Ramona,” Bedlow said, moving from her desk to a tan leather couch. “Come in and sit with me.”
Detective Piño caught the calculating, appraising look in Bedlow’s eyes. She sat on the couch, her back straight, knees together, hands in her lap and gave Bedlow the once over. There was nothing flashy about the woman. In fact, just the opposite: she was round, wide in the hips, and had a matronly air.
“So, you’re interested in modeling,” Bedlow said.
“I shouldn’t be wasting your time,” she said, giving Bedlow a wistful glance.
There was a breathless, little-girl quality to Piño’s voice that Bedlow liked a lot. Costumed correctly, with her small size, pretty features, and tiny voice, Piño would draw plenty of attention from men who liked the innocent schoolgirl look.
“Why do you say that?” Bedlow asked.
“I’ve always wanted to try modeling,” Ramona said as she pouted slightly and looked around the office. “But you probably think I’m too old and too tiny to be a model.”
A bookcase along a side wall held large photo albums and casting directories. On the top shelf was a chamber of commerce membership plaque and a silver-plated presentation bowl from a community charity fund-raising organization.
“That simply isn’t true,” Bedlow replied. “I use models of all sizes, ages, and ethnic backgrounds. For example, you’d make an excellent junior-size catalog model. With the right training, you wouldn’t lack for work.”
Ramona beamed enthusiastically. “Really?”
“Yes, if you’re photogenic, and I have no doubt that you are,” Bedlow said. “Did you bring any photographs?”
Chagrined, Ramona furrowed her brow. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
“Do you have any handy?”
Ramona shook her head. “Not really. I just moved here from Durango, and I left a lot of my personal things behind in storage.”
She looked at the wall of framed photographs