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CHAPTER 19

      BRANNIGAN MEMORIAL Library was quiet except for a couple of children giggling at a round table in the children's section.

      The hot afternoon sunlight was shut out of this cool thick-walled building recently completed by the WPA. With its tiled floor, cream-painted walls, and lights hanging from hand-hewn beams on long chains, it was a handsome library for a small town. The librarian looked as sleepy as Rand felt. She looked up from the book she was reading when she heard Rand approaching. "Can I help you?"

      "I'm looking for books about Coronado," Rand said.

      "Reference. Over there - in the C's." She pointed to the adult section.

      "Got anything on Charles the Fifth?" She looked up again.

      "Who's he?"

      "A king of Spain."

      She pointed to the card catalog. "Try in there." She looked down again at the book lying open on the counter. Rand went to the card catalog and found several books on Coronado, Cortez, and only one of Charles the Fifth of Spain. The books were all closely grouped in the reference section.

      Rand sat down and began searching through them, first scanning the table of contents and turning only to the sections that he thought he'd be interested in. He skimmed the pages, but he found little that really interested him. He learned that Charles the Fifth was born in Ghent in 1500 and dominated the politics of Europe for 40 years. From his father, Philip I, Charles inherited the Netherlands. After the death of his material grandfather, Ferdinand II of Aragon, he became the ruler of the kingdoms of Spain and the Spanish dependencies in Italy - Naples, Sicily, and Sardinia. He gained the Hapsburg possessions of Austria and several smaller south German lordships came to him at the death of his paternal grandfather, Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I.

      In 1519 Charles had been elected German King and the Holy Roman Emperor. He spoke of himself as "God's standard bearer," and his heraldic device bore that, plus the world "Ultra" - always further. He made war against the Muslim turks and the German Protestants. A section printed on age-yellowed glossy paper showed old drawing of the armor of the day, the weapons they used, a large map of his holdings, a drawing of his crown, and a portrait that showed him to be a powerful practical-appearing man. Later Charles had voluntarily abdicated in several stages and left the Holy Roman Empire to Ferdinand and all his other dominions to his son, Philip II of Spain. Then he retired to a comfortable villa to live the life he'd always wanted - in religious devotions, surrounded by his collection of Renaissance paintings, listening to music, tinkering with his collection of mechanical clocks, and eating gluttonously - while still keeping his fingers in politics.

      Rand started to put the book down when he looked at the portrait again. The "C" within the square box was in the picture, partly behind him, on a cloth draping part of a table.

      Rand took the book the librarian. "Can I check this out."

      "Oh no, that's a reference book. It stays here."

      "Do many people ask to see these books?"

      "Not many."

      "How about Nick Hood?"

      "Oh that poor man," she said. "Yes, he was one of them. So was Len Pritchard. All of a sudden they wanted to learn about Coronado and Cortez. Does this have something to do about poor Mr. Hood's murder?"

      "Not much to do with it. Just curiosity."

      She smiled at him. "You're with the police, aren't you."

      He grinned back. "Well, sort of."

      "I love Dashiel Hammitt," she said.

      Rand thanked her and started to replace the book but she told him not to. "You men can't be trusted to put a book back in the right place. Just leave it on a table and I'll replace it." She turned back to her book, her face flushed.

      As Rand drove back to the Las Cruces Courts, he thought it did not matter much that Len Pritchard and Hood had been reading up on Spanish history. It was to be expected if somebody found Spanish gold. He started to park in front of his cabin, but decided, now that both Petrie and Brennan had seen the car, and with the bulletholes as a dead giveaway, he should continue to park it some distance from the motel.

      He found a secluded spot and parked it so the bulletholes and broken glass didn't show from the street. After he'd walked back, when he unlocked his door he found a paper had been slipped under it. The paper said, "See the manager."

      At the office, he rang the bell on the counter. After minute or so the manager, whose name Rand remembered was Samms, came out of the back, wearing a sweat-stained white shirt tucked crookedly into old black pants, his feet in carpet slippers.

      "Your note said you wanted to see me." Rand said.

      "Your brother came by lookin' for you." The manager tilted his head and squinted up at Rand.

      "My brother?"

      "Said he was."

      "Did he have a black eye?"

      Samms nodded. "Told me without my askin' that he got it in a car wreck. Said he thought you were staying here."

      "Asked for me by name - Rand?"

      "Yup."

      "What did you tell him?"

      The manager smiled. "I didn't say nothin'. If you want to get holt of him, you can do it. I'm just tellin' you he come by."

      "You didn't tell him which cabin I had, or that I was checked in here?"

      "Nothing."

      "I don't have a brother," Rand said.

      "Well, I didn't know one way or the other. But I didn't believe he got that eye in a car wreck, and he looked like maybe you wouldn't want to see him.

      "Yeah, that's right," Rand said. "I don't want to see him." He peeled five dollars out of his billfold and slid it across the counter to him. "Thanks."

      Samms looked at the money without touching it, and decided he should provide more service for it. "He was carrying a gun, I think. He thought I couldn't see it, but I know when a man's carryin'."

      "I figured he would be," Rand said. He left the office and went back to his room, and looked everywhere a man might hide, even under the bed, but Petrie wasn't there. Rand thought the manager was probably telling the truth, but it had occurred to him that maybe Petrie gave the manager ten bucks. Or that Petrie could have been watching Rand going to the office, and then entered the room through the unlocked door. Rand turned on the little window cooler so a damp breeze filled the room. He locked the door and took his boots off and stretched out on the bed. Within five minutes he was sound asleep. By then it was 3:30 in the afternoon.

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