St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

his wife. The lines of tension between her eyebrows and around her mouth added years to her age.
    “We’re some distance from our retirement goal,” he said. “A few more years should do it.”
    “That’s what you said years ago.”
    “Then the economy slowed and our investments tanked. We’re just getting back to where we were.”
    “It’s coming apart,” she said tightly. “All our dreams.”
    He pushed back from the desk and went to hug her. “Hey, darling. We’ll be fine. Ranches like this can take years to sell.” Or they can sell overnight to one of the vultures that had begun circling with news of the Senator’s declining health. “Plus Josh is bound to give you a good severance package. Me, too, if it comes to that. He can’t afford to look stingy or exploitive of the common man. Can you hang in long enough to get fired when the ranch sells?”
    She looked at him for a long moment, knew he was right, and sighed. “Sure. What’s a few more months or years? But if he fires you before that, then what?”
    Pete laughed. “Then we’ll be on the next plane to warm waters, cool breezes, and stiff drinks.”
    For as long as it lasts.
    But neither one of them said that aloud. They really needed a few more years to make up for some bad choices in the stock market.
    They really needed Josh Quintrell.
    And whether he knew it or not, he needed them.

QUINTRELL RANCH
THURSDAY 4:00 A.M.
31
    A BLEARY-EYED DR. SANDS CONFIRMED WHAT EVERYONE ALREADY KNEW: SYLVIA Castillo Quintrell had died in her sleep. He went to the telephone and called Governor Quintrell on his private line.
    “What?” The word was a growl.
    “Governor Quintrell, this is Dr. Sands. I’m sorry to tell you that your mother has passed away.”
    At the other end of the line, there was silence, a woman’s voice asking a question, and then Josh said, “Thank you for calling. Do you need anything from me immediately?”
    “No. Miss Winifred has a list of Sylvia’s wishes. She’ll be cremated and her ashes scattered over the ranch. Given that she has been ill for so many years, I’ve recommended against an autopsy. There’s no point in distressing the family any more than death already has. It’s a miracle she lived as long as she did.”
    “I appreciate that. I have nightmares about the sleaze media ghouls drooling over autopsy photos. How is Winifred doing?”
    “Not well,” Dr. Sands said. “She wasn’t strong before this. Pneumonia in a woman her age is very dangerous, but she refuses to go to a hospital.”
    “Sylvia was all she had to live for.”
    “Yes. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but you should be prepared. It’s quite probable that Miss Winifred’s life span can be measured in days. A few weeks at the outside. She’s not responding well to the antibiotic. I’ll switch to another, of course, but in patients her age, pneumonia often is the body’s way of saying it’s tired of struggling with life.”
    “You think she’s given up?”
    “Finding her sister dead was very hard on her.”
    There was a long silence.
    Finally Josh said, “I’ll check my schedule, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get up to the ranch today. I’m booked for three meals a day in New Hampshire for the next six days. But if I could combine seeing Winifred with a memorial service for Sylvia…yes, that would be possible. A red-eye both ways. There will be a memorial for Sylvia Quintrell within forty-eight hours.”
    Dr. Sands was impressed with Josh’s ability to juggle personal and private demands when awakened from a dead sleep at 4:00 A.M . “In addition to my condolences, Governor, please accept my congratulations. I believe you’ll make a fine president.”
    “Thank you. I’ll send you an invitation for my next fund-raiser.”
    Laughing, Dr. Sands hung up the phone and made arrangements to have Sylvia’s body taken to a crematorium.

TAOS
THURSDAY MORNING
32
    “ WHAT DO WE HAVE SO FAR ?” CARLY ASKED , LOOKING AT HER CHECKLIST .
    Dan shifted on the uncomfortable wooden chair that was the best the newspaper archive offered. He was bleary-eyed from old photos and computer monitors, and frustrated by his relentless physical awareness of Carly. Yesterday’s hours and hours of solid, boring groundwork on Winifred’s project should have taken the edge off his need.
    It hadn’t. It was there today, up close and personal. If Carly felt the same way, she wasn’t sharing the information.
    Swearing silently, he tapped out a