You know, I'm not so sure about this one. It took me forever to read because it was really dark and kind of depressing, especially for the first two thirds. But I did get through it, and enjoyed the New-Mexico-isme and the Hillerman-ness as usual. I also found it refreshing that the person who I suspected the moment their character appeared really did do it (I guess I'm an atypical mystery reader-- I can't stand when the culprit is an auxiliary character who you barely recall mentions of and have to flip back through to review). But when I finished it, my reaction was a furrowed brow and an audible "hm" of perplexity.
The main reason: the whole initial "dead baby" subplot, which by the way was holy-shit levels of gag order traumatic and responsible for the longest of my hiatuses from reading the book...actually was in absolutely no way tied to the larger mystery. Not even loosely. Not even somewhat. It was a completely secondary side mystery that appeared at the beginning (and was horrific) and then again at the end with a "Oh by the way, this was what happened with that other one" very quick reveal at the same time that the bigger, main one has been solved and was appropriately complex and interesting. Which would in effect make it gratuitous. Unless it was an attempt, disconnected from the story, to continue to draw attention to the real issues facing native communities, which also appears in the Leaphorn missing women and girls organization sub-plot. It just seems like it could've been done differently if so. I do like that Anne writes modern Indian characters and voices accurately. I mean, this dark grittiness is as gentle-reader-friendly as it gets before the darkness of works by actual native authors, which are the darkest and bleakest of the dark and bleak (Cherie Dimaline, Tommy Orange, Sherman Alexie, Danielle Gellar, Joy Harjo....)
Next, I kind of-sort of liked the in-depth astronomy forays, but even I found them a bit much. Clearly a lot more detail on that front than was relevant to the story. I believe this falls into the category that authors sometimes exhibit of inserting a hobby of theirs into a story where it's kind of clear that they're more passionate about that than the story they're writing, and they have to put it in there to interest themselves. Examples- Anne Rice droning on and on about antique furniture; Joanne Harris on rustic seaside French real estate and architecture.
Some other things... I really wasn't a fan of how our ONLY view of Chee is him and Bernie fighting and being upset at each other. Loose end with the sub-plot of him being her boss and all that stuff. Also didn't really enjoy Leaphorn and Louisa having the same dynamic the whole time-- kind of fighting and being upset at each other.
In conclusion, I think all of the remaining coziness is limited to the seemingly mundane minutiae, a holdover from Tony's writing-- ie any coziness comes from all of the cups of coffee, the sitting in cafes, the tea, the oatmeal, the showering and going to bed. So there's some of that, but Anne seems to struggle with it. She seems to be a dark, gritty, bleak writer being sort of penned in by these works and the expectation of cozy desert mystery. As these have gotten progressively bleaker, I'm expecting that the next one, which I will faithfully at least start to read, will be my stop where I have to pull the cord to get off.