“That’s not what I asked,” Tully snapped.
Lupe’s mouth formed a surprised “O”—surprised, but in no way intimidated by Tully’s confrontational tone.
“Gentlemen,” Sheriff Torrez interrupted, his patience wearing thin, “it don’t make no difference where that water pipe goes, or who put it there.” He turned to Tully. “We got a man missing and a woman down the hill shot to death. That’s what we’re supposed to be thinkin’ about, not some damned water line.”
“Amen, Sheriff,” Solomon Apodaca said fervently. “A tragedy like this, right in our midst. Don’t know how it could happen.”
“Lupe, forget the damn pipe,” Torrez said. “Have you seen Myron Fitzwater around the village in the past few days?”
“Well, yeah, I’ve seen him. Sure. He visits here quite a bit. Or did.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
Lupe looked askance at Torrez. “You’re askin’ what day?”
“Yep.”
Something at his feet fascinated the old man, and he stared down for a full minute. “Saw him Friday morning. Pretty early.”
“Where?”
“Over at Connie’s place.”
“What was he doing?”
“Him and Connie was arguing about the front door. I don’t know what about it. At one point he hit the door with his shoulder, like he was trying to break in. The door swung open, and they argued some more.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”
“When did you see him next?”
“Didn’t, I don’t suppose. I had things to do, and I guess they did too.”
“Was Fitzwater up here? When you shot the deer?” Estelle asked.
Gabaldon looked puzzled. “Now why would that be? Why would he have been up here?”
“That’s the next question, then,” Estelle said.
“Well, he wasn’t. Last time I saw him, he was on Connie’s porch, and he and the girl were arguing about something. Like I said.”
“How about you?” Estelle looked at both Al Fisher and Solomon Apodaca. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Couldn’t tell you. It’s been a while, actually,” Al said. “I’ve had family troubles of my own.”
“I saw him one day when I went over to get the mail at the cluster box a couple weeks ago,” Solomon Apodaca said. “Been that long. I asked him if he and Connie would like a nice bottle or two of Merlot, and he said sure. He swung by and picked ’em up. But that’s been two, three weeks ago.” Solomon shrugged. “I thought the young couple might like it for Christmas dinner, you know. Guess that ain’t going to happen. Damned shame.”
Lupe Gabaldon resettled his cap. “Now, you know this country as well as most.” He regarded Bob Torrez with interest. “You’ve hunted here often enough, you got maybe a relative or two living here…are you any closer to figuring out what happened down below in that trailer?”
“’Spose so,” Torrez said.
“Maria?” Estelle reached out a hand and touched Maria Apodaca on the arm. “Walk with me for a minute?”
The girl glanced at her boyfriend, but Al just shrugged, then nodded. Walking as if she had all day and nowhere to go, Estelle led the girl beyond the tank, beyond the remains of the deer carcass. When she spoke, she kept her voice low and confidential, and chose a spot where the tank loomed between them and the others.
“In a tiny village like this one, you must have known Connie Suarez better than most. She was about your age, no?”
Maria’s voice was husky. “I knew her, sure.”
“Friends?”
The girl hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
Maria turned this way and that, her feet shuffling as if they couldn’t decide whether to take her back to the group of villagers. “I didn’t see Connie or her boyfriend much,” she said finally.
“All you guys live within a hundred yards of each other, and you didn’t see them on a regular basis?”
“No. I mean, she was busy with school and all. And when her boyfriend was here…”
“By ‘her boyfriend,’ you mean Myron Fitzwater.”
Maria nodded. Estelle watched the girl’s dark face intently, and saw the trace of tears in her deep-set eyes.
“As far as you know, did the two of them get along? Was there any friction there that you as a neighbor would have noticed?”
“No. Just that he wanted her to move. I know that.”
“Just move out of that old trailer, or move away from Regál, you mean?”
“Away.”
“But she wouldn’t agree to that?”
“No. She grew up here. She loved it.”
“You knew that for sure?”
“Yes.” It looked as if she wanted to say something else, and Estelle waited patiently. “We talked about that once—we were at the parish market that we have on most Saturdays. We got to talking. It was kind of funny. She didn’t want to move, and neither did I. Her boyfriend wanted her to move, and sometimes Al talks about it, too. She and I were in the same boat that way. We’re happy where we are, with boyfriends who want something more.”
She looked up and smiled brightly, tears still lurking. “That’s what we decided. There are two kinds of people who live here—those who love it and would never leave and those who hate the solitude. I mean, I understand what they’re saying. Sometimes it seems like this old mountain blocks out the rest of the world on one side, and that border fence blocks to the south.” She cupped her hands together. “I can understand that someone might feel trapped.”
“But you don’t.”
“No, ma’am. I love it. I love having my parents just next door. I love the holidays.” She pivoted and looked up the hill, toward the patches of scrub and brush that managed to find toeholds among the rocks, toward the remnant conifers higher up on the slope. “I feel…protected.” She heaved a great sigh. “And so did Connie Suarez. She told me that.”
If only she had been, Estelle thought. “Tell me about Penny.”
Maria looked up sharply, caught off-guard at the sudden change of subject. After a long moment of thought, she whispered, “I blame her. I might as well say it, Sheriff. I blame her a lot.”
“You mean for Darrell’s death?”
“Well, maybe she didn’t pull the trigger, but…”
“But what?”
“It always seemed like there was nothing that Darrell could do that was right, you know? She was on his case all the time. Every little thing. I guess that’s just the way she is, maybe.” She shook her head sadly. “You know that old saying about putting brain in gear before engaging mouth? That was written for Penny, I think.”
“And Darrell just put up with it?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, what else could he do?” She shrugged. “I guess there were all kinds of things he could have done, now that we look back on it. I thought that when they had Derry, things would get better.” She wiped her eyes. “They didn’t. And then…and then,” she cleared her throat. “And Al tried his best to help Darrell along, you know. He liked to have him down here, especially with Derry. He liked to take him hunting. And all of that,” she stopped abruptly, as if not wanting to interrupt the tear that had sprung loose and tracked down her cheek. “That made things worse. Penny didn’t like me, and she sure didn’t like Al. And Al, he tried to be obliging with Penny, but she’s a hard case.”
“I’m sure Al wishes that he’d found some way he could have helped.”
Maria laughed hopelessly. “Yeah, well. He always said that what Darrell needed was a spine, and I guess he got that right. Maybe unkind, but true enough. Now me,” and she held up both hands, “I tried to stay out of it.” She rested a hand on her chest. “My job is to make life good for Al. That’s my job, to make a nice home for him. So I didn’t complain w
hen he and his brother drank too much, or when Darrell stayed too late, or when they’d drop everything and take off hunting. I worried about Derry, but it wasn’t my place…”
“Penny has visited down here?”
“Once. Just after Derry was born.”
With a hand on her elbow, Estelle led Maria back around the tank. As soon as Al saw her, his face lit up in a bright smile.
With Deputy Brent Sutherland returned from his evidence delivery, Sheriff Torrez posted Sutherland downhill at the Suarez trailer, with rookie Deputy Tanner Garcia called in to sit the second site by the water tank.
“Cut away for a while,” Torrez instructed Estelle as the others filed off downhill. “Go meet the celebrity at the airport.” He came close to smiling. “And tell him I want to buy that truck of his when he gets tired of it.” His face turned serious. “We got to put all this together, somehow. I got a couple of things I want to do, and I’ll want to meet with you maybe this evening.” He nodded at the retreating backs of the two Forest Service officers. “Stout and Tully are staying in town until something breaks.”
“That could be a while.”
“Maybe. I’m thinkin’ not.” He didn’t tell her what he had in mind, but that was vintage Torrez. He kept his cards close, and Estelle had long ago learned to work with that.
Chapter Twenty-four
It would have been easy to let herself be distracted by her family’s pending visit, but on the drive back to Posadas, Estelle forced herself to focus on the puzzle pieces that still floated in limbo. Coincidence was the gremlin, as Padrino had often said. There was no absolute proof that Darrell Fisher’s death was a suicide—and ample reason to believe that it wasn’t. The second death, this time in Regál, might have been a suicide, if credibility were stretched to the breaking point.
Everyone involved knew everyone else, and any psychologist would testify that suicides were epidemic. Once one person solved his problems with a bullet, then someone else near the brink might follow suit. But the scenario didn’t fit the profile. The same psychologist might testify that Connie Suarez might have used her boyfriend’s handgun to commit suicide—a hopelessly final way to lash back at Myron Fitzwater for some perceived slight.
No, she wouldn’t, Estelle mused, unable to imagine Connie choosing the big Glock over another holiday spent in the sleepy little village.
The Broken Spur saloon flashed by, and Estelle glanced down at the speedometer. It hovered near ninety, and she backed off. A few minutes later, she swung into the Sheriff’s Department parking lot in Posadas for a moment, and manipulated her cell phone, stroking down to select her son’s number.
“Hey, Ma.” Francisco sounded amused, then serious. “Dad says you’ve got a real mess going. I woulda called you, but I didn’t want to interrupt something.”
“Merry Christmas, but not for everybody, hijo.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you going to have time to visit with us? Is Big Bad Bobby going to let you take a day off? ”
“I’ll make time.” Easily said, she thought.
“Or we could all ride along in the Beast with you.”
“Are you talking about my car, or your truck?”
“Your beastly car. But either one will do.”
She laughed. “That’ll happen.”
“I bet. Anyway, I think that’s Lordsburg down below our left wingtip, so we’ll be on final for Posadas International here in just a few minutes.”
“I’m headed to the airport right now.”
“Nifty. We have this whole thing figured out, so not to worry.”
“Worry is not in my nature, hijo.”
“I’ll remember you said that, Ma. See you in a bit.”
“Love you all, hijo. You and Carlos and Angie…”
“And Tasha. She’s on the list now, too. But wait about six minutes for an introduction. I can see Cat Mesa now off in the distance, so we’re close.”
“Tasha?”
He laughed, and she could hear voices in the background. “You don’t get to hear all the secrets, Ma. Be patient.”
As she drove north out of Posadas, she kept glancing to the west, trying for that first glimpse of the incoming jet. The wind was from the southwest, which meant their final approach after they over-flew Posadas would be coming in from the east, down the narrow avenue between Cat Mesa to the north and the village of Posadas to the south. She heard the rumbling whistle of the jet engines before she saw the aircraft, and then it flashed over the highway, its graceful winglets raked high.
By the time the jet was ambling back along the taxiway, Estelle had pulled into the airport and parked beside her husband’s SUV and Jim Bergin’s aging Dodge Durango.
Bergin trotted out on the apron, two orange wands in hand, and directed the Gulfstream to an isolated spot on the tarmac convenient for the fuel truck. Even as its wheels stopped turning and the engines spooled down, the door hinged open and the small stairway extended.
Dr. Francis Guzman’s hand slipped through her elbow, and she snuggled against him. “Can you believe this?”
“In this crazy day and age, I’ll believe anything,” he replied. “How are the aches?”
“I feel better already just being here.” She hugged him even harder.
“And I called Bobby already,” Francis said.“Not to spoil the moment,” he quickly added.
She stopped abruptly, her hands lifting to both sides of his face. “And told him what? About the blood?”
“It’s human, and it’s O-positive. Statistically the most common type. Now file that away and enjoy this moment.” He grinned widely and waved. “And here they are.”
Francisco, looking impossibly handsome in blue jeans and a dark blue polo shirt under a lightweight black jacket, stepped out of the plane and turned, reaching back to offer his hand to Angie Trevino, who moved with great care on the narrow steps. With one hand holding the doorframe, she flashed a radiant smile and a wave as Estelle and Francis approached. When they were both safely down on the tarmac, Francisco linked his arm through Angie’s.
When Estelle had last seen Angie Trevino, the girl had been so thin that at first Estelle had feared incipient anorexia. But it had become clear as Estelle came to know the girl that her svelte, model’s figure was the result of work, hard work, and even more hard work as Angie kept up with a brutal concert career. Now, as she spread both arms wide to envelope first Estelle and then Francis, the modest swell of her belly was unmistakable beneath her embroidered blouse.
“It is so good to be on the ground,” Angie said, “and so good to see you folks again. What a wonderful holiday!”
“A bit of clear air turbulence over Arizona,” Francisco explained. “I think both Angie and Tasha would rather have walked.” Pulling her son close, Estelle breathed in the smell of him, feeling the power of his body, the depth and weight of his shoulder muscles, the strength of his hands.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered, and hugged him all the harder.
He laughed ruefully. “For about thirty-six hours,” he said. “That’s better than nothing, I guess.” He reached across and pumped his father’s hand, and Francis flinched in mock pain.
“God, let me see that paw.” The physician took Francisco’s right wrist in one hand, spreading his hand wide with the other. “You’ve been lifting finger weights, or what?”
“Just hours and hours of five-flat, five octave scales,” the young man explained. He turned toward the airplane and shouted, “Carlos! We’re here, you know!” He turned to accept another fierce hug from his mother. “He’s always busy with something, my brother. He and Tasha have this project going…” He turned his mother toward the aircraft’s stairway as if about to make a formal presentation. “And it turns out that flying isn’t her favorite thing to do, anyway. And the bumpy ride cinched the deal.”
On
e of the flight crew appeared in the doorway, reached back and accepted a heavy flight bag from someone. She was nimble on the steps, and smiled broadly at Estelle and Francis as she extended a free hand.
“I’m First Officer Mary Steinbrenner. A picturesque little town you have here.” Her accent carried the lilt of Scandinavia.
“It is that,” Francis said. “Welcome. This is quite a surprise.”
“Our stock and trade,” Steinbrenner said. “We like to deliver surprises.” She watched as Estelle transferred the hug from Francisco to an encore with Angie Trevino.
“A long flight for you,” Estelle said.
“Time for lots of sleep,” Angie said. “Compared to the past couple of weeks, the flight was almost a treat. Almost. Dr. Guzman, it’s great to see you again, too.” She wrapped him in a hug and as she did so, Francisco held up a finger signaling patience and then accompanied the agile Mary Steinbrenner back up into the aircraft.
When he reappeared at the top of the steps, it looked for a moment as if he’d somehow replicated himself, a double image. But it was Carlos, who leaned forward through the doorway, a hand on each side of the bulkhead. He raised his voice just enough to be heard. “Merry Christmas, and give us a minute, please.” He turned and said something private to Francisco, and disappeared back into the airplane.
The older boy rejoined the group on the ground. “Tasha needs a moment or two to clean up a little.” He grinned sheepishly at his father. “We didn’t pop the Dramamine soon enough. I didn’t realize that this was her first ride in a small jet. And what a ride.” He turned and admired the sleek aircraft. “And bumps in the road at thirty-eight thousand feet. Can you believe that?”
He encircled his mother with an arm around her shoulders and reached out with the other hand to draw in his father. “So, how have you two been? Other than way too busy?”
“Way too busy,” the physician replied. “I just returned from a confab in Mexico, so that put me behind. And your mother is trying her best to work twenty-six, eight.” He reached out and hugged Estelle close.
Lies Come Easy Page 15
