I took a deep breath. “The trouble is, I don’t have anywhere else in mind to go, either. I like Posadas as much as I like anyplace.”
“There isn’t a lot to do here.”
“And if there were, I probably wouldn’t do it.” I looked at Camille and grinned. “I’ve kind of gotten used to my own company over the years, sweetheart. If I get the urge to get up at three-thirty in the morning and roam the county, then that’s what I do. I’m not sure that’s something I want to change.”
“Four horses are going to tie you down, though.”
I nodded. “They’ll give me something to think about, that’s for sure.” I looked off toward the cottonwoods, trying to picture the mammoth Percheron draft horses ambling among the gnarled, armored tree trunks. “And I think maybe I need that, too.”
The horses had been my own private version of the white light that some folks claim to see just when their hearts give up.
In my case, it had been visit to an Octoberfest north of Flint a week or so before my surgery. I hadn’t particularly wanted to go, but Camille and family had convinced me that if I liked beer, this was the place to drown in it. That part didn’t sound half-bad, although I detested the loud polka music and the crowds that went with such an event.
I went, and I stood rooted and mesmerized as the great horses competed in deadweight pulling competition. Great concrete blocks were set on the enormous rude wooden sled by a smoke-belching diesel front-loader. Between each round, as they waited for the tonnage to be increased, the handlers walked their teams of horses around the churned arena, and the immense creatures were as docile and plodding as old fat men.
Their heavy leather harnesses were rigged to a single tow bar with one stout iron hook that hung down like a claw. As soon as the driver began to maneuver his team toward the load, the animals came alive, broad hooves smashing into the dirt in a frantic dance. The man had to fight the reins, yelling at the animals at the same time, while a second handler grabbed the tow hook. He had the most dangerous job, since the horses lunged the instant they heard the clank of iron against iron, and he needed to dive to safety.
Four tons of horses lunged into the harness, snapping the front of the sled out of the dirt and surging the pile of concrete weights into motion.
The winning team had pulled twenty-eight tons the measured distance. And in the process, they had captured my imagination as nothing else had in half a century.
After the horse pull, I’d met the owner and driver of the winning heavyweight team, and we’d talked while we stood in the shade of those massive beasts. I’d never made a decision so promptly that didn’t involve arresting someone.
He agreed to sell me a matched team of fourteen-year-olds, animals that were approaching retirement and would need a nice, quiet, shady spot. As the idea took root in my mind, I had let go of what little common sense had been nagging me. I also agreed to buy an eight-year-old mare and her foal.
And in the course of several conversations over the next couple of weeks, he’d agreed to several other things, too. He would deliver the animals himself when I was ready. Perhaps most important, he agreed to take them back, at no charge, if I happened to drop dead one day.
Camille, of course, had thought at first that I’d gone certifiable, but given enough time and argument, she at last shrugged. Horses weren’t new to me, after all. The first eighteen years of my life had been spent around them, including a lot of time at the dumb end of the reins while my father’s Belgians, Hugo and Fred, plowed nice straight furrows in the North Carolina soil.
I had always liked the Gonzalez place, and I had driven by at least half a million times in the past twenty-five years. And I knew that it was for sale-and had been for months. The entire deal had been predicated on my surviving what the doctors had planned for me. That accomplished, I had wasted little of my convalescent time. Telephones were wonderful gadgets.
I heard the clump of Sam Preston’s boots coming back through the house. “That was Detective Reyes-Guzman,” he said. “She wants to stop by if you’re going to be here for a few minutes.”
“We are,” I said. “Why don’t I talk with you later on this afternoon, back at the office?”
Sam nodded. “Place is open. Just make yourselves at home. If you would, be sure the front door locks when you leave, although I don’t guess there’s much to take here yet.”
After he left, Camille hooked her arm through mine again. “What does Estelle think about all this?” She gestured out at the cottonwood paddock.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet,” I said. “It all happened pretty fast, and since we’ve been back, there hasn’t been time for chitchat.”
“Ah,” Camille said. She pointed toward the west. “Let’s walk back to the irrigation ditch.” We did, our shoes crunching the leaves under the cottonwoods. What I had started calling the paddock included seven acres, a vast park that was a delight to the eye. We reached the ditch, now, just a berm on either side of a weed-choked channel.
“Hasn’t been water through here in awhile,” Camille said.
“A long, long time.”
“Where did the water come from? The Salinas is too far west, isn’t it?”
I nodded. Rio Salinas was a seasonal and undependable little rivulet itself. “There used to be a series of springs. But they dried up in the early 1960s, when the mine was getting started.”
“So where does the water come from now?”
“The house has a well-a very good one. I’ll pipe water back to the paddock.”
I collected another of those skeptical glances from Camille. She stood on the bank of the ditch, hands on hips, looking back toward the house. “Quite a challenge,” she said.
“That’s a kind way of putting it. But look at it this way. The grandkids can visit one at a time and ride the horses.”
Camille laughed. “One at a time. I like that.” She shook her head. “You’re hopeless, Dad. I’d like a photo of that, though. A little kid would need a stepladder to climb up on the back of one of those beasts.” She pointed at the house. “That must be Estelle,” she said. “Let’s see if she thinks you’re as crazy as I do.”
Chapter 19
Estelle Reyes-Guzman saw us as we walked toward the house, and she sat down on the bench by the back door. She was wearing a tan suit, and from a distance, she blended in with the adobe behind her.
As we approached within speaking distance, she stood up, a smile brightening some of the fatigue on her dark face. Camille gave her a small hug around the waist with the one arm, keeping the other linked through mine.
“Sam Preston told me you were out here,” Estelle said, and her gaze swept the property. I could see the mental gears working.
“Anything new on the youngster?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Eddie told me about the folks in the RV.”
I laughed. “We made their day, I’m sure.”
“Holman doesn’t want to pull the search teams for a while yet,” Estelle said. She examined the corner of the old house where the stucco was badly cracked.
“That’s probably just as well,” I said.
She ran her hand down the rough finish. “Are you buying this place?” She turned to look at Camille, and I walked over to the bench and sat down, leaning back against the wall, feeling the warmth of the old adobe filter through my flannel shirt.
“She’s not. I thought I might.”
“I see,” Estelle said. I grinned, amused at this accomplished detective’s complete lack of nosiness.
“I’d like to own some horses,” I said. “This place is on the market, and it’s cheap.” I reached around and patted the thick adobe wall. “The house is basically sound.”
“You mean you’re going to live here?” She didn’t try to conceal the incredulity in her voice.
“Yes. That’s what I was thinking.”
“Oh.” Estelle walked a step or two closer to the back door and stopped. “Well, it’s farther from the intersta
te,” she said.
“That’s one plus.”
She gazed at me, and I felt as if I were being CAT-scanned. I took a deep breath and said, “I’ve been thinking about offering the hacienda to you.”
“Me?”
“To you and Francis.” Up to then, I hadn’t been able to imagine how I was going to broach this subject with Estelle. I’d thought about it for months, playing various conversations through my mind. But now that I’d started, the words tumbled out in a rush.
“You’ve said several times that your place on Twelfth Street isn’t anywhere big enough. Hell, my place is big enough for three families. And I don’t know what you’ve decided about your mother, but if you wanted her to stay with you, there’s enough room for her to have her own apartment there, and you’d never know it.”
Estelle looked down at the ground and made her way to the bench. She sat down with her hands clasped between her knees.
“How is she, by the way?” I added.
“Francis has her scheduled for hip-replacement surgery on December second.”
“Ouch. That’s a long time to wait.”
Estelle nodded. “There are still some heart irregularities that they’re trying to get under control first, so they postponed the hip. Nothing life-threatening, Francis says. But worrisome. She’s reasonably comfortable.”
The dark circles under Estelle’s eyes were worrisome as well, and I said, “Maybe this isn’t a good time to talk about the house. But I’d sure rather know you guys were living there than a bunch of strangers who didn’t understand the place.”
“Complete with cemetery in the backyard.” Estelle chuckled.
“That’s going to be resolved. The old lady’s going to be moved, whether Florencio Apodaca likes it or not.”
Estelle reached over and put her hand on top of mine. “It’s a beautiful home, sir. And I’m touched that you’d even consider such a thing.” She hesitated and glanced at Camille. “But I don’t think we’re in a position to take on something like that.”
“If you’re talking about price, that’s not a problem,” I said. I indicated my daughter. “None of the kids want the place, as Camille will tell you. They’ve all got their own complicated lives at the far corners of the country. And I don’t need the money. Hell, you can have the hacienda for a dollar, if you want it. Just say the word. It would make me feel good, knowing that you and Francis and los ninos were enjoying the place. It would keep it in the family.”
Estelle looked down at her hands, and her forehead was wrinkled in a frown. She blinked once or twice and I thought I saw her swallow hard.
“But it’s nothing that needs to be decided overnight,” I added quickly.
She looked at me, and, as usual, I couldn’t read what was deep in those inscrutable dark eyes. “You’ve got horses coming?”
“Well,” I said, waving a hand, “I’ve made a tentative deal. Let me put it that way. It’s not like they’re arriving tomorrow. Probably in the spring, after I’ve had a chance to get this place shipshape.”
“Saddle horses?”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’d take a derrick to get me up on a horse now. Workhorses-Percherons.”
“You never mentioned them,” Estelle said, not as a rebuke, but just as a statement of fact.
“It was one of those love-at-first-sight things,” Camille said. “We made the mistake of taking him to a county fair-type October-fest when he was visiting us.”
“You used to drive horses when you were younger, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “Much, much, much younger.”
Estelle shook her head slowly, gazing out into the paddock. “That will be a lot of work.”
“It’ll be good for me,” I said. “And when he’s a few years older, I can hire the kid to do all the hard stuff.” By the time little Francis was old enough to do the hard stuff, I reflected, I’d be pushing eighty years old-or perhaps daisies. But it was a nice thought.
Estelle patted my hand again. “I’ll talk with Francis,” she said. “I know he loves your place as much as I do. But I don’t think he’ll change his mind.”
“Change his mind? About what?”
Estelle hesitated for a long moment. “He’s accepted a position at another hospital.”
“You’re kidding,” I said. “What, Cruces?” Dr. Guzman had spent a good deal of time driving between Posadas and Las Cruces, doing whatever it was doctors did when sharing hospitals.
“No.” Estelle took a deep breath. “He’s accepted a position at the Mayo Clinic.”
“Mayo? As in Tucson?”
“Rochester, Minnesota.” A heavy silence settled on our little patch of sunshine and adobe.
I didn’t know what to say, so finally I settled for “That’s a hell of an opportunity.”
“Yes, it is. There’s some teaching involved, too. And research.”
I smiled with a great deal more enthusiasm than I felt. In fact, a great black hole was growing in my gut. “It snows up there, you know. Except during the two days of summer.”
“Yes, I know. Francis and Carlos are going to go crazy.”
“They can learn things like ice skating,” I said. “All kinds of cold, bleak, soggy pastimes. Your kitchen floor will always be covered with boots and wet socks.”
Estelle grinned at that.
“When?” I asked, and I didn’t mean it to come out so bleakly.
“His appointment begins June first.”
“Ouch,” I said. “And your mama?”
Estelle shook her head. “Assuming everything goes well, there are dozens of extended- or acute-care facilities in that area.”
“Of course there are, but that’s not what I meant. She’s going to hate it, you know. You’re going to have to be your persuasive best.”
“I’ve got seven months to work on her,” Estelle said. “Who knows. Maybe she’s like you. Maybe she’s ready for an adventure.”
“Maybe,” I said. I stood up and brushed off the seat of my pants. I felt Camille looking at me, but I couldn’t meet her gaze. “We’d better get back,” I said. “Camille, would you go through the house and make sure the front door is locked?” I walked around the side of the house, hands in my pockets, looking like I was examining the structure of the walls.
The truth was that I didn’t want to see the inside of that dreary place.
Chapter 20
Camille was silent on the short drive home, and I was grateful for that. I hadn’t been ready for Estelle’s curveball, and my mind was a wallow of ridiculous thoughts that bordered more on self-pity than anything else.
Estelle had never mentioned the possibility of her physician husband accepting a position elsewhere, but I realized I was foolish to assume that a young, talented surgeon would set his sights on nothing more than a career in Posadas, reaming varicose veins. Somehow, I’d allowed the assumption to grow and flourish in my head that Estelle, Francis, and my two godsons would always be a part of my existence in Posadas.
But goddamn Minnesota? Even before I had pulled into my driveway on Escondido, I had transferred my worry to Estelle. What was she going to do in that bleak, cold, chililess land? I hadn’t asked, either, and that irritated me even more.
I didn’t know anything about the state, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but common sense told me that Minnesota probably had just as many counties as New Mexico, if not dozens more-and each one had a sheriff’s department. And there was the state police, and the city police, and village constables-and any department would jump at the chance to hire an experienced female minority officer who was bilingual, and talented to boot.
“We’ll have to send them care packages full of sand, green chili, and pinon smoke,” I muttered as Camille and I went inside. Standing in the foyer of my rambling home, I realized just how scruffy the Gonzalez place was. My daughter didn’t respond to my lament, heading for the kitchen instead.
I tossed my jacket on the bench by the front door and ambled down the h
all, eyes locked on the polished Saltillo tile floor, old and buffed to a gleam like polished saddle leather. In the living room, I found my road atlas and idly turned the pages, pausing here and there without really looking until I landed in Minnesota. The city of Rochester was in the southeast corner. By squinting and shifting my glasses, I could almost read the fine print.
It looked like Olmsted County included the city. I wondered who the Sheriff of Olmsted County was, and if he was a former used-car salesman like Marty Holman. “Posadas, where?” he’d ask, and he probably thought that he would need a visa to visit.
“You want a snack?” Camille called from the kitchen, and I closed the atlas and slid it back on the shelf.
“Sure,” I mumbled.
“You know, I had a thought,” Camille said. I stopped beside the table, looking at the array of hors d’oeuvres she’d assembled. “You’ve got plenty of room here.”
“Here? For what?” I asked, and sampled a miniature nacho-a nuked chip with cheese and a slice of jalapeno on top. It was so hot, it made my eyes water.
Camille stepped to the kitchen door and looked out toward the five-acre jungle. “You’ve got enough room for horses right here, Dad. All it would take is hiring some kids to clean out the undergrowth.”
“What a job that would be,” I said.
“Less than what you’ve got in mind for the Gonzalez place,” my daughter replied. “And the biggest job is finished. You’ve got a marvelous home here.”
I shrugged. “Yep.”
She hefted the coffeepot and poured two cups. I could tell from the aroma that it was the real thing. “I wonder if Sheriff Holman knows yet,” she said. “That she’s leaving, I mean.”
“Well, if he doesn’t, he will soon enough. And he’s got until June first to do something about it. When Estelle leaves, so does our entire detective division.”
“Is there anyone you’d care to move into her place?”
“I’m not sure. Probably Eddie Mitchell. When he and Skip Bishop work together, they make a pretty good team.”
“What about Bob Torrez?”
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