“Oh, caramba.” His eyes twinkled. “You think she’ll let me take it for a spin?”
“Oh, absolutely, hijo.” The image of the eleven-year-old trying to see over the steering wheel and then the swoop-fendered hood, or even reaching the pedals, forced a smile.
“They’re inside. They were talking with Grandmamá, but she’s about to go to bed. It’s neat you were able to come home for a little while.” He patted the car once more, loathe to leave it. “You think it’s faster than The Beast?” He looked from the Corvette to his now-displaced love, Estelle’s department Charger.
“Sin duda, hijo. But radar’s faster yet.” She kept her hand on his square shoulder as they walked to the house, an unpretentious brick ranch-style, nestling now in deep shade from the five elms that over the years had drunk enough water to float an aircraft carrier. Her husband’s SUV was not in the driveway, just her own personal Taurus. With a feeling of warm relief, Estelle saw that Addy Sedillos’ Nissan pickup was parked ahead of the Corvette. Carlos Guzman’s nickname for Addy, “The Family Coordinator,” was apt. Carlos might no longer require “sitting,” but the one-hundred-year-old Teresa Reyes did, and that, combined with Dr. Guzman’s frenetic schedule and Estelle’s own, kept Adorina “Addy” Sedillos busy.
“Did Papá happen to call?”
Carlos shook his head soberly. “He was home for a little bit earlier, before Francisco and Angie got here, but Dr. Guzman called about ten minutes ago to report that he’ll be locked in consult with Dr. Perrone for a bit longer.” He grinned at his own droll delivery, then turned serious. “Some nasty autopsy thing that Dr. Perrone wanted to finish ASAP.”
“We’ll talk about that,” Estelle said. “But right now, is there any food left in the house?”
“Sure. Lots, Mamá. Oh, and Addy said that Maestro and I were probably going to stay over at Padrino’s for the next couple of nights. Is that okay? Padrino has something going on out at the mesa, so he might not be home right away.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Estelle chuckled. That’s one worry down, she thought, thanks to the quick thinking nana. “Then we might manage a normal dinner. Fashionably late, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“We might, Mamá, if you’re home for a while.”
She looked at him affectionately. “For a few minutes, I promise.”
“We’ll throw something together, then.” His sunny countenance darkened again and his shoulders slumped. “We heard about Coach Scott. Gilly next door told me. Is that really true?”
“I afraid it is, hijo.”
“I guess both you and Papá are involved with that.” He nodded as if that covered it all, then added, “Mr. Dayan has called for you several times.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She had seen the newspaperman’s number, now a list of calls, on her caller ID. That he would have also tried her land line was expected, and no doubt the inbox of her e-mail was cluttered. Estelle wondered if by now there was a single person in Posadas who hadn’t heard some version of Scott’s death.
“This is a tough one?” Carlos asked.
She wrapped an arm around his square shoulders. “Oh, sí. This is a tough one, in many, many ways, hijo.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Carlos opened the storm door for her. Addy Sedillos stood at the mouth of the hallway, leaning forward, an arm on each corner as she listened to a voice coming from the depths of the house.
“Not that long,” she called in reply just as Estelle stepped inside the house. “And your mom’s home, so don’t dawdle!” With a wide grin, she pushed herself upright. “How’s this for a surprise?” she said, and stepped quickly to Estelle to envelope her in a hug. “Did you know these folks were coming?”
“Surprise, surprise,” Estelle responded again dryly. In the living room, her mother was sitting in her one and only rocker, her aluminum walker near at hand. Two days shy of the century mark, Teresa still refused the convenience of a wheelchair, preferring to inch along, even though bent considerably out of the vertical. Sitting on the fireplace hearth beside Estelle’s mother, her left hand clasped firmly by both of Teresa’s, was Angela Trevino.
Estelle had no need to guess, since Carlos, always the master of what might become an uncomfortable situation, said brightly, “Mamá, this is Angela Trevino from Leister Academy, one of Francisco’s classmates. Angie, this is my mother, Estelle Reyes-Guzman, undersheriff of Posadas County.” He spoke with perfect aplomb, without a trace of puff or posture.
Angie already, Estelle thought.
The girl rose to her feet the moment she saw Estelle, her smile brilliant but a bit restrained. Her grip when she shook hands was firm and lingering. “Mrs. Guzman, this is a pleasure. You know, I missed meeting you at Chelwood Commons. I’ve heard so much about you from Francisco, and I have to say…” She paused, a hint of blush touching her olive cheeks. “His descriptions of you were glowing, but they didn’t do you justice.”
Estelle’s first choice of under what conditions to meet her elder son’s first “girl friend” did not include packing utilities. She had shed her light suit jacket for the drive home from Cruces, and at the moment, her vest, badge, gun, cuffs, mace, and small handheld radio offered not the warm, cozy image that she might have otherwise chosen. Angela didn’t seem to mind, nor did she seem in the least intimidated.
“Well, I’m too tired, dirty, and grumpy to be glowing, but you caught us all by surprise, Miss Trevino.” She couldn’t help noticing the strength of the girl’s grip—anything but dainty. “Welcome to whirlwind central.”
“Mamá, how was your day?” Estelle stepped close, bent, and hugged the tiny woman, struck once again by how frail she had become.
“Out the window, I see this fancy car drive up…who do you suppose gets out?” Teresa pointed a bent index finger in the girl’s direction. “And the grandson.” She paused, dark eyes regarding first Angela, then Estelle. “Who’s to think?”
“Francisco wanted to surprise you, Mrs. Reyes,” Angie said.
“Well, he succeeded,” Estelle added with a bit more acid than she would have liked. She regarded the tan hard case that rested on the floor under the protection of the piano, the rectangular case about right for a tenor saxophone or in this instance, one of those flat, high-tec electronic cellos. “That fits in the car?”
“Just. With a little careful finagling. It’s a good thing that it’s not a traditional cello, or we’d have to tie it on the roof somehow.” Angie laughed. “Francisco thought he was going to have to hold it in his lap, but there’s no room for that. The car is gorgeous, but it’s not the most practical thing.”
“I can see that. Let me shed about ten pounds, then we can relax. How about a few minutes out on the back patio? It’s a perfect evening. And did the butler offer you something to drink?”
“I did,” Carlos said instantly. “Iced tea, hot tea, iced coffee, hot coffee. Diet Coke. Regular Coke.” He closed his eyes, ticking the items off on his fingers as he rocked back and forth. “Fudge. Empanadas. Cheese.”
He took a breath, and Angela laughed, a delightfully throaty chuckle. “Nothing just now, but thanks. We’ve been snacking nonstop since we left Kansas. Addy said something about Carlos making his signature dish…green chile lasagna? I need to work on some empty space.” She rested a hand on her flat stomach.
“Well, I need an iced tea, please, hijo.” Estelle extended her arm toward the back door just as Francisco padded down the hall, barefoot, his summer outfit consisting only of a pair of white shorts.
“Hey, Ma!” he said, eschewing the mamá that had worked for the first fifteen years of his life. Finally breaking the hug, Estelle held him at arm’s length, one hand clamped on each bare shoulder, the muscles like rock. He smelled of a fresh shower, his hair a finger-combed tangle.
“Por Dios, look at you. You’ve put on some weight, hijo. At least they’re feeding you between concerts.”
“Oh, a little. Plus I’ve discovered soccer, and I’m in a t
raining program that tries to make us fit.” He grinned. “The side benefit is that it makes it easier to sit on a piano bench for hours without falling face-first into the keys. Beethoven takes no prisoners, you know.”
“I’ve come to appreciate that. Soccer, now?”
He shrugged. “It’s just intramural, but it’s fun.”
“Well, the fighting trim suits you, hijo.” The little boy is gone, she thought. Too fast. “Angela and I are going to sit out back for a little bit. Now that we all know how beautiful you are, go put on some clothes and join us.” He made an impatient face. “We have a lot to talk about,” she added.
Carlos met her at the sliding door, and extended the glass of iced tea toward her. She took it, and bent a little toward him, the other hand affectionate on the back of his head. “Give us a few minutes, okay, hijo?”
“Sure,” he said, understanding perfectly. “Did you want me to see if Padrino is home yet? We’re having lasagna with key lime for dessert, and he kinda likes that.”
“Kinda likes? By all means. You may have to try his cell phone, though. Let it ring about a hundred times.”
She held the back door for Angela. “Padrino is Bill Gastner, a legend in these parts. He’s the boys’ godfather.”
“Many, many miles were spent recounting Sheriff Gastner’s history,” Angela said. “I feel as if I’ve known him for years. There is apparently a short list of people whom Francisco thinks very highly of, besides his immediate family. I think Bill Gastner is probably number one on that list. I look forward to meeting him.”
Francisco reappeared, this time wearing an ebony polo shirt with the Steinway logo in gold over the left breast pocket, making a dramatic contrast with the white shorts. He slid the door shut and then ducked under the table’s umbrella.
“So,” Estelle said, “this is a delightful surprise. I wish we could have enjoyed a little anticipation of it as well.” She leaned forward, the creak of leather reminding her that, despite her intentions, she had forgotten to shed those ten pounds of hardware. Francisco looked uncomfortable, but chose not to respond.
Her words punctuated by the rip of hook and loop fasteners as she pulled out of the vest, she asked, “How did this trip come to be?”
Francisco held out both hands on the table, cupped together in the “this is how it is” gesture. “Angie’s great-grandmother celebrated her one-hundredth birthday earlier in the week, up at their home in Ridgeway. And it was Angie’s eighteenth birthday as well. Her folks drove down to Leister to pick her up so she could take part in the celebration. They invited me along, since Angie and I had worked on a piece of music for both of them…well, for all three. Angie and her great, and mi abuela.” He shrugged as if to say, “That’s it. It seemed like the logical thing to zip on over here and perform the piece for Teresa, too.”
“Ah.” Every decision you make now, she thought. Every one, made on your own without someone leaning over your shoulder, telling you what to do… She felt left behind, since this young man had obviously been marching to his own drummer for longer than she cared to admit.
Estelle turned, elbows on the chair arms and her hands knotted together under her chin. “So…your parents picked you and my son up at the academy, and drove you back to Ridgeway, Kansas. And there you found the Corvette parked in your driveway, a big yellow bow on top?”
“Pink.” The girl stretched out her arms just far enough to rest both hands on top of Francisco’s right arm. “My dad’s extravagant idea of a birthday present for me.” She adjusted her position slightly. “You would have to meet my dad to understand. He’s petrified that I’ll turn forty, and suddenly discover that the only serious relationship I will ever have is with my cello. So he buys me a boy magnet.”
The tone of her voice hinted to Estelle that Angie would have been just as delighted with a fresh tablet of music manuscript paper.
“I can’t imagine that happening.” Estelle glanced at Francisco. “The turning forty part without company, I mean. You two met when?”
“This past spring,” he said. “We both were taking one of the enrichment classes they encourage at Leister. This one was instrument repair.”
“A hands-on, how-to class,” Angela added. “A fun break. And a challenge, to do things right. I did a good job on one of Mateo Atencio’s flutes.” She smiled brightly, and Estelle remembered the tall, elegant, handsome teen flutist who had accompanied Francisco to Posadas for a home concert. “When I finished, the school didn’t even have to redo it.”
“It’s the sort of class for people who decide to teach, like in a public school?” Francisco interjected. “Like when little Buzzy’s cornet gets run over by a bus? There isn’t always an instrument repair facility in town.”
“So that’s where you two met.”
“Well,” Francisco said, “we didn’t meet there, but circumstances brought us closer together.” He leaned forward. “She’s been accepted to Julliard, by the way.” He rested his hand on top of hers.
“Just ‘by the way’? Angie, congratulations.”
“The car is going to sit at home while she’s in New York.”
Wonderful. “When do you go?”
“Next fall,” Angie whispered. “I’ll finish this year at Leister, and then New York. I am excited and terrified.”
“I would think so.” Estelle sipped her tea. “So the two of you decided to attend your great-grandmother’s birthday anniversary at your home in Kansas—your birthday and hers. And then you decided to drive out here from Kansas for Grandmamá’s one-hundredth.”
“Yep.” Francisco sounded as if the decision was the world’s most natural.
“And your parents were all right with that?” She regarded the girl thoughtfully. Angela Trevino was startlingly beautiful, as Sergeant Jackie Taber had reported, but she was no emaciated fashion model…too much muscle through the shoulders for that. Her fingers were long and strong, her hands actually quite large. Hers was the body of an Olympic slalom skier or champion swimmer, lots of power combined with confident grace.
“After many, many admonitions,” Angie said. “My folks are fans of Francisco’s, and after a little discussion, they decided it would be a good adventure for us. ‘Away from those stuffy old classrooms,’ my father said.”
“And your mom?”
“She was all right with it when she heard that the only way we could do it was to drive straight through. It’s the motel part that worried her.”
Estelle laughed as another element of worry lifted. “She has a point, you know. That Corvette must act a little bit like a chastity belt.”
“Ma, you’re embarrassing me,” Francisco protested.
“You’ll deal with it,” she replied, and added to Angie, “I look forward to meeting your mom and dad.”
“Mom wasn’t just red-hot on the idea of all the driving on the interstates, but she came around. And I have to tell you,” and she leaned toward Estelle, “after about the first five hundred miles, I wasn’t so red-hot for the idea anymore either.”
“And you did the trip nonstop?”
“Just quick pit stops, Ma.” Francisco said. “Food, gas. Food, gas. Food, gas.”
“And the only time we got stopped was by your Sergeant Taber, right here in Posadas. No ticket, just a warning for rolling a stop sign. She was very nice, by the way. No nonsense, but very nice.”
“She can be.” Estelle glanced at her watch. “So…you’re here for how long? How long do we have in order to figure out what to do with you?”
Francisco looked puzzled. “What day is this?”
“This be Friday,” Estelle replied.
The boy looked relieved. “Okay. We have to be back at Leister on Tuesday night. I’m supposed to be playing demos for a History of Music lecture on Wednesday, so, yeah…any time on Tuesday works for me. Angie has a meeting with the dean on Thursday morning, so she’s got some extra hours. It’s lookin’ like we need to leave Sunday sometime.”
“Mamá aske
d that we take her to a short mass Sunday morning in Tres Santos. Do you remember Father Anselmo?”
“Sure.”
“He’s saying a special mass just for her. It would be wonderful if you’d be able to accompany us to that.”
“Perfect. I’ve been to Tres Santos, what…once, that I remember?”
“It will mean a lot to her if you go, I’m sure.”
“Do they have a piano?”
Estelle smiled. “No piano. Father Anselmo brings his electronic keyboard.”
Francisco beamed. “That’ll work!”
“The mission was always a study in simplicity,” Estelle said to Angie. “And after it burned in 1980, they’ve made do with even less. When they rebuilt, they chose expediency—a small frame structure with wooden benches. An altar was donated from Janos. As mother is fond of saying, ‘It’s the faith that’s important, not the building.’”
“You could take your cello,” he said to Angie, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. “Something simple and short, like Mozart’s Laudate Dominum. That would be special.”
“You think?” Angie didn’t sound wild with enthusiasm.
“Yes, I do. I have the music somewhere in one of my old piano books from years ago.”
How many years is “years ago” when one is still only fifteen? Estelle mused silently.
“I always thought that piece was the definition of ‘elegant,’” Francisco added.
“I’ll play it for your grandmother tomorrow, maybe. If she would like…” She nodded thoughtfully.
The patio door slid open, and Dr. Francis Guzman filled the opening. Burly and well over six feet tall, he had long ago earned the affectionate nickname Oso, or “Bear” from Estelle. Neither Francisco nor Carlos had inherited his brawn, instead favoring their mother’s lean, chiseled look. His beard, trimmed short, broke into a wide smile.
“Wow,” he said, and let that suffice. With a quick step, he crossed to Estelle and enveloped her in a crushing hug, then straightened up, still holding her hand. “This is quite the surprise.” He stepped around the table and Francisco disappeared in the folds of another ferocious hug. “We’re going to have to start calling you Rocky.” He stepped back a bit and encircled Francisco’s upper right arm with both hands. He glanced over at Estelle. “Remember when this used to be a little twig?” He released the boy and held up an index finger as he thumped the flat of Francisco’s chest with the other hand. “Don’t go away. I have to meet…” He looked expectantly at Angie, who had risen and circled the small table. She held out a hand.
Come Dark Page 17
