“Sure.”
“Then I came back to Posadas, ’cause my dad was sick and my mom was having a rough time with it. I met Todd at a bank Christmas party. I went there to clean up some account mess that was driving my mom crazy. Todd seemed like such a nice guy. Not demanding, just…what…? Cozy. Good looking and cozy. And I’m thinking, maybe this is it. I walked right into a good job with the electric company, and I’m thinking, finally…”
“And then Ginger came along.”
“Yes, she did.”
“She was Scott’s child?” Estelle’s blunt question prompted a brief hesitation.
“Yes.”
“Did he know it?”
“Scott? As I said, he was self-absorbed. So I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him.”
“Does Todd know?”
“No. And he won’t…ever. Unless you tell him. But she reminds me of Clint every day. The same laugh. The same eyes. I had to get away from that for a while. You won’t tell Todd…please.”
“That’s not our job, Stacie. In summary, what interests us is that you were near the scene that night of what later became a homicide…Thursday night after the game. You saw the confrontation. You left immediately, without ever talking to, or confronting Scott. And that’s essentially it.”
“Yes.”
“There is not sufficient cause to extradite you back to New Mexico, at least not at this time. You might have been charged with a misdemeanor for leaving your child in the car, but that’s all. If there is no plea bargain for the young man who killed Scott, if there’s a trial, you may be subpoenaed as a witness. You understand that?”
“Yes. I guess so.”
“I need to ask you to do something for me. And then we’ll see what happens.”
“Well, that depends.”
“I need you to write up a detailed deposition about what happened that night after the game. What you saw, what you heard. We need to know why you were coming back to the school. You can just say that you needed to talk with Coach Scott for personal reasons. We need descriptions as best you remember of the two young men. And especially what you remember about the confrontation. Then take the deposition down to the Sheriff’s Office, have it notarized, and fax it to me on their letterhead. That may be enough. Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?”
“Sure.”
“We’ll take it from there. And Stacie…if you change your phone again, let me know. No more vanishing acts.”
“I like it here,” she said simply. “Is Ginger all right?”
“As far as I know. Your husband met with a rep from Children, Youth and Family, and he has custody now.”
Stacie took a deep breath, but said nothing.
“Things build up, sometimes. It’s what you do now that matters, Stacie. I need that deposition as soon as you can. Tomorrow morning would be perfect.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You’ll keep in touch with your husband?”
“I don’t know what to say to him. He needs to give me time to think.”
“I’m sure he’ll do that.”
“And I really don’t want him coming to New York.”
“Then you’d best talk to him.” And no, I’m not going to negotiate for you, Estelle wanted to add. Instead she settled for an almost curt, “Thanks for making this call, Stacie. The best of luck to you.”
***
Estelle left her cell phone on the kitchen counter and headed toward the patio. As she reached for the door, she heard the round of laughter, and saw Angie Trevino’s hand lightly pat Bill Gastner on the forearm. What a nice fit, Estelle thought.
“Troubles?” Francis asked as she stepped out onto the flagstones.
“Everything is fine,” she said.
“You’ve had an amazing weekend,” Angie said. “Who would have thought that in such a small town…?”
“We have our moments.” Estelle reached out and circled an arm around the waiter as Carlos delivered a slice of key lime pie and a condensation-decorated glass of iced tea.
“You should write a book about the cases,” Angie pursued.
“Not a chance. That’s Padrino’s job. He’s the one with the encyclopedia of entertaining war stories.”
“Nah,” Gastner gruffed. “People make mistakes, you know. It all starts with some little thing, something that by itself seems of little consequence. And then, the big slide down that long, slippery slope. Sometimes we catch ’em before they hit bottom, and sometimes we don’t.” He nodded at the remains of Estelle’s pie and then beckoned toward Carlos. “You have any more of that?”
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