Francis grinned. “She’s in the study with my aunt.”
I followed him through the living room debris produced by the cyclone of a small child and into what had been the master bedroom. The year before, Francis had hired contractors to gut the place, turning it into a book-lined office.
Estelle was parked in a recliner, her crutches lying on the floor beside her. Sofia Tournal, looking for all the world like the attorney that she was with her dark tailored suit and severe white blouse, sat in the leather chair behind the desk. She nodded pleasantly at me. I wondered what she really thought about the first bizarre week of her visit.
I greeted them both with a tired smile and then said, “Work,” holding out the folders. “Do something constructive.” Estelle accepted the folders and hefted them. “All the unanswered questions,” I added.
“Fewer and fewer,” Estelle replied. She lay the folders carefully on the edge of the desk. “Did Gayle Sedillos get a hold of you?”
“No. I was at the hospital. What did she want?”
“The Albuquerque PD called. A certain young lady”-she opened the leatherette folder that was resting in her lap-“a Carlita Nolan, one of the office staff of Todd Svenson Motors in Albuquerque? She turned herself in to the PD this morning. She says she worked with Carlos Sanchez. And she says she knows several others who did, too.”
“She managed to hold out for two days, huh?”
Estelle grimaced. “She was, or thought she was, making progress toward being Carlos’s girlfriend. A little posthumous revenge, perhaps, for his dalliance with Tammy.” She smiled grimly.
“One more question down,” I said.
I looked at Sofia Tournal. She had a pad in front of her, and all I could see was that it was two columns of hen-scratching.
“And are you still finding life in Posadas to be the pastoral, peaceful vacation time that you expected?”
Sofia smiled and leaned back in her chair. “All we need do,” she said slowly, choosing her English words with care, “is break a leg.” She gestured toward Estelle. “Then we have time to visit.”
“You know,” Estelle said, “you never did answer my question.”
“Question?” I asked.
“Remember last Sunday night? At dinner?”
“Last Sunday is a lifetime ago, Estelle. What did you ask me?” I knew damn well what she had asked me.
I saw Sofia smile and push the pad she’d been writing on toward Estelle. “You see?” she said to Estelle, and turned her smile on me.
“What question?”
“I asked what you thought about me running for sheriff.”
I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. You told me you were thinking of running. You didn’t ask me what I thought.”
“Hmmm,” Estelle said, and frowned. “Well?”
“What do I think?”
“Yes.”
I ran my fingers around the rim of my Stetson, forehead furrowed in the deepest of concentration. Estelle waited patiently. Finally, I looked up at Sofia and gestured at the pad. “Are those all the pros and cons? Is that what you two were talking about?”
Sofia nodded, and Estelle said seriously, “It’s not such an easy decision to make, I’ve discovered.”
“Well,” I said, and Estelle looked up expectantly. She looked younger than my youngest daughter. “I’m probably the wrong person to ask, sweetheart. If you lose the election, you’ll be disappointed, of course. And I don’t know if Marty Holman has a vindictive streak. And if he loses the election…” I hesitated and then grinned. “Then I lose a decent administrator on the one hand and my chief of detectives on the other. You’re the one then who would always be tied up in endless county commission meetings.” I held up my hands. “Lose, lose. It’s a tough choice.”
I knew it wasn’t the answer that Estelle had wanted to hear, but that was politics. I turned to Sofia Tournal. “Have you had dinner out since you arrived here? I mean, other than in fits and snatches, or out of a bag?”
She looked mildly surprised. “No. I haven’t.”
“Well, then,” I said, “how would you like to have dinner with me this evening, just you and me, and we will discuss this young lady’s political future. No interruptions. No telephones. No radios. No fried chicken in a cardboard box. And no baby-sitting.”
“Sir…” Estelle said.
“About seven?” I asked, and Sofia nodded demurely.
Estelle took a deep breath and then let it out slowly as she broke into a grin. I turned to go and gestured at the two-column list. “Keep working,” I said.