“Officer Sisneros, I believe,” Estelle said.
“Yes. The village officer. What a mess you have over there.”
“Mrs. Marens, I wanted to talk with you again about what you might have heard and seen yesterday. I know you’ve been through it all before, but with a little time now, there’s always the chance that you may have remembered something.”
“How’s the child? I understand that it was Carmen who was-”
“We think that Carmen will be okay, Mrs. Marens.”
“Just awful. Really just awful. Well”-and she glanced first into the living room, and then toward the kitchen-“would you like to sit down?”
“Here would be fine,” Estelle said, and stepped toward the overstuffed sofa that faced the front window.
“I’m cutting bread,” Dr. Marens called, and his wife grimaced with impatience.
“We’re going to both end up as blimps,” she said. “My daughter-in-law gave Cal the bread machine for his birthday. Now he’s Mr. Baker. Anyway, fire away.” She settled into a rocker.
“Mrs. Marens, when I arrived yesterday, I saw you standing out on your porch.”
“Well, my goodness, such a circus, with the sirens and all. I know that it’s none of my business, but the first thing that crossed my mind was, Oh my goodness, the school bus is going to be driving into the middle of all this.”
“I’d like you to remember back to early morning, though,” Estelle said. “Before any of this happened. You told Officer Sisneros that you didn’t hear or see anything unusual between noon and the circus.” She smiled. “But before that? Would you tell me about your morning?”
“My morning. Well…my days are so exciting. Cal and I start thinking about getting up right at seven AM The clock radio comes on, and we listen to the news. That tells us if the world is still in one piece or not-whether there’s any reason to get up. So far, so good. Yesterday, Cal decided to go to Las Cruces. That wonderful bookstore there, in the mall. That’s just what we need is more books.”
“Everyone needs more books,” Dr. Marens said from the kitchen.
Doris Marens held up her hands. “And that’s that. I spent my morning doing two loads of laundry”-and she ticked two fingers-“and then I wrote a letter to my sister Agnes. Then I went to work back in the sewing room. I’m a shirt factory now.”
“Five grandchildren,” Dr. Marens called proudly.
“I took a little break around one or so and had a turkey sandwich. And then back to sewing. And then sirens and lights, and Lord knows what all.”
“At any time in the morning, do you recall seeing any traffic on the street? Any at all?”
Doris shook her head. “Most of the time, I was up to my ears in stitchery. That little bedroom back there has just the one window that looks south. There certainly isn’t much to see out back. Just weeds and more weeds. But you know, this is a quiet street.” She pointed past Estelle. “Not what I’d call traffic. Neil across the way goes to work about eight or so. He works at the bank, as I’m sure you know. Mrs. Sanchez next door has been in Tucson for a month with her son and daughter-in-law.” Her hand worked down the street methodically. “Both Penny and Ralph Beuler teach at the high school, so they’re gone by seven. And the county manager lives down at the end. He’s gone early, too. That just leaves the one other house on this side of the street. It’s vacant now.”
“Kevin Zeigler probably left for work before you got up, then.”
“Oh, certainly. We usually hear his little truck, and I fret about that sometimes, too. He drives way too fast on this street. Did you talk with him?”
“She frets about everything,” Dr. Marens said from the kitchen.
Estelle jotted a note on her small pad, and her lack of response prompted Doris. “He came home at around noon, you know. You need to talk with him, certainly. Maybe he saw something.”
“You saw Zeigler drive by at noon?”
“Well, not noon, exactly. When did I see him.” She looked down at the carpet. “I think it was when I was coming out to the kitchen. That little white truck of his.” She sat back in the rocker, hands braced on the arms of the chair as if awaiting lift-off. “Which is unusual, I suppose. As far as I know, Kevin rarely comes home during the day. He’s sort of the phantom of Candelaria Court. I don’t know, maybe yard and garden isn’t his thing. Every once in a while, we see him on his bike-sometimes with his friend. The one with the fancy car.”
“Can you recall exactly what time that was? When you saw his truck?”
She frowned and pursed her lips. “What time did I eat lunch? That’s the puzzle.” She brightened and smiled at Estelle. “You see, if you’d told me yesterday that I should remember all this, I would have paid attention.”
“That’s the way it works, I’m afraid,” Estelle said.
“What time? I know that it was sometime after the noon news. I always listen to that. That was over, and I worked in the back for a little bit. So I don’t know-I could guess that it was sometime between twelve-fifteen or twelve-thirty and one o’clock. I’m just sure that it wasn’t after one. Well, one-thirty at the latest.”
“Or maybe two or three or four,” Dr. Marens said. “Your sandwich is ready, Doe.”
“You just be patient,” she said, and shook her head. “It wasn’t after one-thirty.”
“What did you see, exactly? Will you show me?”
“Oh.” She pushed herself out of the rocker. “Now you’re asking me for impossible details. Let’s see…I was walking to the kitchen from the sewing room.” She moved to the hallway and turned. “He drove by, whoosh, like that.” She chopped the air with her hand. “And that’s it.”
“Why would you remember that?” Dr. Marens asked.
“Who knows why we remember what we remember, Mr. Memory Expert,” Doris said. “I didn’t remember that when I talked with the village officer yesterday. But he didn’t ask about earlier in the morning, either.” She returned to the rocker, sitting on the edge of the seat. “What’s Kevin say?” she asked.
“I haven’t asked him about that particular moment,” Estelle replied.
“Well, you should. It wasn’t that long before all the fireworks.” Her eyes narrowed a bit as she made the connections for herself. “Was it one of the family who was responsible? They’re quite a crew down there, the Acostas are.”
“We don’t know yet, Mrs. Marens.”
“You need to talk with Kevin,” Doris persisted. “I know that was him going by. And you know, for once, he wasn’t going ninety miles an hour, either.”
“He doesn’t drive that fast,” Dr. Marens said. He appeared in the archway, cup in hand. He held it up toward Estelle. “You sure?”
“He does drive that fast,” Doris said. “You just don’t notice.”
“Mrs. Marens, you said that yesterday he didn’t appear to be in a hurry?” Estelle asked.
“Well, relatively not. Not by his usual standards.”
“Was he alone?”
“I think so. But”-and she held up a hand-“now we’re really stretching it. I just didn’t notice. I did notice that he was going slower than usual. I saw his brake lights come on. And then I wasn’t looking anymore. I was in the kitchen.”
Estelle rose from her spot on the sofa. “Please show me.”
“Show you what, dear?”
“You said that you saw his brake lights come on. Would you stand where you were yesterday and show me…as near as you can remember?”
Doris shook her head, a hand on each side of her skull. “Oh, the things you’re asking this old brain to recall.”
“You’re telling me,” Cal said. He leaned against the kitchen’s center island, munching half of a sandwich.
His wife ignored him. “Okay. Here I am in the hallway,” she said, turning to face the kitchen, chubby arms outstretched as if she needed them for balance. “I walked out here, and I hear the truck. I suppose I hear the truck, because otherwise, why would I bother looking out?” She pointed at the living room window.