“The blinds were just the way they are now?” Estelle asked.
“Yes. I saw the truck go by. I’m sure I didn’t stop walking. Why would I do that? The brake lights flashed.” She stopped and looked at Estelle. “Now, if I take another step, I’m in the kitchen, and I can’t see the window past this partition here.”
Estelle stood beside Doris. “The lights came on when the truck was about opposite the Beulers’, then.”
“Good grief,” Doris said good-naturedly. “I’m not going to be that exact.”
“But standing here, I can’t see the little field between the Beulers’ and the Acostas’,” Estelle said. “I can’t see that unless I step out into the living room.”
“I didn’t do that.” She looked quizzically at Estelle. “Why is all this so important? Kevin drove home for lunch, that’s all.” Sudden comprehension lit her features. “But listen…his truck was down there when all you people were flying around, wasn’t it? It seems to me I remember seeing that…and at one point there was quite a crowd of officers looking at it, too. I wondered about that.”
“Old nosey,” Cal muttered.
“We’ll straighten everything out,” Estelle said. “It’s important to determine who was where and when.”
“Well, of course it is,” Doris agreed. “I only wish I could be of more help.”
“Mrs. Marens, it may be necessary to obtain a formal deposition from you at some point.” Estelle withdrew one of her cards from her pocket and handed it to the woman. “I’ll be in touch with you if that’s necessary.”
“You want me to haul her downtown for you?” Cal asked. “I’d enjoy that.”
Estelle laughed. “No, sir. If I need anything, I’ll be back.” She held out her hand, and Doris Marens’ grip reminded her of her son Francisco’s: tiny bird bones. Back outside, she looked down the street, seeing the white Ford Ranger in Zeigler’s driveway. It was possible that the county manager hadn’t driven the truck home for lunch…that someone else had. She felt a surge of relief, tempered by a deep wave of apprehension.
Chapter Twenty-one
Leaning against the edge of her desk, alone for a moment, Estelle Reyes-Guzman stared at the whiteboard long enough that the printing blurred into an amorphous mass. She had left the Marenses’ with what she considered a key piece to the puzzle-and then the door had slammed shut. For the last two hours, she had scrutinized her notes, her memory, the stack of photographs, the slim folder of lab evidence. Nothing made sense to her, and her intuition refused to make even the most unathletic leap.
“Let me guess.” Estelle startled at the sound of Bill Gastner’s gruff voice. The retired sheriff leaned against the door-jamb of her office, hands thrust in his pockets, boots crossed as if he’d been lounging there for an hour. His keen gray eyes twinkled. “You haven’t had lunch yet, have you.”
“Lunch?”
“That’s what I thought.” He straightened and beckoned with a nod. “Come on. Have lunch with me. Turn loose for a little bit.”
“That sounds good.”
He stopped short, bushy eyebrows arched in surprise. “You never agree to lunch, sweetheart. Things are that bad?”
“Yes, sir. They’re that bad.”
He laid a hand over his heart. “I’m flattered, then.”
She glanced at the clock. “It’s after two, Padrino. You haven’t eaten yet? I’m surprised.”
“As a point of fact, I did not miss lunch. It was early, though. I got myself cornered by Frank Dayan.”
“Oh-oh.”
“Is right. He’s irked with you and Bobby.”
“That’s not unusual, sir.”
“Nope. But I ran a little interference for you.” Gastner moved to one side so Estelle could close the office door. The undersheriff locked her office, and then followed Gastner out to the central dispatch island. Gayle Torrez was on the phone, and Estelle waited until she hung up.
“I’m ten-seven, the Don Juan no doubt,” Estelle said. “If anybody calls for me, tell them I took early retirement.”
Gayle smiled sympathetically. “Can I come, too?”
“You bet,” Gastner said. “Just put the ‘your call is important to us’ recording in the nine-one-one answering machine, and let’s go.”
“Don’t I wish.”
“May I bring you something back?”
“No, thanks,” Gayle replied. “I didn’t mean lunch, anyway, Bill. It’s the early retirement that sounds good.”
Outside, Gastner gestured toward his state truck. “My chariot?”
“That would be a nice change,” Estelle replied. They drove west on Bustos Avenue so slowly that had Posadas had traffic, they would have been a cork. For the first six blocks, they rode in silence. With the Don Juan de Onate Restaurant in view, Gastner slowed even more, allowing the truck to drift up to the blinking caution light at the intersection of Twelfth Street and Bustos.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you mention the R word, sweetheart.”
“The R word?”
“As in ‘retirement.’”
“It was a tired joke, sir,” Estelle said. The truck thumped up into the restaurant parking lot.
Gastner maneuvered to park in the near-empty lot with one hand, the fingers of his other hand counting imaginary numbers. “What have you got now, about sixteen years with the county? You were absent without leave for a couple.”
“Today, it seems like sixteen years, ten months, two weeks, five days, three hours, two minutes, and fifteen seconds.”
Gastner laughed. “That bad, eh.” He waved a hand at her door. “Lock that, will you? I’ve got a bunch of state money in the glove box.”
They strolled across the lot to the restaurant. The Don Juan had settled into dimly lit silence after the noon rush, and Gastner made his way to the back where a divider created a small intimate area with only three booths. “Is this all right?” he said, as if there was a choice. The former sheriff had settled onto this same patch of yellow plastic upholstery for decades.
He drummed his fingers on the vinyl tablecloth as Estelle eased back in the booth with a sigh.
“You look tired.”
“I am. Tired and frustrated.”
“Sixteen years, ten months, blah blah,” he said with a smile. “That’s part of the package, you know.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Hell, you’re still good for another twenty-five or thirty years.”
Her eyes rolled and she dropped her head back against the booth’s upper roll of padding. “When I click twenty, sir, I’m going to pull the car over to the curb and park it, even if I’m in the middle of a call.” She closed her eyes. “I’d like to see what it’s like being home when Francisco and Carlos come home from school.” She lifted her arm and opened one eye to look at her watch. “Coming up in fifteen minutes, by the way.”
“We’ll eat fast,” Gastner said, and he leaned back as Jana-Lynn Torrez approached. Tall and statuesque, Sheriff Torrez’s niece glowered at Gastner.
“You’re still trying for that frequent-flyer discount, aren’t you?” she said.
“You bet.”
“How about you, Estelle? What can I get you?”
“A taco salad with sliced jalapenos would be wonderful.” She grinned at the look of mock astonishment on Gastner’s face.
“She eats,” he said.
“Of course she eats,” JanaLynn retorted. “How about you?”
“Coffee and apple pie, if there’s any left.”
“Sissy,” JanaLynn chided. “I’ll be right back.”
“No burrito, sir?” Estelle asked.
“I had one for lunch. I pried Frank away from his newspaper for a grand total of about fifteen minutes. He would be grateful if you’d give him a call this afternoon.”
“I’ll try to do that.”
“This is a big one, Estelle.”
“Ay, I know it, sir. The whole thing makes me sick.”
Gastner hesitated while JanaLynn delivered coffee for him and a large glass of ice water for Estelle. She left the plastic coffee carafe on the table.