Irma Sedillos arrived at the house by five-thirty Friday morning, and her cheery punctuality reminded Estelle of what her family was about to lose. She became acutely aware of the family’s dynamics that morning. Dr. Guzman left just before six to begin his hospital rounds, armed with fresh coffee and an enormous slice of butter-slathered banana bread. Youngest son Carlos was a snoozer, and dove his head under the pillow when Estelle kissed his forehead. Francisco had been awake for an hour, chaffing at the routine. He was forbidden to play the piano until Estelle’s mother had awakened, and had settled for second best, sitting on the sofa with the unplugged electronic keyboard, playing silently with an intensity driven by the music that had accumulated in his head overnight. There would be time for a quick breakfast before the school bus picked them up at five minutes before eight.
A few moments after eight, Estelle headed out the door, fortified by her own share of fragrant banana bread and a full Thermos of hot tea under her arm. Deputy Jackie Taber would have finished her shift plus an additional two hours of overtime, and the day and the county waited for the undersheriff.
As she prepared to pull out of her driveway, Estelle took a moment to review her log notes from the day before. She found George Romero’s cell phone number and keyed it in. He answered on the second ring, his voice distorted by static and signal gaps. At that early hour, he might be in the motel’s shower, or he might have spent a sleepless night at the hospital.
“…omero.”
“George, this is Estelle, down in Posadas.”
“Hey, let me call you back…a minute.”
Estelle switched off and waited, eyes roaming the neighborhood. Two doors down, she saw neither George’s late model Suburban nor Freddy’s aging Dodge pickup.
In a moment, her phone came to life. “Guzman.”
“Yeah, that’s better,” George Romero said. “What’s going on, Estelle?”
“I know it’s early, and I apologize for bothering you, sir. But I wanted to know how Butch is doing.”
“Well, it isn’t good. I don’t know what the hell is coming next. He’s lost the eye, I know that much. But I don’t understand what they’re doing now. I know that they’re talkin’ about some brain swelling that they’re trying to get under control. We’ve been here pretty much all night.”
“Ay. I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do for you at this end? Anything you or Tata need?”
“Some sleep,” Romero replied. “Well, hey, there is something you can do, as a matter of fact. You know, yesterday, I couldn’t find Freddy before I had to drive up here, so I left a note for him in the kitchen where he’d see it. I didn’t want him driving up here in that rattletrap of his. There’s nothing he can do up here anyway. Look, I tried to reach him last night on his cell, but no go. And hell, I tried around eleven, too. He should have been home. Probably out with Casey Prescott. You know how that little deal goes. I tried the house a few minutes ago, but no luck.”
“You tried this morning?” She looked down the street again. “His truck isn’t in the driveway at the moment.”
“Yeah, just a few minutes ago. No dice, though. If he’s where he’s supposed to be, he’ll be over at the school. I could call over there, but I don’t want his phone going off in class. I guess I could call the office, but if you wanted to run on over? If you had the time? You could fill him in on what’s goin’ on, make sure he understands that I don’t want him drivin’ up here. Absolutely not. No way.”
“I’ll do that right now,” Estelle said.
“Just tell him to sit tight, and have him give me a call when he has the chance.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Hey, thanks. I appreciate that. We’ll keep you posted, Estelle. How’s Francisco doing with all this?”
“He’s upset, certainly. But he’ll be all right. He’s worried about Butch.”
“Ain’t we all. Maybe he’ll learn something from all this.”
“Sin duda. ”
The drive to the high school’s student parking lot just behind the football field was a matter of a few blocks. Posadas High School included fewer than two hundred students in grades nine through twelve, most of whom didn’t drive to school. It took only a moment to cruise through the lot, looking for Freddy Romero’s primer-gray, sixties vintage Dodge 4x4. The undersheriff circled the lot twice, then crossed through the teacher’s parking area, finally parking on South Pershing Street in front of the school.
“PCS, three ten is ten-ten Posadas High School.”
Dispatcher Gayle Torrez acknowledged that Estelle was on the road but subject to call, then added, “Be advised that the State Livestock Inspector is here.” Estelle could hear Bill Gastner’s gruff voice in the background. “He says there’s no hurry as long as the coffee cake holds out. He wants to know if he can bring you a piece.”
“That’s negative. But I’ll be about ten minutes.”
In considerably less time than that, Estelle had learned from Donna Bates, the principal’s secretary, that Freddy Romero was not in school that day.
“Wait for me out in the hall lounge, honey,” Ms. Bates said to the student office aide who hovered too attentively, apparently impressed that the police should be visiting the school. As soon as the girl was out of earshot, Estelle made her request, and as Mrs. Bates prompted the computer, she added, “You know, just between you and me, Estelle, master Freddy’s attendance record isn’t absolutely stellar.” She pointed with one heavily ringed finger to a bulletin board just inside the office door where the article, fresh from the Posadas Register, was tacked to the cork, joining the plethora of other recent newspaper photos and stories about student achievers.
“He’s enjoying his celebrity status, I think. Sure enough, he isn’t here enjoying school this lovely morning. He’s probably out digging up more bones.” She held up a hand as she tapped the computer keyboard with the other. “He wasn’t in school yesterday afternoon, either. Morning, yes. Afternoon, no. I hope he’s not in trouble again?” She tapped a key again and leaned closer to the screen. “His younger brother might be with him. Butch is absent this morning, too, in fact.”
“And that’s why I’m here,” Estelle said. “Butch was injured late yesterday afternoon, ma’am. The family went with him when he was airlifted to Albuquerque, and no one is home at the moment. They had to leave before they were able to find Freddy and leave a message. If you happen to see the young man, perhaps you’d tell him to contact his dad?”
“My word, of course.” The secretary jotted a quick note and stuck it to the corner of her desk calendar, shaking her head as she did so. “In this day and age, how could the folks not reach him on his phone? You know, most of the time, we curse those gosh darn things, but sometimes…”
“Apparently they couldn’t last night, and Mr. Romero didn’t want to bother Freddy in school.”
“Well, we appreciate that, of course. But he could have called me. He knows that well enough. Now, will Butch be all right? What happened?”
“An unfortunate accident with a rattlesnake,” Estelle replied.
“You’re joking, Estelle.”
“I wish I were.”
“Oh, my. He was bitten?”
“In a manner of speaking. He was using a Weed Whacker and was struck in the eye with a fragment of snake fang when he was teasing the rattler.”
Donna Bates recoiled back with a grimace. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” she gasped. “Now what next, you know? Honestly. Butch makes his older brother seem like a saint. But we just love ’em to death. Just love ’em.” She looked as if she wanted to pursue the incident in every detail, but then she hesitated. “Ah, let me check one thing,” she said, and scrolled to another computer file, leaning forward as she rested her chin on her hand. “Master Freddy is squiring Casey Prescott these days, by the way. Much too serious with each other, I may add. But that’s the mom in me talking, I suppose.” She frowned and she scanned the screen. “Let me see, now. Casey is one of our stars, so we know where she is. And right now, she’s in Chemistry with Maryann Orosco. Room A-5. Let’s ask her, you think?”