“Just a sec.”
Estelle let the phone drop against her shoulder and looked across at Torrez. “What do you think?”
“No bets.” He unlatched the door and stepped down.
She nodded at the two vehicles parked in the driveway. “The little truck is Richard’s. The car belongs to Barbara Parker. That means the kids are home. I don’t want them caught in the middle of something.” Despite a deep respect for Robert Torrez, she was also keenly aware of his preference for direct frontal assaults.
“Huh,” Torrez said. He closed the door, turned, and leaned both forearms on the Expedition’s roof, regarded the house. The front door stirred, opened partially, and then closed again. In another moment, a young man stepped outside, frowning at them.
Although Estelle had never met Richard Kenderman, she saw the family resemblance with all the bumps and blemishes smoothed out. Rick Kenderman was a couple of inches under six feet, buff where his older brother was gangly, sure-footed and catlike where Perry tended to shuffle. The young man wore faded jeans and a white T-shirt. He was barefoot.
Gayle Torrez came back on the line. “Estelle, I’M BAD is registered to Richard Kenderman, Las Cruces. It should appear on a ’68 Mustang, no outstanding.”
“Thanks, Gayle.” She switched off the phone and slid it back on her belt. Kenderman walked down the sidewalk and stopped when he reached the back bumper of his car. He looked Torrez up and down with casual bravado as if to dismiss someone of the sheriff’s size. He glanced in Estelle’s direction as she slipped out of the county vehicle.
“Where’s Perry?” he said to Torrez without preamble.
“We don’t know,” Estelle replied quickly. “I thought maybe you could tell us.”
Rick Kenderman sat down on the back fender of his car and ran a hand through his carefully mussed hair-the style favored by a generation of movie stars for the “slept in” look. He then folded his arms across his chest and regarded Estelle with amusement, eyes lingering here and there.
“I don’t know where he is, lady. If I knew, I’d serve him up to the sheriff here in a fucking garbage bag.” He picked something off his lower lip and then wiped his hands on his jeans. “Maybe he’s still driving around in his squad car, chasing people.”
“I can guarantee he’s not doing that.”
“I can guarantee,” the young man mimicked and then shook his head in disgust. He pushed himself away from the Mustang and turned toward the house.
He glanced up the street and saw Jackie Taber’s Bronco just as she turned onto Third. “What do you guys want, anyway?” he snapped.
“We’re looking for your brother,” Estelle said.
“Well, good luck. I got things to do.” He walked quickly back toward the front door. Estelle caught sight of Barbara Parker inside, and she followed Kenderman up the walk. He stopped half in the doorway and held out a hand. “I didn’t invite you in here, lady.”
“No, but this isn’t your house, either, Mr. Kenderman.” As Estelle moved forward, the young man had the choice of retreating inside or hugging her. He quickly stepped away.
“Don’t be such an idiot, Rick,” Barbara Parker said. “These people are here to help.”
“Oh, absolutely that,” he said. Little Ryan appeared in the hallway, and Rick Kenderman scooted him back with a gentle push on the back of the head. “Come on, guys. We got packin’ to do.”
“What’s going on?” Torrez asked, turning to the children’s grandmother.
“Rick was going to take the kids down to Las Cruces until things settled down,” Mrs. Parker said, and Estelle’s stomach clenched at the hopeless tone in the woman’s voice.
“You were just going to let him do that?” Torrez said in wonder.
Estelle stepped close to Barbara Parker and lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “I told you to call me.”
“Well,” the woman said, and her explanation drifted off into nothing.
“Mrs. Parker,” Estelle snapped, and lowered her voice another notch, “we had two choices after Colette’s death. We could have placed both children with protective services for forty-eight hours without a court order. But at the time, it made more sense to leave them with their grandmother. In your care. You led me to believe that’s what you wanted.”
“I do, but…”
“There are no buts here, Mrs. Parker.” She glared at the woman. “Richard Kenderman is not taking those children to Las Cruces. It’s that simple.”
Something that might have been hope sprang into Barbara Parker’s eyes. “Well, you better tell him that, then,” she said.
“With pleasure,” Estelle muttered. Rick Kenderman had disappeared down the narrow hall, and Estelle followed, aware of the heavy footsteps of Robert Torrez behind her. The young man con fronted her at the door of Ryan’s room, a tiny bedroom with toys covering every flat surface. Franklin the cat lay on the pillow, undisturbed.
“Mr. Kenderman, we have placed the children in their grandmother’s custody until a determination for permanent custody has been made.”
Rick raised an eyebrow. “Oh, sure.”
“That’s the way it’s going to be.”
The young man grinned and shook his head. “You guys are something else. Who appointed you God? They’re my kids, and they’re going with me. End of story.”
“I don’t think so,” Torrez said, and Estelle saw his weight shift. She stepped forward quickly to buy some time.
“The last thing these two children need is to be yanked up by the roots, Richard. They just lost their mother. They belong here until all this can be sorted out.”
“There’s nothing to sort out,” he said.
“Paternity, for one thing,” Estelle said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. There’s a question of paternity. Right now, it’s your word that one or both of these children might be yours. Maybe, maybe not.”
“Who’s been feeding you this horseshit?”
Estelle smiled. Richard Kenderman’s eyes were a shade darker than Perry’s, without the amber flecks. He held her gaze, waiting.
“It’s this simple, Richard. The law says that the children will stay here. Not that they might stay here if it’s okay with you. They will stay here. And if you can’t cooperate with that, then that’s something we’ll have to deal with.”
“Oh, yeah?” He regarded Estelle calmly, assessing.
“You’re a bright young man, Richard. You think on it.” She looked across the room at Ryan, who’d taken up a position near the head of the bed, one hand clawed into the soft fur of Franklin’s hip. A flicker of something crossed his face, whether relief or hope, Estelle wasn’t sure. “You’re going to stay with Grandma for a while, Ryan. Okay?”
He nodded. Heavy footfalls thumped in the hallway, and Jackie Taber’s stout figure appeared behind the sheriff. Rick Kenderman saw the deputy, and Estelle watched the calculation registering in his eyes. After a couple of heartbeats spent weighing the odds, he muttered an obscenity and pushed past Estelle. Robert Torrez was standing squarely in the doorway, and Kenderman came to an abrupt halt. “What the hell do you want, Igor?” he snapped.
Estelle turned to see the explosion. But a slow grin broke the sheriff’s face. “What I want is for you to slow down, buddy.”
“I’m not…” Kenderman started to say, then bit it off.
“You take some time to think, and odds are we’ll all get through this in one piece,” Torrez added.
Kenderman turned toward Estelle. “You want to tell your retard deputy to move?”
“I don’t tell the sheriff what to do,” Estelle said. “And by the way, Kenderman,” she added, and her voice took on an edge. “We’ll be processing that little truck that’s sitting out in the yard. There’s enough odor of marijuana in that cab to justify a strip search. And since you’re the owner, maybe that search should move on to that nifty bad Mustang parked out there.”
He started to snap back but settled for a disgusted shake of the head. “Can I go now, missy?”