“Yes, sir.” She nodded her thanks at both Dayan and Pam Gardiner. As she was making her way back toward the front of the office, she heard the publisher in hushed conversation with his editor. Estelle knew that District Attorney Daniel Schroeder’s phone would be ringing in the next few minutes, and she knew exactly what Schroeder would tell the Posadas Register without the least bit of concern about when their deadlines might be.
Chapter Twenty-four
The west wall of Teresa Reyes’ bedroom had been painted a soft, muted rose, called “sunset hue” on the color chart at the hardware store. The elderly woman had been adamant in her choice of colors when she and Estelle had discussed it. Estelle had been impressed but not surprised when Joe Tones had been able to find the perfect match.
Joseph Tones’ world was the mind-boggling inventory of Posadas Lumber and Hardware, an impressive old-fashioned hardware store whose floors were still the dark and dented, oil-soaked pine that had been laid down before World War II. The hardware and its modest lumberyard took up half the block across from Tommy Portillo’s Handi-Way on Grande. In that vast barnlike building with its sagging roofline, Tones moved among the crowded displays and vast bin arrays with effortless ease. He knew, always, where the most esoteric bit of hardware might be located.
Estelle parked the county car toward the rear of the hardware’s lot, beside the white pickup truck with the store’s logo on the door. She sat for a moment, letting her mind drift back over the conversation she’d had with Connie Enriquez. Connie had said that Tones had worked with her husband on chamber of commerce projects, that they had been friends for years.
Across the street, a group of five high-school students walked toward Portillo’s store across Grande, enjoying the sunshine, enjoying their lunchtime escape from the confines of school. Estelle watched them and let the unhappy picture of Connie Enriquez bleed from her mind. As she watched, Estelle found herself wondering what Francisco and Carlos would be like when they were teenagers about to tackle the world. Let that be a long time coming, she thought.
Connie and George Enriquez together on the beach. The image in the photograph crept into Estelle’s consciousness unbidden. A young couple enjoying the sun, water, sand, and each other, spared the agony of a crystal ball that would show them where their lives were headed. Estelle watched the five high-school kids until they disappeared inside the convenience store.
She opened her briefcase and put a fresh, labeled cassette in the recorder, then slipped it into her pocket.
As she was closing and locking the briefcase, an orange pickup truck with state highway department emblems on the doors pulled into the slot beside her county car. She glanced up and saw the large woman who got out, hard hat and all. Estelle had been reaching for the door handle but paused. There was always a chance that Leona Spears hadn’t recognized her…but then that didn’t count for much. She’d be ambushed inside the store instead.
Leona smiled brightly and twiddled her fingers at the undersheriff. A robust woman, she stood nearly six feet tall, broad through the shoulders and thick waisted. Her amazingly thick blonde hair was pulled into a tight Heidi braid that could be tucked up under the aluminum hard hat if necessary.
Estelle got out of the car and smiled pleasantly at Leona, who waited by the low parking barrier.
“Hi there,” Leona said cheerfully.
“Good afternoon, Leona,” Estelle replied. She turned to make sure the county car was locked, giving Ms. Spears a final chance to find something else to do. When Estelle turned away from her car, Leona smiled again, in no hurry to move on. Just as quickly, the smile faded, her thick blonde eyebrows gathered, and she stepped toward Estelle.
“I heard about Mr. Enriquez,” Leona said.
And what did you hear, Estelle almost said but settled for a neutral nod.
“And that right on top of the incident with the Parker girl,” Leona added, making it clear there was more to the incident than was apparent through the rumor mill. “What an awful week it’s been.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Estelle said. Leona had managed to position herself to effectively block the undersheriff’s path, and Estelle knew exactly what the woman wanted.
“Did Matt White call you?”
Estelle frowned, startled by the question since, on the surface at least, it had nothing to do with prying into the sheriff’s department’s business-Leona’s principal hobby both before November 7, when she had been campaigning for the sheriff’s position, and even after that, when she had been digging out from under Robert Torrez’s landslide.
“You mean today?” Estelle asked. She had spoken with Highway Department District Manager Matt White on numerous occasions in past months.
Leona nodded. “He was going to call you folks about the gravel we’ve been losing,” Leona said.
“Ah,” Estelle said. “If he called, he didn’t talk to me.”
“He was going to. I told him that he should ask for you specifically if he wanted something done.”
“I haven’t seen the inside of my office very much this week,” Estelle said. “Someone’s been stealing gravel from the state yard, you mean?”
“No. From the roadside stock, down near the intersection of County Road Fourteen. From the tire tracks it looks like somebody just backs a trailer right up to the pile and helps themselves.”
Estelle managed to keep a straight face. Leona would know about the tracks. She would climb out of her state truck, tape measure and sketch pad in hand, and draw her version of the crime scene, ready to file a report.
“That’s easy to do,” Estelle said. “With those unfenced piles, it’s sort of an invitation. Unless a deputy just happens by and catches them in the act, there isn’t much chance that they’ll be caught.” That wasn’t the answer Leona wanted to hear, Estelle knew. Better to create a gravel profile and match it to freshly spread evidence in someone’s driveway.
“I was thinking that maybe a deputy could watch from either the parking lot of the saloon across the way or from a little ways up Fourteen. It’d be easy to spot them from either place.”
Estelle smiled despite her best effort. “That’s not going to happen, Leona.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not going to assign a deputy to baby-sit a gravel pile. Most of the time, we only have one deputy working the entire county. At night, anyway.”
“I heard that Perry Kenderman was arrested,” Leona said.
“But not for gravel theft,” Estelle said and instantly regretted the amusing remark, prompted as it was by the abrupt change in subject. Predictably, Leona’s eyes narrowed with that characteristic are-you-making-fun-of-me expression. “You’re right. Officer Kenderman was arrested last night,” Estelle said, keeping her expression sober.
“So…” Leona said and as abruptly stopped while the mental gears ground and then meshed. “Bring me up to speed on this Enriquez thing,” she said, wonderfully unaware that the “Enriquez thing” was none of her business.
“Other than that he’s dead, I really can’t tell you much, Leona.” Estelle reached out a hand and touched the woman on the arm, moving her gently out of the way so she could squeeze past. “And I really need to go. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Oh, and by the way,” Leona said, turning in perfect synchronization to follow Estelle, “how’s that new clinic going?”
“Wonderful,” Estelle said.
“You know, that pharmacy is amazing.” She fell in step, reached for the front door, and opened it for Estelle. “I have to take a couple things, you know? I bet the prescription prices are twenty percent lower than old Trombley’s.” She reached out and touched Estelle’s shoulder. “Now I have to admit, I haven’t been in all that often.” She made a face. “I’m one of those loyalists, I guess. It’s hard to change my ways.” Leona leaned a little closer. “I think old Guy Trombley understands me, so I don’t mind paying his prices, you know? For one thing, I have this absolutely horrible memory. I run out of something, and he’ll just shrug and keep me going until I can have my physician call from Deming.”