“I’m sure he’s most understanding,” Estelle said.
“But I’m so pleased the new place is doing well. It’s needed, you know. It’s needed. And it may be my imagination, but I think that maybe I’m already paying a little less for some things at Trombley’s. The competition is a good thing…although I suppose Guy would argue that.”
“Well, perhaps,” Estelle said with considerable resignation. “I’m glad things are working out for you, Leona.”
“Hi, ladies,” the pudgy girl at the front counter said. “What can we help you find today?”
Loath to say anything in front of Leona, Estelle scanned the store, hoping to see Joe Tones. As she did so, Leona said to the girl, “I just need a key made.” She dug the sample from her front pocket and handed it to the girl.
“Leona, nice seeing you,” Estelle said, taking advantage of the distraction. She strolled away from the front register, putting as many aisles between herself and the front desk as she could.
Back by the toilet repair kits, she found Joe Tones down on his hands and knees, pliers in hand. He glanced up, saw Estelle, and pushed himself up to a more dignified position.
“Somebody stepped on the front of this bin and broke it, would you believe that?” he said. “Can I help you find something?”
“Actually, I was looking for you, Mr. Tones.”
“Oh. Well, how delightful.” His smile was snaggle toothed and quickly vanished as he grunted first to one knee, then to his feet. “Take my advice, and don’t get old,” he said.
The first time that Estelle had entered Posadas Lumber and Hardware, she had been a junior in high school, less than a month in the United States, and accompanied by her great uncle Reuben. She didn’t remember what Reuben had purchased that day, but it seemed to her that the Joe Tones standing in front of her now was unchanged from the man who had waited on them then, unchanged except for a bald spot that had expanded over the years.
He thrust the pliers in his back pocket and dusted off his hands. “What can I help you with?”
“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about George Enriquez,” she said.
Something flashed across Tones’ face and was gone so quickly that Estelle couldn’t tell if it was sorrow, anger, or irritation. Tones leaned an elbow against the front lip of a bin holding short lengths of threaded galvanized pipe. He appeared to be studying the price tag on the front of the bin.
When he turned to look at Estelle again, his expression was guarded. “What did you want to know? This hasn’t been an easy thing to deal with, I can tell you that for a fact.”
“Mrs. Enriquez said that you and George worked together in various chamber of commerce ventures. Is that correct?”
“Sure, over the years. All the time. He did a lot for this community. A lot of folks are going to miss him. I don’t care what anybody says.”
“Did you know him really well, sir?”
“I thought I did. But we know how that goes, don’t we.”
“Meaning?”
“It kind of threw me for a loop, you know…hearing about him shooting himself that way.” He shrugged. “That’s why I’m hiding back here. Easier than trying to talk to folks who come in.”
“Had you seen George during the past few weeks?”
“Sure. I see him all the time.”
“How did he seem to you?”
Tones shook his head. “Well…you know. He had his share of troubles, with that grand jury thing hanging over his head. I know that worried him.”
“He talked to you about that?”
“Yeah, sure he did. Some.”
“Were the two of you planning to go elk hunting some time this fall?”
Tones jerked his head in surprise and frowned at Estelle. “I was the one who told George that it’d do him good to get away for a little bit, especially before…before, you know. That damn jury thing. Christ, that hung over his head like some big cleaver.”
“George wasn’t much of a hunter, was he?”
“No.” Tones managed a tight smile. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
“How’d he come to decide on an elk hunt, then? That’s a pretty rugged undertaking, isn’t it?”
“Not the way we do it,” Tones said. “The four of us have reservations at one of those fancy game ranches north of Chama.” He smiled. “It isn’t exactly roughing it, if you’ve ever seen their lodge.”
“This is a captive elk herd we’re talking about?”
Tones nodded. “That ranch is big enough, so you’d never know it. Guides take you as close to the herd as you want…or you can hike or ride horseback all day, if that’s what you’re after. George was pretty excited about the idea.”
“Had you actually made reservations, or was all this just in the dream stages?”
“Oh no. No dream. Once George decided that this was something he wanted to do, bingo. He made all the arrangements with the lodge up there. We were originally going to use that big camper of George’s, but then we decided that was kind of dumb, the lodge being available and all. George…he took care of it.” He sighed. “I don’t know now. I guess we’ll cancel out.”
“Who’s the we, Mr. Tones? You said that four of you planned to go.”
He looked askance at Estelle. “How’s all this related to George’s death, anyway?”
“I’m not sure that it is, Mr. Tones.”
He adjusted the rack of pens in his pocket protector. “It was me, George, and Glen Archer. I guess you know him.”
“Indeed I do.”
“And Owen Frieberg, from Salazar’s.” Tones glanced past her shoulder at the same time that she heard soft footsteps behind her. She turned and saw the girl who had been grinding the key for Leona Spears.
“Joe, I can’t find the right blank for this.” She held up the key. From six feet away, Joe Tones glanced at the key and shook his head. “That’s a Yale security lock, Donnie. We don’t have blanks for them. Who’s it for?” He peered around the counter. “Oh. Tell Leona she needs to see a locksmith.”
Donnie nodded and turned away.
“Let’s find some privacy before that crazy woman corners me,” he said. “We can use John’s office.” He led Estelle through the fencing and garden tool section, and ducked into a large back workroom. They wound their way through stacks of boxes and rolls of wire, finally finding a cubbyhole in the distant back of the store. John Hildebrand’s office was a study in things fresh and new in 1950. The old man, sole owner of the hardware business, came to work when he felt like it-as much as ten hours a week at times.
Tones dumped a load of catalogs off a small swivel chair and scooted it toward Estelle. “Sit,” he said, and pulled out the captain’s chair behind the desk. It groaned when he sat down. The sleeves of the jacket that had been thrown across the arm dragged on the floor as he leaned back. He immediately picked up a pencil and drilled the point into the remains of the desk blotter.
“Fire away,” he said.
“I understand that the chamber of commerce organizes a couple of trips to Mexico each year.”
“Yes, we do. One about the first week of Christmas, one on the Cinco de Mayo. Fifth of May.”
“Is this part of the sister-village project?”
“Yep.”
“And that’s with…”
“Acambaro. It’s a little place about a two hours’ drive south of the border crossing at Regal.” He grimaced. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’m sure you know Mexico far better than I do.”
“Actually, I’ve never been to Acambaro, Mr. Tones.”
“Well, you haven’t missed much. It’s a lot like Palomas, only smaller. Maybe two hundred people on a good day. More like Tres Santos. Poor as dirt.”
“What’s the main objective of the Christmas trip?”