“Grandchildren,” Betty said as she pushed open the door.
The thick adobe walls muffled the sound, and Estelle felt the atmosphere close in around her. The paint scheme was white with turquoise trim, the white so bright it appeared self-illuminated. A flotilla of inexpensive Mexican rugs protected the floor’s polish. Tiny windows, still reflecting the heritage when windows were gun ports first and sources of light and air only secondarily, were all lace curtained and closed.
“Come on into the kitchen,” Betty said. “Let’s see what goodies I can scare up.”
Just before the doorway, they passed a deep nicho where a crowded collection of framed photos was displayed. Estelle paused.
“Nineteen is the answer,” Betty called. “That’s the grand total of grandchildren…so far. And six great-grandchildren. Sometimes when everyone is here visiting, I’m sure I’ll go nutzo. That’s why I take so many walks.” A clank and clatter were followed by the sound of running water. “Plain tea is your favorite, as I remember?”
“It is. Thank you.” Estelle stepped into the kitchen, and Betty saw the envelope for the first time.
“Whatcha got?”
“I wanted to show you a photo, if you’d be willing.”
“Is this one of those ghastly things?”
“Well, sort of. Yes.” Estelle pulled out the eight-by-ten of Christopher Marsh, not such a bad portrait after all, considering how a tumbling truck had rearranged his body parts.
“Oh, yuck,” Betty said, sounding exactly like the elementary school teacher that she had been for thirty years. “Is this the driver of that little truck that crashed up on the pass? I heard about that.”
“Yes. His name is Christopher Marsh.”
“Oh my. So young, too.”
“Twenty-one.”
“He wasn’t from around Posadas, was he?”
“We think Las Cruces.”
Betty took one last look, grimaced, and handed the photo back to Estelle. “Do we know what happened yet?”
“It appears that he swerved to avoid a deer, Betty.”
“They need a fence, or something, along that stretch of highway. I mean, it’s just lethal. I’ve come close to collecting Bambi any number of times…and not always when I’m in a car.”
Estelle drew out another photo, this one of the truck. She slid it across the table. “Had you seen this vehicle around the village in the past few days?”
Betty took the photo and scrutinized it carefully. “Is this…Well, no, it’s hard to tell.…This looks like it might belong to one of those parcel delivery outfits.”
Their eyes met and Estelle let Betty mull over what she had said. It took a moment to ascertain that the crushed vehicle in the photo was a truck, rather than a car or SUV, yet something had jarred Betty’s memory.
“It’s a Chevy S-ten pickup,” Estelle said. “This torn metal here was a matching white camper shell. Do you recall seeing a truck like that around the village in the past day or two?”
“I think so.” Betty bent forward, leaning on her clasped hands, looking hard at the photograph that rested on the table in front of her. “They’re around all the time, you know. More often UPS, though. Who drives these little white ones? Is that FedEx?”
“Not in this case,” Estelle said.
“What’s the other one? I’m trying to recall. And yes, I think I saw him.” She tapped the picture. “I’m quite sure…I can’t be positive, of course…that this might be the truck that came with Joe and Lucinda’s sweepstakes prize.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Joe and Lucinda Baca?” the undersheriff asked. “You mean when they won the state lottery?”
“Oh, that’s ancient history,” Betty said. “My goodness, when was that, in November? No…they won this sweepstakes thing just a bit ago. In fact, they won twice, of all things. And they weren’t the only ones.” She got up as the teakettle started to whistle. “I have some of that Chinese white pear tea,” she said. “How does that sound?”
“Wonderful.”
After selecting a pair of thin porcelain mugs from a corner cabinet, the older woman concentrated on serving the tea. Estelle watched her, enjoying the fragrance that swept up from the boiling water.
“Now, I have chocolate-chip, and I have butter pecan sandies, and I have fresh banana bread.” The list was presented not as a choice but as a fait accompli, and Estelle watched with amusement as Betty loaded a Mexican stoneware platter with the baked goodies. Small wonder that Bill Gastner thought so highly of the Contrerases.
“I didn’t hear about this latest sweepstakes,” Estelle said. Curious for Frank Dayan to miss that one, she thought.
“Oh my, we’ve had a run, you know. Such good fortune. Twice now. I think someone’s computer has a glitch. That’s my theory, but of course I keep that to myself. Have a cookie.”
“And the truck? How was that involved?”
“Oh, the truck. Well, it’s my understanding that to collect the sweepstakes check, there’s a small charge, sort of like COD? I know that Serafina Roybal won a small amount, even before Joe and Lucinda did. It’s some sweepstakes from Canada. Calgary, I think. But she won a little bit, and then won again. See, that’s why I think that there’s a computer glitch of some sort.”
“So she won twice as well?” Estelle asked. She knew Serafina Roybal even better than she knew Betty, although she saw the elderly woman less frequently. Serafina, now a wrinkled, stooped widow, had taken the sixteen-year-old Estelle Reyes under her wing at Posadas High School, easing the girl’s transition into American culture in speech and drama classes and smoothing and extending her language skills in Spanish.
“She did indeed,” Betty said. “When the prize check comes, you have to pay the duty, and the taxes, and there’s something else.…” She fell silent, gazing at the pile of goodies. “What did Serafina tell me, now.” She brightened. “Ah…the exchange rate. That was it. Because the sweepstakes originates in Canada.” She held up both hands. “You have to pay the piper,” she added.
“She…Serafina…paid who, then?”
“Well, she paid via the delivery company. That’s how she knew that it was legitimate, you see.”
No, I don’t see, Estelle wanted to say. “Like if you order something COD, you pay the driver?”
“Yes. That’s exactly right. They have those electronic pad gadgets that you sign with the stylus?” Betty made a writing motion over her left palm. “And I suppose that’s part of the fee, too.”
“Do you know how much she paid?”
“I have no idea. It wasn’t all that much. But for it to happen twice, and within the space of just a couple of weeks…that’s what makes me think someone’s computer is all jazzed up.”
“You were saying that Joe and Lucinda won. They entered the same sweepstakes?”
“Yes,” Betty said, looking skeptical. “And that’s what really made me think someone better check their software. They had already won the state thing, and wasn’t that something?”
“I heard about that one,” Estelle agreed. Frank Dayan had heard about it as well, since the publicity that fell on state winners’ heads was automatic. “I don’t remember how much it was for.”
“One hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” Betty said with satisfaction. “One more number and they would have been millionaires. Just imagine that.” She took a bite of a chocolate-chip cookie. “Not that one hundred and sixty thousand is something to sneeze at. I think that they collected a check for about one thirty something after taxes were taken out.”
“And then they won the Canadian game, too?”
“Twice. Just like Serafina. When that delivery service brought the first check, the driver told them that it wasn’t unusual for someone to win more than once. Serafina told me that. Apparently, once a number tricks the computer, then it’s more apt to do it again. That’s how he explained it.”