“Why odd? Who was he riding with, do you know?”
“One of the burros,” Betty said, referring to the tandem car tows that headed, one well-used, battered vehicle towing another, in a regular flow south of the border. “He could have just hitched a ride all the way south, wherever he was headed. Why get out here? That’s what made me nervous.”
“And then what did he do?”
“At first, I thought he was headed for the church. He walked halfway across the parking lot, and then changed his mind and started to head this way. He crossed the road and came on down our lane, but he didn’t stop. He seemed to know where he was going.”
“What prompted the call, then?”
“Well,” and Betty hesitated. “I thought…I thought he might be after money.”
“From Joe and Lucinda?”
“Yes.”
“How would he know about them?” Estelle asked.
Betty looked uncomfortable. “Word gets around,” she said lamely. “Anyway, that’s when I called Gayle. At first it looked like he was going to stop in here, but he didn’t, and I thought Lucinda might be home all by herself, so it seemed prudent to let someone know.”
“Did you speak to him?” If Ricardo Ynostroza had walked right past the Contreras house, he would have been five feet from the front porch.
“No,” Betty replied quickly. “I mean, in this day and age, you just never know. This one seemed unsure of himself, and I have to tell you…he looked awful. I knew something was wrong, and that’s what made me nervous. He wasn’t in any hurry, either. He stopped at Sosimo’s old place and went inside. It isn’t locked, you know. I thought, Well, he’s going to take a nap or something. There’s nothing left in that old place to take, after all.”
“The Border Patrol is right over there,” Estelle said, nodding in the direction of the border crossing less than a quarter mile away. She already knew the answer before Betty Contreras snapped it out.
“That’s not necessary,” the older woman said. “We have to put up with those people too much of the time as it is. I’d rather deal with people I know.”
“The end result will be the same,” Estelle said. “Ynostroza will go back to his home in Mexico.”
“And so it goes,” Betty said philosophically. “That’s better than getting into trouble. That’s what I wanted to avoid.”
“Did you think that he posed a threat to Joe or Lucinda?”
“Well, he was headed up that way. Theirs is the only house at the end of the lane. I kept looking out through the window, watching him. He was obviously trying to figure out what to do. I didn’t think it would hurt to have you talk to him.”
“Did you call Joe?”
“I did. I mean, I tried to. No one answered the phone. Maybe he was outside.”
“Perhaps. Would Felix Otero have stopped here if he was passing through?” Estelle asked. “Did he remember you well enough?”
Betty blinked at her. “And he is…”
“The young man who was killed in the woodcutting accident up north. Also from Buenaventura, I would guess. He and Ricardo worked together. After the accident, Ricardo left him to die.”
One of Betty’s hands drifted up to her mouth, fingers flat against her lips. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why would Ricardo head back here, then?” Estelle asked. “If he wanted to go home, he had only to ride with the burros through the gate. No one’s going to question him going southbound.”
“I have no idea, Estelle.”
“Why did the dead man have your phone number, Betty?”
“I told you before…I don’t know. I absolutely do not know.” She didn’t manage to sound convincing but instead looked pained by it all.
“If Felix had gotten into some kind of trouble and was able to call you-he had your number, after all, and only your number-what would you have been able to do?” Estelle held up a hand. “Actually, I should say, what were you prepared to do for him?”
When Betty didn’t answer, Estelle added, “If Ricardo Ynostroza had known that his partner, Felix, had your phone number, if he’d known you lived here, would he have stopped here instead of walking on to Joe’s?”
Betty leaned against the counter, looking genuinely distressed. “Estelle, how can I tell you these things?”
The undersheriff regarded her for a time, then said, “Because you know the answers?” She waited, and the silence grew heavy between them. “There are too many unanswered questions, Betty. I don’t want to involve Immigration, and I don’t think that you do, either.”
“Well, I won’t be bullied,” Betty said.
“No one is bullying you,” Estelle said.
“You obviously don’t know the feds, then,” she said. “What we live with every single day around here.”
“I’ve heard the complaints, believe me. I’m not a fed, and I can tell you that as of now, I don’t plan to call them in on any of this. So let me ask you this flat out…do you trust me, then?”
“Yes, I do,” Betty responded without hesitation. “I’ve known you since you were a little tyke,” and she held a hand at waist level. “I watched you go through school. Now, I never had you in class, but Serafina did, and she used to sing your praises-oh, how much she thought of you. We all still do. You and that husband of yours…” Her face softened as she gazed at Estelle. “So yes…I trust you. Sometimes,” and she grinned broadly and waggled a teacherly finger, “you aren’t the most forthcoming person I know, but I suppose the job does that to you. A few minutes ago, I asked you who that was that you had riding with you, but you didn’t answer me. I thought that was odd.”
Estelle cocked her head in puzzlement. “You didn’t ask. You made a statement that I had company riding with me. I agreed that I did.”
The woman smiled and shook her head in wonder. “You are a wonder. Bill Gastner had a favorite expression for you, but I can’t recall it at the moment.”
“No doubt he called me a lot of things,” Estelle laughed.
“Always complimentary, always,” Betty said. “So, who’s your passenger?”
“She’s a writer for a national magazine.”
“Ah. Would I know the one?”
“A Woman’s World.”
Betty’s eyes grew large. “You’re joking. She’s doing an article on you?”
“On the department.”
“Well, what do you know. That deserves a tip of the hat. Why didn’t you bring her in with you?”
“Because I needed to talk to you privately, Betty. And that’s where we left off. I asked if you trusted me because I think you’re reluctant to tell me what you know.”
“And what’s that? What am I supposed to know?”
“My question is simple enough, Betty. I need to know not if-because I’m sure you do-but how you happen to know Ricardo Ynostroza. And how you happen to know Felix Otero.”
“Have you talked with Father Bert?”
“Yes.”
Betty waited a moment for the undersheriff to elaborate and, when no elaboration was forthcoming, said, “Let me ask him to call you.” She nodded as if that would solve the matter. “He should talk to you.”
“Why him and not yourself?”
“Just…just because. I think he should. Can we leave it at that for now?”
Estelle looked at the older woman in silence for a long moment. “All right. For now. You have my number, Betty. Any time, day or night. So does Father Anselmo.”
“How about taking some banana bread with you?” Betty said brightly, the conversation finished, at least in her mind. “It’s marvelous. Your writer person might like some. What’s her name?”
“Madelyn Bolles. And I’m sure she’d love some.”
That was all the opening Betty Contreras needed to turn her attention from things unpleasant, and in moments Estelle was settling back in the car with a loaf of fragrant banana bread wrapped in foil. “Madelyn, this is Betty Contreras,” the undersheriff said as Betty leaned on the county car’s passenger windowsill.