“Is that why he was taken off the drip?”
“Yes. As far as I’m concerned, and as far as Dr. Perrone is concerned, he was lucid when he made the decision and request.”
“He’ll just sink, won’t he?”
“Yes.”
Estelle lowered her head so that her chin rested lightly on top of the baby’s head. She blew out a long breath that mussed his fine, black hair. “Any happy news?” she said, breaking the silence.
“The position is mine if I want it,” Francis replied.
Estelle looked at me sideways without moving her head from the baby’s. The crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes deepened.
“What position is yours if you want it?” I asked, already knowing the answer. There was nothing about Reuben’s condition that would warrant all the meetings with first Perrone and then Fred Tierney, the hospital administrator.
“Allen Perrone wants to expand his practice in this part of the state. He wants more of a clinic approach, with four or five of us under the same roof so patients don’t have to travel.”
“Of us,” I said.
“Right. He wrote me to pop the idea a month or so ago, after a convention in Albuquerque. I mentioned to him then that we were thinking of relocating back down here to make school easier for Estelle.”
I turned my head slowly and fixed Estelle with a blank stare. “School? Why am I the last person to know all this?”
“I was going to surprise you next week, at the christening.”
My smile kept spreading wider and wider until I felt downright silly. “Well-” I started, and was interrupted by the telephone in the kitchen. “Let me get this and then-” I glanced at my watch. Bob Torrez had had almost an hour to package Richard Staples up and send him upstairs to one of the cozy eight-by-tens.
“Gastner.”
Bob Torrez’s voice was slow and deliberate. “Sir, are you going to be able to come down to the office before long?”
“What’s up?”
“Glenn Archer is here. He isn’t too happy.”
“He’s never happy,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be down there in about six minutes.”
“And Mrs. Perna is here. She’s not too happy either.”
“Wonderful.”
“And Linda Rael wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll bet she does. I don’t want to talk to her. Is that all?”
“So far, sir.”
“I’ll be right there. Is Sheriff Holman in the office?”
“Yes, sir. He’s standing between Glenn Archer and Mrs. Perna at the moment.”
“Take a picture for me.” I hung up. When I walked back into the den, I saw Dr. Francis Guzman sitting on the couch with the infant in his lap. “Where’s Estelle?”
Francis put on his most patient face. “She’s waiting at the front door, sir.”
“For God’s sake,” I said and stomped out of the room. It was going to take all my willpower to wipe the grin off my face by the time I got to the office.
28
I knew I had precious little time for mental celebration…maybe the six minutes it would take to drive to the sheriff’s office. Estelle rarely volunteered information, even to me-hell, maybe not even to Francis. I had gotten used to asking questions, whether the topic was any of my business or not.
“What are you going to study?”
“I’d like to eventually get into law,” she said.
I almost swerved into the big cottonwood whose roots were heaving Fernando Stewart’s sidewalk up out of the ground at the end of Guadalupe Lane.
“Law? You mean like in lawyers?”
“Right.”
“Christ, Estelle. You don’t read much Shakespeare, do you.” She smiled. “Well,” I added, “I guess there’s always room for a good one, and you’ll be a good one, gal.”
“I hope so.”
“Where are you going to school?”
“I’m going to start at Cruces in the fall.” She grimaced. “It’ll take three years or so to get my bachelor’s. That’ll give me time to decide if this is really something I want to do.”
“And then? After law school? Where are you going to make your millions? Wall Street?”
“Sure. I can see me in New York City, sir.”
“You’ll do fine anywhere. For selfish reasons, I can always hope you guys end up out here.”
“We’ll be here for a while,” she said. “One step at a time.”
I pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office and cursed. Someone’s green Mitsubishi was in my parking spot. The sheriff’s Buick was carefully parked so that it took up not only Holman’s spot but half of another. All of the other spaces were taken as well.
“Don’t these people have anything goddamned better to do?” I muttered, and parked directly in front of the gasoline pumps.
As we got out of the truck and walked toward the building, Estelle hooked her hand through my elbow for ten paces and gave my arm an affectionate squeeze. “Take a deep breath and count to fifty, sir,” she said.
We walked through the door and instantly I wanted to be back home, snuggled in my warm, quiet den watching the second two-thirds of my one movie. Martin Holman stood in the short hallway that led to the dispatcher’s office. He was leaning with one elbow on top of the filing cabinet, the other hand hooked in his belt. His back was to the door.
Facing him, broad of beam and steel gray hair tied up in a tight, determined bun, was Marianna Perna. She was talking and Holman was listening, nodding in rhythm as if he was directing a band in two-two time. I didn’t know Mrs. Perna well, but had crossed tracks with her a time or two in the village offices where she worked as one of the billing clerks.
She was wagging her index finger under Holman’s nose, and I wondered how long she’d had him pegged there. Eight steps beyond Mrs. Perna and her hostage stood Robert Torrez. At first glance it looked as if he had wadded up and crumpled Glenn Archer into a corner, but I realized the high school principal was sitting on the edge of the small reports table, his arms folded across his chest. What surprised me most was that he was listening…and Deputy Torrez was talking.
Standing half in and half out of the dispatch room, which meant the rest of her was in my office, was Linda Rael. She had to be talking with someone interesting, since she wasn’t haunting either Holman or Archer.
Holman turned at the sound of the storm door slamming and relief flooded his face.
I nodded at Mrs. Perna, making sure my own expression was set in stone.
“Ma’am, I’ll need to talk with you in a bit,” I said before she had a chance to launch an attack at her new target. “Sheriff, can I have a minute? Let’s use my office.” I continued past them and beckoned to Glenn Archer. He wasn’t a happy camper, but he followed me without question.
“Bob, make sure Mrs. Perna stays close,” I said as I walked past the deputy. He nodded, but I was already headed for Linda Rael. She turned, saw me, and raised both eyebrows as if to say, “Ah, here’s the scoop.”
“Ms. Rael, you’ll have to excuse us for a few minutes,” I said. Sitting on the edge of my desk, looking as unperturbed as only a lawyer can, was Ron Schroeder, the district attorney we shared with two other rural counties who couldn’t afford their own.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I liked Schroeder. He worked hard, was a good listener, and didn’t make too many mistakes. Some of his plea bargain deals left me a little cold, but I knew the pressures on his office from district court.
“Bill, how you doin’” Schroeder said, pushing himself away from the desk. We shook hands.
“Ron, you know Glenn Archer, don’t you? Principal at the high school.”
“Of course. Glenn, good to see you.”
Holman started to close the door in Estelle’s face and I said, maybe just a shade too sharply, “I need the detective in on this, sheriff.” Holman looked at me, frowned, shrugged, then held the door for Estelle.
“I’m glad you showed up,” Holman said. He latched the door and leaned against it. The subconscious action wasn’t lost on me…Marianna Perna was on the other side, and she was pissed.