Steven Havill - The Fourth Time is Murder

“It’s not like they keep it in bundles under the bed,” Madelyn said. “At least I hope they don’t.”

“No matter where it’s kept,” Estelle said. As she drove around another apple orchard, its irrigation pipe discharging a meager stream into the freshly hoed ditch, she slowed the car to a walk, then eased into Serafina Roybal’s narrow driveway. The retired schoolteacher’s Jeep Wagoneer had been backed out of the small shed and parked near the rose trellis on the southwest side of the adobe. The entire truck was evenly covered with fine dust and sparrow droppings. The left rear tire was just a couple of pounds above dead flat.

A small station wagon was parked close to the kitchen door, and Estelle pulled in directly behind it.

She keyed the mike. “PCS, three-ten.”

“Three-ten, PCS.”

“Ten-twenty-eight New Mexico niner-eight-niner Charlie Bravo Nora.”

“Ten-four.”

She waited, mike in hand.

“This doesn’t work?” Madelyn said, tapping the flat computer monitor.

Estelle shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. It’s scheduled for replacement next week. I’m getting a new car with a whole raft of new gadgets coming on board.”

“Three-ten, niner-eight-niner Charlie Bravo Nora should appear on a 2003 Subaru Outback, color green over silver, registered to Irene Merriam Salas, 301 College Lane Circle, Las Cruces. Negative wants or warrants.”

“Ten-four. Thanks, Brent.” She slid the mike back into the rack. “It appears that the granddaughter is visiting,” she said, switching off the car. “Serafina said yesterday that she was going to. I think it’s best if you stay here.”

Dressed in a blue robe that touched the floor, her steel gray hair in a single long braid that reached below her waist, Serafina Roybal opened the front door before Estelle reached the single step leading to the porch.

“You’re just in time for coffee,” Serafina said. Her voice was husky. “My soul, twice in two days. This is a treat, young lady.”

“Good morning, Serafina,” Estelle said.

“Who’s that with you?”

“Every once in a while, we have civilian ride-alongs,” Estelle replied, and she saw a trace of that wonderful skeptical look that students would have been favored with when they were less than honest with this formidable teacher. Estelle was surprised to hear herself add, “She’s a writer for one of the national women’s magazines.”

“Ah, now,” Serafina said. “That’s nice. You both come in.…The coffee should be ready by now.”

“Serafina, I can’t stay,” Estelle said. “I just stopped for a minute to ask a couple of questions left over from yesterday.” But she was talking to the elderly woman’s back, and she followed Serafina inside. The house was dark and musty, and the aroma of coffee was strong along with the rest of the potpourri that a home produces. Across the room, the television was on but muted. Ignoring it, the elderly woman made her way toward the kitchen.

“I’m so pleased that you came this morning. Such a surprise, you know.” She walked back to the doorway to the living room and held out both hands as if she wanted a hug. “My granddaughter came last night. It’s been far too long, I must say.”

Estelle stopped near the television, looking at the collection of photos that rested on top of the console-most of them showing Octavio Roybal, including several of him as a young stalwart, smart in his army uniform. Arranged to one side was a group of photos of Serafina’s daughter, Esmeralda, and her daughter Irene. In the first, the toddler sat on her mother’s knee on the front step of the iglesia . The photo showed a pudgy toddler who beamed into the camera. A second snapshot caught Irene at about age eight as she sprayed a compliant dog with a garden hose. Finally, a formal high school graduation photo in a gold frame presented Irene in an elegant pose in cap and gown.

“Your granddaughter has grown up,” Estelle said, picking up the latest photo.

“Such a dear,” Serafina said. “I can’t believe that she’s a junior in college already. She manages to break away now and then, and I’m so glad that she visits. Young folks don’t always have time, you know.”

“Time slips away,” the undersheriff said. Irene looked like her grandmother-square, almost stout, with a strong jaw, and the same shock of unruly hair that would go first salt-and-pepper and then steel gray as she matured.

Serafina headed back toward the kitchen. “I hope she comes back in time for you to say hello,” she called. “She walked over to talk with Danny Rivera for a little bit.” She smiled. “He thinks that he wants to buy my old car, and they backed it out of the shed this morning. He needs to find a tire, I know that much.”

Estelle reached out for the mug of coffee. “And you know,” Serafina continued, “I’m glad that you stopped by. I’m so addled headed these days. If I wanted to sell the Jeep, is there anything special that I have to do?”

“Just fill in the back of the title certificate,” Estelle said. “That transfers ownership. Then the buyer needs to add the vehicle to his insurance, and register it with the MVD. They have to have it insured before the MVD will issue the registration. It’s pretty simple.”

“So I just sign the title?”

“That’s correct. If you want a bill of sale, the MVD has blank forms that you can use. I’ll be happy to help you with it, if you like. You don’t have to have one, but a bill of sale is always a good idea.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Serafina said. “Why Danny would want such a monster, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Those were good, rugged trucks,” Estelle said. “You drove it over the pass to school for a lot of years.”

“It’s really like new, you know.” Serafina waved a hand in dismissal. “I mean, if you don’t consider that it’s a filthy mess at the moment, with a flat tire. But really, it’s all road miles, you know. They say that’s good. None of this stop-and-go. But now I didn’t drive much, you see. A big old boat like that isn’t worth anything anymore. I’d be just as happy to see it put to use.”

She motioned toward the living room. “Let’s sit. These old bones don’t work like they used to.” Estelle followed her out and crossed to the TV console, setting down her coffee cup as she sat in the straight chair near the wall heater. The aroma of the coffee was strong, but now she could smell the fragrance of Serafina’s visitor, light perfume, maybe shower potions, that drifted out from one of the bedrooms.

“I can’t stay long,” Estelle said. “I stopped by because I’m still hung up on this sweepstakes thing.”

“You worry me a little bit with all this,” Serafina said.

“I’m sorry if I do, but I keep wondering how you heard about the sweepstakes originally, Serafina. You gave me the copy of the first letter that you kept. But in the beginning, did they contact you first, or did you have to send something in? How did that all work?”

Serafina sipped the coffee tentatively, grimaced, and said, “I didn’t ask if you take cream or sugar. This is pretty strong. I think I lost count when I was putting the coffee in.”

“Neither one, thanks.”

Serafina relaxed back in the Morris chair. “Let’s see, now. I received a letter, right out of the blue. Just a routine mailing, I think. At least, that’s what I thought it was, at first. Then I saw that it was from Canada, and I’m something of a stamp fancier, so the first thing I did was cut off the postage. I have a grandniece who saves stamps, you see. Then I saw that it was a formal business letter, and that’s when I read the whole thing. And land, if I hadn’t won a little bit. It was the same the second time.”