Steven Havill - The Fourth Time is Murder

“Just like that? A letter from out of the blue.”

Serafina nodded. “But isn’t that the way of it? Those notices from the publishers’ thing… they just arrive unannounced. Except this time, it wasn’t a come-on. It was just a formal letter saying that I had won, and what to do in order to claim the prize. None of the usual folderol with all the bright lights and fanfare.”

“It said that the check would be delivered by courier, then.”

“Certainly. And that made me feel a little better, too, knowing that I’d be dealing with someone face-to-face.”

Estelle reached across and picked up the coffee cup, looking down into the brew thoughtfully.

“I’d like to know how they selected your name,” she said finally. “That’s the thing I can’t stop thinking about.”

Serafina chuckled. “Oh, in this day and age? Our names are common fodder, I’m sure. Use a credit card once and that’s it. Of course, I don’t do that. But buy a set of charity Christmas address labels just once, or send away for a magazine. Our lives are open books, dear. But what difference does it all make? They did just what they said they would do.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t care for it,” Serafina said, and Estelle placed the cup back on the console.

“Coffee and I don’t get along too well,” she said. “But thanks, Serafina. I really need to run. You said that Irene went over to Danny’s?”

“Just a few minutes ago. Now,” and she smiled slyly, “ supposedly to try and find a tire from that mess over there. But they cut across the old orchard. I told them they should drive, but they wanted to walk a little. It’s such a short ways, and it’s such a beautiful day.”

“Maybe we’ll take a minute and stop by there, then,” Estelle said, pushing herself to her feet. As an afterthought, she asked, “At any point, did the sweepstakes company call you on the phone?”

“Oh, no. You know,” Serafina said, heaving herself out of the chair with great effort, “half the time, I don’t answer the phone anyway. It always rings when I’m right in the middle of something. Us old ladies don’t move so fast anymore. And most of the time, you know, it’s one of those recordings. They don’t give up easily.”

“No, they don’t,” Estelle agreed.

“How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine.”

“Little old ladies are the favorite target these days,” Serafina said. “That’s what the news is always saying.”

“Did you talk about winning with anyone? Relatives, maybe? Or someone here in town?”

Serafina’s eyes twinkled again, and she held a crooked index finger over her lips. “In a little place like this,” she said, “you talk to just one person and first thing you know, it’s a secreto a voces through the whole town. Joe and Lucinda, they know all about that.”

“You’re wise to be careful,” Estelle said affectionately. “But I confess I’m still curious. I can understand Joe and Lucinda’s names coming up.…There’s some notoriety there when they won the state lottery. I’m curious how other names are selected.”

“You could ask the company.”

“Yes, I could. And I will, tomorrow. Sundays are difficult.” She took her full coffee cup out to the kitchen, a tiny room whose surfaces were under years of enamel paint of various pastel colors, with a kitchen sink so stained by Regál’s hard water that it looked more like reddish brown stoneware than white porcelain.

Serafina had settled back in her chair and didn’t get up as Estelle returned to the living room. The television remained ignored, and Estelle wondered if it had been on all night. “You should visit more often,” the elderly woman said.

“Yes, I should.”

“Bring your mother with you next time.”

“I think she’d like that.”

“Who’s that riding with you today?” Serafina asked, and Estelle felt a twinge of sadness at the repetition.

“Her name is Madelyn Bolles,” the undersheriff said. “She’s in town for just a few days.”

“A friend from college?”

“No. She’s a writer. She’s working on a profile of our department.”

“Ah. All right. Well, if you have to go, then you have to go.” She reached out a hand to take Estelle’s. “It’s always so nice to see you, querida .” She used the grip to boost her out of the chair and, with more of a hobble than a walk, escorted Estelle to the front step. She stood in the doorway watching as Estelle made her way back through the tall grama grass to the car. The undersheriff passed within half a dozen feet of the Jeep, and could smell the perfume of its sludgy oil and sun-baked paint and rubber.

“You look like something is bothering you,” Madelyn Bolles commented as Estelle slid back into the Crown Victoria.

“Lots of things,” Estelle said. She made no move to start the car. “It makes sense to me that if there’s a scam being worked here-and I think there is-the Bacas were the target. They’re the ones with the proceeds from an earlier win. They’re natural targets with deep pockets.”

“You don’t know yet that the sweepstakes thing is fraudulent, do you? I mean, didn’t you say that this lady won twice? And actually collected money?”

“Yes, she did.”

“You’re thinking that she was used to soften the other couple up for a bigger hit, aren’t you. People would hear about her success, and be suckered in?”

Estelle looked across at Madelyn. “ Sin duda. That’s exactly what’s nagging at me. If come tomorrow Joe and Lucinda cash that last check with no problems, then I’m going to be really puzzled.”

“Just a tidal wave of good fortune? Isn’t that possible?”

“No. We know that Chris Marsh and his nifty little truck were fraudulent. He was posing as a deliveryman, Madelyn. His supposed delivery company doesn’t exist. It sounds good, it sounds like it should be a real company, but it isn’t. That makes the whole thing suspect.”

“Is someone trying to rip off the sweepstakes company?”

“That’s a possibility, and I’ve thought about that. But I can’t imagine a legitimate publishing house doing business that way. Why would you use an unknown courier company, especially when so much money is involved, when you could choose one of the established firms? Anyway, you hit it exactly right. What bothers me is that if someone is trying to scam money out of Joe and Lucinda Baca, it makes sense to start small with a close friend-like Serafina here-to build confidence. That’s what I can’t put behind me.”

She looked at the small shed where Serafina’s Jeep had been stored.…The big SUV would have been a snug fit. The door had been only partially closed.

“I see smoke,” Madelyn said. Estelle turned quickly to look at her, and the writer quickly amended her remark. “I mean from your ears. You’re thinking so hard.”

“Sure enough.” She started the car and backed out to the dirt lane. “I need to check one thing,” she said.

“If you want my opinion,” Madelyn said, “so much winning in a tiny village would be enough to spook me, too.”

“But when the winner wants to take the money so badly, it’s easy to say it’s just a freak of statistics,” Estelle said. “‘It’s just good fortune.’”

“What are we after, then?”

“If the sweepstakes thing is a scam, then that leads us down an interesting road. Serafina Roybal was the first one who won. I haven’t heard of anyone else…no one in Posadas, as far as we know. No one has called the sheriff’s office to complain about a possible scam, and we get calls all the time, complaining about this and that. How did Chris Marsh target Serafina, then? How would he know about her?”