Steven Havill - A Discount for Death

A little boy with wheat-colored hair that had been buzzed uniformly close to his skull was kneeling precariously on his chair, holding a quart milk carton with both hands, and using the milk carton for balance. In a high-chair with its back to the kitchen sink sat a sober little girl. She looked at her grandmother, then at Estelle, then at the bright blue plastic cup between her tiny hands.

“This is Ryan,” Barbara Parker said, watching the boy’s maneuvers with the carton. She snapped the cover on the little girl’s plastic cup and then took the carton of milk from Ryan and set it on the table. Freed of the challenge of the milk carton, Ryan scrambled down out of his chair. “He’s four. And this is Mindi. She was two in August, weren’t you, sweetheart.” Ryan approached Estelle, his broad face puckered into a frown. Estelle sank to one knee so the two of them were eye to eye. She held out a hand. As she did so, her jacket drew away enough that the boy saw the gold badge clipped to her belt.

“How come you got that?” he asked. He allowed Estelle to take his hand.

“Because I’m a police officer,” she said.

“Oh.”

“My name’s Estelle, Ryan.”

“Okay.” He nodded, and Estelle released his hand. He didn’t move away but reached out and smoothed a wrinkled picture that had been magnet-tacked to the refrigerator door. The crayon sketch showed a huge, glowering sun. The four letters of Ryan’s name stretched across the blue yard in front of a red house. “There was two policemans here.” He reached up and placed a hand against the side of his face. “The lady looked funny.”

“She had an accident a long time ago, Ryan.”

“Like mommy?”

Estelle nodded. “Sort of like that.”

“Mommy died.”

“Yes.”

“Did that lady?”

“No, she didn’t die.” She glanced up to see Barbara Parker gathering Mindi out of the high-chair. Ryan reached out and touched the dark arc of Estelle’s right eyebrow, the light tentative touch of the artist trying to fix a shape, a texture, a color in his mind.

“You got funny eyebrows,” he said.

“I think so, too,” Estelle agreed.

“He’s a young man who says exactly what’s on his mind,” the boy’s grandmother said.

“I’m familiar with that,” Estelle said, and pushed herself to her feet. Ryan backed off, scrubbing his back along the smooth surface of the refrigerator door.

“Let’s sit,” Barbara said. She edged one of the kitchen chairs out with her toe, then sat down with Mindi in her lap. The child seemed content with her plastic, lidded cup. Ryan walked a wide circle around Estelle and clambered back into his chair.

“I got this,” he said and hoisted the cereal box.

“Just keep ’em in the bowl, sport,” Barbara Parker said.

“I understand that you’re a counselor at the schools?”

Barbara nodded. “Of a sort. I’m the district’s occupational therapist. I work with kids all day long, all ages, all makes and models,” she said. “But I’m lost right now, I can tell you.”

“It’s not easy,” Estelle said.

The woman shook her head and tears welled to the surface once again. “Oh, boy,” she said and reached behind her to the box of tissues on the kitchen counter. Mindi rested her head back against her grandmother’s shoulder and regarded Estelle solemnly. Both hands remained locked on the plastic cup. Estelle smiled at the child but saw no response behind the brown eyes. Ryan picked up a spoon and began a methodical thumping on the edge of his plastic cereal bowl. Sugar-coated cereal pellets about the size and shape of rabbit droppings scattered across the table. He seemed in no hurry to drench the mound with milk.

“Mrs. Parker, who is Richard Kenderman?” Estelle asked.

“That’s my dad,” Ryan said loudly, spoon heaped with cereal. He shoved the sugar bombs into his mouth. More scattered on the table. Estelle watched him with interest. Barbara Parker dabbed her eyes, then reached across the small table, opened the milk carton again, and poured a flood over Ryan’s cereal. “Rick and Colette lived together for a few months some time ago,” she said, and shrugged helplessly.

“He’s Perry’s brother?”

She nodded. “Rick’s the younger of the two. And they’re as different as night and day, let me tell you,” Barbara Parker said. “Come on,” she said to Ryan. “Don’t make such a mess. You’re showing off.”

The boy made a face and tossed the spoon on the table. One of the cereal droppings flicked across the table onto Estelle’s lap. Ryan watched it go, then slipped down out of his chair.

“You want to see my new car?”

“Sure.”

“Ryan, you go drive it into the living room, and we’ll be right in,” his grandmother said. “One of those remote things,” she added as Ryan scampered off. She sighed. “We’ve got about thirty seconds of peace and quiet now.”

Estelle smiled in sympathy. “Tell me about Richard Kenderman.”

“He’s a heller, and I just hate it when he shows up, Sheriff,” Barbara said. “He and Colette lived together up until she started to show with Mindi. Then we didn’t see much of him for quite a while-a couple years or so. And then, a few weeks ago, he started coming by again.” She nuzzled the side of the little girl’s head. The child didn’t respond. “She’s got more than her share of developmental troubles, too.” Estelle saw that Mindi’s facial expression was more slack than uninterested.

“And Ryan is…”

“Ryan is from their first go-around, when C…Colette was still in high school.” She grimaced and glanced at Estelle, a flush rising on her cheeks. “I think.”

“And Perry?”

“Perry has a heart of gold, Sheriff. He and his brother don’t see eye to eye on much of anything, but Perry’s got a soft spot for Colette. Nothing pushy…just tries to be around when there’s trouble. And…” she shuddered a deep sigh. “Lord, I hate to say it, but Colette treats him like dirt. Borrows money from him, doesn’t pay it back, gets him to sit the kids…oh, you name it.” She leaned forward toward Estelle. “He’s just a decent, good guy. And you know…” she hesitated and dabbed her eyes again. “There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Ryan and Mindi. I think he loves ’em like they were his own. That’s more than I can say for their father.”

“What happened last night, Mrs. Parker?”

The woman didn’t reply immediately. She helped Mindi manage the cup, and the child’s eyes closed as she sucked on the plastic rim. “For the past six months or so…” and Barbara stopped. She shook her head, refusing to meet Estelle’s gaze. “Colette was doing so well. She’d moved in here, getting herself out of that little hole-in-the-wall apartment she had over behind the school. I didn’t mind.” She shrugged. “I was happy for the company.” Mindi’s face wrinkled up, and her grandmother removed the cup. “She started working at the deli, regular hours. The kids are even enjoying day care.”

“Which one?”

“Tiny Tots, over on Grande.”

“And then what happened?” Estelle asked.

“And then…and then I guess you could say that Rick happened again. He wants Colette to move to Las Cruces to live with him. Last time he was here, I heard them talking about that.”

“Colette didn’t want to go?”

Barbara Parker sighed. “ I certainly didn’t want her to go. Uproot the kids and all. But she wanted to, depending on which day you asked her. You know how kids are, Sheriff. And Rick’s a charmer. There’s no doubt about that. He walks into the room, and Colette just melts. I don’t know what it is. Ryan thinks he’s Mister Wonderful, too.”