Steven Havill - A Discount for Death

“She cornered me at the hardware store earlier in the week, and she wanted to know about everything that was going on-about the Kenderman case, especially.”

“Of course. Wonderful, bonehead Leona. And like I said, better you than me.”

“In the course of our conversation, she said a few complimentary things about the new clinic and the pharmacy…and about how nice it was that some of the drug prices had come down. She said that since the new drugstore opened, Guy Trombley had been forced to lower his prices, too. I’ve been thinking a lot about that.”

“Huh. And now we know how he did that goddamn little trick. But lowered prices aren’t proof that he’s in cahoots with your buddy there.”

“It’s a place to start.”

“So how does Leona Spears fit into all of this?”

“I’ve got something I want to try. She can help me with it.”

Gastner looked dubious. “You be careful about opening Pandora’s box with that woman, sweetheart. She’s nuts. And we both know it. Hell, the whole goddamn town knows it.”

“That’s what I’m counting on, sir. Want to ride along?”

“Ah, no. Thanks. It’d be more fun to find a nice rock and drop it on my foot.”

Despite her resolve, Estelle Reyes-Guzman’s finger hesitated a moment before dialing. Bill Gastner was right about Leona Spears. Whether Pandora’s box or the LaBrea tar pits was the more apt analogy, Estelle was loath to step too close. At two minutes after ten, the phone range twice, and when the receiver was lifted at the other end, Estelle could hear Placido Domingo’s cellolike voice in the background-a familiar operatic aria that was one of Francis Guzman’s favorites.

“Helllloooo,” Leona Spears’ rich contralto greeted.

“Leona? This is Undersheriff Guzman. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Oh! My goodness, no. Would you believe it, I’m just sitting here working on a set of bridge specs. Now that’s excitement for you.” She chuckled. “I’m so glad you called.”

“I know this is an imposition, Leona, but I wonder if we could meet for a few minutes.”

Leona Spears paused to think about that for a nanosecond or so. “Why of course, Estelle. Do you want me to come down to the office? Would that be convenient?”

“Actually, I’m in the car at the moment, Leona. Could I just swing by? Would that be too much of an imposition?”

“Well, certainly not. You come right ahead. I’ll put on some coffee.”

“No…please don’t. Not on my account, anyway.”

“How about some tea or something like that?”

“Tea would be nice,” Estelle said, although her knotted stomach recoiled at the thought of anything, liquid or solid. “I’m on Bustos coming up on Pershing Park. As I remember you’re over on Alamo?”

“Four sixteen Alamo Drive. That’s right. Right behind the high school. Third house on the right. I’ll turn on the porch light for you.”

“It’ll be about three minutes,” Estelle said. As she clicked off the phone, she could still hear Placido Domingo in the background, heading for high C. She knew that at that moment, Leona’s pulse was kicking into triple digits with anticipation. The woman had run for several elective offices over the years, but her favorite target was the sheriff’s post, despite no working knowledge of law enforcement beyond what she might gain from the television. Her consistent landslide losses never deterred her from jumping into the next race. What prompted her fascination with law enforcement, Estelle couldn’t guess.

In less than three minutes, Estelle turned onto Alamo Drive, the short spur running west from South Fourth Street. She saw the state truck parked in front of 416. Leona’s front yard was straight from the drafting board to reality. A perfectly manicured square of crushed stone sufficed for lawn, its boundaries marked with tight chain-linked fencing. Estelle pulled in beside the pickup, thinking that a double yellow line up the driveway wouldn’t be out of place. If the woman owned a car of her own, it was tucked away in the one-car garage.

Even before Estelle stepped out of the car, she saw that Leona was standing at the front door of the house. The woman loomed enormous in a floor-length, frilly robe, her corn-yellow hair gathered in complex French braids to drape over her right shoulder. She peered out over half glasses with octagonal granny frames.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” she said as Estelle approached. She stood to one side and gestured for Estelle to enter the house. “And I confess to being a little worried, too. When the law arrives in the middle of the night, it’s not for tea and cookies, is it?”

Estelle glanced back at her, surprised by the matter-of-fact tone. Leona was more apt to indulge in flights of fancy, imagining herself privy to all sorts of confidences that weren’t her business. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Leona. But I really need to talk to you.”

The highway engineer waved a hand in easy dismissal. “Not a moment of it, Estelle. Let’s go into my office. The tea water’s on, too.” She beamed. “And I’ve got cookies, so we’re all set. Or maybe something stronger?” A hand fluttered. “But of course not. You’re on duty.”

They passed the living room, the furniture a metal and plastic style of decades past, all of it looking unused. Leona had turned one of the two bedrooms of the tiny home into her office, complete with an enormous drafting table wedged between matching filing cabinets. With just enough room to turn around, Leona could slide from drafting stool to the plush leather office chair that faced her computer table.

Estelle stood for a moment watching the image on the huge flat-screen monitor. The view was through the windshield of a vehicle, the black two-lane highway spooling through western prairie land, the mesa in the distance gradually growing in size.

“That’s a little screen-saver program I worked up,” Leona said with satisfaction. “Recognize the spot?”

“It looks like the area up by Newton,” Estelle said.

“That’s exactly right!” The woman chuckled. “Now I’m really impressed with myself for making it look so good.” She rubbed her hands together. “But you didn’t come over to admire my computer’s screen saver.” She turned the chair toward Estelle. “Sitzen,” and she heaved her bulk onto the drafting stool, planting one large elbow on the slanted surface. “So. May I be so presumptuous as to say that you look exhausted, young lady.”

Estelle smiled faintly. “I am. It’s been a long, long night, Leona. And bound to be longer before we’re through.” She saw the engineer rear back as if marshaling her considerable forces and held up a hand to stop the flow before it started. “I need to ask you a favor, but first, I need to make something really clear, Leona.”

“Of course.” Leona’s eyebrows furrowed, one of them rising a bit.

“What we talk about can go no further than this room,” Estelle said.

Leona nodded eagerly. “I may be a flake, Undersheriff, but I’m no gossip.”

“All right. I’d like you to do a little undercover work for me, if you think that’s possible.” She watched the woman’s heavy face, and this time the left eyebrow twitched several notches higher.

“Me?”

“Yes.” Estelle could imagine Sheriff Robert Torrez’s swarthy face melding to brick red as he asked, “You asked Leona Spears to do what?”

“Of course it’s possible,” Leona said briskly.

“Well, wait,” Estelle said. “I need to ask you a couple of personal questions first, and then you decide.”

Leona’s eyes narrowed, and her head turned sideways so that she was looking at Estelle out of the corner of her eyes. “Personal like how?”