Steven Havill - Double Prey

“Apparently they couldn’t last night, and Mr. Romero didn’t want to bother Freddy in school.”

“Well, we appreciate that, of course. But he could have called me . He knows that well enough. Now, will Butch be all right? What happened?”

“An unfortunate accident with a rattlesnake,” Estelle replied.

“You’re joking, Estelle.”

“I wish I were.”

“Oh, my. He was bitten?”

“In a manner of speaking. He was using a Weed Whacker and was struck in the eye with a fragment of snake fang when he was teasing the rattler.”

Donna Bates recoiled back with a grimace. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” she gasped. “Now what next, you know? Honestly. Butch makes his older brother seem like a saint. But we just love ’em to death. Just love ’em.” She looked as if she wanted to pursue the incident in every detail, but then she hesitated. “Ah, let me check one thing,” she said, and scrolled to another computer file, leaning forward as she rested her chin on her hand. “Master Freddy is squiring Casey Prescott these days, by the way. Much too serious with each other, I may add. But that’s the mom in me talking, I suppose.” She frowned and she scanned the screen. “Let me see, now. Casey is one of our stars, so we know where she is. And right now, she’s in Chemistry with Maryann Orosco. Room A-5. Let’s ask her, you think?”

She nodded as if Estelle had said something, and then leaned across her desk. “Lola?” she called. “Will you run an errand for me?”

The student aide reappeared and favored Estelle with a radiant smile. The flash of teeth and braces lit her round, pleasant face.

Mrs. Bates handed her a small note. “Casey Prescott is in Ms. Orosco’s class right now. Would you see if she can come to the office for a moment?”

Estelle watched through the partition window as Lola trooped out into the foyer, collected another student who lingered at the water fountain, and then disappeared down the hall.

“How are your boys?” Mrs. Barnes asked. “Don’t the years fly by, though?”

“Yes, they do. It’s a scary business sometimes.”

“Oh, my, yes.” Mrs. Barnes leaned back in her chair. “You said the Romeros went to Albuquerque yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“And they couldn’t reach Freddy all evening? Oh, boy. He’s going to catch it. I know papa, and the only one with a worse temper is mama. You probably know all about that.”

On occasion, the parental voices of either George or Tata Romero, or both, could be heard more than two doors away as they tried to discipline their two live wires.

In a moment, Lola returned in company with Casey Prescott. The attractive high school junior’s expression was quizzical as she came into the office.

“Casey, you know Undersheriff Guzman?”

“Oh, sure.” Casey flashed a quick smile at Estelle. “Hi.” She offered a handshake, her grip strong, her hands warm and rough-a ranch kid’s grip.

“Casey, we’re trying to deliver a family message to Freddy Romero, but we haven’t been able to cross paths with him this morning. His folks had to go out of town, and I wonder if you had a notion of where he might be?” The undersheriff didn’t mention it was Donna Bates who had cheerfully offered the information about Casey Prescott and Freddy Romero’s relationship.

“Freddy?” Casey asked.

“Yes.”

“He’s not in school this morning?” the girl asked Mrs. Bates, and her puzzlement sounded genuine.

“On vacation… again , ” the secretary said with disapproval.

“Well, when I see him, I’ll let him know,” Casey offered. She glanced at the undersheriff. “I didn’t see him this morning.” She grimaced and closed one eye, a funny face that was nevertheless attractive. No wonder Freddy was smitten, Estelle thought. “But sometimes he doesn’t make it to accounting first thing,” Casey continued, “and I had to go to the chem lab early to catch up on some stuff.” She shrugged.

“You didn’t see him yesterday afternoon or evening?” Estelle asked.

“No, ma’am. I went right home after school to help dad finish up some stuff. And then I had a heap of homework.”

“He didn’t call you? Or you, him?”

“No, ma’am.”

Astounding , Estelle thought-there were still two teenagers left who didn’t talk, text, or Twitter on the ubiquitous gadgets that grew from belts and pockets. “Have you tried calling him this morning?”

Casey glanced at Donna Bates shyly. A large poster out in the hallway featured a cell phone with a bold diagonal red slash across it.

“I couldn’t reach him,” she said. “But he was having trouble with his phone, anyway. I think that’s what it is. At first, he thought it was the batteries, but I guess not. He was going to buy a new one.”

“Ah. Well, if you see him, please ask him to call his folks,” Estelle said. “How’s chemistry going now?”

“I love it,” Casey said with obvious passion.

“Then we don’t want to keep you. Thanks for coming down.”

“No problem. Thanks, Mrs. B.” She smiled at Mrs. Bates and then left the office, slapping the plastic hall pass against her thigh as she hustled out of sight.

“She’s a gem,” the secretary said. “We can only hope that Freddy doesn’t rub off on her entirely. I mean, the computer tells all.” She ran a finger along the screen. “I mean, look at last week. Three days that young man missed on the first week of school. He’s going to have his ten days before the end of September, and then where will he be?” The phone console at her elbow lit, and Estelle raised a hand in farewell as Donna Barnes lifted the receiver.

“If I see Freddy first, I’ll have him call you,” she said.

“That’s not necessary,” the undersheriff. “Just have him call his folks.”

She left the school and less than two minutes later her county car turned into the parking lot behind the Public Safety Building. A pickup with state plates and livestock inspector’s shields on the doors was parked in the spot reserved for Sheriff Robert Torrez.

Former sheriff of Posadas County William K. Gastner stood under the row of framed photographs in the Public Safety Building’s spacious foyer. He was examining the portrait of Eduardo Salcido, four sheriffs in the past. In the photo, Salcido was sitting behind his huge desk-the same desk that now graced undersheriff Estelle Reyes-Guzman’s office-hands folded in front of him on the blotter, gazing directly into the camera. He reminded Estelle of a patrón waiting to hear complaints from the peasants.

Gastner turned as Estelle approached from the narrow passageway past the dispatcher’s island. He tapped the corner of Salcido’s portrait. “Way back in 1965. That’s the first time I met him.” The state livestock inspector’s grin widened, and he ran a hand across the burdock of his salt and pepper hair. “And you know, this looks like it was taken on that very day. That’s what he was doing when I came into his office for an interview, you know? Sitting there like the grand poobah.”

“That’s what he was doing when I interviewed,” Estelle offered.

“A man of infinite good taste in his hires. And that was a long time ago.” He stepped back and looked to his right, past the portraits of Martin Holman, himself, and the current sheriff, Robert Torrez. “What a rogue’s gallery.” He turned and regarded Estelle. “You’re about settled on a new hire or two?”

“Yes. I think so. I was working on the applications yesterday and got sidetracked. One or two of the applicants look strong.”

“The Veltri kid? It’s always nice to hire local.”