A Discount for Death

Chapter Fifteen

When Connie Enriquez opened the door of her husband’s office, Estelle could see that either one of the guests had managed to say just the right thing, or the cat dander had been flying again. The woman’s eyes were puffy and red, and she was in the process of loudly blowing her nose.

She took a moment to organize the wad of tissue, then closed the door behind her.

“Here I am,” she said. “For better or worse.”

“Mrs. Enriquez, is the condition of this room pretty much the way your husband usually kept it?”

“Nobody’s been in here.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was impressed with how neat and uncluttered his personal papers were. I wish I could be so organized.”

“A place for everything, and everything in its place,” Connie said. “That was George. He hated ‘visual clutter.’ That’s what he called it. He could hold more stuff in his head than most people could fit in a dozen filing cabinets.” She glanced quickly around the room without much interest. “You know,” and she moved to the straight-backed chair, standing beside it for a moment before sagging down onto the cushion, “there are a lot of things I respected about my husband, and I guess I admired that talent.”

She fell silent, eyes focused somewhere off in the distance. “There was that, at least,” she said finally.

“He was an interesting man, Connie.”

The large woman heaved what might have been a sigh or a short chuckle. “Interesting is a nice word, isn’t it. Covers a multitude of things. Maybe I’m interesting, too.” She looked at Estelle and shook her head slowly. “Interesting. That’s the word. I guess this is about the time I’m supposed to profess that despite our interesting habits, we loved each other just the same.” She paused, and Estelle remained silent. “I don’t think we’ve loved each other for twenty years, Undersheriff. Maybe longer than that. Most of the time, I didn’t even like him very much, you know?” She looked at Estelle. “I’m sure there wasn’t a whole lot to like about me, either. Funny how that goes sometimes, isn’t it.”

“Have you talked with the children?”

“The children,” Connie repeated, as if she had forgotten that she had three of them. “The children have their own lives to lead. But, yes…I called two of them last night. I don’t know where the third one is, and she probably doesn’t want me to know. The others will get a hold of her.” She squinted across the room, looking at the shelf of photographs. “There’s a picture of them up there, the last time we were all together.”

“I saw that. It’s a nice looking family.”

“Bart’s the oldest. He wasn’t home when I called, but his wife said she’d give him the message when she saw him. She wasn’t sure when that would be.”

The woman’s gaze drifted off again, and Estelle waited patiently. “Debbie’s teaching school in Houston,” Connie said and shrugged. “She may come down on the weekend. I don’t know.” Her eyes found Estelle’s. “And I don’t know about Virginia. The last time we spoke, she was selling real estate somewhere in North Carolina. But she’s moved since then. We don’t see eye to eye on much of anything.”

She fell silent for a moment, then added, “Now tell me how that happens over the years. A family drifts apart so much that when the father dies, children don’t care enough to take time off from work to come to a funeral. That tells you something, doesn’t it.”

“I’m sorry, Connie.”

“You’re sorry.” She shook with one jolt that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Anyway, you didn’t want to hear me blather on about all that.” Her wide face softened. “You’re easy to talk to, my dear. I’m not just sure why that is. I suppose that’s what makes you good at what you do.” She heaved a huge sigh. “Now, what did you need?”

Estelle hesitated. “I’d like to take a couple of items with me, Mrs. Enriquez. I’ll write a receipt for them, and you’ll have them back fairly promptly.”

“Take anything you like.”

“I’d like to take this book,” she said, placing her hand on the prescription drug guide. “Do you happen to know why your husband had it?”

“I have no idea. But nothing would surprise me at this point.”

“Was he taking medication for anything?”

“I know that he had a prescription for Somdex. I saw the bottle in the bathroom. He had a bad back for a while. I don’t know if that’s what it was for or not.”

“That’s all?”

“He could have been taking the entire drugstore, for all I know.”

“Had you noticed any changes in his behavior recently?”

“No.” Connie managed a tight smile, a thinning of the lips. “Undersheriff-that really does sound silly, doesn’t it? Estelle,” and she paused, looking down at the floor’s polished parquet. “Let me put it this way. George and I shared this house. We slept in separate bedrooms. We went our own way. On rare occasions, we managed to eat a meal at the same time, at the same table. Our relationship was like two strangers who give each other a pleasant nod when they pass on the street.” She cocked her head expectantly. When Estelle didn’t respond, she added, “Make of that what you will.” She pushed herself out of the chair.

“The obvious question that you’re too polite to ask,” she said, “is why in holy hell we didn’t just go our separate ways. Get a separation, a divorce…something.” She smiled, showing her fine teeth once more. “And if you asked, I wouldn’t know how to answer. Hell, even murdering each other would have taken more initiative than both of us had put together. That’s an awful thing to say, I suppose.”

“Mrs. Enriquez…”

The woman interrupted her. “You obviously think that someone killed George, am I right? I mean, otherwise you wouldn’t be going to all this trouble.”

“Whenever there are unanswered questions, Mrs. Enriquez.”

“I’m not sure I’m even curious enough anymore to hear the answers, my dear.”

Estelle reached across the desk and picked up the walnut box. “This was in your husband’s desk.” She turned the box toward Connie and opened the lid. She saw the woman’s head jerk back a fraction.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” she said with disgust, as if the empty case still carried the effluvium of the weapon that normally lay on the velvet.

“That and a single cartridge,” Estelle said, holding up the plastic evidence bag containing the shell.

“You’re kidding.” Connie leaned forward a bit, like someone fascinated by a snake. “Do you suppose someone gave this to him?”

“There’s a receipt inside indicating that George purchased the revolver four years ago from a dealer here in town. Maybe it just struck his fancy at the time.”

Connie’s eyes shifted to the bagged cartridge. “Is this the old ‘save the last bullet for yourself’ story?” she said, and Estelle was surprised at the venom in her voice. She didn’t give the undersheriff time to answer. “And it was in his desk?”

“In the center drawer, rolled to the back.”

“And the gun that was in the case? That’s down at his office?”

“I think so.”

“Secrets, secrets,” Connie said. She waved a hand in regal dismissal. “Take the damn thing, please. And don’t return it. Add it to the sheriff department’s museum. Or, hell, bury it with George.” She rose and straightened the enormous salmon-colored muumuu that tented over her vast body. For just a moment, her shoulders slumped, and she reached out for the comer of the desk.

“I sound terrible, I know, Estelle.” She turned and looked at the undersheriff, and Estelle could see the misery in the woman’s eyes. “I would like to know what happened to George. Will you keep me posted?”

“Yes, I will.” Estelle extended the receipt toward her, with her business card on top.

“Maybe when all the circus is over, you’d like to come over and we could have a chat. You’re from Mexico?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How old were you when you came to this country?”

“Sixteen.”

“For heaven’s sakes. Is Dr. Guzman an import, too?”

Estelle smiled. “Actually, he was born in Flagstaff. But he has family in Mexico.”

“Well, then, maybe you can give me the inside scoop on where to go and who to see.”

“I’ll mention it to Francis,” Estelle said.

“Be kind,” Connie Enriquez said, and when she saw the puzzled look cross Estelle’s face, she added hastily, “I didn’t need to say that. I’m sorry.” She extended her hand for the receipt and the card, then took Estelle’s hand in hers. “Thanks.” She smiled, and this time Estelle saw tears well up. “I’m glad it was you that came over to talk to me.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Estelle said.

“And you will be, too, won’t you. You’re not the kind who makes promises that she doesn’t keep,” Connie said. She held the office door for Estelle and then waved a hand at one of the faces in the kitchen. “Get the front door for the undersheriff, please,” she called.

With briefcase in one hand and the tome and revolver case tucked under the other arm, Estelle nodded her thanks as Father Bertrand Anselmo scuttled to open the front door for her.

“Why don’t you let me take some of that,” he said.

“Thanks, Father. I’ve got it all.”

“Don’t be such a stranger,” he said, and she knew exactly what he meant.