Convenient Disposal

Chapter Twenty

From the Marenses’ driveway, Estelle could look down Candelaria Court and see the front door of each house. Seven families lived on the little street. It now appeared that only Carmen Acosta and Doris Marens had been home between noon and two PM on Tuesday.

According to deputies, Mrs. Marens had chosen not to accompany her husband to Las Cruces that Tuesday on a book-buying trip. Now home with whatever treasures he’d found, it was Clarence Marens who answered the door. Angular and badly bent from arthritis, Marens had to cock his head slightly to look at Estelle. A thick pair of glasses hung precariously from his pocket.

“Good morning, Dr. Marens,” Estelle said. She saw the flash of confusion on Marens’ wrinkled face, even though the man must have been accustomed to random greetings from college students who knew him, but who had never graced his classes. “I’m Undersheriff Estelle Guzman, sir. May I come in for a moment?”

“Well, of course you can,” Marens replied. He fumbled with the tricky storm-door lock.

“Is your wife home, sir?”

“Yes,” he said judiciously. “I think she is. Whom should I say is calling?”

“I’m with the Sheriff’s Department, sir.”

“Oh, certainly.” His gaze dropped to the seven-point gold badge on her belt, visible except when her jacket was zipped. “Just a moment while I go fetch her, young lady.” He started to turn away, then stopped abruptly, beckoning Estelle into the house. “Forgive me. Come in, come in.”

He pushed at the storm door awkwardly, and Estelle caught the latch. “Where are my manners.” He beamed metallically as Estelle entered. “Doe!” he called to his wife. “Doe, you have company.” Marens’ hands wavered as if he were unsure that Estelle would remain upright if he stepped away. “I’ll tell her you’re here. I think she’s sewing.”

The living room to Estelle’s left was small, neat, overfurnished, and unused. An old-fashioned paper roller blind was drawn down over the window that faced toward neighbors to the east, and through which Zeigler’s home would be clearly visible. Lacy drapes softened the drab effect of the blind. The larger window that directly faced the street was shaded by a modern vertical shade, the sort with narrow slats that both rotated and could be drawn to the side. The slats were currently drawn closed, but rotated so that the view down the street was not obscured.

“How about some coffee?” Estelle turned to see Clarence Marens poised in the archway leading to the kitchen.

“No thanks, sir.”

“Tuna sandwich?” He glanced at his watch.

“No, thanks.”

“Well, I was just about to make us a snack, and I’d be absolutely delighted to make a third.”

“I appreciate the offer, sir. But no, thank you.”

“Homemade bread.” He persisted, and his eyes twinkled when Estelle laughed. “We have one of those bread machines. You ever tried one of those?”

“They’re wonderful, sir.”

“I doubt that she’s interested in tuna fish sandwiches or bread machines,” his wife called. In a moment she bustled into the living room, a small, neat package of energy. Her smile of greeting immediately turned into a frown. “I talked to the young man yesterday. I’m trying to recall his name…”

“Officer Sisneros, I believe,” Estelle said.

“Yes. The village officer. What a mess you have over there.”

“Mrs. Marens, I wanted to talk with you again about what you might have heard and seen yesterday. I know you’ve been through it all before, but with a little time now, there’s always the chance that you may have remembered something.”

“How’s the child? I understand that it was Carmen who was-”

“We think that Carmen will be okay, Mrs. Marens.”

“Just awful. Really just awful. Well”-and she glanced first into the living room, and then toward the kitchen-“would you like to sit down?”

“Here would be fine,” Estelle said, and stepped toward the overstuffed sofa that faced the front window.

“I’m cutting bread,” Dr. Marens called, and his wife grimaced with impatience.

“We’re going to both end up as blimps,” she said. “My daughter-in-law gave Cal the bread machine for his birthday. Now he’s Mr. Baker. Anyway, fire away.” She settled into a rocker.

“Mrs. Marens, when I arrived yesterday, I saw you standing out on your porch.”

“Well, my goodness, such a circus, with the sirens and all. I know that it’s none of my business, but the first thing that crossed my mind was, Oh my goodness, the school bus is going to be driving into the middle of all this.”

“I’d like you to remember back to early morning, though,” Estelle said. “Before any of this happened. You told Officer Sisneros that you didn’t hear or see anything unusual between noon and the circus.” She smiled. “But before that? Would you tell me about your morning?”

“My morning. Well…my days are so exciting. Cal and I start thinking about getting up right at seven AM The clock radio comes on, and we listen to the news. That tells us if the world is still in one piece or not-whether there’s any reason to get up. So far, so good. Yesterday, Cal decided to go to Las Cruces. That wonderful bookstore there, in the mall. That’s just what we need is more books.”

“Everyone needs more books,” Dr. Marens said from the kitchen.

Doris Marens held up her hands. “And that’s that. I spent my morning doing two loads of laundry”-and she ticked two fingers-“and then I wrote a letter to my sister Agnes. Then I went to work back in the sewing room. I’m a shirt factory now.”

“Five grandchildren,” Dr. Marens called proudly.

“I took a little break around one or so and had a turkey sandwich. And then back to sewing. And then sirens and lights, and Lord knows what all.”

“At any time in the morning, do you recall seeing any traffic on the street? Any at all?”

Doris shook her head. “Most of the time, I was up to my ears in stitchery. That little bedroom back there has just the one window that looks south. There certainly isn’t much to see out back. Just weeds and more weeds. But you know, this is a quiet street.” She pointed past Estelle. “Not what I’d call traffic. Neil across the way goes to work about eight or so. He works at the bank, as I’m sure you know. Mrs. Sanchez next door has been in Tucson for a month with her son and daughter-in-law.” Her hand worked down the street methodically. “Both Penny and Ralph Beuler teach at the high school, so they’re gone by seven. And the county manager lives down at the end. He’s gone early, too. That just leaves the one other house on this side of the street. It’s vacant now.”

“Kevin Zeigler probably left for work before you got up, then.”

“Oh, certainly. We usually hear his little truck, and I fret about that sometimes, too. He drives way too fast on this street. Did you talk with him?”

“She frets about everything,” Dr. Marens said from the kitchen.

Estelle jotted a note on her small pad, and her lack of response prompted Doris. “He came home at around noon, you know. You need to talk with him, certainly. Maybe he saw something.”

“You saw Zeigler drive by at noon?”

“Well, not noon, exactly. When did I see him.” She looked down at the carpet. “I think it was when I was coming out to the kitchen. That little white truck of his.” She sat back in the rocker, hands braced on the arms of the chair as if awaiting lift-off. “Which is unusual, I suppose. As far as I know, Kevin rarely comes home during the day. He’s sort of the phantom of Candelaria Court. I don’t know, maybe yard and garden isn’t his thing. Every once in a while, we see him on his bike-sometimes with his friend. The one with the fancy car.”

“Can you recall exactly what time that was? When you saw his truck?”

She frowned and pursed her lips. “What time did I eat lunch? That’s the puzzle.” She brightened and smiled at Estelle. “You see, if you’d told me yesterday that I should remember all this, I would have paid attention.”

“That’s the way it works, I’m afraid,” Estelle said.

“What time? I know that it was sometime after the noon news. I always listen to that. That was over, and I worked in the back for a little bit. So I don’t know-I could guess that it was sometime between twelve-fifteen or twelve-thirty and one o’clock. I’m just sure that it wasn’t after one. Well, one-thirty at the latest.”

“Or maybe two or three or four,” Dr. Marens said. “Your sandwich is ready, Doe.”

“You just be patient,” she said, and shook her head. “It wasn’t after one-thirty.”

“What did you see, exactly? Will you show me?”

“Oh.” She pushed herself out of the rocker. “Now you’re asking me for impossible details. Let’s see…I was walking to the kitchen from the sewing room.” She moved to the hallway and turned. “He drove by, whoosh, like that.” She chopped the air with her hand. “And that’s it.”

“Why would you remember that?” Dr. Marens asked.

“Who knows why we remember what we remember, Mr. Memory Expert,” Doris said. “I didn’t remember that when I talked with the village officer yesterday. But he didn’t ask about earlier in the morning, either.” She returned to the rocker, sitting on the edge of the seat. “What’s Kevin say?” she asked.

“I haven’t asked him about that particular moment,” Estelle replied.

“Well, you should. It wasn’t that long before all the fireworks.” Her eyes narrowed a bit as she made the connections for herself. “Was it one of the family who was responsible? They’re quite a crew down there, the Acostas are.”

“We don’t know yet, Mrs. Marens.”

“You need to talk with Kevin,” Doris persisted. “I know that was him going by. And you know, for once, he wasn’t going ninety miles an hour, either.”

“He doesn’t drive that fast,” Dr. Marens said. He appeared in the archway, cup in hand. He held it up toward Estelle. “You sure?”

“He does drive that fast,” Doris said. “You just don’t notice.”

“Mrs. Marens, you said that yesterday he didn’t appear to be in a hurry?” Estelle asked.

“Well, relatively not. Not by his usual standards.”

“Was he alone?”

“I think so. But”-and she held up a hand-“now we’re really stretching it. I just didn’t notice. I did notice that he was going slower than usual. I saw his brake lights come on. And then I wasn’t looking anymore. I was in the kitchen.”

Estelle rose from her spot on the sofa. “Please show me.”

“Show you what, dear?”

“You said that you saw his brake lights come on. Would you stand where you were yesterday and show me…as near as you can remember?”

Doris shook her head, a hand on each side of her skull. “Oh, the things you’re asking this old brain to recall.”

“You’re telling me,” Cal said. He leaned against the kitchen’s center island, munching half of a sandwich.

His wife ignored him. “Okay. Here I am in the hallway,” she said, turning to face the kitchen, chubby arms outstretched as if she needed them for balance. “I walked out here, and I hear the truck. I suppose I hear the truck, because otherwise, why would I bother looking out?” She pointed at the living room window.

“The blinds were just the way they are now?” Estelle asked.

“Yes. I saw the truck go by. I’m sure I didn’t stop walking. Why would I do that? The brake lights flashed.” She stopped and looked at Estelle. “Now, if I take another step, I’m in the kitchen, and I can’t see the window past this partition here.”

Estelle stood beside Doris. “The lights came on when the truck was about opposite the Beulers’, then.”

“Good grief,” Doris said good-naturedly. “I’m not going to be that exact.”

“But standing here, I can’t see the little field between the Beulers’ and the Acostas’,” Estelle said. “I can’t see that unless I step out into the living room.”

“I didn’t do that.” She looked quizzically at Estelle. “Why is all this so important? Kevin drove home for lunch, that’s all.” Sudden comprehension lit her features. “But listen…his truck was down there when all you people were flying around, wasn’t it? It seems to me I remember seeing that…and at one point there was quite a crowd of officers looking at it, too. I wondered about that.”

“Old nosey,” Cal muttered.

“We’ll straighten everything out,” Estelle said. “It’s important to determine who was where and when.”

“Well, of course it is,” Doris agreed. “I only wish I could be of more help.”

“Mrs. Marens, it may be necessary to obtain a formal deposition from you at some point.” Estelle withdrew one of her cards from her pocket and handed it to the woman. “I’ll be in touch with you if that’s necessary.”

“You want me to haul her downtown for you?” Cal asked. “I’d enjoy that.”

Estelle laughed. “No, sir. If I need anything, I’ll be back.” She held out her hand, and Doris Marens’ grip reminded her of her son Francisco’s: tiny bird bones. Back outside, she looked down the street, seeing the white Ford Ranger in Zeigler’s driveway. It was possible that the county manager hadn’t driven the truck home for lunch…that someone else had. She felt a surge of relief, tempered by a deep wave of apprehension.