Convenient Disposal

Chapter Thirty-one

“I have a question,” Dr. Francis Guzman stage-whispered in Estelle’s ear. “What does the work of an engineering prodigy look like?”

“I don’t think we need to worry,” Estelle whispered back. She straightened up from her examination of something made from Popsicle sticks labeled Moon Bace in strong, red crayon. Her husband was doing his best to keep a straight face.

Across the room, Sofia Tournal had both Francisco and Carlos in tow…actually it was Francisco doing the towing while Sofia provided the guidance. A safe distance behind the trio, Estelle’s mother shuffled from one display to the next, keeping a firm grip on her walker, with Myra Delgado at her elbow. The two appeared to be exchanging professional secrets.

Sofia was maintaining a resolute face, despite a day spent traveling from Veracruz, Mexico, to Posadas-a trip fraught with more than its share of delays and frustrations. A stocky woman of medium height, Sofia favored tailored suits, with just a touch of ruffle and lace at the collar of her white blouse. She could have been the school’s principal.

Immediately upon their arrival at the elementary school, the two older generations had been led on the grand tour of the sky-scraper constructed by Francisco and his partner, Rocky Montano. The creation did indeed nearly scrape the sky-or the acoustical ceiling tiles of the first-grade room. The two boys had assembled a conglomeration of dowels draped under yards of foil, with windows, doors, and occupants drawn with black marker. Estelle had to turn the small camera sideways to capture the full majesty of the structure, and she managed to include Moon Bace in the same photo-both structures remarkable for first graders.

Francis frowned and poked at a section of the skyscraper’s aluminum foil that had collapsed inward, perhaps because of a massive winter gale off the Great Lakes.

“Emergency exit,” he said.

“On the fiftieth floor,” Estelle added.

“Neat, though.” He nodded at the moon base. “I like the idea of transporting a million Popsicle sticks to the moon to make bachees.”

Estelle laughed. “Be kind.”

“This is the future of the human race-or rachee — that we’re talking about here,” Francis added, and she elbowed him sharply. At the same time, he saw her glance up at the wall clock. “Uh-oh,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re clock watching. That’s not a good sign.”

“I will stay until the bitter end,” she said. “Until Sofia collapses from jet lag, or Carlos and Mama fall asleep, or Francisco runs out of things to show off.”

“How about the best two out of three,” Francis said. “Leave it up to Mozart, there, and we could be here after they turn all the lights out.” He looked over his shoulder at his eldest son, then back to Estelle. “Show me the piano room,” he said. “They won’t even know we’re gone.”

They walked hand in hand down the hall, examining all the other art displays from the various grade levels as they went. At one group of watercolors, Francis stopped short. Estelle saw a fleeting expression of sadness cross his handsome, dark face.

“Look at this,” he said. He touched the bottom margin of a watercolor showing what might have been a cabin on the shore of a violet lake, surrounded by jagged, indigo mountains. The image was so advanced it appeared out of place, surrounded by other work so obviously created by children. “Fourth grade,” he said. “Sheri Monaghan.”

“You know her, oso?” Estelle asked.

Francis nodded. “She’s a neuroblastoma patient of mine. We just transferred her to Lovelace.”

“ Ay. ”

“Uh-huh.”

“How’s she doing?”

Francis lingered at the landscape. “Well, I don’t think she’ll be coming home, querida.”

“Is that the Monaghan who works at United Insurance?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “Her mother said that before she got so sick that she couldn’t lift a paintbrush, she did two or three paintings a day. Sheri’s been homeschooled for quite a while.” He shook his head and looked down the hall. “Anyway, show me.” He quickened his pace, ignoring the remainder of the art.

When they reached the music room, he stood in the doorway for a moment. Estelle hooked her arm through his and didn’t interrupt his thoughts.

“Kind of a dismal place, isn’t it?” he said finally. He clicked on the lights and looked up at the ceiling. “I always wondered why school roofs leak. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a classroom where at least a few of the ceiling tiles weren’t water strained.”

“You’re not supposed to waste time looking up, querido,” Estelle said. She jerked his arm in mock discipline. “Pay attention, now.”

“So he comes in here, all by himself, and stands at the piano,” he said, and stepped over to the battered and scarred instrument. He bent over, spread his hands, and played a chord. Cocking his head to listen, he shifted his hands and played another. “That’s just about the sum total of what I remember,” he said, and sat down on the bench. He frowned at the keyboard, and then played several measures of a flowing, melodic piece.

“Fur Elise,” he said, and stopped. “That’s all I remember. Everyone who ever takes a piano lesson has to learn it. And learn it. And learn it.” He grinned up at Estelle. “Are you ready for this?”

“Sure,” she said. “Even Mama’s excited.”

“Excited? Your mother? I don’t think so.”

“Well, eager, then.” A telephone was ringing, and Francis looked at her.

“Is that yours or mine?”

“Mine,” Estelle said in resignation. She headed for the exit in the back of the music room, and pushed the heavy door open, letting in a welcome wash of cool air. “Guzman,” she said into the receiver.

“Hey there,” Sheriff Bob Torrez said. “Where are you at?”

“Down at the school. It’s open-house night.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember you talkin’ about that. Listen, guess who opened her eyes.”

“Oh, you’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not kidding. Carmen managed about thirty seconds of consciousness, according to the patrolman who’s assigned to her room.”

“Her folks were there?”

“Yep.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“She didn’t say anything, by the way.”

“That’ll come with time. But that’s just great news, Bobby.”

“Yep. Look, the reason I called-and I don’t guess there’s anything about this that we can do tonight, but Tom Mears finished processing Zeigler’s flat tire. Something kind of interesting.”

Estelle stepped out away from the building. “What?”

“Well, there’s a pretty good smear-ah, it’s not really a smear, but anyway-some flat black paint on the back side of the tire. Not a lot, but sort of a little crescent. Might be something, probably not. Linda figured out a way to take some pretty good pictures of it.”

Estelle realized that her pulse was racing, and she reached out a hand to the steel doorjamb for support.

“You still there?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You workin’ tomorrow?”

“Of course I’m working tomorrow, Bobby.”

“I thought you were headed to Cruces or something.”

“That’s Saturday.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, we need to talk,” Estelle said.

“Yep.”

“Are you in the middle of something?”

“Some lasagna that Gayle made. You guys want to come over? We’ve got enough for about eighteen people. Bring the whole mob.”

“Thanks, but how about meeting me at the office in a few minutes?”

“Not too few, now. I’m hungry.”

She backed into the room and looked at her husband. Francis nodded wearily and mimed crashing huge chords on the piano.

“How about an hour?”

“Ten-four. What did you find?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you. I’ll be interested to see what you think.”

“Uh-oh. I gotta think?”

“Oh, si,” she said. She switched off and slid the phone back in her pocket.

“I heard that,” Francis said.

“Carmen was awake for a little while, querido.”

“Fantastic. Did she say anything?”

“No. Apparently not. But Tom Mears found something on the spare tire. And I’m pretty sure I know exactly what it is.”

She saw her husband’s eyes narrow a little as he looked at her. With a sigh, he closed the cover of the piano and stood up. “You’ve got that hunter’s look, querida,” he said. “We have an hour though, right? Is that what I heard you tell Bobby?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go back and rescue Sofia.”

The other parents, children, and art in the hallway were a blur to Estelle as they returned to the first-grade classroom.