Double Prey

Chapter Fourteen

Just beyond Moore, Estelle turned onto the Prescott ranch road, a two-track deeply cut in spots with a steep plunge across Salinas Arroyo. Once up and out of the arroyo, the road wound across a mile of open prairie dotted with complacent cattle who stood in ragged groups, waiting for a pickup truck to arrive with feed supplements. Two windmills each pumped a trickle of water into battered stock tanks.

The undersheriff drove slowly, letting the bouquet of the prairie waft through the truck. As the fat tires disturbed the stands of bunch grass, grasshoppers clattered off, some flying only far enough to thump onto the hood or windshield.

The road to Gus Prescott’s ranch passed through country that was hardly conducive to an active social life. The ranch wasn’t the sort of place where people casually stopped by for a chat. Perhaps, Estelle thought, that was the sort of solitude that Gus Prescott didn’t handle so well. She knew that he spent long hours at the Broken Spur Saloon eighteen miles down the highway.

Casey Prescott, the youngest daughter, drove herself to school each day in an older model Volkswagen rather than parking out by the state highway bus stop.

Estelle wasn’t sure what Casey Prescott could tell her about the events of the past week, but she was certain that the two teenagers had talked on a daily basis-that’s what kids with cell phones and text messaging and Twitter and stuff just did, whether or not they had anything to say. And she couldn’t imagine Freddy being so tight lipped that he wouldn’t brag about his discoveries to his amor.

As the Expedition juddered across a cattleguard a quarter mile from the Prescotts’ double-wide mobile home, three dogs bounded out from under the front porch, taking the shortest beeline through the bunch grass and cacti to intercept the visitor. When they reached her vehicle, one that might be a yellow lab cross jogged point, staying just ahead of the front bumper. A large mostly shepherd loped beside the driver’s door while the third, a wild-eyed heeler pup, tried to spin in ecstatic circles while she dodged through the vegetation along the lane.

Casey’s older model Volkswagen was parked in the shade of one of the elms, beside a battered SUV. Once through the gate, all three dogs sprinted ahead, tails thrashing, ready to play should the new arrival be willing.

Jewel Prescott opened the screen door and stepped out onto the small front porch. A heavy woman, she moved as if her legs were turning to wood. She whistled once, a shrill, commanding note that stopped two of the dogs in their tracks. The youngest continued to dance, but an additional command brought her into line with the others. They waited near the front step with tongues lolling.

“They won’t bother you,” Jewell called as Estelle got out of the county car.

“They’re eager to play,” Estelle replied, and the dogs all quivered, feet jittering. As she passed them, the oldest dog stretched his nose out, catching scent. Apparently satisfied, he turned and trotted off toward an aluminum water dish by the corner of the porch, followed by the other two.

Estelle extended her hand. The woman’s grip was firm and moist. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Prescott,” the undersheriff said. “I’d like to speak with Casey if she’s home.”

“Oh, my,” Jewell Prescott whispered. “Isn’t this just an awful thing, though? That Freddy…” Her broad face crinkled into a painful grimace that nearly buried her eyes. As if the wooden legs were giving out, she reached for the back of an aluminum lawn chair for support. “Casey-girl took one of the horses out,” she said. “That’s what she does when she wants to be alone. Would you like something to drink?”

“Thanks, but no…not just now.” Behind Mrs. Prescott, from the depths of the house, the sound of a television set was insistent. “Will she be gone long?”

“You know, I didn’t ask. I could see that she just wanted to be alone.” The lawn chair creaked under her weight. “This is an awful thing, just awful. I mean, what do we tell a child when something like this happens? Just senseless.” She waved a hand in frustration. “Of course, she’ll be back by dark, you know. She won’t ride with failing light. She knows better than that.” Jewell thumped the back of the chair. “Christine’s coming home this weekend. Those two will talk the whole night long, and a good thing, too.” Casey’s older sister, Christine, had finally broken from her long-time job as bartender at the Broken Spur to attend the state university.

Estelle looked off toward the scattering of sheds and the single large, dilapidated shop building with the corral and livestock shelters behind it. Behind those, a dozen or more abandoned vehicles were arranged in a row, some hoods up, some missing entirely, a door here or a set of wheels there scavenged.

“Does she have a favorite place to go, Mrs. Prescott?”

“It’s a big country,” the woman replied. “But you know, if I had to bet, I’d say over by Lewis Wells. He lived here before we did, you know, Bertrand Lewis did. That’s what we’ve always called the mill over east of here, over by that old grove of dead elms. That’s where the spring used to be. That was the first windmill he put in.”

Jewell’s comment reminded Estelle of Bill Gastner’s passion for such connecting links with other times and places. Every spot had a history, she thought. Every patch of ground, every two-track, every foundation and windmill…places of solace when life turned ugly.

“That’s one of Casey-girl’s favorite places,” Mrs. Prescott continued. “Now you’re welcome to drive out that way. Just take the trail right behind the corral, and head east. You’ll see the little stand of dead elms once you cap the rise. If she’s not there, well…like I say, it’s a big country.” She leaned more heavily on the chair. “We’re awfully proud of that girl, sheriff.”

“I can understand why.”

“Now don’t take this wrong, but I wasn’t all that thrilled with her carrying on with the Romero boy, I’ll be honest with you. And I know that Gus just hates the idea. But my daughter’s like this,” and she thrust the flat of her hand out, cleaving the air like the bow of a boat cleaving water. “She knows where she’s going and what she wants. Freddy…well, he’s a wild hare, Estelle. Those big brown eyes of his melt your heart, but he’s what my granny used to call ‘just plain dizzy.’ I’d never wish him ill. Just senseless, is what all this is. Just senseless.”

“Do you recall when she was with Freddy last?”

Jewell twined two fingers together. “Like this,” she said. “All the time. And you can imagine what a parent thinks about that. I keep thinking, all the time I keep thinking. If Casey-girl can just get through the next two years. She’ll have scholarships, you know. One of the counselors at school predicts a full ride, they call it? To Texas A amp; M for engineering. Now isn’t that something?”

“You must be very proud.”

“Oh, more than proud. But the way she carries on with Freddy Romero…well. Like I say, you know how a parent thinks.” She heaved a mighty sigh. “She’s turned sixteen now, so I try to keep my mouth shut. But when I see the two of them take off on that four-wheeler of his, my heart just sinks.” She managed a pained smile. “Sometimes I think that convents are wonderful inventions. But as I said, she’s sixteen now, and it has to be her choice, doesn’t it.”

“She’ll do fine,” Estelle said. “I think I will drive over that way.” She extended a business card to Mrs. Prescott. “If I don’t cross paths with her this afternoon, will you have her call me? Right away?”

“May I tell her what this is all about?”

“I need to know when she was with Freddy last. When she was actually with him.”

“At school, I would think. But who can keep track of these kids.” She leaned forward a bit and the chair creaked dangerously. “What happened, actually? Will we ever know?”

“It appears that Freddy lost control of his four-wheeler and went into the arroyo off Bender’s Canyon,” Estelle said. “That’s all we know at the moment.” She could see the muscles in Jewell Prescott’s jaw set.

“You know what I’m thinking, so I won’t say it,” Jewell said, and pushed herself erect. “You know, I don’t mind Casey girl riding off by herself. Some would. I don’t. She’s got sense.” And she paused for a second before saying what she had promised not to. “She could have been with Freddy in that crash, sheriff. I’ve told her a hundred times that she wasn’t to go careening off with that boy on that machine, but I might as well be talking to thin air. But she has sense, that girl.”

Keep hoping that, Estelle thought. “If you’d pass on the message for me?”

“Of course. And please, you stop by on your way out for something to drink.”

The trio of dogs escorted Estelle to her vehicle, then turned back to the house. She watched them slump in the shade as she started the truck. Casey Prescott hadn’t even wanted their good-natured, nonjudgmental company.

The undersheriff had driven no more than a quarter mile, the Prescott homestead still clear in the rearview mirror, when her phone chirped. For a series of rings, she considered ignoring it, but then grudgingly pulled it from her belt.

“Guzman.”

“Where you at?” Sheriff Torrez asked with his usual lack of preliminaries.

“I’m looking for Casey Prescott. Her mother thinks that she rode out to Lewis Wells. I just left their place. What’s up?”

“Look, I got something you need to look at when you’re finished out there. We’re over at the barn,” Torrez said, referring to the secure Quonset hut at the county boneyard where the Sheriff’s Department kept impounded vehicles.

“Is there something I should know before I talk with Casey?”

Torrez hesitated. “I’m not sure what we’re lookin’ at here, but for one thing, Mears found a little chunk of metal on the inside of the kid’s front tire.”

“Metal?”

“Brass. Sure as hell looks like it, anyway. A little fragment of brass. We’ll put it under a microscope here in a few minutes. I think we still got some diggin’ to do. In the meantime I’m sending Pasquale out to sit the Bender Canyon site.”

For a moment, Estelle didn’t respond, instead letting the front wheels jar this way and that, twisting the steering wheel under her light grip as the Expedition idled along the rough two-track.

“What are you after?” Torrez prompted.

“I want to know if Casey was with Freddy when he found the skull.”

“You think she might have been?”

“I don’t know. But you know how kids work. What are the odds they weren’t together on Sunday? It was a beautiful day, perfect for exploration. Or anything else.”

“Someone sayin’ that’s when he found it? On Sunday?”

“No. Freddy apparently didn’t tell anybody exactly where…or when. He took it to Underwood on Monday. So it makes sense. Saturday or Sunday.”

“Huh. Well, look…we’ll be back at the office when you’re done out there. Swing by.”

“You got it.” She switched off and dropped the phone in the well of the center console. A mile later, reaching the pinnacle of one of the prairie’s undulations, she stopped the Expedition and slipped her binoculars out of the case. The late afternoon shadows shimmered as she scanned the distance. Eventually she found the windmill, its blades idle and facing west. The metal framework, with a ladder running up one side, presented a composition of geometric, harsh lines in an otherwise tawny world.

A saddled horse grazed near the water tank, cropping patches of green that were nourished by tank seepage. Estelle could make out that the animal was saddled but riderless.

The two-track meandered around rises and through swales, and each time the windmill came back into view, Estelle checked to make sure the horse hadn’t wandered. At last the path turned into an expanse of laser-flat prairie, the windmill a hundred yards ahead. The horse swung its head to watch her approach, and Estelle could now see the reins leading into the shadows of the water tank.

Casey Prescott sat with her back against the tank’s water-cooled galvanized steel.