Scavengers

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When the telephone rang at seventeen minutes after midnight, a nine-year-old Estelle Reyes-Guzman was twisting a small knife into a rotten spot in one of her mother’s cottonwood stumps in Tres Santos. She had discovered a carefully folded letter. The document was locked in place by the folds of wood, the paper stained from the occasional rains that collected in the crotch of the stump. Using one of her mother’s paring knives, she had coaxed the letter from its tomb. Hands shaking with excitement, she unfolded it far enough to see the bold signature of Pancho Villa.

The telephone interrupted her before she could unfold the document further and discover what Generalíssimo Villa had written-and to whom he had written it.

The purr of the phone was soft, and if her husband heard it, he showed no reaction. Estelle jolted awake with a stab of regret, the letter now and forever a mystery. Even if she had been able to restart the dream on command, she knew that somehow, her mind would find a way to cheat her out of knowing the letter’s contents.

“Guzman residence,” she murmured, not sure that she had the correct end of the phone pressed to her ear. She squinted at the clock.

“You awake?” Bill Gastner’s gruff voice flooded into her ear, and her pulse kicked up a beat. Gastner was a world-class insomniac, but he didn’t expect the rest of the world to be. She rolled over on her back.

“I am now, sir.”

“Sorry about that.” Even as he spoke, she could hear sirens in the distance. “Someone’s going to get around to bothering you anyway, and I figured it might as well be me.”

“What’s going on, sir?”

“For starters, we’ve got a hell of a fire on our hands. If the wind switches, I might end up being barbecued myself. Apparently a propane tank exploded at Eleanor Pope’s place. Or a propane stove. Something propane, anyway. It took the house. Now it’s spread through the yard and outbuildings and working on Florek’s fence, burning into his wrecking yard.”

Estelle groaned. “Mrs. Pope’s all right?”

“She wasn’t home at the time of the explosion. But it looks like she’s lost everything, so needless to say…”

“Her son?”

“No one knows just where Woody is at the moment. His car was in the driveway. Right now, it’s a black puddle.”

“So he could be inside the house?”

“He could be. It’s possible. No one’s been able to get that close yet.” She heard voices in the background, and Gastner spoke to someone else. “No, I don’t know if he is or not.” More voices were a jumble, and she lay quietly, waiting. Finally, Gastner said, “I need to get off the line, Estelle. Eduardo Martinez asked if you were on your way, and I told him I’d find out.”

“I’m on my way,” Estelle said. Martinez was chief of the Posadas Village PD, a force of two and a half, including himself. If people drove slowly through the school zones, Eduardo was happy. Anything more serious he gladly handed off to the county Sheriff’s Department.

“The fire chief has his command post set up on State Sixty-one in that wide spot in the highway in front of the wrecking yard. There’s another traffic jamb on Escondido, a ways past my place.”

“Where are you, sir?”

“Right now, I’m with Cameron Florek. He’s trying to clean out his office in case they can’t get this thing under control.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She switched off the phone and swung her legs out of bed. Francis hadn’t moved, but his voice was calm in the dark.

“The world is coming to an end?”

“Just about, querido. Una conflagración espectacular. Down behind the wrecking yard, south of Padrino ’s place.”

“Down where you were taking pictures of los burros?”

“That’s it.”

“So now they got roasted burritos. No wonder Bill is down there.”

She tossed her pillow at his dark form. “A propane tank exploded, querido. And now the fire’s spreading into the wrecking yard. Lots of gasoline, oil, all those neat things.”

His tone turned serious. “Injuries?” She turned on the light, and he flinched, sitting up in bed.

“Sin duda,” she replied. “You might as well get dressed. Your phone rings next.”

“I’m not on call tonight.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then slipped into running shoes. “Everybody is going to be on call by the time this mess is cleaned up.” She hesitated, thinking about the roster of volunteer firefighters-and the names included most of the Posadas County sheriff’s deputies. With both hands behind her back, she worked the stiff clip of her holster over her belt. “Will you give Irma a call?”

He grimaced as he rolled across the bed and picked up the phone. “She’s going to love that. If she’s in bed with Manny, what do you want me to say?”

Estelle flashed a smile. “Tell her to bring Manny with her.” She leaned over the bed and Francis caught her around the small of the back.

“Monday nights are supposed to be her reprieve from los locos,” he said. “Somebody’s not paying attention to our schedule.” He looked hard at Estelle. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing okay. I slept for a little while.”

Their eyes met for a long moment, and he reached up and swept the fall of hair away from her face. “Remember that Mamá expects you to take her to Tres Santos today.”

She kissed him and pushed herself up right. “She won’t even remember that she wanted to go when she wakes up in the morning,” she said.

“Oh, sure.” Francis pressed the phone buttons with his thumb.

“Maybe it can be an outing for Irma and the boys.”

Francis glanced up at her, skeptical. “She wants to go with you, querida. ”

Estelle nodded impatiently. She padded down the hall, footsteps inaudible on the carpeting, and peered into the boys’ room. Both were asleep. Irma had aired out the room during the day and changed the bedding again. If not smelling like a flower garden, at least the small room was fresh and welcome. For what seemed like a long time, she stood silently in the doorway, hand on the knob, listening to her husband’s quiet voice down the hall. Of course Irma Sedillos had answered promptly. The thought of leaving her phone off the hook would never have occurred to her.

Her mother’s door was closed, and for a moment Estelle hesitated. The knob turned noiselessly and she cracked open the door.

“Estelita?” Her mother cleared her throat and repeated her name.

“I have to go out for a while,” Estelle said. She crossed to the single bed and knelt down.

“I heard the sirens,” her mother said in Spanish. “And an explosion.”

“It’s a bad fire, Mamá. Over by Padrino ’s house.”

“Then you be careful.”

“I will. Oso is on call, too. But I think Irma is coming over.”

“That’s not necessary, Estelita. I’m awake now.”

Estelle reached out and took her mother’s hand. “The boys are sound asleep. They’ll be fine.”

“They wear me out.”

Estelle laughed. “I know. Me, too.”

“You be careful.”

“I will.”

“Does Irma drive?”

“Of course she does, Mamá. ”

“Then maybe she can take me to Tres Santos later today.”

Estelle bent over, holding her mother’s hand in both of hers. “I want to do that, Mamá. But maybe not today. We’ll see.”

“It’s something I want to do.”

“I know it is.”

“Then maybe we won’t wait too long,hija.”

In the distance, the wail of another siren floated on the night air. “You better go. Be careful.” The old woman’s tiny, thin hand pressed Estelle’s with surprising strength.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“That’s good. Close the door, please.”

Estelle left the room to find Francis standing in the hall, phone in hand.

“She heard the sirens,” he said.

“Irma did?”

He nodded.

“I seem to be the only one who didn’t,” Estelle said.

“Sleep is a good thing,” her husband said. “If only for an hour.”

“You sound very doctorly,” Estelle grinned. She took her coat off the back of one of the kitchen chairs and shrugged into it, then grabbed her husband in a fierce hug. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

She stretched up and kissed him. “Just on general principles.” She turned toward the door just as the phone in Francis’ hand rang, and she stopped in midstep. She could hear the loud, clear voice of dispatcher Ernie Wheeler from three paces away.

“She’s on the way, Ernie. She’s just walking out the door now.”

He clicked off the phone. “They found Denton Pope.”