Statute of Limitations

Chapter Twenty-seven

When Estelle entered the hospital, the hustle and bustle of the day shift had overtaken the halls and offices. Medicine didn’t pause for rest on Sundays. There was no sign of the nocturnal Stacy Cunningham and his floor polisher.

In his room, Bill Gastner stood in front of the window, gazing out into the bright December morning. A small bandage covered the back of his skull behind his left ear. Estelle rattled the door knob so he wouldn’t startle, and he raised a hand without turning around.

“I saw you drive into the parking lot,” he said. “Goddamn gorgeous day, you know that?”

“Yes it is.”

“Have you taken any time to enjoy it yet?” He turned and grinned at her. “You missed Christmas, you know.”

“Actually, I have, Padrino,” Estelle said. “And you look like you’re ready to go.” She had almost said huggable, since his brown Hush Puppies, russet corduroy trousers, and plaid flannel shirt made him look like a comfortably rotund teddy bear.

“That’s for sure,” Gastner said emphatically. He looked at the hospital bed with distaste. “Thanks for agreeing to play taxi.”

“I bet you’re hungry,” Estelle said.

“Of course I’m hungry,” he replied. “Let’s go get a little something.”

“I just spent a half-hour with Mike Sisneros at the Don Juan, so…”

“Without me? How could you? I’m crushed.”

“Well, we could have used your touch, sir. JanaLynn says hi, by the way.”

“God, the love of my life,” Gastner said.

“I ordered a breakfast burrito, and didn’t touch it. We can go back to the house and nuke it for you.”

“Sounds good. Although their breakfast menu leaves a little something to be desired in the size department. But that’s a good start.” He went to the closet and pulled his jacket off the hanger. “Let’s get out of here before they show up with that damn wheelchair.” He patted his pocket. “And I have enough drugs to go into business.”

“Should I ask if the doctors actually checked you out?”

“Of course they did,” Gastner said. “Francis was here and left. That’s the same thing. I asked if I could get dressed, and your hubby agreed that was a good idea. I translate that as my ticket to freedom.”

A few minutes later, as they walked across the tarmac toward the car, Estelle noticed the care with which Gastner placed each step. As he reached the back fender, he stretched out a hand and stopped, leaning against the car. “The best thing about being stuck in that place is the getting out,” he said. “The only thing I’m going to be able to smell for a week is spray cleaner and bleach.”

A few minutes later, when Estelle turned south on Grande, Gastner looked puzzled. “I thought we were going to your place,” he said.

“You’re not ready for that yet,” Estelle said. “And we wouldn’t get anything done.”

“I appreciated the troops stopping by my room earlier this morning,” he said. “Sofía brought the urchins.”

“They were excited about getting to do that. They worry about you, Padrino. You know that?”

“Rodgers and Hammerstein,” Gastner mused. “How are they doing?”

She nodded noncommittally, and he reached out and closed the cover on the center console computer as if it might be listening. He leaned his elbow on it, slouching sideways in the crowded seat.

“You’re allowed to brag on ’em, you know,” he said. “Hell, I do.”

“Oh, sure!” Estelle laughed, well aware of Gastner’s aversion to inflicting photos of relatives and tales of their innumerable accomplishments on the unwary.

“Well, I would if the opportunity presented itself,” he added. “You worried about ’em?” That took her by surprise, and he reached out to point at Escondido when it appeared that she was going to drive right by the intersection. “I live down there.”

She braked hard and turned.

“You know, I have a granddaughter who plays the piano,” he said. “I think I told you that. Camille’s youngest? Sherri goes to the keyboard, and the rest of the family hightails to the woods. She absolutely has a passion for playing the piano…and she has absolutely no talent whatsoever. Go figure. Her mother does, but not the kid.” He shrugged. “I worry about number one son, though.” He turned and regarded Estelle. “Francisco, that is.”

When Estelle didn’t respond, he added, “It’s not going to be easy for him.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, and pulled to a stop in front of Gastner’s adobe. She pushed the gear lever into Park. “I’m not sure what to do, Padrino.”

He relaxed back against the door, showing no inclination to get out of the car. “You have a list of options?”

“I suppose we do.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he beckoned with his fingers.

“Sofía made a suggestion that scares me,” Estelle said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper.

Gastner cocked his head. “Scares you how?”

“She suggested the Conservatorio de Veracruz.”

His heavy brows beetled a little. “For just him, you mean? Or the whole clan?”

“Either way. But I don’t think…,” and one of her hands fluttered hopelessly.

“Don’t think what?” he said bluntly, refusing to let her off the hook.

“I don’t think that I could send Francisco away,” she said. Once the words were out, they sounded silly to her. “For one thing, I can’t imagine Carlos home all alone. He and Francisco are the next best thing to Siamese twins, sir.”

“Tough stuff,” he grunted. “So what are the options? All of you could go, right? I mean, whether it’s Veracruz or Juilliard in New York doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“It matters a lot, sir. But yes. We all could go. We’re not going to, but we could.”

“You think hard on what an opportunity that is, sweetheart,” he said, lurching around so he could reach the door handle. “Hell, there’s sick people in every corner of the world. It can’t matter a whole hell of a lot where hubby works. Sick is sick. With Sofía’s influence, the whole bunch of you would have to get used to living in grand style. Hell, you could get a job working for the federales, or some such.”

Estelle laughed. “That’s what Francis said, sir.”

“Well, listen to somebody, sweetheart. Hey, look,” and he leaned back toward her. “I’ve been around a while, and when my wife was alive, we went to concerts and stuff like that. Best one I can remember was that opera guy, what’s-his-name? The Mexican.”

“Plácido Domingo?”

“Yeah, him.”

“The ‘opera guy.’” She laughed. “He’d love that.”

“Well, he is. Anyway, we saw him in concert in Houston, back when he was younger. You know, he spends a lot of his time working with young musicians. Anyway,” and he paused and reached up to pat the bandage on his head. “What was I trying to say?”

“That you’ve been around, sir.”

“That’s it. And anyone who hears the little wart play, or who watches him make love to that damn piano, or watches the way he tells stories with it…hell, anybody will tell you the same thing. He isn’t some little kid who should be stuck with once-a-week piano lessons in some backwater place out in the desert. What a goddamn waste to the world that would be, sweet-heart.” He stopped suddenly and thumped the computer lid. “It’s none of my business. Except it is my business, because he’s family.” He shrugged. “So there it is. Do what you got to do, sweetheart. Don’t let it wait.”

“Francis and I need to talk about it some more. Right now we’re leaning toward bringing the world to him, instead of vice versa. Let the rest of the world find out that there really is a Posadas.”

“What a concept,” he said brusquely. “And a damn good idea, too. I could have come up with that if I had half a brain.” He opened the door and struggled out of the car. “Stop letting work interfere with your home life. That’s my advice for the day.” He shot her a wide grin. “Notice how effortless it is to say asinine things like that.”

He stopped in front of the door and regarded the sad little acacia by the step.

“Ruined that, didn’t I.” He twisted and looked back at the corner of the patio where the piece of rebar had been found. “Either I was preoccupied, or deaf, or stoned,” he said. “Not to hear someone crunching across that gravel behind me.” He frowned and turned to the door. “I can’t remember if I was in the process of turning, or not,” he added. It took him a minute or so to find the right key, and then to find the keyhole. “Don’t get old, sweetheart. That’s my best advice.”

He swung the heavy door open. “There we go, then. Let’s eat. And you can tell me what you’ve found out about Janet Tripp. I’ve been lying in bed thinking about her a lot lately.”