Twice Buried

27

I wanted Richard Staples to stew a little bit, so I suggested that Estelle and I swing by the hospital.

Reuben Fuentes was sleeping peacefully. Estelle flipped a page on his chart and frowned at all the numbers.

“They checked his BP and pulse just half an hour ago.”

“How’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could read it.” She looked heavenward. “Doctors.” She slipped the clipboard back in its bracket and moved around to the table near the head of the bed. She picked up a folded piece of yellow paper and glanced at the message. “Francis took the baby home,” she said.

“Home?” I asked, feeling a twinge of panic.

“Your house,” she said, and smiled. “We need to stop by there for a few minutes.” She rested her palm on Reuben’s wrinkled forehead for a moment. The old man didn’t stir, but his breathing was regular and easy. Estelle took his pulse at the wrist. “Eighty-eight,” she said. “That doesn’t seem too bad to me.”

“He must be doing better. They took him off drip,” I said, remembering the relief I’d felt when they’d jerked the damn needles out of me. When we were out in the hallway, headed for the car, I asked, “What are your plans?”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I want to talk with Francis for a few minutes to see what he found out today. I guess we’ll play it from there.”

“You know,” I said, “that even if your great-uncle does recover, he may need constant care.”

Estelle grimaced. “He’s going to hate that more than anything else in the world, sir.”

“A fact of life, though.”

“I’ll wait and see what Francis says,” Estelle said.

“He’s in the clear now as far as this case goes, though.” I held the outside door open for her. “You certainly don’t have to go dragging around with me, investigating a case that doesn’t have anything to do with Reuben. He couldn’t have killed the boy or Torkelson.”

Estelle looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “You’re sending us home?”

“Come on. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Both of you…all three of you. More than welcome. What I’m saying is that you have better things to do than chase around the countryside on a busman’s holiday.”

“We’ll see what Francis has to say.”

I unlocked the Blazer. “You’re sounding positively domestic, Estelle.”

“That can’t be all bad.”

I didn’t bother to check in with the office when we left the hospital, but drove straight home. Francis was stretched out on the old leather sofa in the den, shoes off, head propped up on two pillows, the television on, and little Francis Carlos curled up on his stomach like an awkward, hairless puppy.

I glanced at the television. Lauren Bacall was bristling at the Duke’s refusal to take his meals downstairs with the other boarders.

“This is a pretty good movie,” Francis said, careful not to shift his position.

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” I watched for a few seconds. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this part. I always fall asleep.”

Francis picked up the remote and popped the set off. “Estelle, you want to take chiquito-ito-ito here for a minute so I can get up?” Estelle took the baby, who blinked in surprise and then looked at me over his mother’s shoulder. He frowned.

“What’s the latest?” Francis asked, swinging his feet off the couch.

“That’s what we came to ask you,” Estelle said. “I looked at Uncle Reuben’s chart, but I couldn’t read it. He was sleeping when we left.”

“Actually, he’s doing really well, considering.” Francis ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I’m amazed. He was awake when I checked in on him about two hours ago. He asked if you two were out at the cabin. He wanted to know if the place was all right. I said it was, and that you’d be in later with a report. He was relieved that someone hadn’t walked off with the ranch.” Francis paused and laced his fingers together.

“The problem, of course, is that we’ve got a patient who’s ninety years old or so with congestive heart failure. And that’s apt to bring on all kinds of other complications. There are already some signs of kidney failure, pulmonary edema…on and on. One thing just sort of leads to another.”

“All this just comes on suddenly?” Estelle asked. She sat down on one of the hassocks with the kid in her lap.

“Of course not. But my theory is that with someone like Reuben, his pattern of living just slows down to compensate. He accomplishes in a day what you or I would do in fifteen minutes. And he can continue doing that, functioning slower and slower, until something comes along to upset the applecart.” Francis held up his hands. “The flu or pneumonia…a broken hip, a stroke.”

“In this case, finding his pets dead and then deciding that he has to bury them himself,” I said.

“Sure.” Francis nodded.

“So what’s best? Is he going to need extended nursing care?”

Francis took a deep breath and glanced over at me. “No.”

“Then what?”

“Estelle, Reuben and I talked about more than just his cabin this afternoon. He’s really pretty aware of what’s going on, and what his prospects are. He’s refused any more medication of any kind.”

“Is that why he was taken off the drip?”

“Yes. As far as I’m concerned, and as far as Dr. Perrone is concerned, he was lucid when he made the decision and request.”

“He’ll just sink, won’t he?”

“Yes.”

Estelle lowered her head so that her chin rested lightly on top of the baby’s head. She blew out a long breath that mussed his fine, black hair. “Any happy news?” she said, breaking the silence.

“The position is mine if I want it,” Francis replied.

Estelle looked at me sideways without moving her head from the baby’s. The crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes deepened.

“What position is yours if you want it?” I asked, already knowing the answer. There was nothing about Reuben’s condition that would warrant all the meetings with first Perrone and then Fred Tierney, the hospital administrator.

“Allen Perrone wants to expand his practice in this part of the state. He wants more of a clinic approach, with four or five of us under the same roof so patients don’t have to travel.”

“Of us,” I said.

“Right. He wrote me to pop the idea a month or so ago, after a convention in Albuquerque. I mentioned to him then that we were thinking of relocating back down here to make school easier for Estelle.”

I turned my head slowly and fixed Estelle with a blank stare. “School? Why am I the last person to know all this?”

“I was going to surprise you next week, at the christening.”

My smile kept spreading wider and wider until I felt downright silly. “Well-” I started, and was interrupted by the telephone in the kitchen. “Let me get this and then-” I glanced at my watch. Bob Torrez had had almost an hour to package Richard Staples up and send him upstairs to one of the cozy eight-by-tens.

“Gastner.”

Bob Torrez’s voice was slow and deliberate. “Sir, are you going to be able to come down to the office before long?”

“What’s up?”

“Glenn Archer is here. He isn’t too happy.”

“He’s never happy,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be down there in about six minutes.”

“And Mrs. Perna is here. She’s not too happy either.”

“Wonderful.”

“And Linda Rael wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll bet she does. I don’t want to talk to her. Is that all?”

“So far, sir.”

“I’ll be right there. Is Sheriff Holman in the office?”

“Yes, sir. He’s standing between Glenn Archer and Mrs. Perna at the moment.”

“Take a picture for me.” I hung up. When I walked back into the den, I saw Dr. Francis Guzman sitting on the couch with the infant in his lap. “Where’s Estelle?”

Francis put on his most patient face. “She’s waiting at the front door, sir.”

“For God’s sake,” I said and stomped out of the room. It was going to take all my willpower to wipe the grin off my face by the time I got to the office.