Wild Penance

27

By the time I got back down the mountain to the turnout area in front of the church, my Jeep was the only car there. I was feeling too odd to talk with Regan, so I headed toward home. But on the way through Taos, I had another attack of cramping and queasiness, so I stopped by the BLM offices to use the facilities.

There were two notes in my message box. One indicated that Christine Salazar wanted to talk with me. I phoned her from the cubicle in the back where I normally made out my reports.

“You asked me to keep you informed,” Salazar said. “So I wanted to let you know that the body of Father Ignacio Medina, or to be more precise-all that remains of him after the autopsy-has been released to his family.”

“Actually, I just learned that the services are tomorrow in Truchas,” I said, my gut still growling. “Have you heard anything else?” “No. I’m afraid that I’m pretty well out of the loop now because the OMI has released the remains. I’m not going to be a good resource from here on out. Sorry.”

The other note was a pink slip with the name “Mrs. Suazo” and a phone number. I tried calling the number, but a message said the line had been disconnected or was no longer in service. I felt churning in my stomach that may not have derived from Tecolote’s cura. Had Santiago Suazo gone home after our confrontation and taken out his ire over what I had done to him on his poor wife? I hoped not. I tried the number again. Again, I got the “out of service” message.

I walked out to the lobby where Rosa was doodling on her calendar/ desk blotter. Even though I thought it was probably a futile effort, I held the pink slip up and asked Rosa, “Did you take this call?”

Rosa looked at the slip skeptically, then said, “Am I in trouble if I did?”

“No, I just wondered if you remembered anything about the caller, Mrs. Suazo.”

“What about her?”

“How did she sound when she called?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did she seem afraid or worried?”

Rosa took the slip from my hand and studied it, as if the answer were there on the paper. “I don’t think so.” She handed it back to me.

“Did she sound like the matter could be urgent?”

“Oh, wait a minute. I remember her now,” Rosa replied. “No, she didn’t sound like anything was wrong at all. As a matter of fact, she sounded very happy.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Eeeee! Did I forget to write down that she said she wanted to tell you some good news?” Rosa grabbed the pink message slip from me again and studied it. “I guess I didn’t put it on there. I’m sorry.”

On the way to my cabin, a gnawing pain started to work in my stomach. It felt like a dull meat grinder was working its way through my midsection. By the time I was halfway home, I knew Tecolote’s prediction about not being able to ride that night was already true. I stopped at the café on the highway a few miles from my place and used the pay phone to call Roy. I asked him to relay the message to the ranger station in Peñasco so Kerry would know.

When I finally got home, I was doubled over from the pain. I hobbled into my cabin, propped a chair against the door under the doorknob, laid my rifle and pistol on the bed, and collapsed beside them, without removing clothes or boots.