Free Blood Sweep by Steven F. Havill Page A

they kept in the carousel in the living room. Sure enough, the July schedule of events listed a gig in Mazatlán at the Teatro Angela Peralta. Performers were listed as Guzman, Atencio, and guest artists.
    â€œIt pays to read the fine print,” Estelle muttered, furious with herself. She used the landline to call Colonel Naranjo’s office in Chihuahua, her cell phone ready and waiting in the other hand. The colonel would rather have been covered in fine dust, with his kidneys jolted out of place by the rough country roads, than spend time inside behind a polished desk, puffing a cigar. On top of that, Mazatlán in Sinaloa was far from his home state of Chihuahua, no more in his jurisdiction than a San Diego cop trying to work in Albuquerque. But Estelle knew that he would have contacts. Naranjo was as much a walking gazetteer of northern Mexico as Bill Gastner was of Posadas County.
    She took a deep breath while circuits clicked. The officer who answered sounded about twelve years old, his Spanish rapid and melodious.
    â€œColonel Naranjo, please,” Estelle replied to his greeting, and identified herself. The Mexican officer hesitated, and Estelle could hear papers shuffling.
    â€œHmm,” he said as if coming to an important conclusion. “ Agente, may he return your call, please? The colonel is, ah…somewhat indisposed.” He said the word indispuesto as if the situation possibly amused him—or as if the correct words would present discretionary complications.
    Estelle glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen clock. “Will he be able to do that in the next few minutes?”
    Again the hesitation. “I would think so, but I cannot be sure. Would you care to leave a message for the colonel?”
    â€œJust that I called, and that I need to speak with him.”
    â€œIt is of some urgency, then?”
    This time it was Estelle who hesitated. “Yes, it is.” She gave the officer both her landline and cell phone numbers and disconnected. “ Ay,” she whispered, and glanced across at Addy. “Am I being a suffocating mother?” Estelle smiled ruefully. “But Mazatlán?”
    â€œA beautiful place,” Addy offered without much enthusiasm.
    â€œYes, it is, parts of it.” Hefting her modest overnight bag, she gave Addy a quick hug. “Thanks for staying tonight,” she said. “I’ll call from Albuquerque. If Francisco should call here…”
    Addy nodded quickly. “I’ll forward the message.”
    â€œThank you.” In the living room, Teresa Reyes sat quietly, nestled in her afghan.
    â€œWhat do we do now?” she whispered.
    â€œWell, Mamá , we wait. I have my net out. I’m sure that if something really is wrong, the conservatory would have called before this. Or the director will call. Or Francisco. They gave a concert last night, and the dean said during his phone call to the school this morning that all went well. He’s going to call me as soon as he gets the chance.”
    A half dozen thoughts tangled in Estelle’s mind, and for a long moment she sat beside her mother, brows furrowed.
    â€œThis worries you?” Teresa asked. Her withered right hand touched the back of Estelle’s, and her bottomless black eyes roamed her daughter’s face.
    â€œThe whole thing. We could start with the two boys being down there in the first place. Mexico has changed so. I’m not sure Leister appreciates that.” She didn’t mention the fundamental improbability of Naranjo’s calling Teresa Reyes to ask for bail or bribery money…or anything else for that matter. And yet, Teresa had been suckered in.
    â€œI know that people fall prey to these scams all the time,” Estelle said gently. “It’s easy, because we’re concerned for the safety of loved ones.” Teresa frowned at that, looking as if she’d bitten into something sour.
    â€œI should know