Free Blood Sweep by Steven F. Havill Page B

these things perfectly well.”
    â€œYes.” Estelle patted her hand. “But there’s always this nagging doubt, Mamá . What if the boy is really in trouble. What if? What if? It’s hard just to dismiss it.”
    â€œIt is impossible.”
    â€œPerhaps it is all a silly mistake. I have a call in to Tomás, so we’ll know soon enough.” She paused, but her curiosity held the upper hand. “You said the colonel was in a hurry when he called. Did he ask about the rest of the family?”
    Teresa shook her head slowly. “Most of the time, I could not understand him.”
    â€œDid he specifically ask for me?”
    â€œIt surprised me that he didn’t,” Teresa said.
    â€œ Yo tambien.” Estelle looked at her watch again. Was Naranjo’s supposed rushed phone call somehow related to his now being ‘indisposed’? “We’ll find out soon enough. I’ll call you from Albuquerque.”
    â€œAddy will be here?”
    â€œYes, she’s staying until I return from the city.”
    Teresa nodded and closed her eyes. “She or Carlos can answer the telephone, then. It’s impossible, that thing.”
    That thing buzzed again just as Estelle turned the ignition key in her unmarked car.
    â€œYo,” Sheriff Robert Torrez said by way of greeting—the single syllable unusual, since he was in the habit of simply starting the conversation without greeting of any sort. ‘What’s the deal with Bill? Do we know yet?”
    â€œA badly broken hip. We don’t know what complications, if any. I’m on my way to the airport to ride up with him to UNMH.”
    â€œHow come you’re goin’?”
    Ah, Mr. Sympathy. “Camille won’t fly in from Michigan until this evening. I can catch a ride home with her. But he needs someone with him right now.”
    â€œHuh.” The line fell silent, and Estelle edged the gear lever into Drive. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Any luck on the hunt?” She was about to pull out of the parking lot when she saw the emergency lights, and she waited for the ambulance to pass.
    â€œYup,” Torrez said again. “Tell Bill we got us enough antelope rack to make green chile stew for a year.” The sheriff’s sympathy was dished out in tiny bites, Estelle reflected.
    â€œThat will cheer him up.”
    â€œYup,” Torrez said. “You ever meet a guy named Dominic Olveda? Says he’s from Tucson.”
    â€œNo. Should I know him? His name is on the county meeting agenda. That’s all I know about him.”
    â€œJust wondered. He’s talkin’ to the county commissioners tomorrow about some airport deal. Thought maybe you’d heard.”
    â€œI haven’t.”
    â€œYou’re not going to go to that meetin’, then.”
    â€œI really can’t,” Estelle said. “ Padrino is in a bad way.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll go and see what he’s about.”
    â€œThat would be good, Bobby.”
    â€œWe’ll see.” He disconnected as abruptly as he had begun. For the eight-minute drive out to Posadas Municipal Airport, Estelle found herself clutching the phone, willing it to ring, willing it to carry her son’s quiet voice with the news that all was well, that the concerts were drawing huge crowds, and that the phone call to Teresa Reyes had been nothing but an empty scam by some opportunistic jerk who had been able to put all the numbers together.
    Even though she hadn’t paid as close attention as she might have, the concert would have been well publicized within the private circles of that world, and it would not have been difficult to pick up tidbits of information. Still…
    The lights of the ambulance outdistanced her, and by the time she pulled through the chain-link gate that accessed the airport’s office and apron, the EMTs were already lifting the gurney out of the vehicle. And