Double Prey (4 page)

“That’s what the teacher said,” Francis added, nodding at the newspaper.

She looked at the article again. “
At first, I thought it was a mountain lion skull,” Romero reported. The high school senior added that, “But then I found a little patch of fur that was still attached to one of the hip bones.” Biology teacher Nate Underwood agreed with his student’s assessment.

“
The skull is much too heavy and broad to be a mountain lion,” Underwood said. “The jaguar is an altogether different genus—a much bigger, heavier, more powerful cat.” Underwood said that although now considered to be an endangered species throughout Mexico and Central America, the jaguar’s original range included portions of the Southwestern United States, particularly areas near plentiful water
.

“
This animal might have died of old age,” Underwood said. “The teeth are blunt and show lots of wear. One of the canines is broken off near the jaw-line as well. This big cat wasn’t much of a hunter any more. That’s one theory. There’s some damage to the skull, too. It’s hard to say what happened to him
.”

“
Curioso, ¿no
? ” Estelle said, handing the paper to Francisco. “What was old
gato
doing this far north. You should walk over to the high school to see it tomorrow.” Even as she said it, she remembered that the gulf of the parking lot between the elementary wing and the high school might as well have been the San Christóbals for younger students. They weren’t allowed to wander about by themselves. “Maybe your teacher can take you over.”

“How did he get way up there on the mountain?” the boy asked.

“Somebody chased him,” Carlos offered.

“Or he might have just been tired, sick, old…that’s as far as he was able to go before he found a comfortable place to call it quits,” the boys’ father said. “Nice view from up there. Lay on a nice warm rock and wait it out.” He frowned judiciously at a piece of cornbread. “It’s too bad that Freddy’s younger brother didn’t go exploring with him. It would have been more productive than chasing snakes.”

Estelle saw little Francisco duck his head as if he’d been slapped. “I wonder what trail
Padrino
is following with all this,” she said. “Maybe he remembers someone talking about jaguars years ago.”

“They would have been rare then, too.”

“Do they eat people?” Carlos asked.

“Not this one anymore,
hijo
, ” Estelle said. “With teeth like that, he’d be lucky if he could catch a sick calf. Maybe that’s what
Padrino
is thinking about. Maybe somebody down that way has complained about losing cattle.”

“If they lost cattle, it wasn’t because of this old guy,” her husband laughed. “And that skeleton could have been lying in that cave for ten years…or more. Enough time for all the bugs and mice to pick it clean. If all of the skeleton is there, they should bring it out and get it mounted. That would make a rare display.”

“Freddy might have been thinking along those lines,” Estelle said. “I hope that Mr. Underwood told him that he can’t just possess the carcass or skull of protected animals without permission from the Fish and Wildlife Service. Even the school would need permission.”

Her eldest son wrinkled up his face. “Not even an old skull? That’s silly.”

“Well, it’s like possessing eagle feathers,” Estelle said. “They don’t want those things on the open market. You start allowing that, and pretty soon you’d have a flood of things showing up at garage sales.”

“I think that you could sell a jaguar skeleton in old Mexico for a good deal,” Irma said. “If there’s such a thing as a sacred cat, the jaguar is it.”

Estelle nodded. “It’s likely that the school will be able to cut a deal with the feds to keep it as part of their academic collection.”

“If Freddy gives it to them,” Francis amended. “Of course, now that he’s gone public with it, what choice does he have?”

Chapter Four

The next morning, the last thing on Estelle Reyes-Guzman’s mind was the old bones of a dead cat. The younger Romero brother who’d managed to peg himself in the eye with a charged rattlesnake fang was her immediate worry, since despite the rapid EMT response and the most advanced treatment, Butch Romero’s case was proving a challenge. The optic nerve provided a short, direct, wide-open pathway to the brain. Whether the venom was delivered by an angry rattlesnake’s strike or by the fragments flung by the plastic strings of the trimmer, the end result had been the same.

Irma Sedillos arrived at the house by five-thirty Friday morning, and her cheery punctuality reminded Estelle of what her family was about to lose. She became acutely aware of the family’s dynamics that morning. Dr. Guzman left just before six to begin his hospital rounds, armed with fresh coffee and an enormous slice of butter-slathered banana bread. Youngest son Carlos was a snoozer, and dove his head under the pillow when Estelle kissed his forehead. Francisco had been awake for an hour, chaffing at the routine. He was forbidden to play the piano until Estelle’s mother had awakened, and had settled for second best, sitting on the sofa with the unplugged electronic keyboard, playing silently with an intensity driven by the music that had accumulated in his head overnight. There would be time for a quick breakfast before the school bus picked them up at five minutes before eight.

A few moments after eight, Estelle headed out the door, fortified by her own share of fragrant banana bread and a full Thermos of hot tea under her arm. Deputy Jackie Taber would have finished her shift plus an additional two hours of overtime, and the day and the county waited for the undersheriff.

As she prepared to pull out of her driveway, Estelle took a moment to review her log notes from the day before. She found George Romero’s cell phone number and keyed it in. He answered on the second ring, his voice distorted by static and signal gaps. At that early hour, he might be in the motel’s shower, or he might have spent a sleepless night at the hospital.

“...omero.”

“George, this is Estelle, down in Posadas.”

“Hey, let me call you back…a minute.”

Estelle switched off and waited, eyes roaming the neighborhood. Two doors down, she saw neither George’s late model Suburban nor Freddy’s aging Dodge pickup.

In a moment, her phone came to life. “Guzman.”

“Yeah, that’s better,” George Romero said. “What’s going on, Estelle?”

“I know it’s early, and I apologize for bothering you, sir. But I wanted to know how Butch is doing.”

“Well, it isn’t good. I don’t know what the hell is coming next. He’s lost the eye, I know that much. But I don’t understand what they’re doing now. I know that they’re talkin’ about some brain swelling that they’re trying to get under control. We’ve been here pretty much all night.”

“
Ay
. I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do for you at this end? Anything you or Tata need?”

“Some sleep,” Romero replied. “Well, hey, there is something you can do, as a matter of fact. You know, yesterday, I couldn’t find Freddy before I had to drive up here, so I left a note for him in the kitchen where he’d see it. I didn’t want him driving up here in that rattletrap of his. There’s nothing he can do up here anyway. Look, I tried to reach him last night on his cell, but no go. And hell, I tried around eleven, too. He should have been home. Probably out with Casey Prescott. You know how
that
little deal goes. I tried the house a few minutes ago, but no luck.”

“You tried this morning?” She looked down the street again. “His truck isn’t in the driveway at the moment.”

“Yeah, just a few minutes ago. No dice, though. If he’s where he’s supposed to be, he’ll be over at the school. I could call over there, but I don’t want his phone going off in class. I guess I could call the office, but if you wanted to run on over? If you had the time? You could fill him in on what’s goin’ on, make sure he understands that I
don’t
want him drivin’ up here. Absolutely not. No way.”

“I’ll do that right now,” Estelle said.

“Just tell him to sit tight, and have him give me a call when he has the chance.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Hey, thanks. I appreciate that. We’ll keep you posted, Estelle. How’s Francisco doing with all this?”

“He’s upset, certainly. But he’ll be all right. He’s worried about Butch.”

“Ain’t we all. Maybe he’ll learn something from all this.”

“
Sin duda
. ”

The drive to the high school’s student parking lot just behind the football field was a matter of a few blocks. Posadas High School included fewer than two hundred students in grades nine through twelve, most of whom didn’t drive to school. It took only a moment to cruise through the lot, looking for Freddy Romero’s primer-gray, sixties vintage Dodge 4x4. The undersheriff circled the lot twice, then crossed through the teacher’s parking area, finally parking on South Pershing Street in front of the school.

“PCS, three ten is ten-ten Posadas High School.”

Dispatcher Gayle Torrez acknowledged that Estelle was on the road but subject to call, then added, “Be advised that the State Livestock Inspector is here.” Estelle could hear Bill Gastner’s gruff voice in the background. “He says there’s no hurry as long as the coffee cake holds out. He wants to know if he can bring you a piece.”

“That’s negative. But I’ll be about ten minutes.”

In considerably less time than that, Estelle had learned from Donna Bates, the principal’s secretary, that Freddy Romero was not in school that day.

“Wait for me out in the hall lounge, honey,” Ms. Bates said to the student office aide who hovered too attentively, apparently impressed that the police should be visiting the school. As soon as the girl was out of earshot, Estelle made her request, and as Mrs. Bates prompted the computer, she added, “You know, just between you and me, Estelle, master Freddy’s attendance record isn’t absolutely stellar.” She pointed with one heavily ringed finger to a bulletin board just inside the office door where the article, fresh from the
Posadas Register
, was tacked to the cork, joining the plethora of other recent newspaper photos and stories about student achievers.

“He’s enjoying his celebrity status, I think. Sure enough, he isn’t here enjoying school this lovely morning. He’s probably out digging up more bones.” She held up a hand as she tapped the computer keyboard with the other. “He wasn’t in school yesterday afternoon, either. Morning, yes. Afternoon, no. I hope he’s not in trouble again?” She tapped a key again and leaned closer to the screen. “His younger brother might be with him. Butch is absent this morning, too, in fact.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Estelle said. “Butch was injured late yesterday afternoon, ma’am. The family went with him when he was airlifted to Albuquerque, and no one is home at the moment. They had to leave before they were able to find Freddy and leave a message. If you happen to see the young man, perhaps you’d tell him to contact his dad?”

“My word, of course.” The secretary jotted a quick note and stuck it to the corner of her desk calendar, shaking her head as she did so. “In this day and age, how could the folks not reach him on his phone? You know, most of the time, we curse those gosh darn things, but sometimes…”

“Apparently they couldn’t last night, and Mr. Romero didn’t want to bother Freddy in school.”

“Well, we appreciate that, of course. But he could have called
me
. He knows that well enough. Now, will Butch be all right? What happened?”

“An unfortunate accident with a rattlesnake,” Estelle replied.

“You’re joking, Estelle.”

“I wish I were.”

“Oh, my. He was bitten?”

“In a manner of speaking. He was using a Weed Whacker and was struck in the eye with a fragment of snake fang when he was teasing the rattler.”

Donna Bates recoiled back with a grimace. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” she gasped. “Now what next, you know? Honestly. Butch makes his older brother seem like a saint. But we just love ’em to death. Just love ’em.” She looked as if she wanted to pursue the incident in every detail, but then she hesitated. “Ah, let me check one thing,” she said, and scrolled to another computer file, leaning forward as she rested her chin on her hand. “Master Freddy is squiring Casey Prescott these days, by the way.
Much
too serious with each other, I may add. But that’s the mom in me talking, I suppose.” She frowned and she scanned the screen. “Let me see, now. Casey is one of our stars, so we know where
she
is. And right now, she’s in Chemistry with Maryann Orosco. Room A-5. Let’s ask her, you think?”

She nodded as if Estelle had said something, and then leaned across her desk. “Lola?” she called. “Will you run an errand for me?”

The student aide reappeared and favored Estelle with a radiant smile. The flash of teeth and braces lit her round, pleasant face.

Mrs. Bates handed her a small note. “Casey Prescott is in Ms. Orosco’s class right now. Would you see if she can come to the office for a moment?”

Estelle watched through the partition window as Lola trooped out into the foyer, collected another student who lingered at the water fountain, and then disappeared down the hall.

“How are your boys?” Mrs. Barnes asked. “Don’t the years fly by, though?”

“Yes, they do. It’s a scary business sometimes.”

“Oh, my, yes.” Mrs. Barnes leaned back in her chair. “You said the Romeros went to Albuquerque yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“And they couldn’t reach Freddy all evening? Oh, boy. He’s going to catch it. I know papa, and the only one with a worse temper is mama. You probably know all about that.”

On occasion, the parental voices of either George or Tata Romero, or both, could be heard more than two doors away as they tried to discipline their two live wires.

In a moment, Lola returned in company with Casey Prescott. The attractive high school junior’s expression was quizzical as she came into the office.

“Casey, you know Undersheriff Guzman?”

“Oh, sure.” Casey flashed a quick smile at Estelle. “Hi.” She offered a handshake, her grip strong, her hands warm and rough—a ranch kid’s grip.

“Casey, we’re trying to deliver a family message to Freddy Romero, but we haven’t been able to cross paths with him this morning. His folks had to go out of town, and I wonder if you had a notion of where he might be?” The undersheriff didn’t mention it was Donna Bates who had cheerfully offered the information about Casey Prescott and Freddy Romero’s relationship.

“Freddy?” Casey asked.

“Yes.”

“He’s not in school this morning?” the girl asked Mrs. Bates, and her puzzlement sounded genuine.

“On vacation…
again
, ” the secretary said with disapproval.

“Well, when I see him, I’ll let him know,” Casey offered. She glanced at the undersheriff. “I didn’t see him this morning.” She grimaced and closed one eye, a funny face that was nevertheless attractive. No wonder Freddy was smitten, Estelle thought. “But sometimes he doesn’t make it to accounting first thing,” Casey continued, “and I had to go to the chem lab early to catch up on some stuff.” She shrugged.

“You didn’t see him yesterday afternoon or evening?” Estelle asked.

“No, ma’am. I went right home after school to help dad finish up some stuff. And then I had a
heap
of homework.”

“He didn’t call you? Or you, him?”

“No, ma’am.”

Astounding
, Estelle thought—there were still two teenagers left who didn’t talk, text, or Twitter on the ubiquitous gadgets that grew from belts and pockets. “Have you tried calling him this morning?”

Casey glanced at Donna Bates shyly. A large poster out in the hallway featured a cell phone with a bold diagonal red slash across it.

“I couldn’t reach him,” she said. “But he was having trouble with his phone, anyway. I think that’s what it is. At first, he thought it was the batteries, but I guess not. He was going to buy a new one.”

“Ah. Well, if you see him, please ask him to call his folks,” Estelle said. “How’s chemistry going now?”

“I love it,” Casey said with obvious passion.

“Then we don’t want to keep you. Thanks for coming down.”

“No problem. Thanks, Mrs. B.” She smiled at Mrs. Bates and then left the office, slapping the plastic hall pass against her thigh as she hustled out of sight.

“She’s a gem,” the secretary said. “We can only hope that Freddy doesn’t rub off on her entirely. I mean, the computer tells all.” She ran a finger along the screen. “I mean, look at last week. Three days that young man missed on the first week of school. He’s going to have his ten days before the end of September, and
then
where will he be?” The phone console at her elbow lit, and Estelle raised a hand in farewell as Donna Barnes lifted the receiver.

“If I see Freddy first, I’ll have him call you,” she said.

“That’s not necessary,” the undersheriff. “Just have him call his folks.”

She left the school and less than two minutes later her county car turned into the parking lot behind the Public Safety Building. A pickup with state plates and livestock inspector’s shields on the doors was parked in the spot reserved for Sheriff Robert Torrez.