“You’re just in time for coffee,” Serafina said. Her voice was husky. “My soul, twice in two days. This is a treat, young lady.”
“Good morning, Serafina,” Estelle said.
“Who’s that with you?”
“Every once in a while, we have civilian ride-alongs,” Estelle replied, and she saw a trace of that wonderful skeptical look that students would have been favored with when they were less than honest with this formidable teacher. Estelle was surprised to hear herself add, “She’s a writer for one of the national women’s magazines.”
“Ah, now,” Serafina said. “That’s nice. You both come in.…The coffee should be ready by now.”
“Serafina, I can’t stay,” Estelle said. “I just stopped for a minute to ask a couple of questions left over from yesterday.” But she was talking to the elderly woman’s back, and she followed Serafina inside. The house was dark and musty, and the aroma of coffee was strong along with the rest of the potpourri that a home produces. Across the room, the television was on but muted. Ignoring it, the elderly woman made her way toward the kitchen.
“I’m so pleased that you came this morning. Such a surprise, you know.” She walked back to the doorway to the living room and held out both hands as if she wanted a hug. “My granddaughter came last night. It’s been far too long, I must say.”
Estelle stopped near the television, looking at the collection of photos that rested on top of the console—most of them showing Octavio Roybal, including several of him as a young stalwart, smart in his army uniform. Arranged to one side was a group of photos of Serafina’s daughter, Esmeralda, and her daughter Irene. In the first, the toddler sat on her mother’s knee on the front step of the iglesia. The photo showed a pudgy toddler who beamed into the camera. A second snapshot caught Irene at about age eight as she sprayed a compliant dog with a garden hose. Finally, a formal high school graduation photo in a gold frame presented Irene in an elegant pose in cap and gown.
“Your granddaughter has grown up,” Estelle said, picking up the latest photo.
“Such a dear,” Serafina said. “I can’t believe that she’s a junior in college already. She manages to break away now and then, and I’m so glad that she visits. Young folks don’t always have time, you know.”
“Time slips away,” the undersheriff said. Irene looked like her grandmother—square, almost stout, with a strong jaw, and the same shock of unruly hair that would go first salt-and-pepper and then steel gray as she matured.
Serafina headed back toward the kitchen. “I hope she comes back in time for you to say hello,” she called. “She walked over to talk with Danny Rivera for a little bit.” She smiled. “He thinks that he wants to buy my old car, and they backed it out of the shed this morning. He needs to find a tire, I know that much.”
Estelle reached out for the mug of coffee. “And you know,” Serafina continued, “I’m glad that you stopped by. I’m so addled headed these days. If I wanted to sell the Jeep, is there anything special that I have to do?”
“Just fill in the back of the title certificate,” Estelle said. “That transfers ownership. Then the buyer needs to add the vehicle to his insurance, and register it with the MVD. They have to have it insured before the MVD will issue the registration. It’s pretty simple.”
“So I just sign the title?”
“That’s correct. If you want a bill of sale, the MVD has blank forms that you can use. I’ll be happy to help you with it, if you like. You don’t have to have one, but a bill of sale is always a good idea.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Serafina said. “Why Danny would want such a monster, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Those were good, rugged trucks,” Estelle said. “You drove it over the pass to school for a lot of years.”
“It’s really like new, you know.” Serafina waved a hand in dismissal. “I mean, if you don’t consider that it’s a filthy mess at the moment, with a flat tire. But really, it’s all road miles, you know. They say that’s good. None of this stop-and-go. But now I didn’t drive much, you see. A big old boat like that isn’t worth anything anymore. I’d be just as happy to see it put to use.”
She motioned toward the living room. “Let’s sit. These old bones don’t work like they used to.” Estelle followed her out and crossed to the TV console, setting down her coffee cup as she sat in the straight chair near the wall heater. The aroma of the coffee was strong, but now she could smell the fragrance of Serafina’s visitor, light perfume, maybe shower potions, that drifted out from one of the bedrooms.
“I can’t stay long,” Estelle said. “I stopped by because I’m still hung up on this sweepstakes thing.”
“You worry me a little bit with all this,” Serafina said.
“I’m sorry if I do, but I keep wondering how you heard about the sweepstakes originally, Serafina. You gave me the copy of the first letter that you kept. But in the beginning, did they contact you first, or did you have to send something in? How did that all work?”
Serafina sipped the coffee tentatively, grimaced, and said, “I didn’t ask if you take cream or sugar. This is pretty strong. I think I lost count when I was putting the coffee in.”
“Neither one, thanks.”
Serafina relaxed back in the Morris chair. “Let’s see, now. I received a letter, right out of the blue. Just a routine mailing, I think. At least, that’s what I thought it was, at first. Then I saw that it was from Canada, and I’m something of a stamp fancier, so the first thing I did was cut off the postage. I have a grandniece who saves stamps, you see. Then I saw that it was a formal business letter, and that’s when I read the whole thing. And land, if I hadn’t won a little bit. It was the same the second time.”
“Just like that? A letter from out of the blue.”
Serafina nodded. “But isn’t that the way of it? Those notices from the publishers’ thing…they just arrive unannounced. Except this time, it wasn’t a come-on. It was just a formal letter saying that I had won, and what to do in order to claim the prize. None of the usual folderol with all the bright lights and fanfare.”
“It said that the check would be delivered by courier, then.”
“Certainly. And that made me feel a little better, too, knowing that I’d be dealing with someone face-to-face.”
Estelle reached across and picked up the coffee cup, looking down into the brew thoughtfully.
“I’d like to know how they selected your name,” she said finally. “That’s the thing I can’t stop thinking about.”
Serafina chuckled. “Oh, in this day and age? Our names are common fodder, I’m sure. Use a credit card once and that’s it. Of course, I don’t do that. But buy a set of charity Christmas address labels just once, or send away for a magazine. Our lives are open books, dear. But what difference does it all make? They did just what they said they would do.”
“I suppose.”
“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t care for it,” Serafina said, and Estelle placed the cup back on the console.
“Coffee and I don’t get along too well,” she said. “But thanks, Serafina. I really need to run. You said that Irene went over to Danny’s?”
“Just a few minutes ago. Now,” and she smiled slyly, “supposedly to try and find a tire from that mess over there. But they cut across the old orchard. I told them they should drive, but they wanted to walk a little. It’s such a short ways, and it’s such a beautiful day.”
“Maybe we’ll take a minute and stop by there, then,” Estelle said, pushing herself to her feet. As an afterthought, she asked, “At any point, did the sweepstakes company call you on the phone?”
“Oh, no. You know,” Serafina said, heaving herself out of the chair with great effort, “half the time, I don’t answer the phone anyway. It always rings when I’m right in the middle of something. Us old ladi
es don’t move so fast anymore. And most of the time, you know, it’s one of those recordings. They don’t give up easily.”
“No, they don’t,” Estelle agreed.
“How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine.”
“Little old ladies are the favorite target these days,” Serafina said. “That’s what the news is always saying.”
“Did you talk about winning with anyone? Relatives, maybe? Or someone here in town?”
Serafina’s eyes twinkled again, and she held a crooked index finger over her lips. “In a little place like this,” she said, “you talk to just one person and first thing you know, it’s a secreto a voces through the whole town. Joe and Lucinda, they know all about that.”
“You’re wise to be careful,” Estelle said affectionately. “But I confess I’m still curious. I can understand Joe and Lucinda’s names coming up.…There’s some notoriety there when they won the state lottery. I’m curious how other names are selected.”
“You could ask the company.”
“Yes, I could. And I will, tomorrow. Sundays are difficult.” She took her full coffee cup out to the kitchen, a tiny room whose surfaces were under years of enamel paint of various pastel colors, with a kitchen sink so stained by Regál’s hard water that it looked more like reddish brown stoneware than white porcelain.
Serafina had settled back in her chair and didn’t get up as Estelle returned to the living room. The television remained ignored, and Estelle wondered if it had been on all night. “You should visit more often,” the elderly woman said.
“Yes, I should.”
“Bring your mother with you next time.”
“I think she’d like that.”
“Who’s that riding with you today?” Serafina asked, and Estelle felt a twinge of sadness at the repetition.
“Her name is Madelyn Bolles,” the undersheriff said. “She’s in town for just a few days.”
“A friend from college?”
“No. She’s a writer. She’s working on a profile of our department.”
“Ah. All right. Well, if you have to go, then you have to go.” She reached out a hand to take Estelle’s. “It’s always so nice to see you, querida.” She used the grip to boost her out of the chair and, with more of a hobble than a walk, escorted Estelle to the front step. She stood in the doorway watching as Estelle made her way back through the tall grama grass to the car. The undersheriff passed within half a dozen feet of the Jeep, and could smell the perfume of its sludgy oil and sun-baked paint and rubber.
“You look like something is bothering you,” Madelyn Bolles commented as Estelle slid back into the Crown Victoria.
“Lots of things,” Estelle said. She made no move to start the car. “It makes sense to me that if there’s a scam being worked here—and I think there is—the Bacas were the target. They’re the ones with the proceeds from an earlier win. They’re natural targets with deep pockets.”
“You don’t know yet that the sweepstakes thing is fraudulent, do you? I mean, didn’t you say that this lady won twice? And actually collected money?”
“Yes, she did.”
“You’re thinking that she was used to soften the other couple up for a bigger hit, aren’t you. People would hear about her success, and be suckered in?”
Estelle looked across at Madelyn. “Sin duda. That’s exactly what’s nagging at me. If come tomorrow Joe and Lucinda cash that last check with no problems, then I’m going to be really puzzled.”
“Just a tidal wave of good fortune? Isn’t that possible?”
“No. We know that Chris Marsh and his nifty little truck were fraudulent. He was posing as a deliveryman, Madelyn. His supposed delivery company doesn’t exist. It sounds good, it sounds like it should be a real company, but it isn’t. That makes the whole thing suspect.”
“Is someone trying to rip off the sweepstakes company?”
“That’s a possibility, and I’ve thought about that. But I can’t imagine a legitimate publishing house doing business that way. Why would you use an unknown courier company, especially when so much money is involved, when you could choose one of the established firms? Anyway, you hit it exactly right. What bothers me is that if someone is trying to scam money out of Joe and Lucinda Baca, it makes sense to start small with a close friend—like Serafina here—to build confidence. That’s what I can’t put behind me.”
She looked at the small shed where Serafina’s Jeep had been stored.…The big SUV would have been a snug fit. The door had been only partially closed.
“I see smoke,” Madelyn said. Estelle turned quickly to look at her, and the writer quickly amended her remark. “I mean from your ears. You’re thinking so hard.”
“Sure enough.” She started the car and backed out to the dirt lane. “I need to check one thing,” she said.
“If you want my opinion,” Madelyn said, “so much winning in a tiny village would be enough to spook me, too.”
“But when the winner wants to take the money so badly, it’s easy to say it’s just a freak of statistics,” Estelle said. “‘It’s just good fortune.’”
“What are we after, then?”
“If the sweepstakes thing is a scam, then that leads us down an interesting road. Serafina Roybal was the first one who won. I haven’t heard of anyone else…no one in Posadas, as far as we know. No one has called the sheriff’s office to complain about a possible scam, and we get calls all the time, complaining about this and that. How did Chris Marsh target Serafina, then? How would he know about her?”
“You could drive through a village like this one, point at any little house, and say, ‘Let’s start with this one.’ That’s an easy thing to do.”
“You could do that,” Estelle agreed. “And maybe that’s what happened. Especially after the publicity of Joe and Lucinda winning the state lottery. The snag there is that you don’t cruise through Regál, not with these little lanes and cow tracks. You can’t really see Serafina’s house from the main highway. That’s assuming that you find the village in the first place.”
“That’s the new bumper sticker: ‘Where the hell is Regál?’” Madelyn quipped.
“Everything else was too well planned, at least until that deer decided to run across the road. Someone was being very, very clever. Just very clever.”
“Where to now?”
“Serafina’s granddaughter is here for a visit. That’s who owns the Subaru.”
“You know her?”
“I met her once or twice a dozen years ago.”
“What’s she going to tell you?”
Estelle looked across at Madelyn and smiled. “The crash victim was from Las Cruces.”
“Isn’t that a bit like meeting a stranger who says he’s from such and such city and you say, ‘Oh, I have a friend who lives there. Do you know so and so?’ Talk about long shots.”
“The granddaughter is not only from Cruces. She’s also a student at the university there. So was Chris Marsh. There’s always a chance, no matter how slight.”
“If that’s all you have,” Madelyn said philosophically.
“That’s all we have. And I’ve never trusted coincidence.”
Chapter Thirty-two
The Riveras lived in the only home in Regál built after 1960—in this case, long after. The gray and white double-wide mobile home had been purchased on Fernando Rivera’s eightieth birthday. They probably wouldn’t have considered the snazzy new digs if their hot water heater hadn’t ignited the utility room of their historic home, resulting in a fire that burned the old adobe hollow.
The couple, celebrating their seventy-fifth wedding anniversary this Sunday in February, were now both ninety-six years old, and looked seventy-five. Their only concession to advanced years was welcoming their grandson, Danny, to share
their home.
A fair collection of vehicles adorned the dirt yard, with a large metal shop building off to the east, its double door rolled all the way to one side. Two scruffy short-haired mutts bounced stiff legged out toward the road, barking frantically as the county car neared the driveway.
“Oh, nice,” Madelyn muttered. “You don’t have to tell me to stay in the car.”
A young man appeared in the door of the shop and whistled sharply. The dogs ignored him. When it became clear that the white county car was actually pulling into his yard rather than passing through, he shook his head and angled across toward the dogs.
“Come here,” he shouted. The dogs did, ratty tails wagging. He grabbed the larger female by the collar, and the other dog followed along. In a moment, both were snapped onto a chain run beside the house. “They bite,” he said as Estelle got out of the car.
“That’s nice to know,” she said.
The young man wiped his hands on his jeans, which along with his sleeveless denim shirt were so dirty that they could have stood up by themselves. “What can I do for you, sheriff?” he asked. One green eye drifted out of coordination with the other as he glanced toward her car. With the dogs safely tethered, Madelyn had lowered her window. If the breeze was just right, she would have been able to smell the pungent aroma of grease and perspiration. Danny Rivera looked as if he’d crawled out from under a greasy truck on a hot August afternoon.
“How have you been doing, Danny?” Estelle asked. “Are the folks all ready for their big day?”
“We’re all fine,” he replied, and glanced at his watch, nestled in a crust of grease and dirt on his right wrist. “I figured to get a couple hours’ work done before gettin’ cleaned up, and then I got side-tracked.” His grandparents’ seventy-fifth wedding anniversary was occasion enough to slow down the young workaholic, who managed to put more miles on his county road grader than any other three county employees combined.
“I just stopped by Serafina’s,” Estelle said.
“She okay?” the young man asked quickly, before Estelle had a chance to continue.
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