Read Online Blood Sweep by Steven F. Havill - Free Book Online

Olveda said, “I’m staying at the Posadas Inn for a day or two.” He turned and slammed the tailgate closed. “It’s been pleasant meeting you gentlemen.” With a deferential nod, he got in the truck, started it, and turned onto the highway.
    â€œWhat do you think, Sheriff?” Pasquale asked.
    Torrez’s dark face remained expressionless. “I think I’d be pissed at being detained for an hour for no good reason.”
    â€œHe was way cool. Do you think he’s up to something?”
    Torrez shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ll be interested to hear what he has to say to the commissioners.”
    â€œAre you going to the meeting?”
    â€œWell,” Torrez said, “that ain’t so rare, is it?”
    â€œYes.” Pasquale’s snappy response almost earned a smile from Torrez.

Chapter Seven
    With her afghan enveloping her like a colorful tent, Teresa Reyes sat in her rocker, aluminum walker within easy reach. Her right elbow rested on the arm of the chair, and she cushioned her chin in her hand. Once a sturdy, bustling woman capable of managing a one-room schoolhouse filled with twenty-five noisy, obstreperous children, she was now a tiny sparrow of a person. Her gaze didn’t shift from her thoughts far away as Estelle entered the house.
    â€œ Mamá , are you doing okay?”
    â€œOh, sure.” The elderly woman ever so slowly pulling her gaze back from her personal horizon.
    â€œI’m going to be flying with Padrino to Albuquerque here in a few minutes.” Soft footsteps in the hallway announced their housekeeper and Teresa’s caregiver, Addy Sedillos, and Estelle’s comment was as much to her as to Teresa. “He managed to break his hip somehow.”
    â€œShould I go over?” Addy asked immediately.
    â€œHe won’t be home for a while, I’m afraid. He has to have surgery—Francis says a hip replacement. Maybe a plate besides. We don’t know what he’ll need.” She had crossed to her mother, and bent down to give the tiny woman a gentle hug. “We just don’t know yet.”
    â€œ Aye.” Teresa shook her head. “The hip…that’s a bad thing.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, raspy as a dried leaf.
    â€œYes it is, Mamá . But Padrino has a stout constitution. He’ll be all right. Anyway,” and she stood up and stretched, “the air ambulance will fly us up. And guess what?” She bent down again so that she was face-to-face with her mother. “Camille’s coming out. She’ll fly in tonight. I’ll be able to meet her at the airport.”
    Teresa brightened. Despite what Bill Gastner might imply, his daughter Camille Stratton was indeed welcome company. She would pamper and chat with Teresa Reyes, drawing the elderly woman out, savoring Teresa’s stories of her childhood in northern Mexico, of life in Tres Santos, just a few miles south of the border.
    Estelle quickly packed what she needed in one compact gym bag, and then returned to the living room. She sat down on the fireplace hearth next to her mother’s rocker. “Will you tell me about the cashier’s check, Mamá ?”
    The elderly woman looked blank for a moment, and then one expressive eyebrow lifted a bit. “Sometimes you find out things faster than you should,” she said. “I didn’t want you to worry. You have enough on your mind.”
    â€œTell me, Mamá . Is this about something with Francisco?” Her husband’s offhand remark about a new flute had seemed logical to her, since the boy’s passion had grown to include the wind instrument as well as the piano that he’d been playing since the age of five. But eight thousand dollars would pay for just a note or two from the sort of flute Francisco would favor.
    With the fourteen-year-old boy hundreds of miles away from home, living at Leister Conservatory in