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

It was him, personally, who made that request of you?” How completely unlikely, Estelle thought. The colonel would never do such a thing.
    Teresa nodded. “I believe that is what your friend said.”
    â€œ Por dios, w hatever for?”
    â€œThe captain explained it to me, but he talked faster than I could listen. But you’ve always trusted him, no?”
    â€œOf course.” Trusted him. “So he asked for the bail money, and you then agreed to send the cashier’s check?” Tomás Naranjo was a colonel, his most recent promotion not something that Teresa would remember. But he would not have tried to cajole money out of Mateo’s friends or relatives. Unthinkable. No, it would have been much simpler to order the boy’s release and—if Mateo had actually been in Mexico in the first place, had been caught with one hand in the Mexican cookie jar—send him packing back across the border. Anything serious enough to warrant custody, like an unlikely weapons charge, assault, auto theft, or a rough night at a cantina, wouldn’t be assuaged with a mere eight thousand dollars. Had such an improbable thing occurred, her son Francisco would have called immediately. At least she hoped he would.
    But a cashier’s check? That took a moment to digest, and then Teresa nodded slowly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “But the bank is so slow now, you know. I thought that this was something I could do. Without bother to you. He said I would have the money back promptly.”
    â€œNo harm done,” Estelle said. “Mr. Mears has not cut the check yet.” And won’t. “I think I know what happened,” she added, and rose to give her mother a hug. She didn’t bother explaining the continual flow of telephone predators…and the phone scams trying to lever emergency money were common. “Let me check with Francisco.” She frowned hard. True enough, trying to force that kind of money from Atencio’s parents—his mother a nana like Addy and father a day laborer—would be a fruitless pursuit. But a ninety-nine-year-old woman might be an easy mark.
    As she dialed, she walked out into the dining room. Addy Sedillos was busy with four huge baked potatoes at the sink-side cutting board in the kitchen, and she glanced up as Estelle leaned against the counter, waiting on the phone connection. After four rings, Francisco’s cell went to messages. “Long chance,” Estelle muttered. “Francisco, this is Mamá . Give me a call as soon as you can, please? Love you.”
    She disconnected and then scrolled down through the catalog of numbers. Selecting Mateo Attencio’s cell, she tried that, and left another message. “Ay,” she said with impatience. “Wouldn’t you know.” She selected the landline to the Leister resident hall’s dean.
    â€œDr. Baylor’s office. How may I direct your call?” The secretary’s voice was brisk, almost dismissive.
    â€œThis is Undersheriff Estelle Reyes-Guzman in Posadas, New Mexico. I need to speak with either Francisco Guzman or Mateo Attencio, please. It’s urgent.”
    The woman’s voice warmed instantly. “Do you have a number I might use to return your call? It’ll only be a moment. I’ll leave a short message at the Sheriff’s Department, if that will suffice.”
    â€œThat will be fine.” Estelle rattled off the number and disconnected. “Nothing can ever be simple,” she said to Addy.
    â€œThey’re responsible for a lot of talent,” the young woman offered. “Lots of adoring fans out there.”
    â€œI suppose. I haven’t gotten used to that yet.” She watched the seconds tick by on her watch, and sure enough, two and a half minutes later, the phone chirped.
    â€œGuzman.”
    â€œEstelle,” Ernie Wheeler said, “Leister Academy just called us to patch