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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