Scavengers Read Online Free PDF

the kinks. “Bobby called the house this morning and talked to Francis. No emergency or anything. I guess he just wanted an update.”
    “And he called here. I don’t think he cares much for Virginia. He said he hasn’t seen the sun since he got there. He’s homesick, Estelle.”
    “Me, too.” She opened Linda’s workstation again to make sure the bagged roll of film was where she remembered putting it, slid the steel drawer shut, and locked it. “If anyone needs me, tell ’em I went…somewhere.”
    “Did you see the note from Bill, by the way?” Gayle pointed toward Estelle’s mailbox.
    “Nope.” She pulled the
While You Were Out
message from the slot, penciled not in Gayle’s neat script but in the heavy, blocky printing of the state livestock inspector, Bill Gastner.
    “When was he in?”
    “Half an hour ago or thereabouts.”
    “He was supposed to come over for Sunday dinner today, but not with the stinkies, as Francisco calls them.”
    “That’s what he said. He just missed you when you went to the airport, so he stopped here to leave a note.”
    “I need to borrow Linda,’ ” Estelle read.
    “He’s working some complaint about a bunch of mules or something,” Gayle said. “He wanted Linda to take some pictures. Apparently the light’s not very good, and he needs her expertise.”
    “He’s got it,” Estelle said. “When Linda comes in from…” She waved a hand eastward. The spot where the corpse had been found was so bleak no one had thought of an appropriate locator name for it. “…from out there, would you tell her to get in touch with him?”
    “Sure. But he said there was no hurry on it.”
    “And that means
inmediamente
,” Estelle grinned. “We know how he is.” She slid the note into Linda Real’s mailbox and puffed out her cheeks at the effort of moving the single sheet of paper. “I’ll be home.”
    When she entered the house on Twelfth Street, the light tangy fragrance of simmering chicken greeted her, along with a silent house. Irma appeared from one of the back rooms.
    “It smells wonderful,” Estelle said. “How’s everybody doing?”
    “Chicken soup,” Irma Sedillos said, affecting a heavy New York accent tinged with her own Mexican border lilt. “That’s just what you need. Chicken soup.” She took Estelle’s jacket before it landed on the foyer floor and hung it up. “We had an early lunch, and then everybody crashed.”
    “Francisco, too?”
    “His dad stretched out for a bit, and
el niño
couldn’t resist. He’s a smart kid. You need something to eat, and then you do the same thing.” Irma waggled an index finger. With a gray wig and a touch of stage makeup, she could pass for sixty, rather than the twenty-six that she was.
    “The nap sounds good.”
    “You want some soup first,” Irma insisted, adding over her shoulder, “
No estás pegando en cuatro, Estelle,
” and headed for the kitchen. “You can’t start skipping meals, now.”
    With too many knots in her joints to argue and in absolute agreement that she wasn’t firing on all cylinders, Estelle did as she was told. The soup was so good that she lingered at the kitchen table, letting the vapors drift up from the bowl.
    Irma chatted about this and that, but most of what she said drifted past Estelle unheard, comfortable kitchen chatter that didn’t require an answer.
    Estelle surprised herself by finishing two bowls of soup before putting down her spoon and straightened her spine against the back of the chair. “Okay,” she said. “Now I can make it down the hall.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. “Give me an hour and I’ll be good as new.”
    In their bedroom, Dr. Francis Guzman was sleeping flat on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Francisco was curled beside him. Estelle left the door open and went to the boys’ bedroom, where little Carlos was curled into a ball about the size of a cocker spaniel. She stretched out on Francisco’s bed and, soothed by the