“Because you have some kind of psychic intuition and you are exactly correct. Maybe tonight we should . . .” His radio squawked.
Sam drummed her fingers on the edge of the open window, wishing he’d had the chance to finish the thought.
A static-filled voice came at him and Beau answered with, “I’m there. Ten minutes.” When he turned back to Sam it was with a rueful expression. “I’m wanted at the office.”
“More hassle with the sheriff?”
“Not today. He’s out glad-handing the blue-hairs at the senior center. Right now it appears that I have a visitor from Albuquerque.”
“Really?”
“It’s an intern from the crime lab. They ask each of them to ride along with law enforcement first responders as part of their training. Usually they get a city officer, somewhere like Albuquerque or Santa Fe, but then it’s also good to observe a more rural setting. So, our department gets them now and then. When I talked with the lab yesterday they warned me the new kid was coming up here.”
“Ah. Well, good luck with it.”
“Which reminds me—remember that odd DNA match I told you about? The evidence on the bootlace showing that someone related to Carlos Tafoya handled it? And remember the entry in Elena’s journal, saying that her husband had a child with a former lover?”
Sam nodded.
“The office rumor is that the kid is now grown. A grown son with the DNA markers that point to Carlos Tafoya as his father . . .”
Sam felt her eyes widen. “Carlos Tafoya’s son might have been in their home? Might have—”
“You got it. It still seems farfetched to think he would go after Elena. It’s not as if he knew her.”
Sam’s head swam, trying to piece together the bits of information floating around in there. “Can you just question him?”
“If we knew who it was, we most surely would.”
“The diary didn’t name the lover or her child, did it?”
He shook his head. “And I can’t get my stubborn boss to let me question Tafoya.”
Sam thought of the mammoth party being set up at the Arroyo Grande right now. A lot of people firmly believed that Tafoya would be the next governor of the state. “Time really isn’t on your side here, is it? I mean, once Tafoya wins the election—if he does—he’ll make himself so bulletproof that it’ll be impossible to force him . . .”
“Exactly.”
“Well, there have to be other ways to find the mother and the son, right?”
“Oh sure. It’s just that it’s pretty labor intensive to track down friends and neighbors who may have heard rumors, which may or may not check out, all from twenty years ago or more. We just don’t have the manpower right now.”
“Let me give it some thought,” she offered. “Maybe something will come to me.”
“I plan to review Elena’s journal again. There might be a name or location that I overlooked before.” He turned the key in the ignition. “Meanwhile, I guess I’m off to escort a rookie lab technician around.”
Sam watched him drive away, feeling his frustration at being under budget and out of the loop with information his boss clearly didn’t want uncovered. She pondered that idea as she got into her van and pulled away from the crowded parking lot. What if Orlando Padilla knew a whole lot more about this whole thing?
The idea took hold and when Sam spotted a Padilla For Sheriff mini-bus turning at the plaza, she followed. Sure enough, a little rally seemed to be forming up, with banners strung between the trees and people waving placards. They got excited as the bus rolled to a stop; the candidate must be aboard. Knowing she’d never get a parking spot anywhere near the busy plaza, she cruised past it and parked in front of her shop.
Sticking her head in the door she called out to Jen. “Can you spare me for a few more minutes?”
Her assistant looked startled. “Uh, sure. It’s pretty quiet right now.”
Sam speed-walked back to the site of the rally, which was now gathering momentum and becoming quite the noisy little fiesta. Standing on top of an impromptu platform that was actually a plywood box, Orlando Padilla in his felt Stetson was grinning hugely and waving at the crowd, announcing his thanks over a portable PA system of some kind.
Two reporters shouted questions and held microphones out toward the sheriff. Sam had to admit that the man could put on a show. His entire demeanor was different than when she’d met him on other occasions, times when he was actually performing his job instead of being dramatic for a crowd.
He handed off the microphone to a helper and stepped down from his little stage. Shaking hands and smiling, he worked the crowd until it began to disperse. Just before he could open the door to his bus, Sam stepped forward.
“Sheriff Padilla, could I have a moment?”
He turned with a smile, which went a little south when he recognized her. She forced herself to smile at him, not letting her true feelings show.
“Could we talk privately? Just for a minute.”
He started to make an excuse but she’d placed her hand around his elbow making it awkward for him to brush her off. They walked a few steps, looking to anyone who might observe, like two old friends taking a stroll.
“Elena Tafoya was a friend of mine,” she said.
Padilla stiffened, coming to a halt in mid-stride.
“I want her murder solved and I think you are deliberately leaving your deputies out of the loop.”
His public smile had become a grimace. “Ms. Sweet, you’re out of line.”
“Am I? I think you have information that could help solve two murders that your department hasn’t been able to close. You haven’t talked much about them during your campaign, but this election day isn’t over yet.”
“Is that a threat? Because I assure you—”
“Threat, Sheriff? Of course not. It’s a request for information.”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of information do you want?”
“Um, let’s start with truthful information. Like the name of the woman Carlos Tafoya had the affair with. This would be some years back, but I believe you and he were very chummy, even back then. Somehow, I get the feeling that you helped him sneak around, provided him with alibis, that kind of thing . . .”
She could practically see the wheels in his head turning.
“Say that I did—what of it?”
“How would it affect you? Probably not at all. I just need the name of his lover, please. Where she lived, how to get in touch with her now.”
His eyes narrowed, trying to figure out whether the conversation could backfire on him. Apparently he decided that he was safe; the information wouldn’t get very far before the polls closed this evening.
“She lived in Tres Piedras twenty years ago, moved to Albuquerque after the relationship ended.”
“And her name . . .”
“Jean. Jean Calendar.”
It took Sam a few seconds to process the fact that it was the same last name as the young man she’d just spoken to at the Arroyo Grande Lodge. Kevin Calendar was Carlos Tafoya’s son.
Chapter 24
Orlando Padilla had turned away and was walking across the shady square in the center of the plaza, headed back to his campaign bus, by the time Sam gathered her wits. She spun around, another question on her lips, but his retreat sent a spear of ice down her spine.
“Sheriff! Wait!”
He slowly turned, disdain on his face. “You said one question, Ms. Sweet. I believe I answered it.”
“But—”
He’d already continued walking resolutely toward the waiting bus. Sam watched as a young man with
