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these parts?”
    “I’ll probably drive back tomorrow or the next day.”
    “You mean you’re not going to stick around and see the action?”
    I grimaced. “Come on, Sheriff. Estelle doesn’t need any help from me. And I’m on vacation, remember? The last thing I need is a busman’s holiday. There’s already been too much excitement around here for me. All I want is the home-cooked dinner I was promised, and then I’m on my way.”
    Tate glanced at Estelle as if to say, “You cook, too?” but had the good grace not to. Instead he turned, extended a hand to Guzman, and said, “Doc, can we buy you some breakfast?”
    Guzman shook his head. “No, thanks.”
    Tate then took me by the arm like a comrade of old and ushered me toward the door. “Let’s give the man his office back and find us some breakfast burritos. Then I need to get back to the city. Estelle, you need to show Paul your plush office and get him set up.”
    I should have been flattered that Pat Tate wanted my company, but I knew damn well that breakfast with the sheriff was going to be reminiscing—one war story after another until we’d both drunk enough coffee to ruin a kidney. By then half the morning would be shot.
    That was an agonizing thought, because I’d been watching Estelle Reyes-Guzman’s face during the past few minutes and wanted more than anything else to hear what was on her mind.

Chapter 5
    “Do you feel like taking a short walk?” Estelle Reyes-Guzman asked and I groaned.
    “Sure. Why not.” There were several good reasons why not. Sheriff Pat Tate had finally taken leave around 10:30 that morning, and I was still bloated from the coffee and raw-mouthed from too many cigarettes. When Tate left, I had remained at Bobby’s Cafe.
    Earlier I had made arrangements to meet Estelle there when she’d finished her errands. The cramped, dimly lighted eatery was across the street from Garcia’s Trading Post, and it had been interesting to watch the traffic come and go. In a common enough display of poor sense, when noon rolled around I’d ordered a “Burrito Grande” special for lunch.
    I had just finished eating when Estelle’s county car swung into the cafe’s parking lot and pulled to a stop beside my Blazer.
    As she entered the small dining room, I waved her to a seat. That’s when she hit me with the invitation for exercise.
    “Where are we walking to?” I asked.
    Estelle looked at the big plate in front of me and the scattered remains of the lunch. “What was that?”
    “It was too much, that’s what it was. Burrito Grande I think they call it. And you’re as evasive as ever. Where are we walking to?”
    “I’d like to hike up to the hot springs camp.”
    “To talk with Cecilia Burgess’s boyfriend?”
    “You heard about him?”
    I nodded and looked at the bill for lunch. If food that good had been that cheap down in Posadas, I would have weighed 700 pounds. I fished out a tip. “Your hubby knew about him. I asked Francis if the Burgess girl had any other romantic flames besides the hippie. He didn’t know.”
    Estelle nodded vigorously. “She does. Or did. I talked with Mary Vallo…Francis’s nurse?”
    “I met her.” I tucked the tip under the plate and stood up. “Tell me on the way. If I sit here any longer, I’ll go sound asleep.”
    “Mary’s born and raised here. She knows every living soul, I think. Anyway, there were some rumors going around that really upset some of the older folks. They’d talk with Mary at the clinic. Apparently Cecilia Burgess was spending some time with Father Nolan Parris. That’s what the
solteronas
told Mary.”
    “Who’s Parris?” I paid the bill, and we stepped outside into the bright sunshine.
    “He’s in retreat. At the Servants of the Paraclete. You might have noticed the enclave just north of the Forest Service office?” I nodded and she added, “Parris and Burgess were seen together on several occasions.”
    “Whoopee, Holmes,” I said dryly.