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Freddy Romero’s primer-gray, sixties vintage Dodge 4x4. The undersheriff circled the lot twice, then crossed through the teacher’s parking area, finally parking on South Pershing Street in front of the school.
    “PCS, three ten is ten-ten Posadas High School.”
    Dispatcher Gayle Torrez acknowledged that Estelle was on the road but subject to call, then added, “Be advised that the State Livestock Inspector is here.” Estelle could hear Bill Gastner’s gruff voice in the background. “He says there’s no hurry as long as the coffee cake holds out. He wants to know if he can bring you a piece.”
    “That’s negative. But I’ll be about ten minutes.”
    In considerably less time than that, Estelle had learned from Donna Bates, the principal’s secretary, that Freddy Romero was not in school that day.
    “Wait for me out in the hall lounge, honey,” Ms. Bates said to the student office aide who hovered too attentively, apparently impressed that the police should be visiting the school. As soon as the girl was out of earshot, Estelle made her request, and as Mrs. Bates prompted the computer, she added, “You know, just between you and me, Estelle, master Freddy’s attendance record isn’t absolutely stellar.” She pointed with one heavily ringed finger to a bulletin board just inside the office door where the article, fresh from the
Posadas Register
, was tacked to the cork, joining the plethora of other recent newspaper photos and stories about student achievers.
    “He’s enjoying his celebrity status, I think. Sure enough, he isn’t here enjoying school this lovely morning. He’s probably out digging up more bones.” She held up a hand as she tapped the computer keyboard with the other. “He wasn’t in school yesterday afternoon, either. Morning, yes. Afternoon, no. I hope he’s not in trouble again?” She tapped a key again and leaned closer to the screen. “His younger brother might be with him. Butch is absent this morning, too, in fact.”
    “And that’s why I’m here,” Estelle said. “Butch was injured late yesterday afternoon, ma’am. The family went with him when he was airlifted to Albuquerque, and no one is home at the moment. They had to leave before they were able to find Freddy and leave a message. If you happen to see the young man, perhaps you’d tell him to contact his dad?”
    “My word, of course.” The secretary jotted a quick note and stuck it to the corner of her desk calendar, shaking her head as she did so. “In this day and age, how could the folks not reach him on his phone? You know, most of the time, we curse those gosh darn things, but sometimes…”
    “Apparently they couldn’t last night, and Mr. Romero didn’t want to bother Freddy in school.”
    “Well, we appreciate that, of course. But he could have called
me
. He knows that well enough. Now, will Butch be all right? What happened?”
    “An unfortunate accident with a rattlesnake,” Estelle replied.
    “You’re joking, Estelle.”
    “I wish I were.”
    “Oh, my. He was bitten?”
    “In a manner of speaking. He was using a Weed Whacker and was struck in the eye with a fragment of snake fang when he was teasing the rattler.”
    Donna Bates recoiled back with a grimace. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” she gasped. “Now what next, you know? Honestly. Butch makes his older brother seem like a saint. But we just love ’em to death. Just love ’em.” She looked as if she wanted to pursue the incident in every detail, but then she hesitated. “Ah, let me check one thing,” she said, and scrolled to another computer file, leaning forward as she rested her chin on her hand. “Master Freddy is squiring Casey Prescott these days, by the way.
Much
too serious with each other, I may add. But that’s the mom in me talking, I suppose.” She frowned and she scanned the screen. “Let me see, now. Casey is one of our stars, so we know where
she
is. And right now, she’s in Chemistry with Maryann Orosco.