Bitter Recoil by Steven F. Havill Read Free Book Online Page A

girl. She had transferred her grip to the seam of Finn’s jeans. And she had given up on us as something interesting to watch. The thumb of her other hand was jammed in her mouth as she watched a stinkbug make its way through the pine needles. All the adult talk was lost on her.
    When I looked back up, Finn had clasped his hands together, resting them lightly on his chest like a priest.
    “She’s still alive, Mr. Finn. At least she was this morning, when she was transferred to Albuquerque.” Finn accepted that with a slight nod and spread his hands apart slightly as if to say, “So you say.”
    “How did you hear about the accident?” I asked.
    Finn lifted only one hand this time and pointed downhill at the youth on the rock. He did it slowly and gracefully, again reminding me of a priest, maybe extending the consecrated bread during Eucharist. “Robert was in the village this morning.”
    “How did he hear about it?”
    “You’d have to ask him,” Finn said. “But in a village so small news travels rapidly, doesn’t it?”
    Estelle nodded as if she hadn’t thought of that on her own. “How long had you known Burgess, Mr. Finn?”
    Finn took a deep breath and gazed off into the distance. “Several months,” he said finally. “What’s today?”
    “August 5.”
    “Well then, let’s see. I first met her just before Christmas. So I guess that’s seven or eight months.”
    “Do you know who else she associated with? On a regular basis?”
    Finn looked irritated for the first time. “I have no idea. What she did down in the village was her business.”
    “And when she was up here?” I asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You and she were close?”
    Finn glanced down at the little girl. The tyke had squatted and was nudging the stink beetle with a tiny index finger. The beetle thrust its hind end up in empty threat. “Of course,” Finn said after some hesitation. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have come up here.”
    I decided to try a long shot, based on my conversation with Francis Guzman. “Is this her other child?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    I knew damn well that Finn had heard me just fine, but I repeated anyway. “Is this child her daughter?”
    “No,” Finn said immediately. “Ruth is my niece. She spends the summer with me.” He smiled faintly. “The city is no place for a child.”
    I had no argument with that logic. Estelle Reyes-Guzman turned slightly so she could see Robert of the Rock. “Did your friend say anything to you about hearing how the accident happened?”
    The smug expression returned to Finn’s face. “You’d have to ask him.”
    This time Estelle came as close to snapping as she ever did. “No, Mr. Finn. I asked what he said to you, sir.”
    “Nothing, Deputy,” Finn said, one eyebrow raised. “If you want to find out what he knows, talk to him.”
    “We’ll do that on the way down. And by the way, do you have some kind of identification with you?”
    “Identification?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Certainly.” He pulled a wallet from his right hip pocket, rummaged for a moment, and then held out a New Mexico driver’s license. Estelle took it, pulled out a small notebook from her hip pocket, and jotted down information. Finn waited patiently until she had finished and handed the document back. “If there’s nothing else?”
    “Thank you for your time,” Estelle said pleasantly. Finn reached down and took the little girl’s hand, turning to go back toward the tent.
    Before the child could turn, Estelle knelt down so she was looking at her squarely in the eye. “What’s your name, honey?” Estelle asked quietly.
    The tyke hesitated, then responded to Estelle’s warm smile. “Daisy,” she said with a faint lisp.
    “That’s a pretty name,” Estelle said. She tousled the child’s hair and stood up. She smiled at Finn. He frowned, then nodded curtly and led the child back uphill toward the big tent.
    “Sweetheart, isn’t she?” I said as we strolled