Fields of Wrath (Luis Chavez Book 1) by Mark Wheaton Read Free Book Online Page B

“Come on back.”
    Henry caught a tone on the second sentence. Though he felt he’d conditioned Glenn to expect his irregular appearances at the office to concern eccentric nonsense that was easily handled, there was always a small part of his brother that braced for the worst.
    “So, what can I do for you?” Glenn asked once they were out on the balcony off his office.
    Henry stared out past the fields to the mountains beyond for a second before eyeing his brother.
    “Santiago Higuera?”
    The name hung in the air a few seconds before Glenn realized it was a question. “Friend of yours?”
    “Of ours. Worked for us in the fields a few years back. Then we sold him a piece of land out off South Lewis Road. Grew strawberries.”
    “‘Grew’?”
    Henry handed the morning’s paper to his brother, the front page folded around so that a story about the discovery of Santiago Higuera’s body in Mexico was on top.
    “That’s unfortunate,” Glenn said cautiously. “How does this relate to us? Are we mentioned in the story?”
    He had expected a self-interested response. “Not at all,” Henry replied.
    “If you’re worried the press might try and make hay from the connection, I should tell you it’ll probably come to nothing. Not great given the Crown Foods contract, but a blip.”
    “I’m not worried about Crown Foods.”
    “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be, would you?” Glenn sighed. “It’s a big deal, though. It’s the future of this company. Which makes it your son’s future.”
    Henry said nothing. Glenn handed the paper back.
    “Was this all you wanted to talk about?”
    “I thought you might be concerned,” Henry said. “A good man is dead, and no one knows who did it.”
    “Did it happen on our land?” Glenn asked.
    “It doesn’t look like it. But a friend of mine in the Sheriff’s Office gave me the heads-up. They might send someone by the office to ask a few questions.”
    “Well, if they do, I’ll tell them the same thing I just told you. Won’t even be worth the gas.”
    Henry nodded. “Okay. Just putting it on your radar.”
    Henry felt Glenn’s gaze all the way back to the elevator. He’d come expecting a denial. Why, once he’d received it, did it feel like a confession?

VIII
    Ernesto’s cell rang while he was dropping his kids off at school. His father’s number appeared on the caller ID. As his father never called this early, he answered at once.
    “Dad? Everything okay?”
    “Turn on the radio,” Moises said quietly. “There was a break-in at St. Augustine’s Church last night. A priest got beat up. They’re not saying who.”
    Ernesto didn’t need to turn on the radio. He hung up with his dad and radioed his dispatcher, already angling his car in the direction of the parish.
    “The padre got lucky,” a patrolman told Ernesto when he arrived. “The men who came in were armed. They could’ve hurt him a lot worse. You a friend of his?”
    “He knows my father.”
    “He’ll be all right,” the patrolman assured him. “Apparently he heard a noise, came downstairs, and there they were. There was a homeless woman with them who’d been at the church last night, maybe acting sick. We think she might have been some kind of scout, casing the place, then letting the others in after-hours. Chavez interrupted them, got his ass handed to him on a plate, but kept them from getting away with anything.”
    “Wow,” Ernesto said, marveling at how off base this assessment probably was. “Can I see him?”
    “It would probably help. The detectives aren’t getting much out of him. Between you and me, the only reason it’s even a full-court press is because the chief’s tight with the cardinal.”
    Ernesto was directed to the administrative offices, where he found two detectives trying hard not to look bored. Luis sat, hands folded, in front of the bookshelves. Pastor Whillans leaned against his desk, surveying the scene with distaste.
    “You all right, Father