The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,55

the street from Patsy Burke’s house, unremarkable and adobe colored. There were old newspapers collecting in the driveway—Lucy counted two Santa Fe Timeses. But no Capital Tribunes. Someone must have swiped those. It was the only newspaper worth stealing. The crime-scene tape across the door had come loose and fluttered in the wind like the tail of a yellow kite.

She waved at the man across the street who had come to watch her. The neighbors probably loved this—their own little Cops show.

Lucy had called Mrs. Burke’s number an hour ago only to be greeted with “this number has been disconnected.”

She had considered trying to break in and listen to the answering machine, assuming it would just be a matter of trying all the doors and windows. But she was too chicken and paranoid to try it.

She sat in her car just watching the house, wondering about Patsy Burke’s life. Lucy had been in too much of a hurry to ask Claire Schoen about Mrs. Burke’s children. Lucy wasn’t even sure she had kids. The pictures in her house could just as easily have been of nieces and nephews.

The flower beds in front of the house were brown, but obviously well tended. A wreath made of pink ribbons and dried flowers hung on the front door. Lucy was sure that Mrs. Burke had made it herself. Old ladies did that type of thing, didn’t they?

Lucy glanced in her rearview mirror and saw a gray sheriff’s car coming down the street toward her. She quickly drove down the block and into the cul-de-sac, careful to keep her car out of sight.

She got out of her car and made a show of checking a house number against a piece of paper in her hand, which was actually a receipt from Burger King. She glanced back up the street. Major Garcia and a gray-uniformed deputy were going into the house.

She got back into her car and sighed. The only way for her to get out of the cul-de-sac was to drive past Scanner Lady’s house. And Garcia might see her. And think she was nuts.

She noticed a dirt road leading from the cul-de-sac, likely a utility road or a very well-worn ATV path. Some Santa Fe neighborhoods got around the county street planners by making their own back-door roads: short dirt paths that led to major streets.

As she started down the road, her Camry made loud complaints about the ruts and grooves. Thankfully, the road was dry. Chalk up one good thing to the lack of snow. She went over a huge bump and almost walloped her head on the ceiling. Just like a roller coaster. She started scanning for a country-music station. Dirt roads called for country music. She turned up the volume on an old Tim McGraw song and tried to sing along. He was saying something about still loving a woman who had dumped him for another man. Country-music love always sounded like stalking.

The road twisted around piñon trees and dropped down into an arroyo. She’d been driving for only a few minutes when the road made a sharp curve right. She had to cut the wheel to avoid hitting the cement base of a cell-phone tower.

Gil was still at his desk at the police station when Officer Manny Cordova came over and sat heavily in the chair next to Gil’s desk.

“I have two things,” Cordova said with his usual smile. “The first one is that I talked to Ron, and he said to give him a call if you need any help. He’s still up in the Pecos.”

“When is he coming back to town?” Gil asked.

Cordova shrugged. “I don’t know. He did this exact same thing when his dad died. He stayed up there for weeks. It’s just his way.”

“What’s the second thing you had to tell me?”

“I remembered something last night,” Cordova said. He kept scanning the office from side to side. “It really didn’t hit me until then. I think I saw Melissa Baca at Oñate Park about four thirty P.M. the day she was killed.”

Gil looked at him, considering. There was only one reason why Melissa Baca would have been there.

“Tell me about it,” was all Gil said.

“Well, I was driving down Cerrillos Road going to an MVA on St. Francis and Alameda when I passed the park. I always drive slow when I go by there, you know, to check it out, no? So I drove past slow and saw a purple Dodge Reliant lowrider with