St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

clay pot, and began the massaging motions that improved circulation to Sylvia’s limbs.
    “According to Sylvia, yes,” Winifred said. “But she didn’t know it when that picture was taken. It took her years to catch on to the philandering son of a bitch.”
    “Were there any children?”
    “With Guadalupe?”
    “Yes.”
    Winifred rubbed slowly, then briskly patted her hands over Sylvia’s withered leg. “Not that I know of.”
    “Would you know?”
    Winifred shrugged. “It was different seventy years ago. Unmarried girls who got pregnant took some herbs from a curandero or had the bastard and gave it up for adoption. Mostly the girls just had the bastards. Either way, it wasn’t much talked about outside the family. People took care of their own.”
    Carly didn’t say anything. She suspected that she herself was the unwanted result of a brief affair, something to be gotten rid of as soon as possible. Silently she flipped through more photos. It seemed that every time there was a picture of the Senator, he was eyeing one woman or another.
    Mostly the girls just had the bastards.
    “No wonder Dan said that in a village there are cousins under every bush,” Carly said quietly into her microphone.
    If Winifred heard, she didn’t say anything.
    “Did the Senator ever acknowledge any of his children outside of marriage?” Carly asked in a normal tone.
    “His bastards?”
    Carly winced. As far as she was concerned, the Senator was the real bastard. He had a choice. Any children born to his lovers didn’t. “Yes.”
    “Never. He knew what was good for him.” Winifred massaged in more cream.
    “You mean he didn’t want to ruin his reputation because of his political ambition?”
    “No.” Winifred’s hands moved vigorously. “He kept it quiet because my mother and grandfather would have had his philandering balls, and I don’t mean maybe.”
    “Are you saying they didn’t approve of Sylvia’s choice in husbands?”
    Winifred straightened, stretched her back, and flexed her hands. “The family knew what she was getting into. She didn’t. She was in love with him.”
    “Then why did your parents allow the marriage?” Carly asked, gesturing with one hand toward an old photo album of the wedding.
    “Same reason a branch of the Castillos married off one of their daughters to the first Andrew Jackson Quintrell in 1865. Land, pure and simple. The Castillos held a big piece of the original Oñate land grant. They saw their cousins and friends having land seized because they didn’t understand the Anglo system, where you pay property taxes or lose the land, where you’re taxed individually on lands held in common. In any case, the Castillos didn’t have money to pay taxes to their new government in Washington, D.C.”
    “So the Castillos arranged to marry an Anglo into the family, as a way to cope with the new rules?” Carly asked.
    Winifred nodded and bent down to Sylvia again. “The Castillos had land, cattle, water, horses, and the certainty they’d lose all of it to the Anglos. A. J. Quintrell had the connections to keep the Castillo land intact and a willingness to defend that land at gunpoint. He married Isobel Castillo and spent the rest of his life consolidating the Castillo grant.”
    “Was it a happy marriage?” Carly asked.
    The old woman shrugged. “No one ever said anything about it one way or the other. Back then, you married for the family, not for yourself. Isobel gave the first Quintrell an heir and two girls. The girls were married off to Sandovals in Mexico. A. J. Junior grew up to be an even better manager than his daddy.”
    “So the Castillos got what they wanted.”
    “One side did. The other side got swindled out of their rightful heritage. My side.”
    “What do you mean, your side?” Carly frowned, wondering what she’d missed. Quickly she checked the charge on her recorder. Once Winifred started talking, names and memories and family anecdotes came tumbling out too quickly to sort through, much less understand.
    “Isobel had a sister, Juana. She married a third cousin, another Castillo. They had one surviving child, María.”
    Carly wished she had the standard genealogical forms with her so she could begin filling in the blanks. Unfortunately she hadn’t planned to get into preceding generations this morning. And that was why she always had the recorder on; no one could predict where a conversation would go.
    “María,” Winifred said, “married an