A Flower in the Desert (19 page)

“I think it's just terrible,” she said, “what that awful woman put him through.”

“It certainly was,” I said. “But at least the courts finally straightened everything out.”

“Yes, but only after she said all those terrible things and dragged his good name through the mud. Only after he lost his job and they canceled his show. And then to go and kidnap his daughter! Why, the woman is deranged!”

“You knew both of them?” I asked her. “Roy and Mrs. Alonzo both?”

“Of course,” she said from behind her desk. “He was our spokesperson, did you know that?”

I nodded. “I think I read about it in
People
magazine.”

“They had a big article a few years ago. They didn't say much about us, our little operation here in Santa Fe, but they did talk about Roy and how dedicated he was.” She shook her head. “I feel so sorry for him. The poor, poor man. To have everything the way he did, and then have it all stolen away from him by that mean, spiteful woman. It's a tragedy, pure and simple. Honestly, it would've been better for him if he'd never even met her. I saw it coming, you know. I remember, I said to a friend of mine, I said, Silvia, you mark my words, but Roy Alonzo will rue the day he ever married that horrible woman.” She smiled a small conspiratorial smile. “I admit that the language I used at the time was a
lot
stronger than that. You know how it is when the girls get together and let their hair down.”

I had a sudden mental image of Rebecca Carlson letting down her hair. I suppressed it. “When was this, Mrs. Carlson?”

“Oh, years ago. Long before the divorce. Like I say, I saw it all coming. Anyone could have, if they had a pair of eyes in their head.”

“What made you think there were problems with the marriage?”

She smiled comfortably. “Some of us can sense these things, you know.”

“Certainly. I envy you. I wish I could. But was there any particular incident you can think of, something that indicated a problem?”

“Oh, yes. More than one. They had a big cocktail party out at their house once, out in La Tierra, and naturally I was invited. This was three or four years ago. It was a lovely party, all the best people in town, the real hoi polloi, the mayor, everybody. Even some actor friends of Roy's. Skip Peterson was there.”

“Skip Peterson?”

“‘Aloha'? He's a retired spy who keeps getting involved in all these wild adventures? He lives in Hawaii?”

“Lately I haven't been able to watch as much TV as I'd like.”

She frowned, disappointed. I had failed her. “It's been on for over three years.”

I smiled, shrugged. “This detecting business can really take up your time.”

She looked at me, curious. “Is it dangerous work?”

I smiled. Self-deprecating, dauntless, hinting at damsels delivered, dragons slain. Wild adventures. “Not usually,” I said. “You were talking about a party?”

“Yes. Roy's party,” she said. She began to regain her momentum. “It was a beautiful affair. The food, the drinks, all of that must've cost
thousands.
And such a lovely setting. Have you been out to La Tierra? Then you know how spectacular it is, all those lovely rolling hills, the vistas and all. The party was out on their patio, and everyone was having a wonderful time—in a very cultivated way, I mean. It was all very dignified—but not stuffy, not at all. Refined. They were all very nice people, very cultured. Do you know what I mean?”

“Certainly.”

“
Except
for Melissa Alonzo.
She
was as drunk as a sailor. At the beginning she was just sitting off by herself, sulking. Poor Roy had to do all the hosting by himself. But later, after she'd had a few more drinks, she started to get more and more noisy. Laughing—screeching, more like it. And using
terrible
language at the top of her lungs, just like a fisherwoman. You could've heard her a mile away. I'm no prude, not at all, but this was in
public.
It was terribly embarrassing. I felt so bad for Roy. And then later, Roy was talking to some poor young girl, and Melissa just stormed up to them and threw her drink at Roy.
Threw
it at him, glass and all. And then stalked off into the house. Poor Roy was soaking wet. He tried to put a good face on it, laughing and joking about it, being gracious, the way he always is. But you could see he was mortified. And it just
ruined
the party. Everyone left fairly soon after that.”

“Where was Winona when all this happened?”

“In her bedroom, with the nanny. Thank goodness.”

“So you'd say that Melissa Alonzo was a jealous woman?”

“
Insanely
jealous. An absolute
witch.
Why, one time, right here in my office, she hit him, slapped him right across the face, just because he was talking to my secretary. I was sitting here when she came in, and the door was open, and I saw it all. Roy and I had finished our meeting, and he stopped to talk with Patty about some Sanctuary business, and that woman came in. She called him an awful name, for no reason at all, out of the clear blue sky, and then she hit him. Slapped him. And then, just like before, she stormed off.”

“When was this, Mrs. Carlson?”

“About three years ago. They got divorced about six months later. I thought at the time that it was the best thing that could've happened to Roy. The divorce, I mean. But that was before that awful woman started spreading those terrible lies about him. I'll tell you right now, Roy Alonzo would
never
do those disgusting things to his daughter. He's a perfect gentleman, and he loved that little girl. She was the apple of his eye.”

I nodded. “Why do you suppose she made the accusation?”

“Spite, pure and simple. Roy was getting on with his life and she just couldn't stand that. She's a vicious woman. Vindictive.”

I nodded. “Did Mrs. Alonzo have anything to do with this office? Did she do volunteer work here?”

“None. She was too good for the likes of us, don't you know. She stayed away from here, except for a time or two, like the time she went crazy and attacked poor Roy. And to tell you the truth, I was perfectly happy with that arrangement. Not having her here, I mean. I'm a forgiving person, see no evil, hear no evil, but Melissa Alonzo was a terrible woman, and honestly, the less I saw of her, the better. I just couldn't stand the way she treated that poor man.”

“Did she have any friends or close acquaintances among the local membership?”

“No. Like I say, she was too good for the likes of us. Sometimes my secretary met her for lunch. Melissa Alonzo was her sponsor, and I could hardly
forbid
Juanita to meet with her.”

“Juanita?”

“Juanita, yes. Patty, my first secretary, left us quite a while ago. Juanita was here for almost two years. And now Juanita's gone, too. She called up last week and told me she was sick.
Sick.
She never called in again, and she didn't answer her phone. And when I sent Bill Theodore, he's one of our volunteers, a wonderful man, when I sent him out to check on her, he found out she wasn't even at home.”

“When did she call in sick?”

“Thursday.”

“And she's left home?”

“Probably setting up house with some gas station attendant.” She frowned, as though she'd heard herself. “Oh, I know that's a terrible thing to say, but honestly, you do what you can for these people, you bend over backwards to help them, and then they turn around and do something like this to you. They have no gratitude.”

“When you say ‘these people,' Mrs. Carlson, whom do you mean?”

“Our refugees. Some of them are very nice people, of course, very polite. But a lot of them think the world owes
them
a living. You give them an inch and they take a mile.”

“Juanita was a refugee?”

“From El Salvador. And one of the lucky ones. She knew English, not perfectly, of course, but fairly well. She's supposed to come from a good family down there, but of course you couldn't prove that by
me.
And she did have some secretarial skills, I'll give her that. We went all out for her, managed to get her a sponsor, paid her legal bills, even gave her a very good job. And this is the way she repays us. Disappears without even a thank-you. I had to spend all day Thursday on the telephone, trying to find a temporary girl.” She let out a long-suffering sigh. “It sometimes makes me wonder whether all of this is worth it. All the effort, all the work.”

“It must be hard for you.”

“It is, Mr. Croft, it is. You don't know the half of it.”

“I wonder, Mrs. Carlson, if you could tell me Juanita's last name?”

“Carrera.” She frowned. “And I suppose you want her address, just like the others.”

“The others?”

“Two of them. One of them was a man from the FBI. He was a real gentleman, like yourself. Very nicely spoken.”

“Was his name Stamworth?”

“That's right, yes. Do you know him?”

“We've met. When did you talk to him?”

“A few weeks ago, and then again last week. Thursday. I remember because I was just so frantic, trying to find a temp to do all the work Juanita left behind.”

“Did he say why he wanted to talk to Juanita?”

“He said it was a routine matter. Nothing important. He seemed a very nice man.”

Why had Stamworth been in Santa Fe last Thursday, asking about Juanita? And why had he been back in L.A. this week?

I asked her, “Had you talked to Stamworth before?”

“No. There was another FBI man here, asking about Melissa Alonzo, but that was months ago, when she ran off with the child.”

“Did that agent talk to Juanita?”

“You know, I believe he did. I asked Juanita about it back then, and she got all flustered and nervous and wouldn't give me a straight answer. So I assumed he had. But she's been moody for the past month or two. They're very high-strung, these girls.”

I didn't ask her whether she meant secretaries or Hispanic women. “You said there was another man?”

She made a face. “Him I didn't like at all. He was very greasy-looking. His hair was all slicked back and he had these dark little eyes that looked like they were dead. Do you know what I mean?”

I nodded. “What was his name?”

“I forget. Something Spanish. I didn't pay much attention because he lied through his teeth. He told me he was Juanita's cousin and he was trying to locate her. Well, I know for a fact that Juanita doesn't have any relatives. He was probably some old boyfriend. So I told him he was insulting my intelligence and I asked him to leave.”

“What did he say to that?”

“Nothing. He just stared at me for a minute with this nasty little smile, and then he got up and left.”

“And this was when?”

“Last Friday.”

“What did he look like, Mrs. Carlson?”

“Greasy, like I say. Like Rudolph Valentino. He had one of those thin little mustaches.”

“Was he tall?”

“Medium, I'd say.”

“Thin? Fat?”

“Medium. I don't really remember much, except for those eyes of his and that nasty little smile. And the mustache.” She frowned. “Why is Juanita so important all of a sudden?” There was a hint of resentment in her voice, the star peevish at the attention paid to the understudy.

“I don't know. But could I trouble you for her address and phone number? Roy and his family want me to track down any lead I can find.”

“Of course,” she said. “Anything I can do to help.” She leafed through a Rolodex on her desktop, found what she wanted, wrote it down on a memo pad, tore off the memo, and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I told her.

“She's long gone, though,” she said. “Just like I told Mr. Stamworth. These people can disappear in the blink of an eye.”

“Probably,” I said, “but I have to try. Mrs. Carlson, when I spoke with Charles Hatfield out in Los Angeles, he told me that sometimes the members of the organization provide not only legal assistance, they also provide shelter. Safe houses.”

She shook her head. “Not here, Mr. Croft, not in Santa Fe. Not anyone from this organization. They might run things differently out in California—I'm not saying that they do, of course—but here in Santa Fe we stay within the official Sanctuary guidelines. We stay within the law.”

“Good. I'm glad to hear it. Just one more question, Mrs. Carlson, and I'll be out of your way.”

“Oh, not at all. I'm enjoying our little chat.” Her eyelids fluttered.

I smiled. It took some effort. “Can you think of anyone besides Juanita, in or out of Sanctuary, who might've kept in contact with Melissa Alonzo?”

“No. Like I say, she kept very much to herself.”

“All right. Well, thanks very much for your time.”

“Not at all. And you tell Roy that if I can do anything else to help, all he has to do is let me know.”

“I'll do that,” I told her. “And keep up the good work.”