In Their Blood (14 page)

“That’s great, Grandpa.”

“How about a beer, Jeremy?” His grandfather’s cotton shirt hung loosely on his frame, but he seemed a little more solid than when Jeremy had seen him over two weeks ago.

“A beer would be great.”

His grandfather shuffled into the house, carefully closing the sliding door behind him. He returned with two open bottles, no glasses, and set them on the table.

“So, you’re at Castillo Enterprises. Is that better than the file room?” His grandfather ladled franks and beans onto Jeremy’s plate, then onto his own.

“I guess it’s better.” Actually, another few days with Robbie and he might be begging Irv to let him back into the file room.

His grandfather put a forkful of beans in his mouth and wrinkled his nose. “Cold. I guess I didn’t heat them long enough. I’ll recook them.” He pushed his chair back.

“They’re fine, Grandpa.”

His grandfather sat back down. “If you say so.” He took a swig of beer. “Castillo Enterprises. Funny how things come around. Did you know Carlos Castillo was a client of mine?”

“Carlos? He’s seventeen years old.”

“His grandfather. Enrique Castillo’s father. The man who came to America with little more than the clothes on his back and built an empire.”

“And you were his accountant? I didn’t know that.”

“Over thirty years ago,” his grandfather said. “Carlos had saved up and bought some land near Clewiston to grow sugar cane. I did
his books. He worked hard, he expanded his business, he started buying real estate. By then, his business was too complex for me to handle. I was just a sole practitioner. So I said, ‘Carlos, you need to hire a bigger CPA firm.’ And he refused. For two more years he insisted I be his accountant. But finally he realized it wasn’t possible.”

“So he hired PCM?”

His grandfather took a sip of beer. “He hired PCM, let his son get more involved with running things, and in a few years Castillo Enterprises became one of the most successful businesses in South Florida.”

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“You can judge for yourself. I’ve collected all of Castillo Enterprises’s annual reports since the company went public a few years ago. It should make interesting reading for you, a future accountant.”

Funny what his grandfather considered interesting. “And Mr. Castillo’s dead, isn’t he?” Jeremy asked.

“If he were still alive, do you think he’d permit such a grandiose monstrosity to be built in the name of Castillo Enterprises? That new office building is an outrage. All that money spent and for what? Gold fixtures and an impressive view? Carlos Castillo was a humble man. A hardworking man who believed in an honest dollar for an honest day’s work.”

“Do you think Enrique is dishonest?”

His grandfather studied him for a moment. “You have chocolate on your chin, Jeremy.”

Jeremy brought his napkin to his chin.

“I meant that figuratively.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You still think you can fool me? Remember when you were five and said you hadn’t eaten the brownies your grandmother had baked? But I knew. You had chocolate on your chin. Just like now. You took that job to find out what happened to your mother. Am I right?”

Jeremy stared at the plants on the wheelbarrow carts. Most of them were dead. “I’m sorry, Grandpa, but I just can’t sit back and wait for the police.”

“I know, Jeremy. I know.” His grandfather took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “If I were a younger man.” His voice was softer now, practically whispering. “If I were a younger man, I would find the bastard who did that to my little girl.” He removed his glasses and covered his eyes.

“I know you would, Grandpa.”

His grandfather took out his handkerchief and blew his nose, then he put his glasses back on. Even behind the thick, filmy lenses, Jeremy could see his eyes were red. “What you’re doing would have worried your grandmother. For once, I’m grateful she isn’t alive.” He looked off in the distance. “That she isn’t alive to have witnessed any of this.”

Jeremy’s chest tightened.

“Promise me, for your grandmother, you’ll watch out for yourself.”

“Of course I will.”

“I know, I know. You young people all believe you’re invulnerable. But Jeremy, have you thought ahead? Have you considered what could happen to you?”

And as though the sand churned up by the last wave had settled and he could see clear down to his feet, Jeremy finally understood exactly what Detective Lieber had been trying to warn him about. That if Jeremy got remotely close to figuring out who had killed his parents, the murderer would try to kill Jeremy as well.

Chapter 16

Marina had dozed off. Jeremy watched her pale eyelids flutter and her chest lightly rise and fall. The candles she’d lit were almost burned down and they sputtered an irregular light over the small bedroom. The worn Indian blanket had slipped beneath Marina’s breast and her tiny hand opened and closed as though she were trying to reach something.

She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Her copper hair spread out over the pillow like wild vines. Her round red lips were moving now, pursed like a fish gasping for air. He wanted to kiss her. To feel her darting tongue against his own. But that would only start the cycle again. And he knew it was time for him to leave. That he shouldn’t have come here in the first place.

How had that happened? She had called him when he left work after a frustrating, non communicative day with Robbie, and asked him to stop by her house before class. To look over his father’s papers. She really wanted to talk to him about the papers. And she was sorry about last night. She got carried away, she said. The emotional stress of everything. Surely he understood.

And so he had driven to her house, understanding perfectly.

“Mmmm,” Marina said now, stretching. She touched Jeremy’s face. “So serious,
mon amour.”
She kissed him. He should leave, but he felt as though he’d fallen into quicksand.

She slipped out of bed before he could say anything. Her naked body was white and perfect. It glowed in the vacillating light. She pulled a stretched-out, ratty tee shirt over her head, combed her fingers through her hair, and walked barefoot across the gritty terrazzo floor toward the other room. “I’m famished. Come, I’ll make us something to eat.”

Jeremy fumbled for his watch on the wooden crate that served as a night table. He’d missed class— the second night in a row. He had called Elise earlier in the evening, but had gotten only her voice-mail. “Sorry,” he’d said to the phone. “I’ll be home late. I’m … I’m studying.”

And the papers Marina had promised to show him— his father’s papers. Somehow they’d never gotten around to them. Did they even exist?

There was a cracked ceramic lamp with an unraveling straw hat for its shade. Most of the furnishings in Marina’s apartment looked as though she’d picked them out of someone’s garbage. Jeremy squinted at his watch in the poor light. It was almost two a.m. He needed to be at PCM’s main office at eight in the morning for a training meeting. He got dressed quickly.

Marina was leaning over a pot on the small stove. Something smelled amazing. He hadn’t imagined Marina being much of a chef.

But he had to go home.

She smiled up at him. “Coq au vin. I’m reheating it. Should only take another minute.”

She didn’t seem to notice he was in his suit. She handed him two mismatched plates, two knives, and two forks. The knives had dried crud on them. “Just clear the papers off the kitchen table and pull up the desk chair.”

Jeremy’s stomach was grumbling in response to the rich aroma in the air.

“And there should be a couple of cold beers,” Marina said. “We finished the wine.” She held the spoon up to his mouth for him to taste. “Good, no?”

It was great. The broth reminded him of his grandmother’s chicken soup after he’d had a sip of sweet Manischewitz wine.

“I learned to cook when I lived with my father. And he was very particular.” She brought the pot over from the stove and ladled the chicken onto their plates. The meat was so well cooked, it was falling off the bones.

He would eat, then go home.

Marina ignored the silverware and picked up a chicken leg with her fingers. “I moved to France when I was twelve.” She sucked on the bone. “When my mother decided I was becoming a threat.”

“I thought you were from France.”

“Peru. I was born in Peru. In Lima. My parents met in the States—both exchange students. Then my mother got pregnant and returned to be near her family. My father was too busy to settle down.”

“So you grew up in Peru?”

“Mainly my grandmother raised me. But then the men who came to see my mother became more interested in me than in her. So my mother sent my father a letter, bought me an airline ticket, and I became an international bastard. I never expected my father to show up at the airport. I had no idea what would become of me. I spoke only Spanish.”

“But he showed up.”

She’d finished everything on her plate and pushed back her chair. It was corroded aluminum from someone’s old dinette set. “I was so happy to see him. Such a handsome man. I knew the story of Cinderella and I thought, perhaps he was my prince.” She rested her feet on Jeremy’s lap. The soles were blackened with dirt and her toenails looked as though she’d torn rather than cut them. In Miami, all the girls Jeremy knew had pedicures.

“And was he your prince?”

“Is life ever a fairy tale?” She ran her index finger over the gravy on her plate. “He treated me like I was his maid. He had me cook and clean for him.” She licked her finger. “I wouldn’t have minded if only he would have said something kind.” She lit a cigarette and rested her head on the back of her chair. “What’s wrong,
mon amour
? You look like— how do you say— like someone made your boxers into a wad.”

“I need to go.”

“Of course you do.” She pulled her feet off his lap. They brushed against his crotch. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have class until eleven, but you have to go to work, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But you can come back tomorrow, after work, no?” Her tee shirt had risen up on her thigh and a curl of copper hair was visible. The candles in the bedroom were casting pulsing shadows against the wall.

“I can’t. I have class after work. And I really need to spend time with my sister.”

The faint smile faded. “I don’t understand.”

“I like you, Marina. You have no idea how much. But when I’m with you I feel as though I’m letting my family down.”

“Your family?”

“My sister, my parents.”

“Your parents are gone, Jeremy.”

He couldn’t find the words. “There are things I have to do,” he said finally. “Ahhh. I see.” She took a deep puff from her cigarette. “I have become a distraction, no?” He pushed himself up out of the desk chair. “We make love, I share my secret world with you, but you won’t trust me?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

“I do talk to you.”

“Yet I know nothing about your plan.”

“What plan?”

“You work at your mother’s firm, even though you claim to hate accounting. You sneak around your father’s campus ostensibly to take classes, but you don’t even show up for them. It seems to me you have some purpose other than advancing your career and edifying your mind.” The ashes fell from the tip of her cigarette to the floor.

Lieber had been right. His motives were crystal clear to anyone who was paying the least bit of attention to him. “Okay, fine,” he said.

“But maybe I can learn things the police can’t.”

“So why not tell me?” She tilted her head as though to get a better look at him. “Ah. Because you don’t trust anyone, is that it? Anyone who was close to your parents may be a suspect, no?”

“Maybe.”

“And am I a suspect, Jeremy? You think, perhaps, I killed your parents?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not, he says.” She shook her head. “Still, you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then let me help you.” She put the cigarette out in her plate.

“I know things about your father. I know the people who resented him. People who may have wanted him dead.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you think I want to find the motherfucker who killed your father as much as you do?”

“I’ve got to go.”

He was out the door, standing in the dense stillness of the night, when she came after him. Her arms were wrapped around a large bundle of papers. Her legs were bare and white— carved ivory.

“Take them,” she said, so small under the bulk of papers. She pushed the bundle against his chest. “They’re your father’s. Maybe they can help you.”

He kept his arms at his side, unwilling to accept them. “They won’t mean much to me.”

She took a step back, still clutching the papers. Her body seemed to be communicating directly with his.

“Will you take me through them?” he asked.

She held the papers tighter.

“When I come back,” he said, “will you help me go through my father’s papers?”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m holding you captive, Jeremy. If there are other things you’d rather be doing—”

“This,” he leaned over and kissed her small, round mouth, “is what I’d rather be doing.”

It was early morning when he got home. The sky went through its metamorphosis as he stood in front of his house, the weak light turning everything around him into sepia grays. The windows of his sister’s Volvo were damp with dew. Jeremy found a rag in the back of his father’s car and wiped them off. A car drove slowly by, and a hand flung a plastic-wrapped newspaper onto the driveway.

Jeremy picked up the newspaper, then went inside, quietly closing the front door after him so as not to wake Elise. The smell of coffee drifted toward him from the kitchen.

Elise was sitting at the counter, hunched over a cup. Her bare feet were hooked around the bottom rung of the stool. She didn’t look up when he walked in.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it home last night,” he said.

Her face was hidden by her loose hair so he couldn’t read her expression.