Unlock the Truth (15 page)

“Mom sure had talent,” Zeke said from the doorway.

“She did. This is amazing.” Dena waved toward the painting of what she assumed was the Santa Rosa Mountains. “Did all of her art have a local flavor?”

“Far as I know.”

“Zeke,” she said softly. “Your mother wouldn’t be against selling the paintings for charity, would she?”

“No.” He pulled a couple of canvases out, and a flash of pride washed across his face and softened his features. “I’ll display these in the living room, prop them up on the chairs—”

“The reason is—” Dena said, and a burst of pleasure from his appreciative gaze at his mother’s work filled her chest. She picked up two paintings, and followed him. “I wouldn’t want to violate her artistic belief.”

“Mom always had a canvas or two on display in a local restaurant,” he said, and arranged several pieces of work on the chairs. “She loved to make a sale.”

“Good.” Dena grinned, and then clasped her hands together. “That was what I wanted to hear.”

He watched her for a moment, his gaze hot and sultry. She felt a quiver of pleasure shoot through her insides. She wished he’d walk over and kiss her again, like he had last night. He seemed to appraise her as much as his mother’s paintings.

“You look good in here,” he said after a few moments. “It definitely is a woman’s place.”

“Yes. I can sense your mother’s love for it—”

“Mom would want me to clear the family name,” Zeke said, and picked up a smaller canvas. “She’d approve of your plan. You know, she married Dad young—barely nineteen and new to this country—but she was more Cabrera than my father, if that was possible.”

That had been quite a speech for Zeke. He’d warmed up to her, and now he offered insights into his life and his family. She wouldn’t push. In fact she’d decided earlier to temper some of her own comments. Be less spontaneous and inquisitive.

She’d be sensitive to Zeke’s needs, and let him set the pace. At least she planned on doing that, if she got to stay. And she needed to stay because she felt the beginning of something opening up, an offering of information in Carli’s and Susie’s murders. It was from an intuitive level, and she had no idea where the energy came from, either from Zeke, the casita, or her new found sense of self.

Half an hour later Dena knew at least ten of the paintings needed new frames, and some had never been framed. She pulled out the last two and gasped.

“Zeke, did you see this one?”

He crossed the room and peered over her shoulder.

“It’s José,” he said, as stunned as she was. He took the two by three foot canvas, propped it on the bed, and stepped back. Dena reached over, rubbed his upper arm. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat. “Mom must have done this in her last year. I can tell by his age. She captured him well.” He stroked the picture, as if stroking José’s nose.

“Was it meant as a gift for you?” Dena asked.

“She never said—”

“Sometimes mothers don’t say, they just do things, and leave clues.” She smiled up at him. “Did your mother have someone who framed her paintings?”

“Maybe Rocky, he’s handy with stuff like that—”

“I’m going to have this one framed for you.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I’d like that. There’s one of those Express framing places up near Point Happy.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t really want anyone to see what we’ve got, not yet. We’ll need to inventory all of these, title them—”

“There are long folding tables somewhere. Irma should know where they are. I’ll call her. She’ll be home from church soon.”

“Good.” Dena smiled at Zeke’s excitement. This was going to be so good for him. “We’ll have to frame many of the pictures and then assess their value. We’ll find a place to hold the art fair. Do the advertising, and—”

Zeke laughed and caught her hand. “I love your enthusiasm,” he said, then stilled and stared into her eyes. “Thank you, Dena.”

They were so close they could have kissed. She wanted him to kiss her, but he didn’t. So much for horoscopes; maybe the finding love thing was about the casita. She loved it. She hesitated, but her inner voice nudged at her to proceed. She might never solve the mystery surrounding Carli’s death, but she had to try.

“Um, Zeke, I’m wondering about something else.”

“Go ahead, ask.”

“If Rocky doesn’t approve of me living at the big house, I could clean up the casita for you and stay in here. It would save me money. We could work on the project together.”

His shoulders stiffened. “Mom spent her last days here.”

“I know, but that doesn’t bother me. I like the place. I feel a certain comfort,” she said, and softened her voice. “I can sense your mother. It would help me…so I can get in touch with her energy and best present her work, and—”

“Mom was kind of private.” He pushed at the edge of a painting with his boot and stared at the propped canvases. “I don’t…don’t feel anything…any connection.”

He waved his arms around at the room, and his face flushed with tension. “She’d become almost reclusive by the time I went to college. Every time I came home, the gap between us widened.”

Dena held her breath and her position, hearing the hurt and anger in his voice. She let her breath out through barely parted lips. This was good. Was he finally fighting for his rightful place? She sensed he hadn’t spoken with anyone about his mother. He frowned even deeper, and then turned to look at the paintings again. “I hardly knew her. She had this place, her art, that’s all she lived for. She hardly ever slept in the hacienda—”

“So when you came home, you lived there alone?” she asked, and sat on the armrest of one of the chairs.

“Yeah, but I never stayed for long. It’s not much different to how things are now—”

“The hacienda is kind of big, and empty.”

He shrugged. “Manny stays over.” He gave a short laugh that ended in a derisive snort. “My best buddy is an eighteen-year-old who runs with a wild crowd.”

Dena smiled. “I like Manny.”

“He’s a good kid. I try to help him in that big brother way.” Zeke shrugged again. “You can’t lecture to kids, it turns them away, makes them defensive. I’ve been trying to tell Irma that but she just grabs him and cuffs him when he misbehaves.”

She loved that he was opening up, and she felt the bonds of trust build between them. Guilt, over not having told him Carli was her sister, still bothered her. But one thing at a time, first she had to get him to let her stay for a while. Then she’d tell him.

“I walked in on an argument yesterday,” she said.

Zeke raised an eyebrow. “About going back to college?”

“Yep.”

“He doesn’t like being restricted, hates to sit in one spot for long. He needs a job with a high interest level, where he can use his people skills, and—”

“I offered him a job,” Dena said. “I told him if you let me stay, I’d hire him. He’s psyched about it. So is Irma.”

Zeke raised both of his eyebrows. “You move fast.”

“I do.”

“I used to be like that, but now—” He picked up a small painting and stared at it, then put it down. “Manny’s smart. We play a game of chess together. Or ride in the evening. But listen, if he works for you, I’m paying his salary. Deal?”

“You don’t have to. Besides, I thought it would seem more like a real job if I did.” She shrugged. “Coming from you it might—”

“Seem like a handout, I understand.” Zeke smiled. “So, you pay him, but I’ll pay you. He’s going to go places once he gets himself figured out.”

“You like him, trust him, right?”

Surprise registered. “Absolutely.”

“Good. I saw the photograph of his friend. The one accused of rape.” Her voice cracked with emotion. Tears threatened and she blinked hard. “I didn’t read the entire article, couldn’t—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He eased her up off the arm of the chair and pulled her close, pressed her head against his chest while he rubbed a hand up and down her back.

Dena felt like nestling closer, but maintained restraint. Being able to inhale his scent, feel the protection from his arms, was enough for now.

“Manny’s not bad like that. But he is loyal to his friends. That’s what scares me,” Zeke murmured into her hair. “I’d love to get him set up with something solid before I go back to L.A.”

“Okay. We’ll figure out payment later.”

Dena moved away a couple of steps and gazed out the window. Hearing Zeke talk of abandoning this place made her heart twinge. She couldn’t imagine him not being here, not tending to this farm. Her eyes roamed over the pool, the stables, and beyond to the pastures that spread toward the citrus groves that almost touched the mountains. There was a richness of culture, both Latino and Native American, that she longed to explore. How could Zeke not feel that, not like his heritage? Cabrera’s had farmed this land for three generations. She turned slowly, and looked up into his face. “So, what do you think? Can I live in the casita?”

“Sure.” He smiled down at her. “That should appease Rocky. Let’s get back to the hacienda and make a few calls. The phone down here has been turned off. I’ll call tomorrow for a reconnect.”

“Good,” she said, and strode along beside him. “In the meantime I have my cell phone. I forgot my charger, but it should last a day or two.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” Zeke grinned.

“I’ll clean the place today, and tomorrow we’ll start work. Do you have Manny’s phone number?”

“What do you need him for?”

Dena smiled. “I want to tell him he’s hired.”

Chapter Ten

Dena rubbed at her lower back and straightened. She’d been leaning in to clean the countertop microwave, and her muscles were starting to complain. She pushed the hair out of her eyes with one dirty yellow-gloved finger. Sweat ran down her face and she doubted she’d ever done this much housework in her life. It seemed everything was coated in dust.

In the background, the radio blared easy listening tunes and she hummed along. A shadow fell across the open doorway, and she looked up in surprise.

“Hello, Irma, what are you doing here?” she asked. “It’s Sunday.”

“Zeke tell me what you do. I come to help.” Irma smiled, unrolled an apron and slipped it around her waist.

“No. Really, it’s fine. You’re in your Sunday clothes. I’m happy to do this—”

“No.” Irma took the sponge from her hand.

Dena laughed. “Seriously, I can do this.”

“You lady, you go sit. I clean.”

Dean gave a shake of her head. “It’s your one day off—”

Irma walked across the room and began scrubbing the countertop. “
Bueno, mucho bueno
,” she said, and clasped her hands and the wet sponge in front of her chest. “I ask many times, let me do, he say no. He say close it up, leave alone.”

Dena peeled off the sweaty gloves, wiped her hands on the seat of her shorts, happy that she’d pleased Irma and aware it was no use fighting. “I notice there are none of Isabella’s personal effects in the bedroom.”

Irma frowned.

“No clothes,” Dena said, and pulled at her shirt.

“Zeke tell me to give away, but not the paintings.”

“Well, that’s a good thing.” Dena picked up a cloth and a can of furniture polish and moved to the living area. She started on the end tables. “I’ve already done the bedroom.”

“Zeke, he likes you. He listens.”

Dena looked up from her dusting. “I hope I can help him in the community. We’ll work on his public image first—”

“
Loco
,” Irma said. “Crazy people.” Then with a grim set to her mouth she went back to scrubbing and muttering in Spanish.

Dena smiled. She wasn’t sure how much English Irma knew or understood, so it didn’t seem necessary to explain what she would be doing to help Zeke. He would tell her.

“I’m going up to the house to check on the laundry,” Dena said. She’d taken the linens and the duvet to the laundry room, even though she figured they’d been cleaned after Isabella had died.

“You clean bathroom?” Irma asked.

“Yes. It’s just the kitchen, and then the tile floors and the vacuuming.”

Irma’s bronzed face creased into pleasant wrinkles. “You sit, is easy for me. You eat lunch?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t but wasn’t about to admit that. Besides, she’d pigged out at breakfast. She could definitely forgo the calories. “Where is Zeke?”

“With Manny, they bring the tables.”

Oh, so maybe she did need to explain some things. “Did he tell you what we’re doing? I’m sorry, my Spanish is not so good.”

“Is okay, my English—” Irma said, and tapped twice over her heart, “—is no good for speaking, but I understand.”

“Fabulous.” Dena brought Irma up to date on the plans for the art fair. Irma’s smile got wider and wider. Together they took the cushions off the armchairs, and Irma got the vacuum cleaner.

“Wait. There’s something stuck in the crease of the chair,” Dena said, and pulled up a string with several beads and a piece of turquoise threaded onto it.

Irma reached for it. “Mrs. Isabella, she make the necklaces.” She held the string of beads up to the light, examined it lovingly.

Dena couldn’t speak. She put out her hand and waited for Irma to give back the half-made necklace. The beads were the same as those in a necklace Carli had sent her last Christmas, and she’d said she had one the same. Had she known Isabella? Had Carli been here to this casita? Her heartbeat raced and her hands trembled. She sank into one of the armchairs and held the beads in a death grip.

“You sick?” Irma leaned down, peered up into Dena’s face.

She shook her head and tried to concentrate on taking deep breaths. “Dizzy.”

“Drink,” Irma said. She shoved the vacuum aside and filled a glass with water. She pushed it toward her. “Come, drink.”

Dena sipped the water, and wondered what Irma would think if she suddenly stuck her head in a paper bag to prevent a full-blown panic attack. She had to remember to breathe when these unexpected things hit her. She looked at the necklace. It was unfinished. It couldn’t have been Carli’s. She was being stupid, letting her mind run away with itself, looking for clues that weren’t there. Carli must have purchased the necklaces in town.