Unlock the Truth (16 page)

“Is good idea, the art fair,” Irma said. She spoke above the sound of the vacuum. “Mrs. Isabella, she would like. You’re good lady. You feel better?”

“Thank you.” That, coming from Irma, Dena sensed was a huge compliment. “Can you tell me something about Isabella?”

Irma’s back stiffened and she narrowed her eyes. She switched off the vacuum and thrust one hand against her ample hip. “Maybe.”

Dena ignored that. “Why did she choose to live here in the casita, and not in the big house?”

Irma started the vacuum again.

“Well, I mean,” Dena said, and raised her voice. “Was it because she painted late at night and then—”

“I know nothing,” Irma said. After a few minutes of aggressive vacuuming, she turned off the machine, and wound the cord with precision.

“She like it here,” Irma said, put the vacuum back in the closet and closed the door firmly.

Okay, so that was a definite “mind your own business.” They hadn’t become good enough friends yet, at least not enough for Irma to speak about anyone in the Cabrera family.

“I could understand that. It’s a lovely place. Did she sell a lot of jewelry?”

“No much.” Irma filled the sink with water. “She start to make last year—”

“I’m sure they were very pretty. If you’re okay here,” Dena said, and stood slowly. “I’ll run over and get the linens, and put the next load of wash in the dryer.”

“You go slow…no run,” Irma said, and patted her own cheek. “
Blanco
.”

“I’m fine.” Dena wondered exactly how pale her skin was. Her legs weren’t at all wobbly. That was good.

“In the big closet…new pillows. You get, okay? Mrs. Isabella, she want to live here when she get sick. I stay with her. We take her to the hospital, and two days later she die.”

“Oh, I thought…you know…that she died here. In the casita—”

“No, when the—” Irma said, and hit her chest a few times with the flat of her hand.

“Breathing?”

Irma nodded. “When breathing get bad, we call ambulance, take her to hospital.”

“It must have been so sad for everyone.”

Irma returned to polishing the tabletops Dena had already done.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Dena said, and softly closed the door. Zeke had said his mother spent her last days here, and she guessed he considered she was as good as gone when they rushed her off to the hospital.

Ambling toward the hacienda, Dena held up the necklace and let the sun bounce off the beads. For some reason, she was certain this tiny handful of beads on a string was a clue. Even if it didn’t mean that Carli had been in the casita, it felt like a connection. She blinked away the sudden smart of tears.

Darn, she was becoming so emotional. It was a lot harder looking for evidence than she’d imagined, and she had to advance slowly, carefully with the people here at Three C’s.

She pocketed the necklace. If she could help Zeke redeem his good name, then she’d try again to get some answers from Irma. Maybe in time, the woman would trust her enough to share. She looked up when Zeke and Manny came down the path. Each of them gripped the ends of a six-foot long folding table, with Zeke walking backwards.

“Hey, that looks perfect,” Dena said.

“We’ve got two more. If we set them up along there—” Zeke turned slightly to grin at her. “Right up against the outside wall of the casita, we can stand the canvases—”

“Perfect.” Dena smiled. “Hey, thanks for coming in on your day off, Manny. When we get the casita clean, I’d like to go over the plans for you and your job.”

“Any time is good for me.”

“Are you going out this afternoon?”

“No. Tonight, but not until late.”

Zeke shook his head and lowered his end of the table. “My people, they make plans all around me and leave me in the dark.”

Dena laughed. “Well, here’s another plan. Irma and I will be done with the casita in an hour. Is there a good pizza delivery place in town?”

“Yeah,” Manny said.

“Are you inviting us to dinner?” Zeke asked.

“Sure. It’ll be my first night in the casita. If you bring the wine, I’ll buy the pizza. There’s a small refrigerator and a microwave, but no oven. So pizza—”

“Admit it,” Zeke said, and grinned, the corner of his mouth dimpling on the right side. “You can’t cook.”

Manny laughed.

“I can so,” Dena said. She tilted her chin. “I’m an excellent cook. California cuisine is my specialty.”

Zeke winked at Manny. “That means pizza and salad.”

“Okay, have fun.” She attempted her best haughty air. “I was going to use the main kitchen and make my penne pasta Anna. I sauté garlic in olive oil, add red peppers, spinach, goat cheese, and—”

Zeke’s mouth dropped open. “That sounds fabulous.”

“Too bad. You missed your chance.” Dena strode toward the back verandah.

“Who is Anna?” Manny yelled after her.

Dena frowned and looked back. “Oh, my recipe,” she said, and laughed. “Anna is the daughter of a friend. She’s a fabulous chef, but too old for you.”

Manny put on a sad face. “If you make that, maybe Mama will make a salad. It would be a feast.”

Dena stared at him. He was almost drooling. “Didn’t you just come from lunch?”

“Yeah. Two hours ago.”

“Men!” she said, and shook her head.

“Come on, Manny.” Zeke laughed, and lifted his end of the table again. “Let’s get this positioned then we’ll take a swim before dinner.” He turned. “Hey, which wine goes best with that pasta?”

Dena stood on the verandah steps, shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun, and grinned at his boyish expression. “Pinot Grigio, do you have any?”

“I think it can be arranged,” Zeke said, and hustled Manny down the path.

Dena checked the refrigerator for the vegetables and found every ingredient she’d need in the crisper. In the dairy compartment she found a block of Parmesan and a packet of goat cheese. Plus, there was pasta in the pantry, plenty of olive oil, cracked black pepper, fresh garlic, and her secret ingredient, a jar of Kalamata olives.

She couldn’t wait to play in the kitchen but first she’d need Irma’s blessing, even though it was Sunday.

****

That evening, Zeke leaned against the end of an armchair and stretched his legs out on the rug. He was flushed from the wine and the heat from sitting so close to Dena. She sat behind him and his head rested against her legs. A man could get used to these comforts.

Flames flickered around the artificial logs in the small gas fireplace and he watched everyone relax after the huge meal. “That was an amazing meal, Dena—”

“Thanks, but Irma helped too.”

“Not so much,” Irma said, and giggled.

“You know the chairs are recliners, don’t you?” Zeke asked, and turned his face up to Dena. “There’s no handle. Sit back deep and use your body weight against the back of the chair. Want me to show you?”

“No. But you better move before I pop this footrest up.”

Zeke moved to one side. The door was open, the windows open, and the cool night breezes flowed through the casita. It wasn’t really cold enough for a fire, but they’d all agreed it set the mood.

“What are you looking so smug about?” Dena asked, and gave him a quick dig in the shoulder with her bare toes.

He tilted his head back again. “You’ll never know.”

She laughed, reached forward and mussed his hair. “Don’t expect dinner like this every night. I’m going to have a lot of work to do to pull off this event before the holidays. Besides, Irma and I slaved in the kitchen for hours.”

****

Irma laughed. Zeke watched her with deep affection. She had a throaty chuckle going with the help of two glasses of red wine. She’d made her own selection from the wine cellar and was now in a recliner with the footrest raised. He liked how she and Dena had warmed up to each other. It had been far too long since there’d been laughter at Three C’s. He had Dena to thank for that.

Manny came in from outside, were he’d gone for a cigarette, and lounged in the doorway.

“Are you ready to leave, Manny?” Zeke asked.

“Nah. This is cool. It’s a happy place.” He pulled up a kitchen chair and straddled it. “Like old times.”

Zeke had to admit it had been a fabulous evening, yet it depressed him to think it was the first time he’d ever had a meal in the casita. Obviously, Manny knew his mother better than he ever had. He pushed aside all gloomy thoughts and watched Dena walk to the kitchen barefoot. She wore a soft flowing skirt and one of those tops with shoestring straps and a built-in bra. He liked those tops. She’d had a cardigan on earlier, but peeled it off as the fire had warmed up the room. Thoughts of lifting the straps to kiss her shoulders stirred his body. He’d made his decision.

It was too soon. It would only complicate matters.

She turned and caught him watching her. “What?” she asked.

“You’ve gone native.”

“Oh.” She smiled and lifted one corner of her skirt. “Yeah, I suppose.” She twirled and the hem flared. “It’s the desert look, long skirt and no shoes—”

“Unless you go outside,” Zeke said, and raised his wine glass. “You’d burn those tender city feet.”

There was a moment there, where something deep passed between them. A zing that penetrated his heart, and he swallowed hard. It was too soon, too soon.

“It used to be happy here, like this,” Manny said, and a momentary sadness washed over his young face. Then he beamed at them. “All the time…I’d hear Isabella laughing when I came home late, and—”

“Manny, help to Dena with the dishes,” Irma said, and pointed toward the kitchen area.

Zeke noticed the change in tone, the dark glare Irma shot her son. Maybe she thought it would depress him to talk of his mother. Dena watched everyone with a wide-eyed look, one he’d come to recognize. He knew what was going on behind those pretty blue eyes. That was her “I’ve found another clue” look. What had irked Irma? “Dena and I can do the dishes later,” Zeke said, and sat up straighter. “So you used to hear Mom laughing in here, Manny?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought she was depressed in her later years.” He shrugged, kept his voice casual. “But then, I didn’t see her often.”

“She got sad toward the end, but before—”

“You come, Manny.” Irma pushed down the footrest and almost sprang out of the recliner. “
Si
, she was happy, and beautiful.” She clapped her hands then waved them around. “But now we must clean.”

So his mother hadn’t been depressed, she’d withdrawn from him. Pain shot through his chest. Why would she do that? He’d often talked with Manny, but they’d never discussed his mother before. He realized he wanted to, but not with Irma around.

Dena walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “We need to talk business with Manny.”

Irma stood in the kitchen area, Zeke was certain, ready to monitor what her son might let slip. Why was she being so overprotective?

“Sure,” Zeke said. “What did you have in mind?”

Manny stretched his shoulders. For once, he didn’t look like he was in any hurry to run out and meet up with the boys. He ambled across the room and sat opposite Zeke, trying to keep the eagerness from his young face.

“Can you make picture frames?” Dena asked Manny.

“I never have, but how hard could it be?”

“You have to miter the corners and—”

“That’s easy,” Manny said. “There’s a miter box in the garage. It’s in the boxes with Isabella and Rocky’s jewelry-making kits and beads.”

Dena sucked in a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?” Zeke asked. He got up from the floor and sat in an armchair so he could peer into her face. She looked pale and pained.

“Nothing, I didn’t know…you know…that there were still things like that of your mother’s.”

Irma bustled around the kitchen and noisily scraped and stacked the dirty dishes.

“Well, something is wrong. You look worried,” Zeke said, losing patience.

There were many things he didn’t know about Three C’s, and his family, but the glimmers of information were being snuffed out all around him. What was the big secret? What had Manny said, something about jewelry making stuff? He frowned at Dena.

“Hang on,” she said, hurrying into the bedroom.

She came back with the string of beads. “I found this in the crease of an armchair,” she said. “Your mother was in the process of making it—”

“Yeah,” Zeke said. “I heard she’d been—”

“This one is almost identical to the one my…my friend sent me last Christmas,” Dena said softly.

Oh shit
. Carli, the murdered woman, had a necklace of his mothers? So did Dena? He swallowed hard. What did this mean? His pulse pounded in his ears and his hands felt damp.

“I’m sorry,” Zeke said, feigning a calm he didn’t feel. He watched Dena’s eyes cloud over again, and turned to Manny. “Did Mom sell these?”

“She sold some in town. Debbie Williams over at the Health Spa bought some as healing beads.” Manny shrugged. “But most of them were donated to the church bazaar that’s held in early December.”

Debbie Williams owned a spa? Zeke frowned. How come he didn’t know that? He really needed to catch up with some of his old high school friends. She had called several times but he’d had Irma say he was out of town, not really wanting to talk. But that was then. Now he realized he wanted to meet people. But what had Manny said about the bazaar? He turned back to Dena who still stood.

“That’s right,” Dena said, and gripped the back of the chair in front of her. Her face flushed with excitement. “I remember now, Carli had mentioned a church bazaar. What is the name of that church?”

“St. Matthews,” Manny said. “It’s on Avenue Fifty. Why? What’s wrong?”

Dena was so excited, pale one moment, flushed the next. Irma on the other hand was still making excessive noise in the kitchen. That was unlike her. Usually, when she did the housework, she was as quiet as a mouse.

“St. Matthews?” Zeke kept his voice casual. “But that wasn’t the family church—”

“It’s Rocky’s, remember?” Manny said. “He sells the jewelry at the fair, and gives the proceeds to the church. His stand is called Roberto’s Rocks and—”