Unlock the Truth (19 page)

“Maybe Manny won’t work for her after all,” Rocky said, sat back and shrugged.

“What?”

“Cops came by Irma’s place this morning. Took him in for questioning.”

“What for?” Cold fingers of fear gripped his stomach as he tried to concentrate. He wouldn’t go there, not yet.

“That college girl came out of the coma or shock or whatever. She said the rapist wasn’t the white kid, you know, the one who has tattoos all over him. The rapist had brown skin. She thinks it was some Latino friend of his—”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Zeke jumped up, his head pounding, and started looking for things. He patted his jeans pocket.
Wallet, keys. Good. Where did I leave the cell phone
? He swiveled his head toward the credenza, and then back to the desk.

“Sit down,” Rocky said. “They won’t let you near him. He and two other boys are—”

“Where is Irma?”

“I drove her over to the P.D. in Indio.” Rocky shrugged. “He could make one call, and he called her.”

Zeke’s eyes widened and he broke into a sweat. “And she didn’t tell me? You didn’t tell me?”

“You were in the shower.” Rocky huffed at the suggestion he’d slipped up or been negligent. “She asked me to tell you,” he shouted. “I’m telling you now.”

Zeke sat back down, felt bile rise into the back of his throat as his stomach churned. He put his head in his hands. Had Manny raped the college student, had he raped and murdered the other two women? He was still at the Sandbar that night, after the fight with Susie.

He stood.
No! The kid is innocent
.

“I need to go and support Irma. See how I can help. Get Manny a lawyer—”

“You want to tell me what’s going on with Dena Roman?” Rocky asked. “What she’s working on?”

“Not right now.” He lifted up a bunch of papers and magazines. Where was his BlackBerry?

“Okay,” Rocky said, standing. “We can discuss business tomorrow. You want to leave the hiring up to me?”

“Yes.”

“Two new guys?”

“Sure, three, whatever you need.” He lifted up another stack of papers and found the phone underneath a magazine. Rocky gave a curt nod and left.

Zeke scanned the messages. There was one from Dena saying Manny hadn’t turned up for work. He shoved the phone in his jeans pocket and sprinted toward the casita. He had to tell her, but would it open too many partially sealed wounds? Her friend had been raped and murdered here.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Should he say anything at all?

****

“I’m glad you told me, Zeke,” Dena said, and held him close. “I’m going to the P.D. with you.”

He shook his head. “Maybe it would be better if—”

“I might be able to help.” She planted her feet firmly in front of him in the most stubborn stance she could muster. “I believe in Manny’s innocence.”

“You do?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

“You don’t think…um…you know—” He waved a hand toward the hotel site.

Dena felt a wave of sympathy for him, for Irma, and for Manny. It had been one hell of a morning. “What, do you think that he raped Carli, and Susie, then murdered them?”

Zeke stared at her, his mouth gaped open.

She grabbed his arm and gave it a shake. “Absolutely not, he didn’t, now snap out of this.”

“I know,” he said, and shook his head hard. “I don’t believe he did either, but this is getting worse and worse for Three C’s. I’ve thought about what you said about Steve representing me—”

“Yes?”

“I’ll give him a call.”

“Good, that’s an excellent idea. I’ll set it up later.” Dena grabbed her purse and her cell. She’d have to tell him the truth about Carli before he got to talk with Steve.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll drive.”

Her car was in his driveway, which meant they had to hurry back through the house. She heard Rocky’s voice in the kitchen.

“Rocky’s on the phone, hiring more farmhands,” he whispered, took her elbow, and urged her toward the front door. “We argued about you staying here. I told him it’s my business. I don’t want to get into another conversation just yet.”

At least Zeke was willing to fight for himself, for this place, for whatever it was he’d been running away from. Dena let him propel her down the long hallway.

“You told him I’m staying?” she asked, once they were a safe distance from the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t happy about that.” She walked out into the bright sunlight and slipped her sunglasses on. “He doesn’t like me much.”

“It’s not that, Dena. I think he’s afraid.”

Dena clicked the key and unlocked the doors. What did Roberto Rock have to be afraid of? Her spine tingled. Now wasn’t the time to focus on him, they had to get to Manny and Irma. She climbed in, clipped her seat belt, and watched Zeke do the same. Unable to resist, she turned toward him.

“What’s Rocky got to be afraid of?”

“That there’s a rapist on the loose, and you’re young and attractive.”

Dena started the car and drove down the long road. She could feel him watching her. “Well, thanks for the compliment,” she said, and laughed. “I’m not so young, or attractive—”

“Don’t joke. Your safety worries me.”

“I can take care of myself. I’m not like Carli, or Susie, who both loved the bar scene. I haven’t got time to socialize.”

“Not even with me?” Zeke asked, and turned toward her.

“Okay, maybe with you.” She patted his knee. “But the truth is I won’t leave the estate the entire time I’m here.”

“But you’re suspicious of Rocky, and he works here—”

“Look, I’ll be safe. Everything I need to set up for this art fair can be handled by phone and email. Besides, I’m not a petite redhead.”

“Good. Anything you need to do in the community, you ask me to tag along. Okay?”

“Yes, boss.” She smiled and turned into the Indio P.D. She hadn’t had to ask a single direction. She’d been in the desert since Friday, and the P.D. was the one place she knew how to get to with ease. She cruised past the rows of Riverside Sheriff’s cars and circled twice until she found an open parking spot.

They walked in the front door of the P.D. and Dena felt her entire body relax. There in the outer office, Irma held Manny tight to her chest. A cop stood to one side, still talking with them. That was a good sign, Manny wasn’t being detained.

Zeke walked over and shook hands with the cop and asked a couple of questions. He put a hand on Manny’s back and smiled at Irma. Irma wiped her eyes but it was a wasted effort. Dena moved closer, slipped her arm through Zeke’s.

“Manny gave us a statement,” the cop said. “It seems he has an alibi. We’ll check it out and be in touch if we have any more questions.”

“Did he have to post bail?” Zeke asked.

The cop shook his head. “No. This was just to record his statement. We suggested though that he doesn’t leave town in case there are any more questions.”

Manny looked over Irma’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming in,” he said.

Dena smiled.

“Did you find out anything about the shooting on my property?” Zeke asked the deputy. “Someone fired at Dena on Saturday morning.”

“Yeah, yeah—” The cop scratched at his neck. “—I was going to call. I did talk with Cyril Johnston again. He said kids were skylarking on the edge of his property, and he’d chased them off.”

“On Saturday?” Dena frowned. She hadn’t seen any kids, or cars, or bikes.

“Cyril said he’d had to get after them a couple of times during the week.”

“Thanks,” Zeke said, and shook hands with the cop. “I guess that’s what happened then, kids hunting.”

Dena walked over and patted Manny’s arm. She knew those were not random shots, they were a warning for her. It was time for a friendly visit to the Johnston property.

“Let’s get out of here.” Zeke held the door open and ushered them all outside.

“Would you rather wait, start work tomorrow, Manny?” Dena asked. “I’m sure you’re a bit shaken—”

“No, I need to work off this anxiety. That’s the first time I’ve been in there.” He shuddered and turned back to look at the P.D. “Now I know how you felt, Zeke.”

Zeke nodded and held Irma’s hand. “It’s no fun.”

“The first time?” Dena asked. She thought he was supposed to be a wild kid.

“Yeah, the cops sometimes stop me for speeding and give me a warning or a ticket,” he said, and grimaced. “Sometimes they’ll ask questions. You know, fish for information on others. But I’ve never been in there before—”

“No speed,” Irma said, and shook her head. “No run
loco
—”

“Mama, it’s going to be okay…all right?” Manny said in an almost whisper, then he spoke rapidly in Spanish.

Irma’s mouth tightened and she shook her head, mumbling in Spanish. Dena could only imagine what was being said.

“Where are the keys, Mama? I’ll drive,” Manny said. “Do you want me to take you home, or to Three C’s?”

Irma stared at him for a moment. She straightened her shoulders, her chest puffed out. “I go to work.”

****

Dena smiled. They were so devoted to Three C’s.

Zeke watched Manny and Irma walk away, and pushed down on the sadness trying to well up inside of him. He opened Dena’s car door. “Want me to drive?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

He held the door until she climbed in, closed it, and hurried around to the passenger side. Dena started the car but he felt, or heard, someone rush up behind him. He swung around.

“Cyril,” he said, and offered his hand. “How are you?”

The man was red-faced and out of breath. “Heard that kid was taken into custody.”

Dena lowered the passenger side window and leaned across the seats. Her gaze was questioning. Zeke didn’t want to introduce her, but neither did he want her asking questions. “It’s Cyril Johnston, from West Coast Citrus,” Zeke said. “Cyril this is—”

“Hang on.” Cyril wheezed. “Just need a minute.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his face.

Damn.
Dena climbed out, closed the car door, left the car idling. Zeke noticed her eyes shone like the bright blue sky behind her. She walked around the car, stuck out her hand.

“Dena Roman,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Johnston. I’ve heard great things about your company.”

Cyril stared at her, then at Zeke.

“I’m Zeke’s PR rep from Los Angeles,” Dena said, her voice almost a purr. “We’re working on plans for his company image.”

“Oh?” Cyril peered hard at Dena. “I thought you were the girlfriend.” So, word had traveled fast. Dena neither denied nor agreed. Zeke held back a grin. Cyril could be a tough old buzzard and he had a finger in every pie in this community. You needed to know anything, Cyril was your man. But he didn’t want him knowing all of Three C’s business, or his own for that matter.

“I’m hoping our campaign doesn’t bother you, Mr. Johnston,” Dena said. “I intended to call you this week and introduce myself. How strange we should run into you here. Nobody in trouble, I hope.”

Cyril was flustered for a moment then quickly got control. Zeke straightened, paid attention. His mother’s favorite expression, “
atizar el fuego”
ran through his mind. If he didn’t know better he’d think Dena was, if not poking the fire, at least baiting the old man.

“No, no trouble.” Cyril shook his head. He sneered. “We have a new ad campaign ourselves, over at West Coast—”

“Well, that’s great,” Dena said.

She sent him her dazzling PR smile and all Zeke could think was,
uh oh
.

“It’s healthy to have competition, don’t you think?”

Cyril glared at her. Zeke stood to one side, arms crossed casually over his chest, and observed the two.

Cyril’s eyes narrowed then he jerked his chin upward. “Can I speak with you for a minute, Zeke?”

“Sure. Hop in and turn on the air, Dena.”

Zeke didn’t look her way. He knew with her curious nature she’d be irritated. He had a suspicion that Cyril was the person Stanton had hinted at that had caused his business woes. And now Cyril had a new ad campaign.
Huh. How about that
? He walked over to the only spot of shade beneath a spindly tamarisk tree.

Cyril followed. “I’m concerned about that boy,” he said, wiped his hands on his handkerchief and stuck it back in his pants’ pocket.

“Who, Manny? That’s not really your business, but—”

“It is my business. Hell, it’s the community’s business,” Cyril said, and his tone got angrier. “I—”

“Wait,” Zeke said. He raised his hand. He’d been about to thank the man for his concern, hadn’t realized this was an attack on Manny’s character. “Manny is not in custody—”

“He’s wild…that kid…a gang-banger. A bad influence on the Latinos I hire,” Cyril said as if Zeke hadn’t spoken. He shoved at his dark hair. “I won’t use him in my fields, or any of his rough-n-tumble friends. The boys look up to him and—”

“And maybe they should look up to him,” Zeke said coolly, and stepped away.

“What?”

“He’s a fine young man, and a good worker. He does the work of three men, and without complaint. He’s never late, never calls in sick. And he loves and protects his mother—”

“I know that family,” Cyril said. “They belong to
my
church. She’s a good woman, but that boy—”

“Man,” Zeke said. “He’s a young man, an innocent young man.” Sweat beaded along his hairline. He wanted to take a swing at the old guy. “Now, if that’s all you have to say I’ll be going. I’ve got work to do.”

Zeke strode away. Cyril might be competition, might be well-known and liked in the community, but that didn’t mean he had to like him.

“Doesn’t matter what you do in your public relations campaign,” Cyril called out. “Big city lawyers aren’t worth diddly squat down here.”

Zeke turned and stared at him.

“While you’ve got the likes of him working for you, you won’t find an accomplished farmhand willing to work at Three C’s,” Cyril yelled. His face was red and contorted with anger and he moved closer again.