Unlock the Truth (20 page)

Zeke held back his comments. He’d let the guy spew his venom.

“They’re scared, the family men.” Cyril stopped, spread his feet wider and shoved fisted hands against his sides. “Want nothing to do with your place with its haunted grounds.”

Zeke’s fist tightened. He itched to take a swing at the guy but of course he wouldn’t. He’d heard whispers about the haunted grounds but that was ridiculous. He stood there in the concrete parking lot, sweat trickling down his face. No way would he walk off like some frightened kid.

Cyril turned, spat into the bushes. “You’ll have to make do with whatever wetbacks you can find.”

Zeke didn’t hire illegal aliens. Cyril knew that. Three C’s never had and never would. It was just a way for the man to throw another insult. Zeke ignored the taunts but it took every muscle fiber in his body to do so.

“See you around, Cyril,” he said, raised a hand in farewell and actually grinned.

He climbed into the car. Anger rose in his chest in waves, but he gave a quick smile to Dena, and turned the air vent toward his wet brow. “Let’s go.”

She drove out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway.

His hands still shook. “Damn, look at me, I’m a mess,” he said, after a few minutes had passed. He stared at his hands. “I wanted to punch his lights out.”

“Me too,” she said, and grinned over at him. “Want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, yeah sure, that might help.” He sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. He kept them closed while he filled her in on who said what.

“And can you believe it?” he asked, and turned his whole body to face her. “He said ‘my’ church like he owns St. Matthews.” Zeke shook his head in disgust. “He thinks he owns the whole damn valley.”

“Well, it’s nothing I didn’t already know,” Dena said.

“What? You knew about his attitude?”

“Sure. I questioned Manny about him. Plus, I have a file that has all kinds of info—”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I tried last night, remember?” Dena frowned, and shook her head. “Calm down, Zeke. I think he’s been bad-mouthing you to the workmen. Little comments you’ll never be able to prove. You won’t get him for slander, but he’ll do a good job to keep undermining your business.”

“How?”

“Playing the race and religion cards. I’ll bet he goes that route with his new advertising, too. Latinos can often be superstitious. It’s only a guess but I’ll bet he’s paid off someone to spread the rumors amongst the workmen that your land is haunted by the ghosts of the dead women. Or, he’s made claims that their womenfolk and children aren’t safe there.”

“I never thought of that. I did wonder, after you’d asked if he could have had a hand in blackballing Three C’s—”

“He’s a businessman. He saw an opportunity and went for it.”

Zeke ran a hand through his hair. The family business was being run into the ground. It didn’t look like Rocky was doing much to—He turned toward Dena. “They all belong to the same church, St. Matthews.”

“I know. Irma, Manny, Rocky, Cyril, and all of the Latino family men who are permanent workers on the estates, and most of the young Latinos and the women who make part-time livings on the farmlands are all either members of the church, or their parents are.”

Zeke blew out a gust of air. He massaged his scalp. “So, what do we do?”

Dena smiled. “I have a plan. Give me two days and you’ll have all the workmen you need.”

“Okay,” he said. He doubted she could pull that off, but on the other hand knew her tenaciousness. If anyone could do that, it would be Dena. “I have to drive up to L.A. tomorrow afternoon and meet with my clients. I have a couple of out-of-state buyers who are on their way to Vegas.”

“Excellent.” She scrunched up her mouth and squinted. “Think he dyes his hair?”

Zeke frowned. “Who?”

“Cyril.” She grinned. “It’s unnaturally black.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. He’d be Mom’s age, late fifties.” He turned and frowned again. “Will you be okay, staying at Three C’s alone?”

“Sure.”

He swallowed hard. Was it right, safe enough?

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Stop worrying.”

How did she do that? How did she always know what he was thinking?

“Okay. Maybe I should put a safety-chain lock on the casita door. It does have a strong dead bolt, but just to make sure.”

“Fine.”

“Or, better still, you can sleep in the guest room at the hacienda.”

Dena shook her head. “The extra lock will be enough. Plus I’ll ask Manny to stay overnight at the hacienda.”

He pressed his lips tight. It was a show of good faith, Dena saying that. He was certain Manny was innocent. Rocky was acting weird, but in his heart he didn’t believe he could be guilty of hurting women, let alone murdering them. Both men would look out for Dena’s safety. He felt sure of that.

Chapter Thirteen

“I’m going to beg off lunch,” Zeke said, once they’d all congregated in the kitchen. “I’ll take coffee to the office and work on the books.”

“Come see me later, okay?” Dena asked.

“Sure.” He ambled over to the coffee pot and gave Irma, who still sobbed uncontrollably, wide berth.

Dena figured he didn’t handle tears well. What man did? His eyebrows rose when Irma let fly with a wail that could awaken the dead, then he backed out of the room and hurried down the hall. Manny shot Dena a look of apology. “Thank you, Irma,” Dena said, as the plate was placed in front of her. She’d wanted to help the woman prepare lunch, but her assistance had been refused. Manny sat at the table next to her, his posture rigid. She was sure every bite of sandwich he took was like swallowing concrete. It felt like that to her.

“I’m not hungry.” Dena pushed her plate away. “Maybe I’ll do some work.”

“I’ll come with you,” Manny said, and started to get up.

“Stay with your mother,” Dena said softly. “She needs you.”

Manny ducked his head. “Okay, sure.”

She slipped quietly out of the room. Her heart ached too much for the young man. He had so much pain and confusion in his big black eyes and she wanted to somehow fix that. But what could she do? Perhaps she’d speak with Zeke later on. It wasn’t really her place to interfere and yet, already, she felt like she was part of this big extended family.

Walking past the pool, Dena saw the clock-thermometer registered two-fifteen. She opened the door of the casita and smiled at the black cat. So far she hadn’t run across any feral cats. Tonight she’d set out a bowl of water and some food scraps.

The place was cool and inviting, and she loved the vibes that spoke of home. She kicked off her shoes, ambled into the bedroom, stretched across the bed and dialed her previous receptionist.

“Hey, Wendy, how goes it?”

“Dena,” Wendy said, in an almost squeal, then softened her voice and spoke with precision.

Dena grinned. It was that whole PR image thing. It seeped through her cell phone and into her ear and felt both familiar and foreign at the same time. To think three days ago that had been her. “Cut the good behavior, Wendy, it’s me.”

Wendy laughed. “You sound great. How is everything?”

“I’m helping Zeke sort through some business issues.”

“So, you…um…you like him?” Wendy asked.

Dena laughed. “Don’t let your mind run wild. He’s a nice guy in a terrible bind—”

“But you trust him?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s good. Hang on. I need to take this call from BJ.”

Dena listened to the “on hold” music. It was always the same. She could almost guess the title of the next song. That part of her life seemed so long ago. And truthfully, she didn’t miss it at all.

“Hey, I’m back,” Wendy said, less than a minute later.

“Do you want me to call any clients?” Dena asked. Not that she wanted to, but if Wendy needed help she’d do that for her. Besides, she’d had a strong relationship with some of them. She owed an explanation for her sudden resignation, and planned to say she needed to concentrate on family issues.

“I spoke to everyone this morning. BJ asked me to go to the psychologist’s meeting with him tomorrow.”

“That’s good, I’m glad he trusts you like that. You two are hitting it off—”

“We always have.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for calling everyone. I’ll place some personal calls later in the week. Anything that I can help with by phone is no problem, Wendy. I’m grateful you could take over.”

“No, it’s me who is grateful,” Wendy said, and lowered her voice. “I love this job. Is there anything special I should know about Steve?”

“Oh, that’s easy. He’s a simple beast,” Dena said, and laughed again. “There’s a list of ways you’ll be able to tell if you’re treading on thin ice. Are you ready?”

“Yes, thanks. Go ahead.”

Five minutes later Dena ended the call. That had gone well. The old job was one less problem to worry about. She dialed her mother.

“Mom, how are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m glad you called. Ruthie’s out at the pool.”

“That’s nice—”

“I’m ready to talk about, you know, what we were going to talk about this morning.”

Dena almost sighed but stopped herself in time. They’d had years of difference of opinion. It wasn’t going to be solved in a five minute conversation. But she would try.

“You said you owed me an apology,” Dena said, and tried hard to keep any expectation out of her voice. “I guess we could start there. But, maybe I owe you one.”

“How do you figure that?”

“We’ve never really agreed on much.” She thought about Zeke’s comments, and his pain and loss. She’d take his advice and try to mend this rift with her mother. Life really is too short to hang onto old hurts. “If I’d just tried harder—”

“No. It isn’t your fault, Dena,” her mother said. “I was always jealous of your relationship with your dad.”

“Really?” Surprise jolted through her. Her mother was jealous, of her? Who’d have guessed?

“Yes, I wanted to be smart, not just pretty. I wanted to be that for your dad. Even when you were a little kid you could relate to him better than I could.”

Dena swallowed hard at her mother’s sudden resentful tone. “And then Carli was born.”

“Well, it was just…it was, she was like me,” her mother said. “I understood her.”

She hadn’t said, “and I resented you, so I gave every ounce of my love to your sister” but Dena knew the story.

“Listen, Mom, you’re a smart lady. You have an incredible sense of color and style. You’re a natural born decorator—”

“Fluff honey, that stuff is just fluff and nonsense,” her mother said bitterly.

She knew the pinched look her mother would have on her face. “Well, I think it’s a talent. I’m not at all artistically creative—”

“But you’re educated,” her mother said. “Nobody takes that decorating stuff seriously.” She scoffed. “
Any
woman can do that.”

Darn. She’d complimented something her mother didn’t like about herself. How was she supposed to know that?

“Some people make it a career. It’s as important as you want to make it.” Dena bit her lip. Her mother had never had a career. She’d gone straight from college to marriage. This whole conversation was doomed.

“You sound like my therapist,” her mother said sharply.

Well, there you go. Doomed, absolutely doomed
. Two minutes of conversation and they were at a stalemate. Dena groped around in her mental filing cabinet and searched for labels that said “Mom is smart,” however, “Mom is spoiled and selfish” kept popping into her thoughts.

“I’ve upset you again, or—”

“It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t,” Dena said softly. “You want to talk about something but—”

“Forget it. This conversation is over.”

The sharp sting of the rebuff reverberated through Dena’s body. Mom had shut her out again. She wanted to scream. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut and let her mother find her own way to broach the apology? Why was she always fixing things, taking care of everyone else’s needs? Smoothing ruffled feathers? She was about to hang up, thinking the conversation had ended when her mother spoke again.

“Are you still working?”

“Yes, I’m staying busy,” Dena said. Work was the story of her life. That she could always count on.

“You’re in Palm Springs?”

“Yes, I—”

“That Cabrera guy should be shot—”

“Mom!” Dena’s heart about jumped into her throat. She took a couple of deep breaths and steadied herself. “You can’t say that, there’s no evidence—”

“Well, I just did say it. And I believe it. There’s something shifty about his eyes.”

“What? That’s crazy.” The words had come out sharper than she’d intended. Crazy wasn’t a smart choice of words to use with someone deep into psychoanalysis and popping anti-depressants like candy. “When did you see his eyes?”

“In photographs, in the newspapers, photos don’t lie you know. Besides, his eyebrows are too close together.”

She knew Zeke and believed one hundred percent in his innocence. He was a victim. Suspicion had been cast on him by someone who could gain…gain what? Her eyes narrowed. And anyway, his eyebrows were not too close together.

“You still there?” her mother asked.

“Yes. I was thinking—”

“Who is your client down there in the desert?”

“Oh, uh…I can’t say. It’s a confidential matter. Once it’s all cleared up, I’ll tell you.”

“I called your office. The receptionist said you no longer worked there.”

So, that’s what this was all about, she was spying.
Damn it to hell. Mom hadn’t wanted to apologize at all.
Dena’s heart pumped like crazy. Why had she allowed herself to trust even for a minute? She took a deep breath, tried to calm her anger. When would she ever get this relationship right?

“That’s true,” Dena said, as calmly as she could. “I was going to tell you when I got home. I’m doing consulting work, and then I’ll start my own business.” She didn’t say as a PI. Let her mother think what she wanted. “Why did you call the office instead of my cell?”

“I had a dream you were in danger,” her mother said softly. “Are you? I was so worried.”