Unlock the Truth (22 page)

Should she tell Zeke? Did it matter?

She thought it over for a few minutes. Maybe it would help him to understand his mother’s need for privacy. But like Manny had said, were either of them in a position to say anything?

Chapter Fourteen

Four o’clock came too soon. Dena paced the small casita, picking up items, inspecting them, putting them back. She’d sent Manny on an errand, wanting the time alone to quiz Bob Carmine, the telephone repairman.

He arrived fifteen minutes late, which made her even more anxious. She eyed her watch for the hundredth time. Her plan to ride over to Cyril’s place after Bob finished his work was fading fast. She needed time for a shower before dinner.

Bob said something about the phone number. Dena frowned, asked him to repeat it.

“Oh,” she said. “I hadn’t realized the number was the same as the house number.”

“I can make it a separate line.”

The name on his uniform, Bob, danced before her eyes. She swallowed hard and shook her head. “It’s not my place, not my decision.”

“The request here says to activate the existing jack.” He raised the clipboard, watched her. “It’s your call. Be the easiest and quickest thing to do, won’t require any rewiring.”

Had he noticed her checking the time?

“Just do whatever the order says.” How would she go about sharing a line with Zeke? She paced back to the living area, watched Bob check the wires in the jack on the kitchen wall, and tried to stop her heart from racing so fast.

“Huh. Nothing wrong with it,” he said, and turned to stare at her. “You ever pick up the handset?”

Dena shook her head. “No. I was told it didn’t work.”

“Well, you’ve got dial tone. Ringer’s been turned off, that’s all.”

“So, whoever lived here before didn’t want to hear the incoming calls to the house?” That was interesting. “I’m so sorry you had to drive out all this way.”

“No problem. I’ll hang with Manny for a few minutes.”

“He went to the art store in town. I’m not certain he’s back.” She swallowed hard then took in a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. If this Bobby was the bad guy, should she be reminding him she was alone here? She forced a smile. “He said you two are friends. You’re Bobby, right?”

“Bobby?” he scoffed. “Can’t stand being called that, hated it in kindergarten, still do.” He laughed. “Manny must have had an off day.”

“Sorry.” Dena laughed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “No, it’s me. I have a cousin named Bobby. I see the name Bob and automatically think of him.”

“Geez, my wife sometimes calls our son Bobby, and even then I cringe.”

“What do you call your son?”

“Robert, or Junior.” He laughed, shoving a few tools back into his utility belt. He waved a hand toward the canvases in the living room. “Manny said you guys are organizing an art fair.”

“Yes. Are you interested in art?”

“Nope, I leave that stuff to Manny. I haven’t got a creative bone in my body.”

Dena smiled and walked him up toward the hacienda. His cell phone rang and he grinned as he checked the caller ID. He chatted for a few seconds then turned to her with another smile.

“Sorry, that was my wife. She had to tell me something funny that happened to Junior.”

Relief rushed through her. He seemed like a really nice guy, one who wasn’t into dallying. She mentally checked him off her list of potential bad guys.

“Looks like Manny is still out, he—”

“Yeah, figures.” He gestured to the empty spot under the tree. “The garage is empty.”

Bob strode up the stairs and knocked on the back door. Irma let him inside and craned her neck in the direction of the casita. Seeing Dena at the foot of the steps, she stiffened. “Manny is okay?”

“Yes, we’ve managed to get a lot of work done. He’s out doing errands.”

Irma smiled, yelled something to Bob about getting a soda, and went back inside.

Manny had gone to buy lacquer to spray onto his canvases, and he’d talked about gold leaf paint for signatures. He said he’d never signed his work before because it was a gift from God. Dena hoped she wouldn’t cause his work to become over-commercialized. He’d lose his talent that way for sure.

She looked at her watch, then toward the stables, then beyond them toward the base of the mountains and the trail to Cyril’s estate. There wasn’t enough time. Her ride would have to wait until tomorrow.

Hurrying back to the casita, she stopped and admired the paintings on the long tables. Those untitled by Isabella had stirred her creative juices, and she and Manny had tossed around titles all morning.

A shadow fell across the table.

Her head shot up, her breath captured in the back of her throat. “Oh, Rocky,” she said, and pulled in a quick breath. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Her heart beat fast and she put a hand to her chest. “Did you see Manny’s work?” she asked, and tried to gain some composure. How long had he been standing around the corner?

“I’ve seen it before. It’s rubbish. What do you think you’re going to prove?” Rocky picked up a canvas and glowered at her from below thick black brows.

“Didn’t Zeke explain about the art fair?”

“He did. But my point is why? Why now?” His frown deepened. “It doesn’t make sense. This is a time to lie low, not put Three C’s name in lights.”

“Why would you think that, Rocky?” she asked gently.

He dropped the canvas onto the table. “There’s a ton of bad news out there about Three C’s. We’re being discussed at dinner everywhere in the valley.”

“And you know this because…”

“Because I’m a member of this community, and you’re a stranger. You should go back to the city and stop making trouble.”

How dare he
? Her heartbeat quickened and she felt that strong need to defend. She tamped it down and smiled. “This will help Zeke, and Three C’s.”

“I don’t see how. With Susie’s body being discovered, Manny’s association with that college girl’s rape, and—”

“That has got nothing to do with Three C’s.” She tried to stop the bristling defense of Manny that had spread through her chest and caused her voice to rise. She swallowed hard again before continuing. “Besides, Manny is innocent.”

“How do you know?” Rocky asked nastily. “Cyril doesn’t think so, and he has his finger on the pulse of this town.”

He almost spat the words out and Dena drew back a little. “I just know it,” she said, but stood her ground. There was no way in hell she’d let him talk like that about Manny. “Manny’s a good kid—”

“Why? Because he paints pictures?”

“No,” she said, and moved a little farther away from him, rearranged a couple of paintings. She had to calm down, engage him in conversation. “Are you and Cyril good friends?”

Rocky scowled at her. “We know each other.”

“Work related, or do you socialize?”

When Rocky didn’t answer, Dena picked up a painting of a doorway into a hacienda. Maybe she’d pushed too hard too fast. “Do you know the history of these paintings?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Well, I know you and Isabella were close. I thought maybe she’d told you about—”

“What would it matter if she had?”

“It would give me a history to work with.” She forced a smile and waved a hand toward the small paintings. “If they’re local doorways that would add a little more interest, gain a higher price.”

“What does it matter? You’re giving the proceeds away.”

Dena blinked hard a couple of times. Was that what bothered him? He didn’t understand the giving away of funds to gain public awareness. She took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

“The money is going to charity. It will help to restore the Cabrera name in the community. Besides, I think Isabella would have liked it, and—”

“You don’t know what she would have liked.” He slammed his fist against the table causing several paintings to slide into each other. “You know nothing.” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “You never knew her.”

One painting slid to the pavement. With a racing heart, Dena knelt and picked it up. “Well, I didn’t know her, but—”

“Don’t tell me Zeke told you about Isabella, because he didn’t know his own mother.” He studied her for a moment then turned and strode away.

She shuddered. He could ruin this art fair. But on a larger scale, was he trying to scare her, trying to run her out of town? She hurried inside the casita, flopped into one of the pink armchairs, and tried to figure out how to proceed.

It took Dena a good fifteen minutes to stop her heart from racing and her thoughts from flying off at tangents. At least she hadn’t gone into a full-blown panic attack. In fact, Rocky’s behavior only made her more determined to get to the bottom of what was going on at Three C’s.

She dialed Manny on his cell phone.

“Wassup?”

“Hey, Manny,” Dena said, her voice shaking a little. “I think we should protect the artwork. Leaving it here is not safe. Do you know anywhere to store it, somewhere with security?” It was only a thought, but one she couldn’t deny. Rocky might steal the paintings, or destroy them. She couldn’t let that happen.

“My room…maybe?”

“No, I meant off premises.”

“Gotcha. Yeah, my friend’s father has a storage unit business. We can rent one. We’d have the only key.”

Where had she heard that before
? “Okay, can you come home now? I want to do this right away.”

“But we haven’t framed all of them yet.”

“I know. We’ll keep those, and the smaller boxed items, in my living room. It’s the larger canvases I want to protect.”

“Okay, you want me to order a unit?”

“Yes, please. But then come straight back here, okay?”

“Yeah.” There was a long pause. “You all right? Nothing happened, did it?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m not sure, but Rocky asked about you before I left. He was kind of surly,” Manny said. “I told you, he’s changed and I’m not sure I trust him.”

“Me neither.”

“So, it
was
him.” Manny rattled off a few curse-filled sentences in Spanish. “Damn it. He upset you. I’m going to—”

“Manny!” Dena yelled to get his attention. “Come right home, and I’ll tell you exactly what happened.”

The last thing she needed was two Latinos going for the jugular. Geez, if Stanton turned up at Three C’s one more time this week he’d lock someone up and toss away the key.

“Manny?”

He blew out a long audible breath. “All right, yeah, you’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t go blowing my top. I’m an hour away.”

****

Dena leaned against the highly polished counter at Cliff’s and smiled up at Zeke. Debbie Williams worked the bar like a pro. She and Rachel tossed comments back and forth as they worked, and many of the patrons joined in. It was a lively and friendly bar.

A man came up and slapped Zeke on the shoulder. “I thought it was you.”

Zeke jumped off the barstool, grinning from ear to ear, and gave the guy a huge bear hug. They talked in earnest for a bit, totally relaxed and chatting about high school football days.

“You guys can go shoot some pool, if you want,” Dena said.

Zeke raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” his friend asked.

Dena shook her head. “Deb and I are talking girl talk.” She smiled sweetly, and the guys took off. She needed time alone to talk to the women. Dena looked around, making sure Zeke wasn’t in hearing distance.

“The guy is probably someone from high school,” Debbie said. “Who, I don’t quite remember—”

“You knew ’em all,” Rachel said, and dug Debbie in the ribs as she walked by. “He was captain of the football team, in our junior year.”

Debbie flushed and looked away. A tiny sliver of jealousy crept up Dena’s spine. Had she “known” Zeke? The woman was beautiful and so petite. She could have any man she wanted. And she didn’t wear a wedding band. Or any rings on her tiny fingers for that matter.

“You all went to school together?” Dena asked, and pushed away her envy. That was so silly. She and Zeke weren’t an item. She took a sip of wine.

Debbie nodded.

“Yep.” Rachel slid down the bar, her movements quick. “Zeke’s the only one who got away from us. Me and Deb here—old butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth—were pretty wild back in the day.”

“Rache,” Debbie said, and frowned. “Nobody needs to hear that.”

Dena laughed, took a sip of her drink. “Did either of you know Carli, the first woman who was murdered and found out at Three C’s?”

They both shook their heads.

“Never came in here,” Rachel said. She looked around the bar and the lounge. “I can tell you something about every gal and guy in this place…”

“You better believe her.” Debbie smiled. “Between both of our places we’ve become the town’s shrinks, and do we have stories!”

“Yep.” Rachel raised her eyebrows then wriggled them. “It’s cheaper to get a massage, or a few drinks, and spill your guts.”

Dena laughed. She knew that feeling. She’d acted as psychologist to many a client. She looked around again. Zeke gave her a wave and raised one finger. She smiled and nodded. There were tons of nice looking guys. She watched the women flirt and work the room.

Carli had liked noisy bars and happy hour. She wasn’t big on nightclubs. Cliffs would have been her favorite hangout and she’d have liked Rachel, for sure. The women knew everyone from all the way back to kindergarten. Dena thought about that. Carli wasn’t known in the La Quinta and Rancho Almagro towns, so why again was her body found out here on farmland?

“I knew Carli,” Dena said softly. “She sent me a necklace that Isabella had made. I thought maybe she’d bought it from you.”

“I guess she could have,” Debbie said. “But I think I’d remember that, and her. We get a lot of older women who move here, or snowbirds who come for the season. Young women, our own age, we tend to remember.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help. I can check back in my books, see if she made an appointment with one of my employees.”

Dena nodded. “That would be great. I’m looking for any connections she might have made out here. You could call me at Zeke’s place. I’m staying in the casita.”