Unlock the Truth (27 page)

This was not good.

Who was watching her? And what did they want?

****

Later that morning, Dena wondered if the lunch date was still on. She’d dressed and carefully applied make-up to look like she wasn’t wearing any at all. And she’d washed and styled her hair. Hell, she’d even painted her fingernails. She knew Zeke had returned, but he had yet to show his face and that made her nervous.

After her morning ride yesterday to speak with Cyril, then Zeke’s anger, things had been strained when he’d left for L.A. He had called though. That was a plus. And he’d sounded like all was forgiven but he’d made no further mention of their date.

She’d just plopped a box of paintings on the outside table when Zeke came out onto the verandah of the hacienda, raised a hand then pointed to his watch. Her heartbeat took off like a bird in flight. He was obviously ready for their outing. She waved back, grabbed her purse, yelled out to Manny that she’d be back soon, and walked up to greet Zeke.

Manny jogged up the path behind her. “Hey Dena, wait up.” He caught his breath. “Listen, can I switch colors on some of the frames for the suites? Deep burgundy would look good on—”

“I’ll trust you. You have better sense of color than I have,” Dena said, and smiled. “You’re the artist.”

“Thanks.”

“He’s a darn good artist.” Zeke walked down and clapped Manny on the shoulder, and gave him a little shake. “Soon he’ll be so famous he won’t even come and visit me—”

“Yeah, right,” Manny scoffed, and started to walk away.

“It could happen,” Zeke said.

Manny turned and grinned. “I’ll put everything inside the casita and lock up.”

“You don’t have a key,” Dena said, and frowned. Did he? Her entire body went hyper-alert. She was almost afraid to breathe.

“No, I don’t have a key, but if I push the pin in and pull the door closed that should work. I won’t be able to lock the deadbolt.” He led them back to the casita. He locked the door and tried the handle. “See, now open it again for me. I should be home around the same time as you guys.”

Dena took one more glance at the casita, where Manny started to put away the supplies and some of his paintings. Maybe Zeke had forgiven her about yesterday’s incident, but she sensed a reserve. Could it be because Manny was there? Zeke hadn’t kissed her; in fact he hadn’t touched her in any way. Was he still miffed about her ride over to Cyril’s?

“Manny’s so shy when it comes to his art,” Dena said, as she strode beside Zeke. She took a peek up at his face. He seemed pre-occupied, and that little tick was back in his cheek. “I saw more of his work. He’s got some amazing large landscapes.”

“He likes working with you,” Zeke said. He strode into the kitchen, where Irma prepared lasagna, and Dena hurried after him. Something was definitely wrong.

“We’re going for a lunch meeting, Irma,” Zeke said. “Manny is doing errands. I guess we’ll all be back by two.” He turned toward her. “I’ll just get some papers from the office.”

Dena nodded. Had he met with the bank manager yesterday, or would they swing by today after lunch? He definitely had something weighing heavy on his mind. Irma sidled over toward her.

“He like you,” she said. “Is good…
mucho bueno
, but don’t break the heart.”

Dena wasn’t quite sure if Irma meant her heart or Zeke’s, but either way, nothing was going to get broken. It sounded like she didn’t have to sneak around after all. She had Irma’s blessing, and that meant a lot.

“I’ll remember that,” she said, and tried to smile. It was tough though, because in her heart she knew something had gone terribly wrong.

Zeke returned. “Let’s go.”

He hurried her through a door she hadn’t noticed before. It led into a three car garage. There were two cars and a golf cart. One was a silver BMW, a sport model, the car he’d driven to Cliffs, but that day it had been parked in the motor court. Now it looked dirty and bug covered. The other was a highly polished, four-door black Mercedes. She guessed that was once Isabella’s car.

He clicked open the Mercedes and held the passenger door for her. Dena slid on her seatbelt and the garage doors opened to the east side of the estate. She gazed out at the lush pastures and noticed Nancy grazing alongside José.

“What kind of music?” Zeke asked, and reached for the dash.

“Whatever you like.”

He pushed the button for the CD changer, and something soft and classical spilled out around them. He lowered the volume. Mozart. She liked it. His hand brushed her knee and a jolt of sexual interest burst through her. Damn. She got hot from an accidental brush of her knee, in the middle of the day.

“Did you visit the bank this morning?” she asked, and tried to get her mind off sex and onto business.

“Yes. It’s going to take a day to search those records,” he said. “We should know by five tomorrow.”

“Excellent.”

“We’ll be on time for lunch.”

Dena smiled. She’d come to learn he was a stickler for time. She thought of Steve; the two would get along famously.

“So…anything wrong at home?” he asked.

She turned toward him, tilted her head. He thought she was distracted? “No…no problems.” She couldn’t say her mother demanded to know who her client was, or that she wanted to shoot Zeke because of his eyes, or his eyebrows, or something like that. “Mom’s difficult. One of these days I hope we can sort out our differences.”

“Maybe you should work harder on that relationship with her. Tell her how you feel, be honest. Life is far too short.”

Dena caught her breath. Was he judging her? It wasn’t like he’d ever gotten along with his own mother. He was no expert on family relationships. Be honest? Damn him. She shuddered, swallowed her anger and looked out the window. God, she was prickly today.

She watched the scenery flash by and focused on the beauty of the desert until she calmed down. Maybe she
was
stubborn, set in her ways. She’d been alone for too long. Zeke was right, life is short. Carli was an example of that. She would try harder.

“The Tack Room is around the next corner,” Zeke said. “Those are the Polo grounds.”

He waved a hand toward white equestrian fences that bordered wide green fields. Large black iron gates, with a plaque saying Polo Club and a metal horse and rider on either side was attached to the center, and through the gates she could see several players at practice.

“It’s fabulous,” she said. Her mother would love this. A tiny pang of guilt ran through her. She’d call her after lunch. They turned the corner and drove in toward the restaurant. It was quaint. It even had assigned places to tie up your horse. Not that she imagined anyone actually did that. Or did they?

“That’s the function room,” Zeke said, and pointed toward a white building. On the roof was a black metal weathervane of horse and rider. The building had French doors that opened out to a long patio. Beyond the patio were extensive lawns, and beyond the lawns, spectacular rose gardens, arbors, and fountains.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, turning her head every which way. It was a perfect place for a wedding reception. She felt her face warm up and reached down for her purse.

“We’ll go over after lunch,” he said, and ran around to open the car door. He offered his hand and helped her out. “The clubhouse is private. It’s up there, on that hill.”

This was the most perfect location for the art fair. She couldn’t have dreamed up a better place.

“Let’s go.” Zeke opened the door into the restaurant.

She took one more look around. There was a large white canopy to one side for outdoor dining. A flat-screen television stood in one corner and held a sign about Karaoke nights. Maybe they’d come here for dinner. She smiled at the thought of Zeke belting out a rock song.

He ushered her inside and into a booth. A huge open bar was in the center of the room and the bar stools had leather saddles for seats. There were crops and boots and riding gear on display on the walls. She loved the place and could imagine the noise and camaraderie of the polo players in the evenings.

Menus came quickly and foods were discussed and ordered. In between, they fell into a polite discussion of what was needed for the event. “So, Steve and I will handle the advertising for the event,” Dena said.

“You called him?”

“Yesterday,” she said, and frowned. Now he really sounded cold.

Zeke leaned back as the waitress returned and slid the plates in front of them. He had the strangest look on his face and Dena leaned forward about to question him.

“I’m sorry about all of your troubles lately,” the waitress said softly, and grimaced as she touched Zeke’s shoulder. “Small towns can be a bitch. My Dad said he’s known your family forever—”

“And he is—?” Zeke asked, and eyed his hamburger.

“Brad Knight. I’m Jane.”

“He’s your dad?” Zeke asked, and chuckled. “He coached me, Rocky, and Stanton in high school football.”

“He said you were a good quarterback, had a great arm. Oh, hell,” Jane said, and put a hand casually to her mouth. “Don’t look up yet. Give it a few seconds.”

“What is it?” Dena asked, and kept her eyes on her plate. She picked up half of the delicious looking chicken sandwich.

“Trouble just walked in. He was out here last night bitching about Three C’s. You can take a look now.”

Dena raised her head. On the far side of the room, Cyril Johnston stared toward their booth. By his side were Deputy Stanton and a female deputy.

How about that? They were buddies, Cyril and Stanton, going out to lunch
? Dena took a bite then put the sandwich back on the plate.

She wiped her fingers, raised the napkin to cover her mouth. “Cyril and Stanton,” she said to Zeke.

His jaw tensed then he picked up his coffee mug and took a sip.

“They’re coming this way,” Dena said, lowered the napkin and picked up her sandwich again. The waitress moved on to another customer. The female deputy sat in a booth and opened a menu. Dena watched as the two guys swaggered toward them.

Cyril walked right up to their table and rested a hand on the end of it. He stared at Dena. She narrowed her eyes. Was she supposed to be run out of town or something? What the hell was this, a cheesy Western?

Zeke slid out of the booth and stood. He towered over both men. Stanton backed up a little. Cyril stayed put and glowered at Dena.

Zeke stuck out his hand. “Cyril,” he said. “Good to see you. Dave, how are you?”

They shook hands and muttered a couple of polite words. Dena noticed Stanton’s discomfort. She wondered if they were buddies or if he was doing a subtle check up on Cyril. She hoped it was the latter.

“Your woman here is throwing a chili cook-off event over at your place,” Cyril said.

Zeke nodded. “That’s right.”

“Won’t help,” Cyril said, and snorted. “You won’t get enough farmhands for harvest even with throwing a party.”

Dena watched Zeke pull himself up to his full height. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see on that.”

“I won’t be attending.”

Zeke smiled. “Sorry to hear that. It should be quite an event.”

“So, what are you planning to hold out here?” Cyril asked, and glanced about the restaurant with a sneer that curled his top lip.

Dena wondered how he had known they were planning anything.

Zeke’s smile broadened. “Maybe an engagement party,” he said slowly.

Good for Zeke. That should shut the nosy old guy up.

Cyril turned on his heel and took a couple of steps away from the booth. “You want to be careful,” he said, and shook a finger back at Zeke. “There’s too much trouble at Three C’s. Nothing’s going to fix that. Not even a public relations expert.”

Stanton grimaced.

“You coming, Stanton?” Cyril called from the doorway, his voice almost a growl. “I’m not eating
here
.”

Stanton hurried after him and stopped to speak with the female deputy. She remained seated. Dena saw the truck for West Coast Citrus peel out of the parking lot. Stanton’s cop car eased in behind it and they drove out to the main street.

“What was that all about?” Dena asked Zeke. “How did they know we were here?”

“I called, remember? And I spoke to several people about our plans. Asked if we could take a look at the function room.”

“Cyril has his spies everywhere.” Dena shook her head, and picked up a French fry. “He has an inflated sense of his own importance.” She chewed the fry and picked up another.

“Can’t say I disagree,” Zeke mumbled. He pushed his plate away, his hamburger half eaten. “Maybe having the event here isn’t such a good thing.”

“Don’t let Johnston get to you.” Dena wiped her fingers on a napkin. “He thinks he owns the whole town, and he tries to influence everyone at the church.”

Zeke raised his eyebrows then grimaced.

“Be strong,” Dena said. “He’s had no opposition for years, until you came home.”

“Not even from Rocky?”

Dena shook her head. “Nope, it’s like he and Rocky are buddies.” She frowned, tilted her head to one side. “No, it’s more like Rocky is subservient, now that I think about it.”

“Rocky is his own man. Subservient to West Coast Citrus…I doubt it.” Zeke’s eyes narrowed.

The waitress came back to the booth. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

Both shook their heads. “Just the check,” Zeke said.

Jane put the black folder with the check inside on the table. “Cyril’s always bad mouthing Three C’s,” she said. “I could see by the look on his face when he came in the door that he’d head straight for you.” She lowered her voice. “Have you seen his new billboard out on Interstate 10?”

“What? He’s put one up already?” Dena asked.

“I just drove up to L.A. and I didn’t see it,” Zeke said. “Although, I can’t say I was interested in billboards. I don’t like them. They’re an eyesore.”

Jane picked up their plates. “I think it must have gone up yesterday. It’s right near the one of Kermit the Frog. You know the cute one about having a dream life because he eats flies and dates a pig…can’t quite remember what the ad is about, or whose ad it is.” She shrugged, rolled her eyes. “I just grin every time I drive past it.”