Unlock the Truth

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.”

She’d misjudged. Again! Tears pricked at Dena’s eyelids. Her mother had cared enough to call her office. She’d been worried about her. She blinked several times, swallowed hard at the lump in her throat.

“I’m fine, Mom. It’s a tricky job and I’m not going to lie, there is an element of danger, but I’m surrounded by good people. I know I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Her mother was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, Dena. There’s only us now, and while we might not seem to get along, I do care.”

“I know, Mom.” Dena heard a little hitch in her voice.

“I love you, baby. Take care.”

“’Bye, Mom,” she said, and her voice hitched again. She shut off the cell, blew out a huge gust of air, buried her head into the softness of a pillow, and cried.

Mom had called her “baby.” She’d never done that before. It was always plain old Dena. Maybe they could work this out after all.

Half an hour later, Dena washed her face and stared at her red puffy eyes. That cry had been a complete catharsis.

She sighed, pulled on a baseball cap, added a swipe of lipstick to her mouth and gave an exasperated shake of her head at the image that stared back from the mirror. If Zeke came to see her, he’d just have to accept her, tear stains and all. She put on a pair of large dark sunglasses, satisfied that they hid the worst of the damage.

With a box of small paintings tucked under her arm and a kitchen knife in her hand, she took both outside. She slit the box and began to group the canvases by subject. They were gorgeous. Beautiful flowers, landscapes, ducks on the lake, bright colored front doors of haciendas. She could envision these paintings in groups in bathrooms and hallways.

“Hey.”

Manny strode down the path toward her. She smiled; it was almost three thirty. He’d stayed with his mother a long time.

“Mama said she’s okay now,” Manny said. “She’s scrubbing the hallway floor and driving Zeke crazy.”

Dena laughed. “He can handle it.”

“I’m sorry about this morning,” he said. “I would never do that…you know…I mean…I respect women—”

“I know, Manny. I’m sure your alibi will check out.”

He looked back toward the house. “Mama’s gonna be upset.”

Dena stood perfectly still. “About your alibi?”

He nodded then grimaced. “I was gambling at the Indian casino in Palm Springs.”

Dena let out a whoosh of air. That was nothing to worry about. Was it? “Well, I think under the circumstances—”

“No,” he said. “That was my dad’s problem. He used to gamble the paycheck. Mama made me promise…” His eyes welled up and he tried to blink back the tears.

Dena reached for him and gave him a big hug. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, and patted his back. “Cry if you want. Hell, look at me.” She whipped off her sunglasses.

“What happened?” he asked, and swiped at his face with the backs of both hands.

“Argument with my mother. No, let me rephrase that. It was an enlightening moment in conversation with my mother.” She grimaced and put the glasses back on.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Sure. Do you gamble a lot?”

“No,” Manny said. “I wanted to break away from the old crowd. Zeke said to find new interests, new friends.” He smiled a watery smile. “I don’t think he meant gambling.”

“So, you haven’t told your mother of your alibi?”

“No. I played poker, then the slot machines until two in the morning. Cops will have to check the casino security cameras. But they’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“Ah, Manny,” Dena said softly. “Let your mother calm down from this first shock. Take care of her, and in a couple of days sit down and tell her what you told me.”

He nodded.

She grinned at him. “So, did you win?”

“I did okay. Won a bit at poker. I put the money in the bank. Mama needs a new car.”

He was such a good kid. Zeke was right, he needed new interests, new friends, and to make a decent living so he could take care of his mother.

“Where do I start?” he asked.

Dena waved toward the paintings. “What I’d like is to open all of the boxes, see what we’ve got, then get an idea of the type of frame that would suit each group.”

Work would be good for him. Dena knew all about that. And she knew he’d get through this horrid experience, and Irma would forgive him. Manny hurried inside and came back with two boxes.

“We ran into Cyril Johnston today,” she said, and looked up at him. “He was really rude to Zeke, and it seems he has it in for Three C’s and—”

“He hates me.” Manny scowled. “I suppose because I get up at him when he starts to throw his weight around with the young guys. Only person he’s okay with at Three C’s is Rocky.”

“Well, I refuse to let him bother me. I’ve come up with a plan for how we might help Zeke win back some of his old farmhands. Want to hear?”

“Sure, I’d like to give it to old Cyril.”

Dena shook her head. The last thing Manny needed was to be in more trouble. “Think nice, now. We have to beat him at his own game but not let him see us coming. What if we held a good old-fashioned family picnic for the farmhands? We could have it down at the lake—”

“Yeah, it might work. Isabella used to do that when I was a kid. Guess it’s been five years.”

“My other idea was a chili cook-off.”

Manny grinned. “I like that idea better, beer and chili. It’s the right time of year, too.”

Excitement bubbled inside her chest. “We’d hold it on Saturday. And the men could cook, that would leave the women free to take care of the kids. We could have three-legged and sack races, and egg and spoon races.”

Manny grinned even wider. “I think it would work. The guys would come for the chili competition, and the beer.”

“You don’t think they’d be scared of the haunted lands?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Manny said, glanced toward the house then lowered his voice. “It’s not all about that. I heard, and I don’t know if it’s true, that old Cyril is paying fifty cents an hour over the going rate. I can’t prove it because he won’t hire me anymore. But I’ve gotten the info from a good source. That’s a lot of dough for a Latino farmhand.”

“So that’s what he’s doing,” Dena said slowly. She stretched her shoulders then massaged the back of her neck.

“Yeah, but, most of the guys would rather work for Three C’s. It’s just…well, times are hard.”

“Did you ever mention this to Zeke?”

“I intended to, but he’s had enough to worry about lately. And he said Isabella had left the books in a mess. I’m not sure how well the farm is doing.”

“You’re right,” Dena said. “I’ll go over these plans with him tomorrow. I’ll suggest he announce a pay increase at the cook-off, if he can afford one. Something to match old Cyril’s cunning.”

“That would be great,” Manny said, and flashed a smile. Then he frowned and turned serious. “Don’t say anything in advance, about the pay increase. Maybe don’t even tell Rocky.”

Dena squinted behind her glasses. “Why keep it secret from Rocky?”

“I’m not sure, but it seems he’s not as invested in the place since Isabella died. I’ve seen him around town with Cyril in the past week.”

Dena’s heart raced. She picked up a painting, put it back down. “You said that Cyril only respects Rocky. Is that because of the church they belong to?”

Manny shrugged. “Most everyone who works the two farms attends that church.” He tapped his fingertips on the table. “Cyril thinks Rocky is an equal.”

Dena raised her eyebrows. “More so than Zeke, who owns Three C’s?”

“I guess it’s because Rocky worked here for so long. They always share ideas.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked toward the house, like maybe his mother could hear him, and lowered his voice. “Rocky was always invited to the meetings between Isabella and Cyril. Both the Johnston and Cabrera families go way back, original settlers. Rocky was like her…um…partner or something.” He raised his brows, wriggled them and gave her a knowing look.

Dena felt a tingle of excitement course through her body. “Do you mean they were lovers?”

He averted his gaze. “I don’t know for sure.”

“What does your mother think?”

“She’s too loyal to the family. I asked her once, because I heard some noises coming from the casita late one night. I used to prowl around the place. You know boys.” He looked back, grinned.

Dena put the paintings onto the table and forced herself to remain calm. “What did your mother say when you asked her?”

Manny raised a hand to his cheek, pressed it hard. “I used a bad word. She slapped me. First and only time she ever struck me like that.” He laughed and shook his head. “She told me it was none of my business. Then she said I was disgusting to say those things and that she never wanted to hear that come from my lips again.”

“Did you…um, did you ever suspect you were right? I mean as you got older and knew more about life and relationships?”

Manny nodded. “There were many nights after midnight that I’d hear voices and laughter, and stuff.”

“Did you ever see them together?”

“No, not in public, at least not in a romantic way. Isabella was very private.”

“Did you ever say anything to Zeke?”

“No. I figured Mama was right, none of my business.”

Manny and Dena worked side by side in companionable silence. Fifteen minutes later, Zeke strode down the back steps. He looked gorgeous in fresh jeans, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket looped over one shoulder. His blond hair was still damp from the shower and he’d put a bit of product in it so it was looser, darker, almost spiky.

Manny ducked his head, gave her a tiny knowing smile, picked up a box of paintings and slit the tape. She was about to tell him to watch his p’s and q’s, but he peered inside the box and burst out laughing instead.

“What’s so funny?” Zeke asked.

Manny held up a painting, still grinning wide. “It’s one of mine. I never knew Isabella had kept it.”

“Let me see,” Dena said, and reached out for it. Manny released the small canvas after taking another look. Zeke stood so close to her their heads almost touched, and she could smell his aftershave and deodorant. Her whole body tingled from his closeness.

“It’s great,” Zeke said.

“No,” Manny said. “It’s an earlier one. I’m much better now.”

Dena drew in a breath. Manny had talent, true creative genius. She’d advised him to get a second job, a day job. Maybe she could help him with his art, at the same time as she helped Zeke with his business.

“Manny, you’re wrong, this is fantastic,” she said, and another plan began to take shape. “I’m so sorry I said what I did about you getting a second job. Darn. Do you have more?”

“Sure.”

“Where are they?”

“Maybe there are some in these boxes,” Manny said, and searched through the one he’d just opened. “I have others up in the room.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the main house. “I paint up there now—”

“Will you get them?” Dena asked, unable to contain her excitement.

“Why?”

“I’d like to put these in the fair along with Isabella’s work.” She gave Zeke a beseeching glance. “Teacher and student—”

“Absolutely,” Zeke said, and smiled. “It’s a great idea.” He picked up Manny’s canvas again, and held it out at arm’s length.

“For real?” Manny asked.

“For real. You are going far, Manny Hernandez,” Dena said. “Bring everything down here…now scoot.” She turned him around to face the house and gave him a shove. Manny laughed and took off at a run.

Zeke leaned in toward her. “Whatever you want, you have carte blanche.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You’re giving Manny a whole new world.”

“He deserves it,” Dena said. “Kiss me before he gets back.”

Zeke laughed, pulled off her sunglasses, and complied. “I have to go,” he said, when he came up for air. “I’m already late for an appointment in town.”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to spend the afternoon with you and Manny, but I’ve got a business to run.” He pulled her close to his chest. She felt the hardness of his body against hers and quickly released him before she lost herself in another delicious kiss. She smoothed his shirt, and patted his chest.

He watched her for a moment. “Will you go to dinner with me?”

“Oh. Yes, sure…” She hesitated, retrieved her sunglasses from his hand and put them back on, not sure if this was for a date or business. Either way he didn’t need to see her looking so beaten.

“I did promise you a date, remember?” The gold flecks in his eyes glittered. “Pick you up here at about six?”

She nodded, afraid to speak for fear that her pounding heart and dry mouth would give her away. A date with Zeke, what would she wear? And she hoped to hell her eyes would lose some of their puffiness by six o’clock.

“Why so early?” she asked.

“We’re going to Cliffs. They have a ‘happening happy hour’ from four-thirty until seven. Thought you might enjoy the young crowd.” He pursed his lips, shot her a sidelong glance. “Not too early, is it?”

“No, not at all.”

She glanced at the mess of boxes and paintings. “What’s the dress code?”

“Anything you want.” He started to walk away. “I forgot you’re not a native, desert casual…it means anything from shorts to jeans to a skirt. You can’t go wrong.” Then he strode back up to the hacienda.

Dena’s thoughts raced. Cliffs was where Debbie Williams was going to help the redhead with bartending. She’d try to talk to her about the healing beads she’d bought from Isabella and sold at her spa.

Zeke turned, waved, and as he held open the back door, Manny came through it with several large canvases. They said a few words and Zeke clapped him on the shoulder in a half hug.

Would she be brave enough to tell Zeke what Manny had confided? Posada del Gato Negro now made sense to her. Dena understood Isabella’s need for isolation, and it had nothing to do with her painting. The feminine fabrics, the romantic feel to the place. She shuddered.

Ick! She’d slept in the bed where Isabella and Rocky had had their midnight trysts.

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?