Unlock the Truth

Chapter Seven

Later that evening, Dena stood for a moment in the doorway to the living room and masked her disappointment. She wouldn’t have Zeke all to herself. Manny had been mistaken. Rocky and Zeke were seated in mahogany leather chairs, facing each other, each with a cocktail glass in hand and engaged in hushed conversation.

With only an initial glance, she could see everything in the room had a dark hue and a richness of fabric or texture that spoke of old world charm and money. There was a definite Spanish influence in the carved woodwork on the tables and armoire. Wall sconces cast amber shadows on the walls and a fire burned softly in the huge stone fireplace. A crystal vase full of peach-colored roses and long stems of Spanish lavender stood on a side table, their sweet soft perfume contrasting the masculine space.

Zeke saw her and stood.

“Hello,” she said. Both men wore serious expressions, and she sensed she’d been the topic of conversation. She forced a smile.

“Would you care for a drink?” Zeke asked, and moved toward her.

“Evening,” Rocky said, easing out of the chair.

“No, thank you.” Dena nodded hello to Rocky. Both men had cleaned up nicely and wore slacks and dress shirts. Rocky had even put on a tie. Zeke’s crisp white shirt was open at the throat; she noticed the triangle of smooth, lightly suntanned skin and looked away. “Are you feeling better, Zeke?”

“Yes.” He gave her a fleeting smile. “If you’re not having a cocktail, perhaps we should go into the dining room—”

He touched her elbow and a tiny thrill of energy shot up her arm. Warmth flowed from his hand through the sleeve of her silk blouse, but he withdrew it far too quickly. The dining table was elegantly set and Zeke moved her chair in after she sat. He seated himself at the head of the table. Instrumental music played softly, and she glanced toward the sound. Wall speakers were set high, almost invisible.

Rocky sat opposite her, swirling the liquid in his cocktail glass and peering into it as if it held all of the answers to his gloomy disposition.

Irma came in, served everyone and left. There was an awkward silence as they ate. Several times Dena tried for conversation but it fizzled out. She raised her glass of wine, took a sip, determined to ferret out the tension.

She smiled at Rocky. “I met Manny today. He’s a nice young man. He said he sometimes lives here when he’s working on the land. Do you often do the same, Rocky?”

He shook his head and made a production out of chewing.

“Do you live in La Quinta?”

He sliced into his chicken. “Indio.”

“Where does Irma live?”

“Indio.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “Are you neighbors?”

“No.”

Dena cut off a small piece of chicken and chewed it slowly. She’d figured when she’d come to Zeke’s aid this morning, Rocky had warmed to her. She couldn’t figure out his sullen mood tonight. What a changeable personality.

Zeke was off in some unknown land. He’d barely uttered two sentences and didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. Dena did the best she could not to insult Irma’s cooking, because under other circumstances she would have licked the plate clean. She took another bite, and moved food around like a kid being forced to eat liver. She couldn’t wait to escape to her room; there was no television in there, but she didn’t care. Maybe she’d read, or go for a walk.

Annoyed with herself for giving in to a minor irritation, she straightened and squared her shoulders.

“I get the feeling that something is wrong. Something that affects me or perhaps that I caused. Am I right?”

Rocky kept his eyes on his plate and made short work of his food. Dena was convinced he was about to bolt.

“Rocky isn’t happy about your intention to live here at the house,” Zeke said, and took another sip of wine.

“Why?”

“Well, us being strangers, and of different gender,” he said, and a flush of what she thought was embarrassment darkened his cheekbones. “Irma goes home at nine each night, and she has Sunday off.” He stared down at the table. “Today is Saturday.”

This was unbelievable. “Don’t you ever have house guests?”

Zeke shook his head. “Not since Mom was alive.”

“Yeah, but still,” she said, then scoffed. “We’re not kids. We’re both in our thirties, for heaven’s sake, and—”

“It’s wrong.” Rocky put his silverware on his plate and pushed the plate away. He stood, rested a hand on the back of the chair. “It isn’t right. People will talk.” He made eye contact. “Besides, it isn’t safe here. For you.”

Was that a threat, or concern? “But you seemed to go along with everything earlier,” Dena said, and held his dark stare. She almost shivered but refused to back down. “What happened?”

“I thought it might be true, about the girlfriend thing. Zeke told me you explained to Quimby it was a lie. They all know now—”

“Big deal,” Dena said. “I don’t see why staying here would be a problem. I’m going to work with Zeke.”

“You were going to work with Zeke,” Rocky said, his voice cool, his face expressionless. “There’s too much at stake. You being a spin doctor, you should understand—”

“I do. But I also know something else is going on in this town. Something unsavory—”

“This is about the welfare of Three C’s, not some—” Rocky raised his voice, while one hand flapped about “—Los Angeles celebrity event.”

Dena frowned. “I still intend to work with Zeke. And if this—me staying here—doesn’t bother him, why should it bother you?”

Rocky worked his lower jaw but remained silent.

“We are going to talk before Dena goes home, Rocky,” Zeke said, apologetically. “It could help.”

Rocky stared at Zeke. Should she have included him in the earlier conversations? Paved the way, perhaps? He couldn’t be upset about her sleeping in the same house as Zeke, could he? She sensed he didn’t like her and didn’t want her anywhere near Three C’s, but this couldn’t be the reason for his sudden display of anger.

“Well, you’re the boss.” Rocky held his arms rigidly at his sides. “You’re the farmer.”

Dena eased back a little in her chair. Rocky’s anger was now directed at Zeke, she’d heard the deliberate taunt. Zeke had two bright red spots on his cheeks, but he didn’t respond.

“Goodnight,” Rocky said, pushed the chair in a little further, and strode out of the room.

Dena kept her eyes on her plate for a few seconds, as she listened to the click of his cowboy boots on the tile floor of the long hall. How could she have thought that angry, self-righteous man was handsome? Rocky’s face had been dark with anger, and she’d certainly seen another side to him tonight. His truck started up. She turned toward the window when the headlights flashed a beam of light toward the dining room, then he drove away.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, taking a quick glance at Zeke. “I didn’t mean to upset him, or you.” She gave a little shake of her head. This was the oddest thing. She couldn’t believe it. These two men acted like she was a young innocent. “Why on earth would he—?”

“Religion.” Zeke blew out a huge breath, and then shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s his moral code. He’s very strict about such things.”

“He’s Catholic, right?

Zeke nodded.

“I understand. So is my family. I’m not very religious myself…at least I’m not into organized religion. Not anymore.” She grimaced. Maybe that was too much information to share. “But anyway, this is your home. How can you let him dictate to you like that?”

****

The flicker of a dozen different emotions crossed Zeke’s face. How un-Christian of Rocky to behave as he had done. “Surely you’ve entertained women here, and—”

“Dena, stop.” Zeke raised both hands, palms facing her. “You forget two women died on my land, and in a horrible way. I’m single. I’m the stranger in town.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, resting one elbow on the table, gripping his forehead between thumb and fingers. Sympathy rose in Dena’s chest and she wanted to hold him, comfort him.

Moments later, he looked up. “Apart from one year when I lived here after college, I’ve been absent since I was eighteen.”

“I know. Manny told me that,” Dena said.

“Oh?”

She shifted in her chair. “I asked him a few questions. But listen, Rocky can’t tell you how to run your life, he’s your foreman. And just because you’re the stranger in—”

“It’s a matter of loyalty. He’s worked here for twenty years, ever since he dropped out of high school at sixteen.” Zeke took a deep breath, and then blew it out. “He helped my mother. I owe him.”

Dena took a sip of wine. “You owe him friendship, perhaps, and maybe a good salary. But you can’t let him run your personal life. You’re the owner. His boss—”

“There are things you don’t know, can’t understand.”

“So try me.”

Zeke opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind, took a sip of wine instead, then sat back in his chair and returned to brooding for a couple of minutes.

“Rocky was like a son to my mother,” he finally said, when it was evident that Dena would wait him out. “He was the person I could never be.”

“In what way?” Dena asked.

He liked the gentle coaxing tone of her voice. He’d missed having a woman around to share things with. Hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed that female point of view. “I don’t like farming.”

He stretched his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair, knowing he left it sticking up at weird angles. He almost laughed at his comment. He’d sounded like a petulant schoolboy, and figured he might as well have hair to suit.

“Okay.” Dena said. “And that’s a problem because—”

“Because I feel trapped,” he said, and shifted his position. It was the truth. One part of him wanted to sell and get away from here forever; the other had found long-hidden things about the place that he loved.

“I never wanted to run this place. I wanted the city life.”

“And to be a lawyer?” she asked.

He nodded. Damn it. She was interrogating him again; those blue eyes of hers were wide, and cool, and all-knowing. She’d make a good lawyer. He shifted his position again and cleared his throat. What was it about her that made him want to spill his guts? He shrugged.

“You were right with what you said yesterday. I’ve acted like an ostrich. Even before the bodies were found. It was easier to go along with plans, not upset the status quo.”

“I figured as much. Your plan was to bide your time, until you could escape—”

“Or find a suspect.” He picked up his wine glass, and eyed her over the rim. “It seems you asked more than a few questions of Manny.” He took a quick swallow of wine, and gave her another long quizzical stare.

She held his gaze. “Not too many. And, for the record I don’t consider him a suspect. We chatted while I ate a sandwich. So, back to Rocky. It seems you need to stay on his good side. You’ll leave Three C’s eventually, and then let him manage the place, right?”

“Yes,” Zeke muttered.

Irma arrived and cleared the table. “You like dessert?”

Dena declined with a shake of her head, so did Zeke.

“Cake.” Irma said. “Is choc-oh-late.”

Dena smiled, and shook her head again. Zeke excused himself to Dena, and then spoke rapidly in Spanish to Irma.

“I be back, Monday.” Irma smiled at Dena, and then looked back to Zeke. “You be okay?”

“Yes. Have a nice Sunday,” he said, covering his surprise. Irma had spoken English to include Dena. Impressive!

Dena waited to speak, until Irma left the room. “So, back to what Rocky wants. Are you asking me to leave?”

“It’s for the best,” Zeke said, and pressed his lips tight.

“Do you want me to go now, tonight?”

“Whenever—”

“Fine!” Dena shot a dark glare of frustration his way.

He couldn’t blame her. He felt disgust at himself.

She put her napkin on the table. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning. I hate to drive at night.”

Zeke gave a curt nod. “I’ll ask Manny to sleep

over.” He didn’t dare make eye contact.

“Would you excuse me?” Dena asked. “I think I’ll go back to my room.”

“Ah, sure, good night.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure,” he said, and hoped it wasn’t going to be too deep of a question.

Dena balanced on the edge of the chair, but leaned her arms forward on the table. “Why did everyone focus on you as a murder suspect? You have a ton of men who come and go from Three C’s. It could have been anyone.”

“Hey.” He raised both hands again, his fighting spirit back. “They didn’t really focus on me. First off, it was only questions along the lines of who does come and go, who lives here, who I’d hired recently. Any strangers I’d noted—”

“I understand all of that, but what is it with Stanton? And were Manny and Rocky, and the farmhands, all investigated?”

“I believe so. And Stanton is…he’s just Stanton.”

“Did they take DNA samples from them?”

“No, I don’t think so. I offered. They found my telephone number in the first victim’s purse, remember?” He blew out a gust of air, shoved at the hair falling over his brow. He was in desperate need of a good haircut. Dena seemed to wait for him to regroup. Her face was still, her large blue eyes unwavering.

“I don’t know why the woman would have had it, and it’s an unlisted number. Of course Susie had had that number for years. She’d moved back to Rancho Almagro just before Mom died. Tried to get back together with me—”

“And?” Dena asked, and raised her brows.

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

He noticed the inquisitive stare and knew she wasn’t about to back down. Okay, he supposed he owed her more of an explanation.

“The place needed work, because things had started a slow decline. Not sure why. Money wasn’t coming in like it had before. Maybe Mom’s illness affected everyone, and they let the business slide.”

Dena narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute. Go back to the money thing.”

“We weren’t generating the same sales as in the prior five years. That’s why I sold that portion of land to the developer.” He ruminated on that for a few moments. “Rocky was angry about it. But there were a lot of medical expenses toward the end—”

“So you never discussed it with him?”

Zeke shook his head. “Nope. I’d investigated. Put out some feelers and then lucked into the hotel deal. It was almost a done deal when I told him.”

“He resented that, I’m sure,” Dena said.

“Yes. I was embarrassed to have to sell. Land for Cabrera’s has always been a big deal. We started out in this country with nothing.” He gave a quick shrug. “My guess is my decision drove home the fact to Rocky that I was now the owner, and he was the employee.”

“Back to the money. Were funds missing?”

“Ah, I’m not sure. Some of the records are incomplete.”

“Who would normally handle those accounts?”

“Mom—”

“Even when she was ill?”

“Look, Mom never told anyone she was ill, until it was too late.” He blew out a long breath, glanced away. “I got the feeling the business was failing and she just…you know—”

“Died?” Dena asked, in an almost whisper.

Zeke nodded. There was a slight sound in the hallway. Manny came into view, stuck his head around the door.

“Goodnight Zeke, Dena. I’ll be out late.” He shot Zeke a quick grin, and an even quicker shrug.

“Be safe, okay?” Zeke said.

Seeing Manny all spiffed up, he was aware the young boy was growing into a young man. Unspoken words passed between them. He liked his role of big brother, but the last thing he’d do was nag him.

“Will we see you tomorrow, Manny?” Dena asked.

“Sure, I’ll be around. Have to take Mama to church.”

Dena smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Manny grinned, and walked away.

Dena reached across the table, put her hand on Zeke’s, and rubbed her thumb back and forth. He didn’t draw away, enjoying and needing the comfort.

“Back to the conversation about your mother, if that was the case, sad as it is, it wasn’t your fault. How long did she have left after you came home?”

Did he want to re-open the topic? He ran a hand over his jaw, drew in a long breath. Ah, hell. “About a month,” he said. “But it had gone to the lung, she was on oxygen and—” He shook his head.

“Who told you of her illness?”

“The family doctor.”

“Why did he wait so long?”

“He didn’t know. One weekend, Irma got angry with Mom. It was about her weight loss and lack of appetite. She threatened to pick her up, put her in the car, and take her to the doctor.”

Dena leaned forward. “What happened? How come if Rocky worked so closely with her, he didn’t notice her decline?”

“I don’t know. The doctor came out to see Mom, at Irma’s request. They got her to the hospital, did all kinds of tests. She had terminal breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry, Zeke,” Dena said softly.

He swallowed hard at the tenderness in her voice. “She was going through the final stages of…you know, the change—”

“Menopause?”

“Yeah. She was only fifty-six when she died. From what I understand, everyone thought she was depressed.”

Dena tilted her head to one side. “A lot of women have emotional changes in menopause. But, did your mother have a depressive personality?”

Zeke thought back to his youth. “No, at least not when I was growing up. She was always a beautiful looking woman, young for her years, energetic. She’d become reclusive in the last few years of her life. Maybe she hated getting older.”

“Mothers are difficult to understand sometimes,” Dena said, and patted his hand.

He could see the wheels turning in Dena’s mind. Even in this short time of knowing her he understood how her inquisitive mind worked. He’d questioned himself, thinking his mother might have been running away from something, or someone. Was she guilt ridden and chose death over life? Was she being blackmailed? That could explain financial losses.

“Did your Mom have relationships after your father died?”

“Huh?” Zeke’s eyes shot wide open. “No, she wasn’t interested—”

“But she was so young. Not even a casual date?”

Zeke shook his head again.

“What about when she went to social events? I read she used to be very active in the community.”

“She’d go alone, or with Rocky, or women friends.”

“I’m so sorry, Zeke,” Dena said, and leaned forward. “I know this is painful for you to talk about, but sometimes it helps.”

She watched his face, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. He should have been more of a presence in his mother’s life.

“You can’t feel guilty, and blame yourself, for not knowing something your mother chose not to tell anyone,” she said softly.

He looked across the table, surprised at her words. Her face was set in a serious contemplative gaze. Damn. She’s a mind reader.

He turned away and stared out the window into the darkness. Could he have known? He’d asked himself a million times why he hadn’t commented on his mother’s weight loss at her last birthday dinner. That was a comment a good son would have made, surely? He looked back at Dena.

“I really don’t want to talk about it anymore—”

“I know,” Dena said. “I do understand, and thanks for sharing this much. I’m going to go to my room—”

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, thank you. Good night.”

She stood, gave him a smile, then fled. Not that he could blame her.