Was she up yet? Was she cuddled up on the sofa watching Saturday-morning cartoons, as he envisioned Angie would have done? As his mother had done with him and his brother?
Yeah, his mom had loved him and Ricky to a fault. But she’d had one flaw: choosing their father. A father who loved his whiskey, women, and song more than he’d loved his wife and kids. But she believed a woman should stand by her husband, no matter what. Even after she finally wised up and forced him to leave, she hadn’t filed for divorce. Till death do us part, she’d vowed. And his dad made sure that’s the way it had ended.
Raking a hand through his hair, Juan pushed away the past, reached for his purchases, and went inside.
Thirty minutes later, on his knees in the grass, working to remove one of the rotten fence boards, he heard his neighbor’s back door open and close.
He listened. Was Nikki in her backyard? Sweetie, whining and barking at his own back door, drowned out any other noise. He continued working. But when he pulled off the board, a face appeared where the slat had been. He got his first up-close look at the girl. A sweet, young, brown-eyed-cherub kind of face. Her eyes were large, her nose slightly turned up, her mouth a bow.
“Hi,” she said, dimples dancing in her cheeks.
Then her eyes widened, her dimples vanished, and he knew she’d seen his scar.
“Hi,” he offered, thinking she’d run off.
She didn’t. The child remained frozen, squatted at the fence, staring wide-eyed through the slats of wood.
“Sorry.” He started to get up when she spoke again.
“You got burned.” The words came out almost a whisper.
Surprised by her accurate assessment, he swallowed. “Yeah.”
Another beat of silence followed, and then, “Are you Sweetie’s dad?”
“Yeah.”
“I like her,” she said.
“I think she likes you, too.”
She gave him a toothy grin.
“Is that her barking?” the child asked.
“Yeah. I think she hears you.”
Her grin widened. “I’m Bell.”
“Hi, Bell. I’m Juan. I saw you—”
“I know. The other night. Can I play with your dog? With Sweetie?”
Juan almost said sure, but caught himself. “Uh, if your mom says it’s okay.”
“I’ll go ask.” She popped up.
He waited, listened, and hoped Nikki would come out. But when the door reopened, only light footsteps came running to the fence. He saw Bell’s pink tennis shoes before she crouched down.
“She said I could for a little. We’re going grocery shopping soon.”
“Okay.” Did this mean Nikki trusted him? Or was she standing at the back window listening and watching? “I’ll get Sweetie.”
He passed the dog through the open slat of the fence. While he worked, he listened to the child play with Sweetie.
“Is she a puppy?” Bell asked, stopping by the fence again.
“No, she’s three.”
“Is she a poodle?”
“Yeah.”
“I think she needs a haircut,” Bell said. “They are supposed to be puffy on top of their heads and tails.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that, too.”
“My mom could probably cut it. She cuts my hair.”
He chuckled. “I think I need to take her to the doggy salon.”
“They could put bows in her hair.” The child laughed. “I’ve seen pictures of poodles with bows.”
“Yeah, they could.” He remembered Angie had kept the dog in bows.
“Sweetie likes marshmallows,” she said.
“She does?” Juan asked.
“Yeah, I save her some from my Lucky Charms in the mornings. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, a few won’t hurt her.” He sawed the board to fit in one of the slots.
When the roar of the saw ended, Bell asked, “Is she trained to shake hands?”
“Yeah.” He remembered Angie working with the dog to sit, stand, and roll over. Sweetie would even dance for a treat.
The girl started giving the dog commands. Her laughter snuck through the fence and into Juan’s mood.
“You’re a policeman, aren’t you?” Bell asked, her pink shoes appearing at the fence.
“Yes.”
“Mom said you are a good policeman.”
“She did?” He was tempted to ask the child a few questions, but it felt wrong.
“Yes.”
“Bell.” Nikki called her daughter. Had she been listening to their conversation? “We need to go now. Pass him back the dog. And say thank you?”
“Okay,” Bell said.
Juan waited to see if Nikki would speak to him. She didn’t.
The child reappeared at the fence with Sweetie in tow. “Here you go.”
“Say thank you,” Nikki repeated.
“Thanks for letting me play with her.” Bell did as told.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“Can I do it again sometime?” Her tone was pleading.
“Sure.” His smile appeared effortlessly.
She gave Sweetie a hug, then a gentle push through the missing slat in the fence. He took her. “Have a good day,” he said.
“You, too,” her young voice chimed, and then she was gone. He heard their back door close. For some reason the silence that followed seemed to mean something. Something sad. Like an echo of the emptiness in his life.
He sat there on the grass, holding the puppy that was supposed to have been for his daughter and fighting a shitload of regrets.
* * *
Around three, Juan pulled into West Mount Apartments, where the waitress at Black Diamond had told him Bates lived. Before he left, he’d gotten four replies from the Facebook messages he’d sent out to possible friends of Nikki V. Hanson. None of them was from Boulder and all claimed they’d never friended anyone by the name of Hanson on Myspace. Four down and four to go. All he needed was one.
He drove around until he spotted the apartment manager’s office.
Cool air welcomed him as he entered the office. A woman stood from a desk.
Her “Hello” came with a smile.
He waited for the flinch when she got a good look at his scarred face. She didn’t disappoint. But she recovered quickly. People in business usually did.
“I hope you’re apartment shopping. We have some nice units.”
“Sorry.” He showed her his badge and handed her his card. “I was hoping you might tell me if Cindy Bates lives here?”
“I know that name.” She frowned slightly. “But let’s make sure I’m right.” She moved back to her computer. A few taps into her keyboard and her frown deepened. “Yeah, I thought it was her. She lives here, but not for long.”
“Meaning?” he asked.
“We handed her an eviction notice last month. She has to be out next week. The other manager tried to speak to her yesterday about some complaint, but she either wasn’t home or wasn’t answering her door.”
“What’s her apartment number?”
“Two twenty-three. It’s on the south side. If you talk to her, can you remind her she needs to be out by next week?”
Juan didn’t answer. Delivering eviction notices wasn’t the best way to win over a witness.
By the time he made it up to her apartment, sweat had collected on his brow. He knocked. No answer. He tried again and even announced himself as police.
Nothing. He knocked on the neighbor’s door, and a woman with a baby on her hip eased it open. “Yes?”
“Hi, I’m looking for your neighbor, Cindy Bates. Was wondering if you’ve spoken to her lately.”
“No. But I want to.” Her tone carried hints of anger. “She stopped my husband and asked if he wanted a private lap dance in her apartment. Said the money was going to orphans.”
“Sorry.” So Bates might be worse off than he thought. “When was the last time you saw her or heard anything from he
r apartment?”
She stared hard at the badge. “Yesterday. Her music was up too loud.”
“Thanks.” He left her a card and asked her to call if she heard anything from the apartment.
He’d just settled in his car when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Juan Acosta.”
“Yes. My name is Mrs. Henley. You left your card in my mailbox?”
Henley? He remembered. Yeah, the name of the landlord who owned the house Cindy Bates had rented.
“Yes, I was hoping to get a forwarding address of a renter who’d leased your house several years back, but I’ve since found the address.”
“You’re talking about that stripper, right?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, my husband’s not here, but you might want to talk to him.”
“I appreciate that,” Juan said. “But like I said, I found out where she lives.”
“Okay, but she’s weird. She showed up here a few days ago. Kind of freaked my husband out.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. He just said it was weird.”
“Really?” Juan considered. “Can you give me his number?”
“I could, but he’s fishing. No reception on the lake.”
“Can I stop by this evening?”
“Sure. He should be home around six.”
When Juan hung up, he realized he’d be seeing more people today than he had in the last six months. That proved Murdock was wrong when he’d called Juan a borderline recluse.
None of it was easy. He still felt mighty uncomfortable, but he was beginning to believe that maybe one day his life would be almost normal.
Almost.
* * *
Pablo waited until four in the morning, hoping Dan would return home. Finally, he went back to his North Hollywood apartment and snagged a few hours of sleep. He hated this part of Los Angeles. But he couldn’t live anywhere near where he’d lived before. He couldn’t risk running into an old acquaintance. Not that it’d be easy to recognize him. He’d grown his hair out, put on weight, and even removed tattoos.
Slamming his coffee cup on the table, he grabbed his phone and found Dan Jefferies’s number. It rang once, twice, three times.
Finally, the phone clicked. “Hello?” The voice sounded like he’d just woken up.
“Mr. Jefferies?” Pablo said, barely cutting the edge off his tone.
“Who’s this?”
“Detective Sam Milbourn. I need to ask you a few more questions about Vicki Trever.”
“I already told you I don’t know where she is.”
Was that a lie Pablo heard in those words? “You haven’t heard from her at all?”
“I’m in Denmark and it’s nighttime here. So if you don’t mind—”
The avoidance was Pablo’s answer. “Look, Mr. Jefferies, this isn’t a game.”
“Hell. I haven’t heard from her.” This time the lie was even clearer.
“When will you be back in town?” Pablo closed his fist.
“Uh…Next Thursday, but like I said—”
“The one coming up or the next?”
“The next, but…”
Fuck! “Well, look to hear from me then.”
“But I don’t know anything. It’ll be a waste of your time.”
“Then it’s my time to waste,” Pablo said. “Get some rest, Mr. Jefferies.” You are going to need it. He hung up and kicked the kitchen chair clear across the room.
Staring at the upside-down chair, he recalled the other contact he had. Marisol Willis. She’d worked for Vicki. Looked like he’d have to pay Marisol a visit.
Chapter Seven
Vicki lay on the sofa, Bell pressed up against her, as they watched cartoons. Bell was big on cuddling. Vicki wasn’t sure if it was normal or if losing her mother had brought it about. Not that it mattered. If letting the child lie close to her brought her comfort, Vicki was for it. She wasn’t above admitting it brought her a little comfort, too.
Her niece turned to Vicki. “I love you,” Bell said.
Vicki hugged her closer. “I love you, too.” Their noses almost touched.
“Eskimo kisses.” Bell brushed her nose against Vicki’s. Vicki was transported back to when her mom used to do that with her and Alison. Or at least she’d done it during her sober times. Funny how little things got passed down.
Bell reached up and touched her own face, and her smile faded. “I like our neighbor, Juan.”
“Okay, but you should call him Mr. Acosta.” The mention of her hot neighbor sent a wave of flutters to Vicki’s stomach. After staying awake half the night, unable to stop thinking about how good the couple of brief touches had been, she felt more than a little wary. Wary of letting him close, wary of how much she wished she didn’t have to keep him at bay.
Why did he have to be a cop?
“Do you like him?” Bell asked.
“He seems nice. But…you know we have to be careful. Not tell people our secrets.”
Her niece frowned. “Because they might take me away from you?”
Vicki nodded. She couldn’t tell Bell the truth. That her father was still alive. Knowing that would terrorize the child. So Vicki had explained that her father’s sister, Estella, was trying to take her away from Vicki. And it wasn’t a lie. Even worse was that Los Angeles police were saying Vicki had broken the law by leaving. And that was a lie. Joanne, from AWACO, confirmed that Estella hadn’t appealed to courts until after Vicki had left. But to prove that, she’d have to go back. And risk that Pablo wouldn’t be waiting. That wasn’t a risk she’d take.
Bell blinked up at her. “Did you know he has a scar on his face?”
Vicki swallowed the quick emotion that formed in her throat. She tucked a strand of dark hair off her niece’s cheek. “Yeah, I saw.”
Knowing the conversation might move to Bell’s own scars, Vicki sought the right words, but the cartoon came back on and the child rolled over. “I like this cartoon,” Bell said.
“Me too.” Vicki gave her niece a squeeze.
In a few minutes, Bell turned around. “Sorry your toenails don’t look like flags.”
Vicki lifted her bare feet and smiled. They’d spent thirty minutes painting each other’s toenails. Bell got smiley faces. Having colored an American flag at school, Bell had wanted to paint stars and stripes. “I love them.”
Ten minutes later, a chirp sounded from the kitchen. It took Vicki a second to realize it was her cell phone. Since she’d had it, it had rung only once, when she’d received the call that she’d gotten the job at the gym.
Leaving Bell to her cartoon, she hotfooted it into the kitchen. By the time she reached the phone, panic tightened her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Nikki?” The voice was deep, unsure, and unfamiliar.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“It’s Cal.”
She didn’t know a Cal, did she? Fear quickened her breath and she got that fight-or-flight feeling. And while she knew how to fight, with Bell, flight was the only way.
“Cal Phillips, Suzie’s dad. Our kids are in the same class.”
Relief spilled over her. “Oh, yes. Suzie’s dad. Of course. How…how did you get this number?”
“Bell gave it to Suzie.”
Bell suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Please, can she come over? Please, please, please.”
Mr. Phillips continued, “Suzie has been pestering me since we got home from school yesterday to call and see if they could play.”
Vicki had a whole lot of reservations, but the pleading on Bell’s face convinced her.
“How about if Suzie comes over tomorrow?” Vicki asked.
* * *
“Tío!”
Juan heard his nephews, ages eight and six, call him the second he walked through his brother’s door.
“Hey, guys! Got you something.” He moved in, juggled the wine and
flowers, and handed Tomás the bag with the gifts.
“Cool!” they both called and ran back outside, no doubt to fill up the water guns he’d bought them.
Juan saw his brother, Ricky, standing at the grill in the backyard and was heading that way when his sister-in-law called to him from the kitchen.
As he’d parked in front of the house, he’d noted the other cars in the driveway. He’d thought this was a family dinner. Considering he’d just admitted to being a socialite, he decided to endure.
He moved inside and spotted Christina and her brother’s wife, Linda, sitting at the kitchen table, along with another woman he didn’t recognize.
“Look at you,” Christina said, motioning to the wine and flowers. “You didn’t have to— Oh, Dios. What happened to your face?”
She shot up from her chair. While she was only eight years his senior, that hadn’t stopped her from taking on the maternal role. He’d been fifteen when he went to live with Ricky and Christina. “It’s nothing.”
Frowning, she took the flowers and the bottle of cabernet from his hands. “I’m glad Ricky isn’t a cop.”
“Yeah,” Juan said, letting her believe his black eye was work-related. No way in hell was he volunteering that a woman had beaten him up.
She looked at the bottle. “I haven’t heard of this wine.”
“I tried it last night. It was good.” When he’d gone to find a bottle for tonight, he saw the wine Nikki’d had the night before on the shelf. He’d bought a couple of bottles for himself as well, but he couldn’t deny that he hoped to share them with Nikki.
Remembering the connection his sister-in-law had with his neighbor had him wishing he could get a peek at Nikki’s job application. But no matter how many times he tried to figure out a way to ask without risking Nikki’s employment, he couldn’t.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to bring anything.”
“Hey, you serve me home cooking, it’s worth it.”
She grinned. “Well, I must admit your brother is doing most of the cooking tonight. All I did was make the rice and beans. He’s grilling the steaks and corn.”
“But no one’s rice and beans are like yours.”
Christina looked at the other two guests. “See why I love this guy?” His sister-in-law set the bottle on the table and looked back at him. “Juan, you know Linda, and this is Karina, Linda’s friend. She just moved here from New Mexico.”
Don't Breathe a Word Page 7