“Please do,” Tristan said. He squeezed my hand.
“Uh, excuse me.” I raised my free hand like a schoolgirl. What was wrong with me?
“Yes, Monica?” Detective Ross said. I sensed Bob Clarke stirring in his chair.
“When did she... I mean... the lady, Silvia De Aguilar, when did she, you know... die?”
“We don’t have an exact time of death. The medical examiner noted that she received the blow to the head sometime on Wednesday afternoon. Apparently, she was left there, unable to move. She bled to death where Mr. Dumont found her.”
She bled to death. The image of her head resting in the large pool of blood flashed in my mind. I swallowed harder.
“Monica, are you okay?” Detective Reid asked.
“Hmm, I...” Aware of everyone’s eyes on me. “Wednesday afternoon, I drove by the house.” Was I really the one talking? Tristan let go of my hand, and the room grew still. “I drove by on my way back from the 40th Street parking. You know, the trails...” I had to stop and breathe; the walls were closing in on me.
“Go on,” Detective Reid said in a sweet voice I didn’t know she had.
“The gate was wide open... at the Dumonts’ house, I mean. For a moment I wondered if I’d left it open the previous day when I went to check the mail. But—but then I saw a car parked up the driveway by the front door. And... I’m pretty sure it was a silver Escalade.” Breathe, Monica, breathe. “I’m so sorry, Tristan.” I couldn’t look at him.
“Fiat, why didn’t you tell me?” Then to the detectives— “Angelique drives a silver Escalade.” —his voice disturbingly detached.
“Monica, you’re sure it was Mrs. Dumont?” Detective Ross asked.
“No, no. I only saw the car and thought maybe they were mad at me for letting a stranger come up to the house the day before and they wanted to check nothing was missing. I know it sounds stupid now, but...”
“You say ‘they were mad.’ Who do you mean?” The detective again.
“Oh, you know, both Angelique and her assistant, Lois Thomas. They drive the Escalade, so I don’t know who was at the house. Maybe both?” I waited for someone to stop me. No one did. “I had spoken to Angelique on the phone around eleven or so. She was at the ranch. It was after one o’clock when I drove by the house, she would have had to drive fast to make it to Phoenix in two, two and a half hours.” I conveniently left out my asking Brenda about Angelique’s whereabouts. I had just swallowed enough guilt in one serving to last me a lifetime and was undoubtedly not making Tristan feel better about any of this.
“Thanks, Monica, we can follow up on that,” Detective Ross said, looking at his partner.
She nodded.
“The Escalade. OnStar.” Tristan said. Both detectives nodded.
Then Eve/ Detective Reid slid a one-page letter toward Tristan. I assumed it to be the original because you could clearly see the folds. It looked like a very ordinary piece of printing paper. I recognized Silvia’s handwriting. And she must have used the same pen she had in her purse when I met her at the Dumonts’, the same color ink as the writing on back of the ripped business card. “Mr. Dumont, it’s a copy. You understand.” The detective said.
Oh, I was wrong.
“We can read it together.” Tristan said. He slid the paper closer to me, and we did.
THIRTEEN
DEAR SIR,
I’m Silvia Del Aguilar, and you don’t know me. I am writing to you about Angelique Chervais, now Angelique Dumont. I have known Angelique for many years, maybe eight because of my half-brother, Rogelio. Rogelio and Angelique were together for a long time. They did not stay where I live, but I knew of them and sometimes ran into them when visiting relatives in Mexico. They are not good people. Angelique is very mean and when she drinks gets meaner. Rogelio is mean all the time, and he steals from people. One time they had a big fight, and Angelique went back to France where she worked. Rogelio got into more troubles and ended up in a prison in Mexico. He is American, born in the United States like me. Angelique wanted to visit him. She couldn’t. I think she had no money; I don’t know. The next time, I saw her in Mexico with your father, a very nice, very sad man. Angelique was telling everyone she was marrying Mr. Philippe Dumont, and she will be very rich and will never work again. But Mr. Dumont is not well, he wants to go back home. He always speaks of his dearly deceased wife and of his son he misses so much. That is you, Mr. Tristan. Angelique became very angry and drank a lot. When Mr. Dumont got more ill, he needed to go to the hospital. Angelique put him in the car and told him she would drive him to a hospital she knew. That’s how the accident happened. Angelique Chervais was driving the car, not your father. She was drunk. They both ended up in the hospital and Angelique was all broken up, her bones I mean. Your dad, he died. She made up the story about getting married. In Mexico there is much corruption and even from prison Rogelio could do things. By the time you arrived, you were told Angelique was the poor sad bride-to-be and your dead father caused the accident. So you did all the things you were told your father would have done for Angelique. I wanted to contact you sooner, but I didn’t want to be mixed up with the lies and also was much afraid of what my half-brother would do to my family. So I said nothing. For that I was punished. My husband and my son died in a boat accident, and I am in Phoenix for cancer treatment. Either way, my life is over. I must make things right if I still can. Angelique lied about your father and about the wedding, she bribed people to help her with the lies. But more bad things are happening now, and you must know. Rogelio was to be seven years in prison. He only has one year left, and when he is out, he will come after you, Mr. Dumont, because Angelique told him if you die, she will inherit all your money. I beg you to protect yourself. I’m sending this letter to the young real estate lady so she can give it to you as I don’t know where you are or when you will be back.
Please forgive me for not doing the right thing sooner. All this is the truth.
Be afraid and save yourself from Angelique and Rogelio.
God Bless you.
Tristan pushed the letter away, no one spoke.
I waited for him to say something, anything. He obviously had a lot more self-control than I would. My hands shook, not sure why. I searched for soothing words, but honestly the ones lining up in my mind weren’t soothing, and they were all directed at the one person who seemed to fill the room with her absence. Angelique. I couldn’t even reach out and pat Tristan’s hand, afraid that would be the spark to start the fire and by fire, I meant all his bottled-up hurt exploding.
A phone rang somewhere in the next room. Still, no one budged.
Then Tristan looked up, directly at Detective Ross. Searching for some mysterious sign? Maybe it was a man thing because the detective responded to it.
“It’s true, we checked. Rogelio Avondo, two years younger than the victim. They shared the same mother.” He took a step toward the table where Tristan and I sat and handed each one of us a black-and-white photo of a man. “That’s Rogelio Avondo’s most recent mug shot. Look familiar?” he asked. “Take your time. It’s very important.”
The man in the photo staring back at me was maybe late-forties? His straight dark hair was combed back, his face a little on the chubby side. The only striking features were his eyes. I couldn’t say if they were blue, green, or gray, definitely on the light side, and they had a look of defiance. It was hard to explain, but a shiver ran up my spine, and I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stiffen. The man exuded cruelty.
“No.” I gulped. “No, I’m sure I’ve never seen him. Didn’t you say he’s in prison? In Mexico?”
“Was,” Detective Ross said. “He was able to get an early release by using the family emergency. His brother-in-law’s and his nephew’s death, added to his sister, Silvia De Aguilar’s terminal cancer. We don’t know who he paid off to push that through. But he did, and now he could be anywhere. Even here in Phoenix.” He tapped his index finger on the edge of the photo.
<
br /> I couldn’t get enough air. All these horrible things, one after the other. Why now?
Tristan stirred in his chair. “Do you think he’s the one? Would he kill his own sister?” He paused. “That would have put him in my home.” He kept his eyes on the detective. Hoping for a denial? His voice sounded calm, a weird calm. He had to be both hurting and mad as hell, especially at Angelique. OMG! This was horrible, mad at Angelique and probably feeling guilty about not being there for his dad when he needed him most. At least that’s how I would feel. So much betrayal.
“We didn’t find anything to support that. No fingerprints or DNA. Then again, when we went through your house, we didn’t know about Rogelio Avondo’s existence. Our plan is to send someone over to the residence for a more detailed search. I assume you’ll want to discuss this matter with your—wife, first?”
Tristan’s body stiffened, and he looked at Ross with such intensity that the detective averted his eyes. “No.” Tristan’s cool as ice attitude was back. “I don’t have to explain anything to Angelique. I’ll leave that pleasure to the detectives.”
Ross and Reid turned to look at him simultaneously.
“I will give you my lawyer’s phone number in case you have questions regarding Angelique’s present status in the United States. Feel free to search, interrogate, arrest.” He paused, a puzzling half smile. “Mi casa es su casa,” he added to the surprised expression on the detectives’ faces.
And just like that I knew they were all rooting for him.
“If it’s okay with you, I would rather drive down to the ranch and get my horse. The caretakers called just before you did, and they have concerns about missing money and the horses not being cared for. It’s my responsibility. I’m also concerned about Lois Thomas. She has been working for us for about three years and has always been very dependable. If she’s not answering her calls, something may have happened.” The way Tristan spoke I had the feeling he had already made up his mind about going down to the ranch before ever arriving at the police station.
“Hmm. I—I spoke to Brenda today, and she said she was packing her stuff and coming back to Phoenix.” Why did I say that? It suddenly seemed important for me to share.
“Perhaps I should go down to this ranch with them,” Officer Clarke said. And I felt like hugging him. Wait... he’d said “them.” Was he inviting me along?
“I’m sure Brenda would appreciate that,” I said. “She sounded very concerned when I spoke to her. She shared some of the things Tristan just mentioned. Missing money, horses not cared for and Lois’ absence. ”
“I’ll be driving the horse trailer back to Phoenix, and it’s not a leisurely type of ride.” Tristan stroked the back of my hand—was he talking to me? His amber eyes had surrendered the sparkle to that dark, deep sorrow I’d glimpsed once long ago when I visited him after the car accident. At the time he was reminiscing about his mother. Poor, poor Tristan.
“Do you pull the trailer with a truck?” Bob’s question broke the raw emotion of the moment.
“I do. We store all that down there because we often need to pick up rescued horses, and in general I keep my mare up here. But I was gone and felt like it would be good for Tache to be around other horses.” Was I the only one who noticed the love in his voice when he spoke about his horse, or that it turned frosty in regard to the so-called wife who had lied to him and, according to Silvia De Aguilar, possibly caused his father’s untimely death?
Who could blame Tristan? He had just been hit with a ton of betrayal and years of deception, and he managed to keep a polite and controlled façade. Part of me wanted to shake him and tell him it was okay to be angry; the other part wanted to hug him tight and assure him that it was okay for men to cry. But as usual, I kept my screaming tucked nicely in my heart. Then I remembered I didn’t have my car. If Bob Clarke was heading south to the ranch, how was I supposed to get home?
As if reading my mind, Bob made it official. “Monica, why don’t you drive to the ranch with me, and then you can ride back with Brenda and Dior? I bet they’ll both like that.” I found myself nodding, my mouth open as usual, my eyes on Tristan. He was still staring at the photo of the Rogelio crook. I wondered if he lied when he said he had never seen him before. How could he be so cool, looking at the face of the man who wanted him dead?
Detectives Adam and Eve had been talking to each other in low, conspiratorial tones, darting glances toward Tristan from time to time. It seemed to me they felt sort of sorry for him. Who wouldn’t?
Then Tristan turned to Bob and me and said, “Would it be all right if I tag along with you two? I can then drive Tache back to Phoenix without leaving my car at the ranch.”
Bob Clarke looked at me, and I shrugged. Of course inside I screamed for joy, but this was not the place for that type of outburst. “Sure, Mr. Dumont, no problem. Are you dropping your vehicle by your place?”
“No,” Tristan said. “It’s parked here. Safe I assume. Correct?”
Everyone nodded.
FOURTEEN
TRISTAN SAT IN front with Officer Clarke. We traveled south on Interstate 10 hoping to get to the ranch before sundown. I mentally prayed Brenda had some food left because I was famished. I did my best to carry on the conversation without sounding like a total chatterbox. My goal? To keep Tristan from thinking about all the sad things that Silvia De Aguilar’s letter brought to light.
When we drove by the Wild Horse Pass Hotel and Casino, Bob reminisced about sighting a band of wild horses running at full speed to the west side of the highway a few years back.
“At first I thought they were filming a movie because those horses were magnificent with long flowing manes and different colors too. That was the most interesting part. I had always assumed that wild horses running around in a group were one big family and would all look alike. Wrong... anyway, that was before the smart phones with cameras and all that, so I couldn’t get a photo.”
“Talking of phones and families, do you know where the dead woman was staying?” I asked.
“No, I don’t know, but her medical appointments were at the Mayo Clinic in north Phoenix. I understand they provide you with room and board when you are part of experimental treatments. Why do you ask?” Bob said.
Tristan turned to look at me. “Yes, what are you thinking about, Fiat?”
I shrugged. “Oh, you know, curious. She showed up twice at your house; alone I guess. How did she get there? I don’t remember seeing a car, either time. First I thought she could have left her vehicle on the street outside the gate. If she had such a vehicle, of course. You know, that gate and steep driveway can be intimidating. Or maybe she used Uber.”
“I’m sure Detectives Ross and Reid have checked that out,” Bob said. “Monica, you should let them know you didn’t see a car, especially on that Wednesday when she died. It may help to determine when she arrived at the house.”
Well, so much for keeping Tristan from thinking about sad stuff. Good job, Monica.
It had been quite some time since I’d visited the ranch. The new addition, where the large, industrial-type kitchen was to be, seemed almost done. Even in the setting sun I could see new windows, stuccoed walls, and a flashy metal roof. The kind of roof I usually saw in photos of old barns from what Americans call back East. In my mind that could be anywhere east of Arizona and New Mexico, but I’m sure I was wrong. Someone with a funky sense of humor had sprayed Coming Soon in red paint over the old wooden sign that said No Name Ranch. And the caretakers’ house had a new porch, but the same old patio chairs. In a way, I liked that. It gave me a sense of continuity—something I had always craved, in spite of my so-called lifestyle.
As Bob slowly drove around looking for a parking spot, I rested my hands on Tristan’s shoulders and kneaded the soft center spot. He let his head fall back and seemed to really appreciate the gesture. Then Bob parked, and Brenda appeared out of nowhere.
“What a nice surprise. What’s up?” She wiped her hands on a big d
ishtowel. She had on her cooking apron, the one with extra-large pockets. I rushed to hug her as if I hadn’t seen her in like forever. “Well, looks like someone misses me.” She smelled of apples.
“Hi, Brenda.” Bob stretched his arms and looked around. “I’m here semi-officially. Tristan is taking his horse back up to Phoenix, and we want to make sure all goes smoothly. No surprises.”
“First I need to go talk to Ernie Lopez about the missing money.” Tristan seemed drained of all energy. I had the impression he was waiting for an answer, but all he got was a nod from Brenda. “Okay then, I’ll be brief. I’ll like to get back on the road as soon as possible.”
That was my cue to ask for food.
“I’ll make you something quick,” Brenda said. “I’m about all packed up, why don’t you run and get Dior? He’ll be happy to see you. He’s back by the horse stalls. No need to go look, he’ll see you first, I bet.”
I had hoped for something to eat now. Oh well.
She must have read my mind. “Monica, here.” She pulled a red apple from her pocket. I hesitated. “What? Are we playing Snow White and the Wicked Queen now?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m still whipping you up some food, but you can munch on that. Got a big basket of fresh apples, I have baked a few pies. They are still too warm to cut. Take it. Go.” She turned and walked away, chatting with Bob. “Bob, what’s this story about a dead body? I feel like I’ve been away from civilization...” Even while walking away I could hear the disappointment in her voice. Wait until Bob tells her about Angelique’s latest pile of lies.
The ranch exuded a sense of abandonment, maybe it was the time of the day. With the light fading and horses and workers nowhere in sight. Except, it was much more than that, and I couldn’t quite explain. But I did get why Brenda wanted to go home. This place felt lifeless, sad. Like an old, abandoned town where the buildings and the streets are still there, but the humans, the beating hearts, aren’t.
Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis Page 9