A Family Man At Last

by Cynthia Thomason

  “Yes. Having everyone back here after the service gave me the chance I needed.”

  “And did you come to any conclusions?”

  “Only that the people who came to my dad’s service seemed to admire him. Many of them spoke about his contributions to the community and his various charitable efforts.”

  “That may not help you solve a murder, but it must make you feel good to know he was respected.”

  “It does. What about you? Did you uncover any clues that would support my theory?”

  “I didn’t. But then I already know everyone here. I didn’t expect to discover any surprises. You may have to face it, Edward. That your father’s death was very likely accidental. I know it’s not what you want to believe...”

  He gave her an earnest stare. “I can’t believe it, Monica. My dad was agile, smart, steady on his feet. I would have noticed if his faculties were diminished in any way. Darn it, Monica, he didn’t just fall off that dock and not even try to save himself.”

  Edward was silent for a moment. “I have something I want to show you,” he said.

  “Okay. What is it?”

  He stood. “I’ll be right back. It’s in the house.” He looked down at her. “I don’t know about you, but I could go for a glass of wine.”

  “Sounds nice,” she said. “Maybe just the one.”

  He returned with an open bottle and two glasses. After setting them on a table, he poured a few fingers of red liquid into each glass. He handed Monica one glass and tipped the other toward her. “Thanks for your help,” he said and clinked his glass against hers.

  When they’d both taken a sip, he took an envelope out of his back pocket.

  “Before you show me whatever that is,” Monica said, “I want to clear up any issues about the pocketknife we found. Forensics was able to discern a few smudged fingerprints. As we assumed, they all belonged to your father. He was definitely the last person to touch that knife.”

  “Pretty much what we thought,” Edward agreed.

  Monica took another sip of wine. She enjoyed a nice red vintage once in a while. This bottle was especially fruity and semisweet. She settled back in her chair.

  Edward took a piece of paper from the envelope. “I found this among some things in my father’s desk.” After unfolding the paper, he handed it to Monica. She set down her wineglass and read the document.

  At first she experienced the same pangs of loss and loneliness she always felt when reminded of her father. His name jumped out at her in all three paragraphs of the letter. It was written by the judge six years before—a year before her father died. The signature at the bottom said Judge William Smith, but it wasn’t notarized.

  “Then it’s true,” she said. “The judge did promise part of the marina to my father.”

  “More than you even guessed,” Edward confirmed. “Twenty per cent, offered to make sure your father would stay on at Smitty’s. My dad obviously recognized Juan’s value to the ongoing success of the business.”

  The paper shook slightly in her hand. “I wonder if my father knew about this, about the percentage, I mean. He would have been so grateful. My hunch is that the judge never had the opportunity to tell him.”

  “That’s possible. He might have been waiting for an occasion to tell Juan, but then, your father passed away.”

  Monica read the letter again. “I’m glad you showed this to me, Edward. If nothing else it reaffirms my belief that the judge and my father had a close relationship.”

  “Since there doesn’t seem to be anything formal that legally passes the property from one man to another,” Edward said, “my guess is that your father died before mine had a chance to complete the transaction.”

  “So the promise was made, but isn’t worth more than the paper it’s printed on,” Monica said.

  “I’m sorry, Monica. Unless I can find something more binding...”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Monica said. “Even if your father had given this share to me or Mama, we wouldn’t know what to do with twenty percent of a marina.”

  “I’m wondering what I’ll do with it myself. We’re going to open tomorrow. A.J. and I will run things for a while, but I have to get back to work in Miami, so I have to make a decision.”

  He took the letter from Monica and returned it to the envelope. “But this letter does make me think,” he said.

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “I know what you’re going to say. My father could have told Miguel about this even if the document wasn’t legal yet. The letter could point to my brother, provide visible proof of a motive, either revenge or greed. Miguel might have tried to convince the judge to give him part of the marina.”

  He nodded his head. “And my father could have denied him.”

  “But why would he act now?” As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer.

  “He was incarcerated for several years, right? Maybe this was his first opportunity to confront my father about the promise.”

  “My brother didn’t do this, Edward. Miguel has his flaws, but murder? No. He wouldn’t.”

  Edward reached over and covered Monica’s hands with one of his. “I hope he didn’t, Monica, really, I do. I’ll know more on Thursday after I talk to him.”

  Monica felt her eyes burn. She wasn’t a crier. Even when her father died, she’d remained stoic while the others in her family sobbed their grief. But this... “It would kill my mother to find out that Miguel did such a thing.”

  “Monica?”

  She raised her face, looked into his eyes.

  “Why are you afraid of your brother?”

  * * *

  HE KNEW HE was right. Monica slowly shook her head, trying to deny what he now acknowledged to be true.

  “I’m not afraid of Miguel,” she said, though the twisting of her hands told him otherwise.

  “Well, something’s going on,” Edward said. “From the moment I mentioned talking to your brother, you kind of closed down. I deduced that you didn’t want him coming to Sweet Pine.”

  “Because of Emilio, that’s all.”

  “Really? Because if you’ve had Emilio for his entire life, I can’t see that Miguel has any real fondness for his son. Maybe he can come here and talk to me without ever seeing Emilio.”

  “No. Miguel wants to stop at our house before he comes to see you. He claims he wants to visit Mama and Emilio. If I deny him a chance to be with his son, I don’t know what he would do.”

  “I’m sorry, Monica,” Edward said. “I had no idea this would be so hard on you. If you like, I’ll change the arrangements. I had wanted to talk to your brother at the scene of my father’s death. Often guilt can be determined by an uneasiness in a suspect, or a slip of the tongue. But if this is going to upset you, I’ll go to Miami and talk to Miguel there.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Monica said. “I’ve known that this moment had to come sometime. Emilio knows he has a father. The fact that I don’t want Miguel anywhere near his son is no reason to hide the truth.”

  “That’s not all that’s bothering you, Monica. Men have spent time in prison and come out to be good, caring fathers, but you seem very certain that this isn’t the case with Miguel.” Edward gently loosened her hands, felt the tension in her fingers and clasped the hand securely. “Tell me what Miguel did. Did he hurt you?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Then what, Monica? You can tell me. I’d like to help you with your relationship with Miguel, but you have to talk to me.”

  “Miguel was always a wild kid,” she said. “He was often in trouble. At the beginning, his mistakes were small, childish things that many do, but as he grew up, he changed, became more obstinate, resentful of rules.

  “Mama stood up for him, talked my father out of disciplining him. She said Miguel would mature and look back on his
mistakes with regret. But he never did.”

  “So his crimes became more serious?” Edward said.

  “Eventually, but never anything violent.” She sought comfort from Edward’s gaze. He gave her an encouraging smile.

  “He started driving to Miami almost every night. Got involved in stealing cars for their parts, doing minor drugs. He was always asking Mama for money, and then, one day he stopped asking. He’d rented an apartment. Mama told herself he had a good job, but I knew he was getting money elsewhere. I tried to talk to him—he was beyond listening.”

  “And then he got caught, isn’t that what happened?” Edward asked.

  “Yes, but not before he met Ellie. She was from a traditional Little Havana family. When she became pregnant, she and Miguel kept it a secret from both sets of parents. Miguel’s life might have turned out so differently if he and Ellie had begun a life together. He truly loved Ellie. She would have kept him on a straight path.”

  Edward had heard such stories many times—stories where an odd twist of fate decided a person’s fortunes or turned him or her in the wrong direction. But Monica’s story, told in her soft, clear voice with such emotion, made him wish he could take away her sadness. He wished he had known her then, when her family needed help.

  “Ellie is Emilio’s mother?” Edward said.

  Monica nodded.

  “What happened to her?”

  “They had no insurance, so Miguel took her to a midwife for the baby’s birth. There were complications with the pregnancy. Infection spread through Ellie’s body and she couldn’t fight it. When she died, Miguel’s world was shattered. He brought the baby to me. I said I would keep him, and Miguel said he never wanted to see the baby again. He got back in with his old crowd in Miami and eventually went to prison.”

  “And Emilio has been with you ever since his birth?” Edward asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he call you Mama?”

  “No. I’m his Tía ’Nica. He knows his mother died, and he knows he has a father who doesn’t live around us. Emilio hasn’t asked for details, but I’m sure he will someday.” She squeezed her eyes tight for a second. “I just hadn’t planned on someday being Thursday.”

  “So this is all about Emilio?” Edward said. “You’re afraid for your nephew, not yourself?”

  “That’s right. So long as Miguel leaves us alone, everything will be okay. He doesn’t deserve to be in Emi’s life.”

  Edward thought for a moment. Part of him wanted to cancel the plans to interview Miguel, but he was so confident of Miguel being a prime suspect. He couldn’t just pretend it wasn’t important. “I have an idea,” he said. “What if Emilio didn’t see his father on Thursday? What if Miguel came directly to my house?”

  “Miguel has made up his mind. He’ll have to drive by my house to come to yours. I can’t keep him from stopping.”

  “Didn’t you tell me Emilio went to summer camp?”

  “Yes, but I’ve arranged to keep Emi home that day. I can’t deny Mama the chance to see her son, even though she has unrealistic dreams of Miguel connecting with us again and all of us living together.”

  “That’s never going to happen,” Edward said.

  “No. But it has been too many years that Mama has seen her son—not since Papa’s funeral. She’s always imagining a transformed Miguel, and even though I know she’ll be disappointed, I don’t want to keep her from seeing him. And I can’t deny Miguel the opportunity to see his son.” She gave Edward a sharp look. “I don’t know what Miguel would do if I told him he couldn’t see Emilio.” She sighed. “And I don’t know what I would do if Miguel did anything to separate me from that boy. My heart would break. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Would Miguel really try to take Emilio away from you?”

  “Not logically. I don’t think there’s room in Miguel’s life for a five-year-old boy. So I’m willing to take the chance on Thursday. I just hope and pray...”

  “What, Monica? What do you hope for?” Edward took her hand again and held it tightly. It was such a small hand, considering all the responsibilities this woman had. A small, delicate hand that soothed a young boy’s mind before he went to sleep, as well as protected her family when she had to.

  “It’s not something we should talk about now, Edward. Basically I just hope you are convinced as I am that Miguel didn’t do this. Then he’ll go on with his life and our lives will continue as they have.”

  Edward moved closer to her and smiled. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what I want for you. I’m not a dad, and I don’t know many children, but I can sense your love for this boy. He’s a lucky little guy to have you.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” she said.

  “I’ll keep my conversation professional with Miguel. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

  “I trust you.”

  “And I trust you. We have that going for us, Monica. It’s a trust I sensed the first time I met you.”

  Her eyes widened and caught the moonlight in their black depths. “Me? All I’m doing is trying to satisfy you about what happened to your dad. And most of the time I’m wondering if I’m doing such a good job at that.”

  He cupped her cheek with his hand. “You’re doing more than just a good job,” he said. “In your kind, gentle way, you calmed me when I was stuck in the eye of the storm that was losing my father. You’ve helped me see reason. You even convinced me that family should be everything, and I’ve opened communication with my sister. And now you’ve shown me how a woman can give her all for one small boy.”

  “I’m afraid you’re giving me too much credit,” she said.

  He gently stroked her cheek. “Accept my gratitude, my admiration. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  His desire to kiss her was strong, but he sensed it wasn’t the right time. She leaned back. “Too soon?” he said, his tone light and teasing.

  “For a kiss?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  She smiled. “I can’t say I wasn’t thinking about it, too. But maybe it is too soon. Besides, tomorrow is a working day, and I should go home.”

  She stood. He locked his hand with hers and walked her to her car. “Thanks for coming tonight. And thanks for sharing your story.”

  She opened her car door and turned to look at him. “You owe me your story, Edward. I’m sensing there’s much about you that I don’t know. Yet.”

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, the good and the bad.”

  She got in her car. He watched her drive away and released a long, satisfied breath, one that a few minutes ago he wouldn’t have believed he was even capable of right now. He would sleep tonight, more soundly than he had in days. He’d forgotten to tell her that she’d done that for him, too.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WHY ISN’T EMILIO going to camp this morning, Monica?” Rosa said Thursday morning. “Is he ill?” She placed her palm on his forehead. “He feels cool.”

  Emilio looked at his aunt over his bowl of cereal. “Why aren’t I going to camp, Tía ’Nica?”

  Monica hadn’t told her mother and her nephew about Miguel’s visit. First, she half suspected that Miguel would back out of the agreement and not show up. She didn’t want to disappoint the child or her mom.

  But Miguel had called a few minutes ago from the road. He was on his way. “One hour, ’Nica, that’s all your cop friend gets from me,” he’d said.

  She hadn’t called Edward a cop, but she didn’t correct Miguel on the phone. She hadn’t told Miguel about Edward’s true profession as a criminal psychologist, either. If Miguel had known he was seeing a doctor he would have refused for certain.

  Miguel would arrive soon. It was time to prepare her family.

  “You’re not going to camp, Emilio, because we are expecting company this morning.”<
br />
  “Company?” Rosa asked. She picked up her duster and began wiping the furniture. “Help Abuela put your toys away, Emilio.”

  “Oh, Mama, you don’t need to do any of that,” Monica said. “The house looks fine, and this particular guest won’t notice if a few toys are on the floor.”

  “Who’s coming?” Emilio asked.

  Rosa had been hovering over the kitchen table, but Monica told her to have a seat. When her mother had settled, she said, “Miguel called, and he’s on his way.”

  Rosa gasped.

  “Who is Miguel?” Emilio asked.

  “He’s...someone our family has known for many years,” Monica said.

  “Mui hijo,” Rosa said. “My son is coming. He has changed his ways, just as I’ve always prayed.”

  Monica wasn’t surprised that Rosa considered a visit by her ex-con son a miracle. The only times Rosa and Juan had argued was when they had a disagreement about Miguel’s bad behavior. Rosa always defended him. Juan always told her to face the truth.

  “Miguel should be here by ten o’clock,” Monica said. “He can stay for an hour or so, but then he has an appointment with Edward.”

  “Why would Edward want to talk to Miguel?” Rosa asked.

  “I don’t want you to be upset, Mama, but Edward wants to talk to anyone who might have had a grudge against his father.”

  Rosa jerked upright in her chair. “What? A grudge about that marina? That is the past, ’Nica. Miguel would not carry such venom in his heart for so long. Besides, he has paid his debts. He has learned his lesson.”

  Monica patted her mother’s hand. “Mama, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Miguel had anything to do with—” she glanced at her nephew, who had taken an obvious interest in the conversation “—the incident,” Monica said.

  “You are right, hija,” Rosa said. “You know Miguel would never do such a thing. Everyone at the service said that the judge slipped and fell. And you are a police detective. You would know if that weren’t true.”

  Ignoring her mother’s overzealous statement of confidence, Monica explained, “I had to agree to this for Edward’s sake. He’s hurting and he needs answers. He and Miguel will talk for an hour and then Miguel will leave. That will be the end of it, so I don’t want you to worry.”