"Good for him."
Mena started to walk away, but Teresa asked, "What about you, Mena? Are you all right?"
She stopped and turned back. "I'm fine. Why?"
"Your uncle was looking for you this morning."
She looked embarrassed. "You met him?"
"Yeah. Have you gotten in touch with your family today?"
She shook her head. "I just needed some time to think. I don't want to talk to them right now."
"Is this about Austin? Are you worried that your family won't accept him?" She couldn't blame Mena's uncle for that, even with his gang tattoos and intimidating demeanor. If she didn't know Austin was basically a good kid, she wasn't sure she'd want her elfin schoolgirl niece hanging around with a drug-addicted street kid either. "Have they met Austin yet?"
"No," she said. "They wouldn't understand."
"Well, they can't begin to understand if you don't talk to them."
"I just… I need more time to think about what I'm going to do. After everything that has happened…."
"Going to do? You aren't taking any drugs yourself, are you?"
"No!" She was shocked. "I want to help Austin stop."
"Good for you. Then is there something else?" She paused, not wanting to mention that she knew more about the uncle's gang affiliation than Teri Forest should. "Are you in any danger, Mena?"
"Danger?" She seemed genuinely surprised by the question, which was reassuring. "Why would you ask that?"
"Well, you ran off, and you won't talk to your family—he's really your uncle, isn't he? I mean," she said, thinking of how Teri Forest would put it, "he's a bit scary-looking. He is family, right?"
"Yeah. He's family." Big sigh.
"Then you should talk to him about Austin."
She shook her head. "I don't want to talk. I just want to go back to school."
"You go to the school on your sweater, right? A boarding school in San Francisco?"
"Yeah. I'm supposed to go back next week."
"Well, in the meantime, you have time to work things out with your family. I'm sure they'd be less worried to know you're visiting a sick friend than they are thinking you are lost."
"I guess. I'm not mad at them. I just—I need some time to think about stuff."
"Has it occurred to you they might report you missing?"
She laughed. "My uncle wouldn't do that."
Right. A gang member would never call the cops on his niece.
She paused. She could actually visualize Detective Graham standing in front of her, scowling. Stay out of it, he would say if he were here. This kid is not your problem. She ignored him.
"Look, do you want to sleep on my couch tonight?"
Mena looked wary.
"I'm not going to report you to the police or anything. But it's freezing out here. You need to sleep somewhere. I'll make you a deal: you promise to call your family and tell them where you are, and you can sleep at my place and have a little more time to think about how to tell them about Austin. How's that?"
They stood there on the street. The fog swirled around their feet, and Mena shivered in her little school sweater.
"It's cold, Mena. Come inside and get warm and call your uncle."
"Okay," she said.
"You going to make that call?" she asked when Mena still showed no signs of contacting her family after they'd had soup and reheated dinner rolls.
"Okay," she said. "I'll do it."
"I'll give you some privacy." Teresa went in the bathroom, and could hear the sound of Mena's voice softly talking.
By the time she came out in her panda bear pajamas, Mena was already curled up on the sofa, asleep. Or at least pretending to be.
When Teresa woke up the fog was gone, and the sun was streaming in the balcony window. The light hit the sofa, but Mena was still curled up, her back to it, sleeping hard, like she hadn't slept in days.
So Teresa headed downstairs to get them some breakfast.
She came back and found the apartment door unlocked.
Inside it was just as she feared: empty. No note. No sign of Mena, except the rumpled blankets on the couch.
She set down the pastries she'd bought for their breakfast, then went through the apartment quickly, checking through all her possessions. Nothing was missing. Even the little stash of cash she'd hidden between the books up on the windowsill was still there.
So it hadn't been a scam. But still, the kid had taken off again. There was something she didn't want to deal with, something that was keeping her from opening up to her family, or to anyone else who offered to help.
Well, there was only so much Teresa could do. If Mena didn't want any help, she couldn't make her accept it.
But she just felt some heavier worry in the kid. She had a sense there was something else going on. Something more than her crush on Austin, a boy her parents would surely disapprove of. As Detective Graham would remind her, she was better off not knowing. Well, if the kid wouldn't tell her, she couldn't know. She was out of it.
Teresa put on her mustard dress with the white collar and cuffs. Then she straightened up the room.
She gathered up the blanket Mena had used last night and shook it out.
Something hit the wood floor with a heavy thunk.
She gathered the ends of the blanket, folding it over and over until she had a fairly neat square.
She set it on one of the shelves under the eave, carefully straightening it. Then she went back and got the spare pillow and set it on top of the blanket on the shelf.
Then, finally, she picked up the thing that had hit the floor.
It was a .357. A substantial gun, even with the little two-inch barrel on it. Black, with a rubber grip. She checked and it was loaded. All six bullets still there. That was good. It meant it hadn't been used since it was loaded, anyway.
Teresa sat down on the couch, feeling the spring hit her in the seat. Yeah. Mena had bigger problems than a crush on a boy.
Teresa met Logan in the hall outside his office. "I wanted to talk to you about one of the kids," she said.
But he pulled away. "I've got a bunch of stuff to do right now," he said stiffly. "We can talk later."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize you were busy. But this is something I need to tell you. Did the sheriff's captain call you about what happened last night?"
"Ah. About Mena? Yeah. I heard. So it's out of our hands now." He was edging back toward his office, and she tried not to feel offended. He'd been distant last night, too, when he had cancelled their dinner.
"Hey," she said. "Is your family okay? There's nothing wrong, is there? Can I help?"
He seemed taken aback. "No, no. Nothing like that. I'm really just swamped with work. And Captain Ryan told me we need to let the pros handle the situation with Mena and her uncle. So…." He shrugged.
She knew he was right. She wasn't actually responsible for Mena. She'd told Captain Ryan about what had happened when she'd turned over the gun to him. And he'd put in a call to Detective Graham from the sheriff's substation, then handed her the phone so could get an earful from him, too. Both had insisted that this was not her problem. Captain Ryan and his deputy would keep an eye out for the girl, and Detective Graham had ordered her to stay out of it.
In any case, both cops had warned her that the girl's problem was a bit too close to her own, with a gang connection that might call attention to Teresa's own situation.
The professionals were the ones to handle it. It would only take one person questioning the identity of the small-town literacy tutor to get her into a world of trouble.
"If you want to stay in Pajaro Bay you have to promise to keep a low profile." Detective Graham had repeated the mantra to her again, echoed by Captain Ryan. She had to stifle her urge to try to help, and just let go of the whole thing.
Logan was still looking at her like he was wishing he were somewhere else. "Sorry," she finally said. "The police are officially searching for Mena. That's al
l I needed to tell you. And since you already heard about it, there's nothing we need to do except to call them if we see her again."
"Got it," he said.
"So, how's Alastor?" she asked.
"Alastor? Oh, the dog. I don't know. I didn't talk to my parents last night."
"Oh. I thought you needed to help them with something."
"Oh, that? That was for one of my brothers. So he came to see me. I didn't go to my parents' house."
Pamela came out of the ballroom, glowing and serene as always, with her sweating, tired students trailing behind. "I'm fasting this morning," she announced. "I had a cleansing tea and won't eat until noon."
She waited there, expectantly.
"Oh," Teresa said. "Right. The best breakfast. Well, I had lemon scones with clotted cream. I ate two." Because she'd bought them for Mena and the kid was gone when she got back from the store. But she didn't mention that part. Didn't seem to matter now.
"Leftover stew from my mom," Logan said reluctantly when they both turned to him.
"For breakfast?" Pamela asked. "You're not going to win at this rate."
"Where is Mr. Payson?" Teresa asked, looking around.
The others shrugged.
"I'm here." He stuck his head out from a doorway under the stairs. "Just fixing the hinge on this closet door."
They all turned to him, waiting.
"Ham, scrambled eggs, pancakes, maple syrup, and orange juice." He grinned, then went back into the closet.
He stuck his head back out again. "And coffee."
"We've really got to up our game," Pamela said.
After a long but uneventful work day, Teresa didn't even have the energy to grab dinner at the market. She just went back to her apartment.
She carefully hung up her mustard dress with the contrasting collar and cuffs, and then put on a sweatshirt and jeans.
Logan had avoided her all day. What a jerk. No, that wasn't fair. She was convinced something was bothering him, but he wouldn't share it with her. That wasn't surprising. After all, they had only known each other a few days. She just needed to give him time.
But still, she felt let down. The fantasy was fading a bit on this gloomy day, and she was alone in her little attic room with nothing to do and no one to talk to.
This was the first day since she'd arrived in Pajaro Bay where she felt she really needed the comfort of a book.
She decided to try The Long Goodbye again. She lay on her couch, reading for a while, trying not to think about Mena and the gun, Austin and rehab, and Logan's coolness toward her. Just escaping into the gorgeous language and intricate plot of Chandler's classic tale. Soon her head fell back and the book rested on her chest and she fell fast asleep.
She was in her favorite mini skirt and her red stilettos. She had loved those heels. They made her feel tall and tough and somehow invulnerable. Eye-level with the men she dealt with. She walked down the dingy hotel hallway….
She started awake. She hadn't dreamed of that for a couple of days. But the gun, and Detective Graham's threats to move her away from here, must have brought it back.
She sat up on the couch and rubbed her face with her hands to break the spell of the nightmare.
She padded over to the kitchenette and checked out the contents of the fridge. One leftover roll, hard as a rock. That was it.
She glanced at her little alarm clock. Nine-thirty. She was pretty sure Santos' stayed open until ten. She put on her sneakers and headed downstairs for some comfort food.
She managed to get a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream before the store closed, just speeding through the checkout right as the clock on the wall pointed straight up at ten.
"Thanks," she said.
"No problem," the clerk said. She followed her to the door, then locked it behind her.
The ice cream in her hand made her shiver. She probably should have gone for something hot instead. She headed for her apartment in a hurry.
The fog swirled and split as she walked, like moving through clouds that ebbed and flowed around her ankles.
She still felt the after-effect of her bad dream hovering at the edge of her consciousness, so her heart jumped into her throat when she saw a movement across the street.
She shivered. But it was nothing. Just a slight figure, out on an evening errand like she was, and now heading back in the direction of the bayfront, and home, presumably.
A very slight figure.
She had climbed the first stair up to her apartment when she realized it was Mena she had seen scurrying along the sidewalk.
She set the ice cream down on the step and headed after her.
She was wearing sneakers, so her own footsteps made no sound as she followed the figure through the fog.
It was definitely Mena, making her way down the street all alone in the darkness. Why wasn't she with family? Why was she all alone out here?
The buildings they passed were mostly dark, but each streetlight that lined Calle Principal formed a yellow circle of light that was broken by a shadow as Mena passed through, to be broken again as Teresa followed only a dozen yards behind.
She could hear what she thought was Mena panting as she walked, but then realized it was the girl catching her breath as she cried.
Teresa hurried then, walking more quickly until she caught up to the girl just as they reached the yellow picket fence in front of the community center.
"Mena!" she called to her, so she wouldn't be startled by someone coming up behind in the darkness. "It's me, Teresa—Teri Forest."
The girl jumped as if she'd been struck. She twirled around to face her. "You?! Why?! Why are you after me? Can't you let it go?"
"Why?" Teresa came up close to her "I was worried about you. You ran off this morning, remember? And you left a little something behind."
"I—I left—something?"
"If I'd left a gun in someone's sofa cushions, I think I'd remember," Teresa said dryly. "Do the kids do that a lot at your fancy private school?"
She said it lightly, but Mena didn't laugh. She didn't do anything, actually, except stand there looking cold and scared under the lamp post that marked the entrance to Roi Soleil. Her nose was red and running, and her cheeks were reddened by the wind, and her pixie hair was standing up all ragged and wet.
She had buttoned her school sweater all the way up to her throat, but she was still shivering as she wrapped her arms around herself.
"Come on, kid. Let's go inside and get warmed up and you can tell me all about it."
She shook her head. "I'm not telling. I won't."
But Teresa took her by the arm and led her up to the community center.
She pulled out the heavy iron key that fit her office and found, as Logan had told her, it opened the front door, too.
She led the girl inside.
"Now. Let's figure out—" Teresa started to say, but Mena ran away from her down the dark hall.
Mena got to the back of the house, Teresa right behind. The fog swept across outside the massive windows, blown by the ocean breeze. The glow of the moonlight came and went as the fog drifted and flowed like waves outside.
Mena looked all around her, like a trapped animal, but when Teresa came closer and reached out to calm her, she ran again, up the stairs. So Teresa followed. They went all the way up, cat and mouse in turn, up the three flights until they reached the top.
Mena stood on the landing, trying to figure out which way to run. "You're at the end of the road," Teresa said. "There's nowhere else to hide. Let's go into my office."
Teresa unlocked the office door and ushered Mena inside.
The girl was trembling violently now, as if terrified for her life.
"Please, Mena. Please tell me what you're so afraid of. I can help you."
"No," she whispered. "You don't want to help." She sank into the overstuffed chair and covered her face with her hands.
"Of course I want to help. That's what I'm here for." Teresa reached in
to the spot between the bookshelves where the light switch was. She flipped it on and the little tower was flooded with light.
"No!" Mena jumped up and ran to the switch. She flicked it off, and they were enveloped in the semi-darkness of the night. The drifts of fog hovered just outside the windows, and they were alone in the silent tower, surrounded by eerie puffs of mist, illuminated only by moonlight.
Teresa shivered. The nearest window was still propped open with the broom handle, and the cold was seeping in. Teresa was going to go close it, but Mena gave out a keening cry of grief, like her heart was breaking inside her.
Teresa turned back to her. She watched as Mena leaned against the bookcase, all her strength gone. Then, like a broken little elf doll, she sank down on the floor and covered her face, and sobbed.
Teresa knelt down in front of her. She took the girl's cold hands in between hers and rubbed them, trying to warm them up. "What is it? Did something happen with Austin?"
"Austin?" Mena said his name like it was a stranger's, like she had no idea who that could be, and couldn't care less.
"Please, tell me what's wrong so I can help you."
"No one can help me," she whispered. "I don't know what to do. I don't know."
"Of course we can help you," Teresa said firmly. "We can figure it out together. You're safe here and we all can help you get through this, whatever it is."
Mena turned her head away, faced the bookcases, her shoulders shaking with the sobs still wracking her body.
What had happened to her? What was she so afraid of?
Teresa stood up. "I'm going down to Logan's office to call the police. I'll be right back."
That got Mena up on her feet like a flash. She caught Teresa at the door. "No!"
"Yes, Mena," Teresa said. "We have to get help. Something's terribly wrong here, and if you're not going to tell me, I have to get some help." She pushed the girl aside and opened the door.
She went out into the landing, and headed toward the empty, cavernous stairway.
But it wasn't empty. Not anymore.
Two men had just reached the top of the stairs and were coming toward them.
Sunshine Cottage: A Pajaro Bay Mystery Page 16