Lost in the Light

by Mary Castillo

  "Hello?" she called out.

  "Be right there!"

  A young guy with a goatee, pink guayabera and a fedora perched on his head stepped out. "Good morning!" he greeted jovially. "How’s it going?"

  Dori had been expecting someone a bit more somber. He was way too cheerful to work in a place like this. She eyed the name plate on the counter.

  "Hi Richard, I was wondering how I could find out where someone is buried here."

  He shrugged and rested his hand on the counter. A silver skull with little red eyes blinked up from his ring finger. "I just need a name and preferably date of death."

  Of course, he did. All she had was a name and a mental image of really handsome man in a ripped up suit. "His name was Vicente Sorolla and he died in 1932."

  "That might complicate things." He now rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. "There was a fire here in the 1940's, and they like, lost all of those old records."

  Dori nodded her head, backing towards the door. "Thanks."

  "Hey, anytime," he said. "Is he like, a relative of yours?"

  "Yeah, something like-" She hated it when people said 'like' all the time. "Yes, he was."

  "Wait a second! Have you tried the history room at the library?" He plucked a business card out of a holder. He jogged over and handed it to her. "The gal running it is really cool. She can, like, find anything, know what I mean?"

  Dori smiled at the thought of Meg. "Thanks. I met her the other day."

  "She's come by and helped some of our families out. When you have the names and dates, I'll look it up in the system just in case."

  Dori thanked him and then walked back out into the gray day to wash out Grampy’s vase of all traces of Great Aunt Norma’s floral poaching. So much for ten years of law enforcement experience, she thought. She knew how to find someone. There had to be news accounts of a man murdered in her house. She felt a little stupid for not thinking of it before.

  As she tucked the office guy's card into her pocket, she thought of Meg again and her internal mumbling faded away. Maybe when she finished up with Grammy, she'd give Meg a call and see if she'd be interested in coffee or something.

  "Come on! I brought you all the way up here for your visit."

  Startled, Dori turned from the sink to see a dented and scratched Nissan Altima idling at the top of the steps. She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t heard the car approach. A woman bent over the front passenger seat. At first, Dori thought she was hollering at her kids.

  "Vieja, I drove you all the way here," the woman said a little too loudly for a cemetery. "It’s your man's anniversary."

  Dori craned her neck, only seeing a pair of legs in thick support stockings. A pair of claw-like hands jerked up in surprise when the woman grabbed her by the shoulders.

  "Fine. I'll slap you outta this car," the daughter said.

  Dori watched them struggle. She caught glimpses of the older woman’s hand, trying to push the younger woman away. She should mind her own business, but she left the vase in the sink and walked towards the stairs.

  "Excuse me," Dori called out. "Can I help you?"

  The younger woman's thick gold necklace clanked over her black sweat shirt when she turned. "Who the hell are you?"

  Dori took in the thick eyeliner, tattooed angry-thin eyebrows and silvery pink lipstick. She wore tight black jeans and white Converse shoes. Dori glanced in the car. The older woman cried silently.

  "Hello, ma’am," Dori said, making eye contact with her. "Are you okay?"

  "I told you, mind your damn business," the chola said, stepping over to block the old lady from Dori’s view.

  "I'm speaking to your mother."

  "She ain't my mother and she don’t talk no more."

  "It doesn’t look like she wants to get out of the car," Dori said. "Maybe you should take her home and bring her back another time."

  "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do, bitch?"

  Dori automatically reached for her badge. But it wasn’t there. Her Smith and Wesson hid in her holster under her leather jacket.

  She dusted off her pants instead. "If she doesn’t want to get out of the car, don’t force her."

  The old woman in the car leaned forward and met Dori’s gaze. She looked like she'd scream for help if she could. A knitted bib covered the hole from a laryngectomy.

  The chola jutted out her hip and waggled her finger in the air. "If you're gonna mess with my business, you gotta get through me puta cabrona."

  "You think you can talk to my granddaughter like that and get away with it?"

  Dori turned to her Grammy standing there, fists on her hips and peacock feathers flapping in the wind.

  "Hell yes I can, and I'll tell you, you old bi-"

  Dori called out. "Hey, both of you stop!"

  But neither paid her any attention, inching closer and closer while tossing insults at each other.

  "I don't care how fat you are, I'll put you in a wheelchair," Grammy shouted.

  The chola started down the stairs. "Okay, now you pissed me off good, old lady. I'll show you to shut your damn mouth!"

  "What's going on out here?" Richard the office manager demanded, standing in the open doorway. "This is like, a cemetery. You can't be fighting out here."

  Both Grammy and her nemesis barked at him to shut up.

  "I got this," Dori told him and then was shoved backwards. Her arms flapped in the air, feet tripping over the other. She caught herself and then without thinking, Dori swept her left arm up, deflecting the woman's fist. Her right fist drove up into the chola’s chin, and she heard the woman's teeth snap. The chola staggered back and then landed on the ground with the thunk of her head hitting the sidewalk.

  Dori stepped over her and grabbed her shirt, yanking her up from the ground. Her fist cocked up. She vaguely heard voices calling out to her as she drove that fist into the woman's nose. The impact reverberated up her arm as she saw the first trickle of blood that turned into a gush that covered the woman's mouth and neck.

  Dori came down on her knees, her hand reaching for her weapon. Someone yelled gun and for a moment, she was looking down into Kaylee's face.

  But then she was hauled off, arms wrapped around her chest. There was more yelling.

  "Stop, mija! Enough!"

  Dori looked around the cemetery, confused as to where she was and why someone was holding her. Grammy stepped into her line of vision, her face taut with fear.

  "Mija, it's okay. She's down."

  Dori sagged in his arms, the fight rushing out of her.

  No one moved. It was so quiet that the dead may have been peeking out from behind their graves to see what would happen next.

  "Let her go," Grammy pleaded with Richard. Dori couldn't bear the look on her grammy's face.

  "I'm taking her into the office," he said. "Then I'm calling the cops."

  Dori could've easily thrown him off, twisted his arm over her shoulder and tossed him into the fountain. But she nodded. "Okay. I'll go with you."

  They shuffled towards the office. Dori forced herself to look down at the woman lying unconscious and bleeding on the ground.

  "Wait," she called out to Grammy. "Stay with her mother."

  "What the hell you talking about?"

  "Stay with her till the ambulance comes," Dori explained, her lips going cold and stiff as the consequences loomed before her. She began shaking. Thank God she hadn't reached her weapon in time.

  Richard's hold relaxed. Grammy looked from the old lady in the car to Dori.

  "Go. I'll stay with him," Dori said. "I'm okay."

  He let her go. She opened the office door and walked inside.

  They got in the car and Dori drove out of the parking lot. She had managed not to get arrested for assault. Richard and Grammy told the cops the chola had come for her first. They took the chola and old lady away in separate ambulances.

  But now she had a new problem. At least she'd called her union rep and then her investigat
ing officer from the scene and explained what happened. He never gave any indication if he believed her story that it had been self defense. He'd said he would get the report and they would go from here.

  In the rearview mirror, she saw Richard watching them from the top of the stairs. She turned the corner.

  "I left Grampy's vase in the sink," Dori said.

  "Don't worry about it. I borrowed his neighbor's vase and put my roses in it."

  They swept down the hill. Her left arm would be bruised from blocking that woman's punch and her right hand throbbed. She shouldn't have done it. She should've kept to her own business.

  "Promise me something," Grammy said.

  "What?"

  "You won’t never do that to me."

  "I was trying to defend you! What makes you think I'd ever lay a hand on you?"

  "Not that! I mean, yelling at the poor vieja like that vergüenza was doing. I'd rather die than be treated like that."

  "When have I ever- What would make you think that?"

  "Because that’s what happens when people become old and useless."

  Dori pulled over and yanked the brake. She turned to Grammy. "I would never do that to you. Look what I just did to that woman you started a fight with!"

  "That's cuz you got your grampy's blood. He always upheld my honor. Not that I needed him to," she added hastily. "Thing is, you and me: we gotta take care of each other, and I know I got mad at you about the door and Bernice, but you proved your loyalty, and I respect that."

  "You're welcome."

  "How's this gonna look with your job and everything?"

  Dori shrugged, releasing the brake and pulling out into the street.

  Now all of her senses were on high alert. She could smell the musty air coming in through the vents and feel the tiny ridges in the steering wheel. Her stomach clenched with regret at her impulsive reaction. For a moment, she'd completely lost touch with reality. Dori shivered as she wondered if the shooting had irreparably broken something loose inside her.

  "You better take me home so we can put some ice on that hand," Grammy said. "How's your side?"

  "She didn't get me there." The light turned green and Dori turned right and headed up the hill towards Grammy's house. "But I'll be okay."

  "No, it's not okay. You need ice and some hot soup."

  "I'll do it when I get home."

  "Didn't you say you can't go home till they're done?"

  "Maybe I'll go see a movie or something."

  Grammy sighed long and hard. They pulled up to her house, and Dori prepared to help her out of the car. "How come you don't let no one help you?" Grammy asked.

  Dori looked up at the broken screen door, slapping the side of the wall in the wind. She almost turned that comment back on Grammy, but the adrenaline had swooshed out, leaving her tired and slightly nauseous.

  "Because I don't need help."

  "You will when you get old. Who's gonna be there for you when I'm dead?"

  "You think I'll be a lonely old lady?"

  Grammy looked her up and down. "You're gettin' there."

  "Well knowing you, you’ll haunt me so I won't have anything to worry about."

  "If you don't think I got better things to do when I'm dead and reunited with your grampy, than you got another thing coming."

  Dori stared out the windshield. "When will things just go back to normal." She hated the whine in her voice. "I thought I was getting better, you know. I saw her pointing that gun again and-"

  Grammy laid a hand on Dori's which clenched tight around the steering wheel. "It's going to take time, mija. You got to walk away from that whole situation. Think about that."

  "And now I'm a mess."

  "But you're alive, aren't you? You got a second chance."

  She didn't bother to argue with Grammy, who didn't understand. Dori made herself grin even though right now, she wanted to put her head on the steering wheel and cry. "It doesn't help that I always end up beating people up when I'm with you."

  "Better than changing my diaper, don't you think?"

  Chapter Seventeen

  The camouflaged school bus was parked out front when Dori pulled into her driveway. She smiled at Oscar, Gavin's foreman, as she got out of the car.

  "We didn't want to leave the house open," he called out from the doorway of the bus.

  "Thank you. I'm sorry you had to wait so long."

  He shrugged. "It's no problem."

  "Everything go okay today?"

  "Oh yeah. You okay going in there by yourself?"

  Dori resisted the urge to turn and look up into the windows. "Of course."

  "I'll go in with you. Just to make sure."

  Oscar stepped down off the bus and walked alongside her. "If you were my daughter, I'd have second thoughts about you being in this big place all alone."

  She couldn't help but feel touched by his concern. "How long have you worked for Gavin?" she asked, slipping her swollen hand into her pocket.

  "Ever since he got outta school. Hell, he used to work for me. I'm his uncle."

  Dori hoped Gavin hadn't told him of what she'd done way back then. Even though this was the first real conversation they'd ever had, she would hate to lose Oscar's friendliness.

  "You already know this, but I'm Dori," she said, slowing down to offer her left hand.

  "Oscar." He took her fingers and gently squeezed.

  They chatted as she walked into the kitchen. They'd left the lights on for her.

  "See you tomorrow morning," he said when he made her promise to lock the door after him.

  "Good night and thanks for waiting."

  Dori stocked the freezer with more meals Grammy had made for her. She heard the bus engine come to life and loneliness crept up on her as Oscar drove off into the night.

  She stood in the center of the kitchen, wondering if she should walk lightly in case her house toppled into the basement. It felt sturdy. She should've called Gavin for an update, but she'd been watching QVC with a bag of frozen peas on her hand.

  She heated up a bowl of macaroni and cheese and then made herself a salad of mixed greens drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette and a touch of honey. Dori flicked on the flameless candles she'd bought from QVC the other night at Grammy's house for fear that real ones would burn her house to the ground.

  She was blowing on her first forkful of dinner when Vicente asked, "Don't you ever cook on the stove?"

  Her mac and cheese landed in her salad. "Couldn't you say hello or make a sound to warn me you're here?"

  "Hello," he purred, standing on the other side of the table.

  "Not like that."

  "Like what?"

  She fished the noodles out of her salad, rather than play games with him. "Where've you been these past few days?"

  He lifted his eyebrows.

  "Right," she said. "Never mind."

  "Where were you today?" he asked as if he knew she'd been up to no good.

  "At the cemetery." He narrowed his eyes, and she quickly added, "I didn't find her there. I was visiting my grandfather."

  "Oh. I'm sorry. How long has he been gone?"

  "In a few weeks, it will be twenty-six years."

  "Do you see him?"

  Dori shook her head. "You're my first."

  He grinned, now leaning back with his hands behind his head in the chair opposite her. "Every man likes to hear that."

  She smiled and it seemed to please him that she found his machismo amusing. "I've been meaning to ask you something. Why did you appear to Gavin the other day?"

  "Gavin?"

  She wasn't buying that innocent face. "Gavin, the man I hired to remodel my house."

  "I didn't do nothing to him."

  "He saw you looking down at him from my bedroom window."

  "Gavin's his name, huh?"

  "Yes, the same one who was in the basement with me when you turned off the lights."

  Smiling, he rested his hand on the table. His sleeve rode up,
and she could read the numbers on his Elgin watch. "I was testing him to see what kind of man he was."

  "Leave him and his men alone," Dori said.

  He nodded but said nothing more. She finished off both the mac and cheese and salad and then carried her plate to the sink.

  "How come you're not afraid of me?" he asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. "Should I be?"

  "Nope. What happened to your hand?"

  "I hit a lady."

  He laughed.

  "She was going after my grammy so I uh, kind of lost it."

  "You were protecting your own. Sometimes our instincts know better than our heads," he said proudly.

  Dori didn't want to think how her instincts had changed. She'd full on snapped at the cemetery. It was like she'd dropped into an alternate reality.

  She looked at him, thinking it must be like what happened to Vicente when he appeared and disappeared. "So are you going to tell me what happened the night you met those guys on the beach?"

  "You like my story? I thought maybe my dirty past would offend your morals."

  "I'm a white lamb in a family of black sheep," she said as she got up to start the tea kettle on the stove. "But that doesn't mean I'm judgmental."

  "Most cops I knew probably would've made better criminals than me."

  Thinking of how close she'd come to choking that woman out, she said nothing.

  "What? Did I offend you?"

  "I was on my way to delinquency when I was in high school." She opened the rooibos she'd bought from Halcyon and told him the short version of her journey to becoming a cop. "And then I made something of myself outside my family."

  The surprise on his face was almost funny.

  "I can't arrest you now, so don't worry about telling me your dirty past," she said.

  He glanced down at the table, as if he didn't know what to say.

  "So you met those men making a delivery," Dori prompted, carrying her teapot and cup to the table. "Did you help them?"

  He made a dismissive sound. "Sure did and I learned my first two lessons in villainy. Never work for free and never work for someone who doesn't have the law on their payroll."

  San Diego, 1925

  The officer laughed as he kicked Vicente in the stomach. He'd hauled him out of the truck, and the palms of his hands stung from the grit embedded in his skin.