"Where'd you find her?" Vicente asked.
Dori glared at him but waited for her grandmother to finish yelling into her little box.
"What happened?” she asked as the old woman sighed and shoved the box into her purse.
"He said he saw a see-through man. Your fantasmo."
"Sounds like the mota talking," Dori said.
"Don't give me that. You doing anything about getting rid of him like you said?"
Vicente turned to Dori, but she pretended he wasn't there. "Yes."
The old lady stared at Dori like she could see straight through her. "That's the research you got going through la librarian, ain't it?"
"Yeah, but I messed up my lie. I forgot if I told her Anna Vazquez was my great great grandmother or my great grandmother."
"So who is this Anna Vazquez?"
She glanced at Vicente, looking him in the eye for a moment as she gave a slight shake of her head. "First thing's first, is Chuy coming back to put all this together?"
"Nope."
Her lips curled into a sly grin. She couldn't help but ask, "Was he crying?"
"You didn't answer my question. Wait-" The old lady's eyes went wide as she looked around. "Is he here?"
Vicente cleared his throat.
Dori looked at him. "Yes. But he'll go away."
"When I damn well feel like it," he shot back.
"Anyway, Anna lived in the Westside. She was his girlfriend. Kind of."
"Kind of?" Vicente demanded.
"She had a still and she lived in a big house on Harding," Dori said, maintaining a straight face that even impressed him.
"How do you know all this, mija?" the old lady asked warily.
"Yeah, explain that," Vicente added spitefully.
Dori cleared her throat. He could tell that the old lady was getting scared. But she had pride like her granddaughter.
"What kind of pain killers did that doctor put you on?"
"I'm only taking Motrin."
He turned to Dori. "Take her home."
Dori took in a deep breath before she asked, "Do you need a ride home?"
"I drove my own damn self, thank you. Chuy was supposed to take me back,"
"It's dark out. I'll take you back."
"I'll do it myself."
"But you don't like driving at night."
"How you gettin' back?"
"I'll come back in your car and then return it in the morning."
Their voices grew fainter as he willed himself to go. "I have to come right back," Dori said and Vicente knew she was saying that for his benefit. "So I can't stay for dinner."
"Who said I was cooking for you?"
Chapter Twenty
Dori slammed her car door and then crossed the street. A saw whined, interrupted by the pounding of a hammer.
It was almost lunch time and Dori wished she'd stopped for something to eat before coming here. She recognized Gavin's truck parked in front of a 1920's Spanish-style bungalow where Oscar had said he would be. Eucalyptus trees swayed in the breeze and hid the busy 8 freeway below the Mission Hills neighborhood.
A box of tiles propped the front door open. She called out hello but no one could've heard her over the racket.
Dori followed the trail of plastic sheeting that protected the wood floors. She took her time through the tiny house with a rounded fireplace, niches and a built in hutch with leaded-glass doors. She peeked into the lone bathroom with a red tulip stained-glass window.
"Oh, it's you."
She jumped. Gavin wiped dust off his hands. "Oscar told me you'd be here," he said.
"Well I um- This is a nice place."
"It's small."
"I tried knocking."
"I didn't hear you. I just came to use-" He gestured to the bathroom.
"Right."
She stepped out of his way. Rather than linger by the door, she went into the kitchen. Plastic sheets lay over a vintage stove and refrigerator. Wires and bare pipes stuck out of the broken walls. Dori stood in the sunny breakfast nook. The built-in table and bench spoke of a simpler time, or those who believed that life was simpler in the past. From what Vicente was telling her, there was no such thing as the good old days. Suffering, self-inflicted or otherwise, was the same then as it is now.
Dori rubbed her burning eyes. She hadn't slept very well. Grammy hadn't said much during the ride to her house last night. She didn't come to the house to pick up her car, nor had she answered her phone when Dori called.
"I got it in auction."
Dori started at the sound of Gavin's voice.
"The stove and refrigerator were in the garage, but they'd trashed the cabinets and took all the light fixtures," Gavin said, joining her in the kitchen.
"They left you a bath tub."
"You'd need a crane and dynamite to move that thing. It's cast iron." He opened an ice chest. "Water? Coke?"
"No thanks. Are you planning to live here?"
"Fix and flip," he said. "So what brings you here?"
She took in a deep breath. "I have a problem."
He waited for her to explain.
"My grandmother bought new kitchen appliances and my cousin can't finish installing them."
A crack sounded between them as he twisted the cap off a water bottle. He took a long drink and she looked out into the back yard through the watery glass.
"And so you want me to..." He deliberately paused for her to fill in the blank.
"I need you or one of your guys to finish the job."
He leaned his hip against the stove. "Are we talking reconfiguring the kitchen? It's out of the 1970s and the cabinets weren't built for new appliances."
"They'll fit, for the time being."
"Might be a good time to- Never mind. This is killing you to ask me isn't it?"
Dori fought the urge to grin. "I'll survive."
"Thought so. I can come tonight."
"Well, I thought maybe one of your guys might-"
"Nope. I also want to get you started on the hallway." He chucked the empty bottle into a box. "Remember? You need to put some muscle into the place."
"I remember."
"Now that I think about it, the kitchen might be a better place to start."
"I'd really like to work on the hallway." She thought of Vicente taking his last breath on the floor. "I'd like to paint it and maybe polish the marble a bit and refinish the floor."
"You should call in my wood guy."
Dori imagined thousands of more dollars going out of her bank account. She'd wanted to pace out the restoration projects over time.
"I need to take a break," Gavin said. "There's a store I want you to see."
After talking with him, she'd planned on going to the history room at the downtown library. Instead of politely refusing, she got into his truck.
"We could've taken the color sample to Home Depot," Gavin said when they carried out her paint supplies later that afternoon.
Dori propped the door open with her foot. "I helped a small business. Go ahead."
He hesitated. "It's against my programming to go before a lady."
"Oh just go. The door is heavy."
He shook his head.
"Fine," she said on a sigh, stepping out into the parking lot.
Gavin tried to slip through but the door slammed against his arm and the bells jingled merrily. He struggled. She stood there watching, and the grin he gave her once he slipped free made her smile back.
"Impressive," she said.
"I know. I use it on all my dates."
She almost asked why he wasn't married. Not that it was any of her business. But he hadn't really changed from the brief time they'd dated. He'd taken her to the old-fashioned paint store that specialized in vintage homes and then patiently explained what she'd have to do to her hallway.
"You know that you're setting yourself up, don't you?" Gavin asked as they walked to his truck.
She prepared herself for criticism. "What?"
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"You're going to end up spending the rest of your life working on your house."
"I always planned to live in one house so that'll be fine with me."
"Old houses need loyal owners."
She braced herself for the inevitable conversation about her lack of loyalty. Dori wasn't quite sure that she heard him right when he said, "You seem to fit the bill."
"Would you be disappointed if I sell?"
He shook his head. "Nope. I might even buy it from you. And if you're nice-" He paused to grin at her. "I might even let you stop by for a visit."
She lifted an eyebrow. "I could come over for tea."
"Tea? Yeah I noticed you drink that stuff by the gallon. I'd never have pegged you as a tea person."
"Why? It's good for you."
"Okay you could come for tea." The look he gave her made her coil her fist against her thigh. "Only if you bring the cookies," he said, and the alarm chirped when he unlocked the truck.
She couldn't help herself. "What kind of cookies do you like?"
His cheeks turned red. He'd always blushed easily, even in high school. "Oatmeal chocolate chip. What about you?"
"I'm a straight forward and simple girl," she said, her lips quirking. "I like shortbread."
"With the sugar crystals on top?"
His arm brushed against hers, and chills radiated over her skin. Dori cleared her throat. "Exactly."
She stood beside him, waiting for him to open the truck's back gate. As a boy, Gavin had nervously shuffled when he was about to kiss her. But the man stood with both feet planted on the ground, his eyes dark and watchful.
Something buzzed between them. He pulled out his phone. "It's mine," he said, frowning.
He held up his finger and took the call. Disappointed but hoping they'd decide to go out for a bite to eat, Dori finished loading the brushes and plastic trays.
"Oh hi Meg," he said. "Yeah, I remember."
Dori's ears pricked up, and then she told herself it was petty to eavesdrop.
"Tomorrow night? Oh. Can I call you back?"
Dori left him the heavy paint cans and walked to the passenger side of the truck. Her hands were shaking and her armpits wet. Of course Meg would ask him out. She'd asked if Dori was interested in him and if he was gay, so there was no reason for anyone to be weird about it.
"It's unlocked," Gavin called out to Dori.
Dori wished she'd driven her own car, but got in and shut the door. She shivered even though the cab was hot. The truck shook when he slammed the bed gate shut.
"That was your friend Meg," he said, settling into the driver's seat.
She couldn't look at him until she got her nerves under control. "Yeah?" she asked casually.
"She, uh, asked me out," he said as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
"You should go," Dori said. "She's really cool, but if you mess up on her-"
"Hey, I'm not like that."
Dori looked up at the tone in his voice. "I know."
He rested his arm on the steering wheel, watching her. "So you don't mind?"
They weren't moving. A car was waiting for their spot. Dori wet her lips and shook her head. "Of course not."
He hesitated and then turned around to look out the back window. "If you say so."
As she aimed straight at the chest of the zombie target, Dori breathed in and on an exhale squeezed the trigger. But she flinched just when the hammer clicked against the LaserLyte Training Cartridge in her Smith and Wesson. If it had been a live round, she would've pecked the zombie's shoulder.
Her shoulders ached and her knees trembled ever so slightly. Dori had been dry-firing from her bedroom door to the end of the hallway for almost an hour, trying to rid her mind of that look on Gavin's face when he'd told her to bring cookies. With a sigh, she pulled the slide open and poked a pen through the barrel to pop the cartridge loose.
As she reloaded her weapon, Dori wished she'd given him another signal. She wished Meg hadn't called him. She wished he had crossed the distance between them to lift her chin so they'd look eye to eye before he kissed her.
Dori shook her head to clear away pointless fantasies and regrets. She grabbed her zombie target and then turned off the lights, walking back to her room in the semi dark.
Securing the gun under the bed, she hoped the tight ball in her chest would unravel now that she was in her sanctuary. From now on, she would keep things friendly between her and Gavin. No flirting and no looks. But now under the covers, she craved oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
He cleared his throat. "Is this a bad time?"
Vicente spied on her through the bathroom door she'd left cracked open.
She sat up, strangely relieved he was here. "No."
"What did you find today?"
"Your boss shouldn't have trusted his arresting officer."
Vicente cocked his head to the side, not following.
After Dori brought home her paint supplies, she ran out of time to go to the library. So she logged online into the Nexis database of historical newspapers. She found the James McClemmy trial for violating the Volstead Act chronicled in the Los Angeles Times. She then got ambitious and used Ancestry.com to find his intake record at McNeil Island Prison, his marriage certificate and his San Diego address in the 1920 census.
"He thought by pleading to the charges that they'd let him off," she said. "We use that line all the time. How come they didn't arrest you?"
Vicente stared at her and then vanished.
"What?" She sat up straight. "It's a legitimate question."
"I know, but he wasn't a stupid man." He now lay on the bed beside her, his hands behind his head. She was about to protest, but in truth, it didn't bother her. "He really went in, huh?"
She cleared her throat. "Yeah. I'm going to look for his probation record tomorrow."
Vicente nodded, staring at the pattern on her quilt. "I worked for a dairy company." He looked at her and winked.
"You're not disappointed?"
He shrugged and she knew him enough to know that was his way of deflecting the truth. "It's not every day you find out that you died for nothing. The whole point for me to step inside this house was so they'd stick the charges on me and let him off. Fucking cops."
She resisted the flare of indignation. She'd been hearing it her whole career, mostly from her family who had been guests of the federal and state penitentiary system. "He broke the law and he paid the price."
"You ever been beaten with your hands cuffed behind your back by men who are supposed to uphold the law?"
"No."
"Then you don't know nothing."
The chola's blood-soaked face flashed in Dori's mind and her righteousness dried up. "Sometimes we have to make tough decisions," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm not saying what they did was right but-"
She couldn't remember what she was about to say.
"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as if he sensed the turmoil churning in her chest.
Dori looked away. "I killed a woman. Just a few weeks ago. She drew a gun and fired-" She lifted the covers and her shirt to show him her bandage.
He eyed the bandage but never said a word.
"It was me or her and I-"
"She's dead?"
Dori nodded. "If I could go back-"
"Yeah I know."
She jerked her chin up. "I'm not like those men who killed you. They were almost gleeful about the whole thing."
He stared down the length of the bed. "Do you think Eugenia's the old lady your grandma found?"
Dori blinked, not quite following the abrupt change of subject. It was her great grandma who'd found her, but she didn't correct him. "I don't know. I hope not."
She reached for her notebook and made a note to herself to look up the property record.
"I tried to stay away from the barrio after that night," he said with a long sigh. She looked up from the to-do list she'd started. "But I had to take care of my sister and my grand
mother. They barely scraped by."
"Your grandmother accepted your money?"
He grinned, but his eyes were sad as if the rejection was still fresh. "Eugenia did. She had her baby boy to feed and another on the way."
"What was her son's name?"
"I can't remember. I never met the baby because I-" He lifted a shoulder instead of stating the obvious.
"Right." Dori eased back onto the pillows, turning towards him to prop her head on one hand. "So you went back."
National City, 1932
"At this rate, you might as well marry me for all it's costing you."
Vicente looked over at Clara, who clutched the leather strap above the door as they sped south towards home. "You'd kill me in my sleep," he said.
"Puh, what makes you think I'd wait that long?" She winked at him. "You know, we could be quite a team. You're not so bad when you laugh. You got a good sense of humor."
He rolled his eyes and kept a firm grip on the wheel. The red Cadillac's powerful engine pulled against him, wanting to break loose and run wild till it met the water.
Clara counted on her fingers. "We're not stupid, we've made good on our agreement and I could help you move up."
Vicente tore his mind away from the memories of seashells under his thin shoes and his lips sticky from mint candy. "Yeah, how?"
"I could be your Mata Hari and seduce secrets from your rivals."
He couldn't help but laugh at her. "No you couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Cause I can read what you're thinking by just looking at your face. Maybe you should be in the movies."
"Did you just insult me?"
She grabbed her hat when he jerked the wheel and turned off the main road. "Close your damn window," she said. "It's letting in the dust."
He obliged her. Rocks pinged off the insides of the wheel wells as the car bounced along the dirt road. Autumn turned hot and dry. He remembered the taste of the red dust in his mouth and the pain of it shredding his eyes.
The sunlight slid over the curves of the roadster and children stopped their play to watch him drive by. He pulled in front of his sister's house. According to Alex, the old lady lived in the front house, which still had the plate glass window from its time as a small store. Eugenia, Alex and their little boy, whose name Vicente already forgot, were in the back house.
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