by Lynne Hinton
“JP?” he asked.
“Yeah, wife-thieving, creepy guy,” she replied. She was sitting in the chair opposite the bed. After watching him grimace every time he moved, she had told the Captain that if he didn’t rest for an hour, she was going to call their neighbor with the funny-smelling car, Delphine, to come over for a visit and then leave her there while she went back to the office. It was a surprise to Eve, but he had complied and headed to his room to take a nap. She wasn’t sure if he was as tired as he appeared or if the threat actually worked.
“What do you know about wife-thieving, creepy guys?” he asked.
“You think because I’m a nun I don’t know about wife-thieving, creepy guys?” she asked.
“I think because you’re a nun you’re not supposed to call them that.”
“Call them what?”
“Wife-thieving, creepy guys.”
“Oh.”
There was a pause. She decided to let that thread of the conversation go. “So, what happened to JP?”
“I decided not to use him anymore,” he said. He fluffed up the pillows behind his head. “And don’t go thinking it had anything to do with your little sermon on truth-telling or friendship.”
Evangeline couldn’t help grinning.
“One of us has to go to L.A., and since you don’t trust your instincts in getting any details out of our world-traveling writer about his relationship with Cheston and you want me to handle that, I think that narrows it down to you. You need to go to Los Angeles and check out things in the house Megan shared with him, see if there’s anything in his personal effects that might give us some clue that he had been writing this script or that there was a business arrangement with Biltmore. See if there’s a computer and check the files, although I imagine the police took that with the search warrant.”
Eve wasn’t prepared for such an unexpected assignment, but she was starting to like the idea of a trip. “Okay, but how do I check out his computer if it is there? Where do I look for proof of his writing or having business with Biltmore? Wait, how do you even buy an airline ticket? Like you said, I’m a nun, and not of the flying variety. Maybe I should stay here, maybe we could ask someone else to go.”
“Do you want to find and talk to Mr. Biltmore instead? Can you get him to confide in you about his relationship with the victim, find out why he left town, why he had a page with the name of Cheston’s film written on it at his property, and who he’s been talking to in Madrid about the murder?”
Eve blew out a breath. She wanted to go to California. Even though flying to a city alone was something she had never done before, she didn’t feel afraid. In fact, the idea sounded appealing. She knew she was scheduled to have a conference call with her superiors in Pecos and that she needed to spend some time preparing for the conversation, but she wanted to find out more about this case. She wanted to dig up more information about the murder of Megan’s boyfriend. Besides, she knew that the Captain shouldn’t be negotiating airports and taxis—he had no business trying to travel in his condition. And she knew that if she didn’t make the trip, he would find and talk to Mr. Biltmore and book a flight to L.A. too. Besides, the fact that he no longer had an associate in Los Angeles sounded like her doing. She sat up in her seat and nodded. She was going to Los Angeles.
“Will you promise me you will take your antibiotics, monitor your blood sugar, and rest once every couple of hours?”
“Yes ma’am, Sister.”
She paused.
“How will you get to Biltmore if he’s even home from his trip?” she wanted to know. He still was not able to drive.
“I’ll check around, make sure he’s home, and then I’ll ask Daniel to take me. It’ll look more official if I have an actual police officer with me,” he answered.
“And Daniel agreed to this?”
“Well, not yet. But I don’t think it will be a problem. It doesn’t look like Hinds or anybody else in the department even has Biltmore on their radar. I think if I can get to him first, he’ll give me all the information I want. Daniel shouldn’t worry about having any conflict of interest.”
“Except that he was warned not to talk to you about the case.”
He shrugged. “We won’t talk about the case. We’ll talk about trips to India and property crime in Santa Fe County.”
Eve folded her arms across her chest. She figured Daniel could make up his own mind about getting the Captain to Biltmore. She didn’t need to worry about that.
“How did you even find out he was coming back to New Mexico?”
“I talked to his travel agent,” he answered.
She shook her head. “I don’t think I even want to know the details.”
“No, probably not.” He yawned.
“But you’re sure he’s coming back?” She started to get up. She could see he needed to rest.
“He booked his return flight for tomorrow afternoon. I’m planning to make a visit to his place tomorrow evening, introduce myself, and find out what he knows.”
Eve nodded. “So, this flight to Los Angeles, who do I call to reserve a ticket?”
Jackson leaned back and closed his eyes. “Not to worry. The ticket is in the top drawer of my desk at the office. I booked you on the two o’clock flight tomorrow afternoon.”
“You did what?” She was surprised to hear this announcement.
“Two o’clock, Albuquerque to L.A. Take a sweater. It sometimes can get a little chilly on the planes.” And he yawned once more. “Can you close the door on your way out? And the light, do turn off the light.”
Evangeline waited a second and was about to say something about his presumptuous behavior, but she could see it would do no good. She shook her head, flipped off the overhead light, and pulled the door closed.
“I guess I’m going to California,” she muttered to herself. “Wonder what the vice superior of the abbey will think of that.” And she headed down the hall in the direction of her room. She would need to think about what to pack.
FORTY-NINE
Eve wore her best pair of jeans and a blouse she’d found in her mother’s old things. She wore her nicest boots and packed a small bag Dorisanne had left in her room. She took only a few items with her—her files and papers, a few toiletries, a toothbrush, and a flashlight, a T-shirt, a pair of the Captain’s sweatpants, another pair of socks, and a lightweight jacket.
She arrived about an hour before her flight and struggled only a bit in the security line, forgetting to take off her belt, setting off the alarm with the rosary she kept in her front pocket, and then again with the prayer book she had forgotten in the back pocket of her pants. For the most part, though, she sailed through every checkin detail, boarding procedure, and taxi line. Nothing about the flight or navigating the airports had been all that challenging, and much to her surprise she even began to feel as if she had a knack for travel.
“Here’s the address where I need to go,” she said to the cabdriver after waiting in line and finally being motioned to the taxi at the end of the curb. She handed him the piece of paper that Megan had used to jot down where she lived, opened the door, and got in the backseat, her overnight bag at her feet.
She reached into the outside pouch of the small suitcase and found the key Megan had given her. She went over the plan again. She was to look around the house and see if she could find anything that would establish a connection or relationship of Cheston’s that could shed light on who might have wanted him dead. The Captain had given her some ideas of what to look for—letters, computer files, phone records, but actually, there wasn’t really any particular item she was trying to find. She was sent to L.A. to find answers to questions that had not even been asked.
She was also sent to see what had been taken from the house by the police. The Captain had been shown the search warrant request and return—the list of all items seized from the residence. Megan’s lawyer had been given a copy, but Eve was supposed to make sure nothing else had been taken. Megan
had given as detailed an account of her personal items in the house as she could remember, but that had been a hard assignment for the young woman to complete.
Eve recalled the questions the Captain had asked Megan on the phone the night before. “Did you have a calendar? Did you keep a diary? What kinds of files do you have on your desk? And Chaz?” He was taking copious notes that he gave Eve before she left. “What did he keep at the house? Is there another computer? Cell phones? Does he keep any records there?”
“First time in L.A.?”
Evangeline had stopped rifling through her papers and files and had practically pressed her nose to the window, peering at the sights as they drove out of the airport and in the direction of her destination. She smiled. “First time anywhere,” she answered.
The cabdriver looked at her in his rearview mirror. “You here for business?”
Eve glanced back at him. He was dark-skinned, thin, and appeared young. She noticed his identification card on the dashboard of the car. She thought his name was African. She considered what had been asked. Is this business? she wondered. And when had she ever been asked such a question?
“I guess so, yes,” she said.
He grinned. “Movie business?”
She shook her head. “Oh no, not that kind of business.” And then the curiosity overcame her. “What makes you ask that?”
He lifted and dropped his shoulders as he merged onto the freeway, looking left and right. “The address,” he replied, his accent thick. “Movie people’s neighborhood.”
She nodded. “Oh, right.” And it dawned on her again just whose house she was visiting. She wondered if he would recognize the name of Megan Flint but decided it might not be prudent giving out her friend’s information.
“Where are you from, Berihun?” she asked, calling out the name she could see printed on the card slid inside the plastic holder. She hoped she was pronouncing it correctly. She made a stab at the first name, knowing she wasn’t going to attempt the last.
He sat up, watching her more closely in his mirror. “Ethiopia,” he replied, his grin still wide. “I come to Los Angeles five years ago,” he added.
“And was this a good move for you?” She quit watching the sights outside her window and turned her attention to her driver. She realized she rarely had the chance to cross international lines and have a conversation with someone from another continent.
“Yes,” he answered. “Very good. I come to make a place for my family. I make a home and send for my wife and children. I miss them very much, but I know they will soon join me.”
Evangeline nodded. It was easy to see what being in America meant to him. “How did you choose California as your destination?”
“I pray for God to show me.”
Evangeline glanced away. The city was coming into view. So this is Los Angeles, she thought, the City of Angels. She thought about his answer, and she wondered if divine intervention had in fact brought the young man from Africa to America, if that was what had brought him to Los Angeles. She wondered if it had been divine intervention that had taken her from the convent in Pecos back to her home in Madrid, from the kneeling bench to her father’s bedside. She wondered if it had all been part of some divine plan that she was sitting in a cab on her way to a movie star’s house. Was it divine intervention that was taking place in her life at that very moment?
Evangeline faced ahead and studied the man’s reflection in the small mirror in the center of the windshield. She could see his sincerity, even his joy in the narrow view she had of his eyes, his smile when he raised his face. She thought of her own situation and wondered if she had the kind of faith the driver seemed to have. She thought about the previous night’s conversation she’d had with the vice superior.
She had explained about the Captain’s setback, the infection, the fact that he still was not able to drive. “How much longer do you need?” the vice superior had asked after agreeing to the request, and Eve had not known how to respond. “Six weeks should be enough,” she had answered, recalling the conversation she’d had earlier with the nurse. The Captain could drive in three. She had felt a sense of guilt, even though her superior said the six weeks was fine.
“What does Berihun mean?” she asked, shaking aside the thoughts of the previous night’s phone conversation.
His grin widened. “ ‘Let him guide us,’ ” he answered. “My parents were very religious people, so I was put in God’s hands even before I was born.”
“Then it looks like they gave you the perfect name.”
“I always feel my face was turned in the right way.” He paused, showing a lack of confidence in his English translation. “Do you know what I mean?” he asked. “Is that the correct way to say?”
She nodded. “I understand what you mean exactly.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the seat.
She recalled having felt that way once herself. She had left for the convent when she was probably the same age as her driver, Berihun, and she had felt exactly the way he had described his life, his decision—that her face was turned in the right way. Now, here I am, not sure which way my face is turned. Flying on an airplane, doing the work of a detective, solving a mystery. Has my face turned and I was not paying attention?
“And your name,” he responded. “Is there meaning to your name?”
She sat up and watched as he turned into a neighborhood where all the houses were secured behind tall iron gates. It was a neighborhood like she had never seen before.
“Evangeline,” she answered. “My name is Evangeline.” She read the house number on the gate as they approached.
The car slowed as they pulled into the driveway and stopped.
She smiled. “It’s supposed to mean ‘bearer of good news,’ ” she added.
“And your parents,” Berihun said as he punched the Stop button on the meter and totaled up the fare. “Did they give you the perfect name as well?”
Eve reached into her purse and pulled out the slip of paper with Megan’s pass code. She handed it to the driver. He inched forward, punched in the code, and handed the paper back to Eve. The gate opened and he headed to the front of the house.
“I’m not sure, Berihun,” she replied. “I’m not sure all my news is good.”
The driver grinned and stopped the taxi. He put the car in park and exited the driver’s side. He walked around and opened the door for Eve.
“You must not worry that you bear only good news,” he said, extending his hand. “You must only be sure to bear what is true.”
Evangeline took the man’s hand and got out of the car, grabbing her bag. She reached into her wallet that she had already taken out and handed the driver the fare she had seen displayed on the meter plus a few extra dollars for a tip. As she did so, she could not help but recall the end of her conversation with the director of the abbey, the question she was asked after receiving his permission for the extension.
“Are you eager to come back?” he had asked. And a long pause followed. “Of course,” she had answered and swiftly hung up the phone, the reply hanging in the air like a thick, full cloud.
She smiled at her driver. “Unfortunately, Berihun, I don’t always bear that kind of news either.”
FIFTY
“There was nothing much there,” she reported to the Captain as she stood in the phone booth at the Albuquerque airport. She had just gotten off the plane and thought she would make a quick call to let him know she had arrived safely back in New Mexico. That ended up taking awhile, though, since pay phones were not nearly as plentiful in public areas as she had once remembered.
“Yeah, you told me that last night,” came the response. “Just a calendar.”
“And the other things,” she added. She had called with the same report the previous evening after searching Megan’s house for three hours. She had checked for the items taken that were listed in the search warrant return—all indeed missing—and she had looked in cabinets and dr
awers and closets and searched shelves. She hadn’t located much of anything that would have a bearing on Megan’s defense or in presenting another suspect.
According to the young woman, the house was hers but had been paid for by the victim. Everything inside appeared to be that of one resident, a female, Evangeline thought, but there was clearly evidence that a man stayed there regularly. The furniture, the fixtures, the decorations, all bore a certain feminine quality, and everything seemed to be in line with what she had been told by Megan. It was a beautiful residence, the nicest Eve had ever been in, and, primarily, the house bore a woman’s touch.
There was one room, Eve had noted, a room in the back that had obviously been turned into an office. It was the only area where the furniture was masculine, the accessories unmatched, and everything in a bit of disarray. When she had spoken to Megan after discovering the room, calling her in Santa Fe, she had been told that it was Cheston’s office and that she rarely went back there. Evangeline was given permission to take a look around and so she searched very thoroughly.
She found nothing she would deem remarkable inside the desk drawers. The file cabinets, the ones that had not been emptied, were filled with scripts and notes from other projects, and the bookcase lining a wall had long, narrow shelves loaded with film books, novels, and other pieces of literature, but nothing too revealing.
A calendar that hung on the wall next to the desk caught Eve’s eye. It had the name of a bank stamped on the back. It was one of the free ones you get when you open an account or take out a loan. This one featured monthly pictures from a wildlife conservation group. There were a few scribbles written on various dates, numbers mostly, a few letters with them—notes made throughout the months of February and March that at first glance were indecipherable. Even though Eve didn’t know what the letters and numbers meant, she thought the calendar could possibly hold some value, so she had taken it off the wall. Other than the calendar, all that Eve collected to take back with her was a file containing a few pages of information about possible filming locations in Madrid, Cerrillos, and Santa Fe County, and a small box of CDs and DVDs.