by Holly Plum
“That’s the most absurd thing you’ve said so far,” Mari responded to David as Tabasco growled behind them. “Don’t try to convince me you’ve suddenly decided to be charitable. You were both up to no good, or you wouldn’t be lying right now.”
“Sorry,” Alex said, “but we can’t tell you what we’ve been up to. All you need to know is that we had nothing to do with what happened to Steve.”
Mari bit her tongue in frustration. “I don’t think you realize how serious this is. You were out goofing off when a man was killed, and he wouldn’t have been killed if you weren’t out goofing off. And now, thanks to your negligence, Dad might go to prison.” Mari observed her brothers as their faces went white. “You didn’t hear what I heard yesterday. Those officers think Dad killed Steve Wilson. They think he walked in here and stabbed him in the back. They want to make an arrest, but they’re still gathering evidence.”
“But if they don’t find any evidence…” David started.
“… which they won’t,” Alex finished, “because Dad did not kill Steve Wilson.”
“That’s not the point,” Mari nearly shouted. “Dad is under heavy suspicion. And until that cloud of suspicion lifts off of him, things are going to be very hard for all of us. The town is going to think we’re protecting him. We’re going to lose friends and customers, and money. We could go out of business! And none of this would have happened if you two had been here.”
***
Realizing she needed to calm down before she punched one or both of her brothers in the face, Mari spent the rest of the morning making tortillas with her Abuela. Mari's grandmother was a tiny woman who only spoke Spanish and could often be heard muttering with fierce disapproval to anyone who would listen.
The tortilla-making process was involved but not especially difficult with practice. Mari's Abuela kneaded a mixture of flour and salt, occasionally adding water until it was smooth all over. Because she didn’t like to rush, this normally took about twenty minutes with each batch. Once the mixture had been allowed to rest for another ten minutes, Mari pressed the dough into several, thin, circular shapes. Mari then fried the tortillas. An hour later, a nice pile of tortillas accumulated on a plate at the edge of the stove.
Flipping tortillas wasn’t especially labor-intensive, so Mari had ample time to reflect on the events of the last couple of days. She seemed to have spooked her brothers with her talk of Dad going to jail. It was unlikely they would cave in immediately, but she had persuaded them that she was thinking only of the good of the family. Whatever their faults, Mari's brothers loved their family. Maybe in a few days one or both of them would tell her what was going on.
Mari hoped Alex and David hadn’t been up to any serious mischief. But until her brothers were up-front with her about where they’d been, Mari wouldn’t be able to trust them. Trust was essential if Mari wanted to succeed at saving her family's reputation. Mari needed to unite the whole family in this endeavor, but that was impossible as long as certain members of the family were keeping secrets from each other.
Mari paused as she realized she had let one tortilla cook for too long on one side. It had browned too much, and she would have to throw it out. That’s how things were, lately. She was having trouble focusing on the day-to-day needs of the restaurant because her quest to find the killer had become all-consuming. Mari knew that her father would be devastated if anything happened to the family restaurant. In fact, the entire family would have a hard time coping. Lito Bueno's Mexican Restaurant represented a lifetime of hard work and life savings. Mari had to figure out what happened to Steve Wilson before things took a turn for the worst.
Mari picked up the plate of tortillas and set it down next to her Abuela. She was dimly conscious that people were arguing all around her. Faintly, as though from a great distance, she heard her father complaining about Tabasco being in the restaurant again. Her Abuela was telling him in Spanish that a pair of her shoes had gone missing. Mari's grandmother seemed to think it was very important that they knew this. She thought it might be connected to the mystery of who had killed Steve Wilson.
There were times when the demands of the restaurant and being surrounded by so many people got to be too much, and this was one of those times. Mari needed to shut herself in the bathroom and think. If she did enough thinking, maybe she could figure this out on her own. Mari excused herself in a faint voice and left the kitchen.
But even before she had reached the door of the women’s restroom, another mystery presented itself. Someone had left the back door of the restaurant wide open.
CHAPTER SIX
Mari feared that she was losing her mind. Surely an open door at the back of a restaurant wasn’t cause for concern. In ordinary times it wouldn’t have been, but there had been nothing ordinary about this week.
Mari stumbled into the bathroom, feeling like she might puke at any moment. Someone was trying to sabotage the restaurant. Someone was trying to hurt her family. It could be someone who worked at the restaurant. It could be someone she knew.
Panic fought with reason, with panic seizing the upper hand. Trust was the quality Mari valued most in other people. It was the reason she hadn’t been in a relationship for longer than a year after college because each of her boyfriends had violated that sacred trust in one way or another. Only the members of her immediate family merited that kind of trust. If she couldn’t trust them, she couldn’t trust anyone.
Mari was slightly jumpy for the rest of the day. Whenever her dad called her name—when he informed her that he was locking Tabasco in the office where he would be less of a nuisance—she twitched uncomfortably. It was hard for Mari to conceal the fact that she was feeling uneasy about everyone who worked in the restaurant. She was quite sure they could see through her and knew the concerns that were pouring through her head. Mari tried to take deep breaths to control her anxiety.
It was past midnight when Mari's dad left for home after escorting out the last customers. Mari was left to lock up the restaurant on her own. Because Mateo had already begun cleaning the dining room about half an hour before closing, there wasn’t much tidying up to do. She did, however, have to sanitize the soda fountains to prevent grime from accumulating. Too much of it attracted insects which were a common problem in Texas during the spring and summer months.
Mari walked into the dining room one final time to make sure everything was in order before she turned out the lights. The room looked spooky at this time of night, with all the wooden chairs stacked neatly on the red tabletops. Light filtered in through the window from the single street lamp that illuminated the road running between Lito Bueno’s Mexican Restaurant and the Lucky Noodle. Across the street, Mr. Chun was just closing his blinds. He paused for a second, seeming to glare from across the street as if sensing that Mari was watching him.
Walking back toward the kitchen, Mari heard a scuttling noise and a small shape darted past her. She jumped. It was either a rat or a cockroach, though the thought of either creature sneaking around the restaurant made her want to vomit. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see find out. But somehow that made it even more frightening.
Suddenly there was a crash and a rattle from the kitchen. Mari found herself halfway to the back door before she even knew where she was. Was it a rat? As bad as that would be, every alternative was worse. A man had been murdered in the restaurant, and now she was hearing strange noises in the middle of the night. Something, or someone, was crashing around back there. By a sheer act of will, Mari tiptoed toward the kitchen and grabbed the biggest steak knife she could find.
No one was in there—or at least no one she could see. If there had been anyone, Mari reasoned, they almost certainly would have attacked her when she'd had her back turned. Somehow that thought did not fill her with comfort.
Mari made her way to the back door, through which the family left every night after locking up. It was open again. Seeing it open flooded her with mixed emotions. Maybe the back door was alw
ays open, and she'd never noticed until this week. Heat flushed into her face as she laughed at her own silly conclusions. And yet there had been the noises, and the constant feeling like she was being watched, like someone, was hovering right behind her.
A commotion came from the front of the building. There was more scuffling and even shouting. The cadence of the voices was familiar. It was Mari's two brothers. She closed the back door and made her way back through the dining room to the front doors.
Police lights flashed into the windows. Two officers escorted David and Alex to the front of the restaurant. David was busy explaining how their parents had already gone home for the night and there was no way they could get in when Mari disabled the alarm and came walking out.
“What have you got for me tonight, officers?” Mari said, disappointed.
“Don’t mean to disturb you, Ms. Ramirez,” said the taller of the two officers. “We found these two boys street-racing out near the train tracks.”
“Illegally,” added the second officer, as if this needed to be said. “They’re lucky they’re not in jail, but I figure the family’s got enough goin’ on right now.”
“Thanks, fellas,” Mari said in a friendly voice. “I’ll take care of these two.” As the policemen returned to their cars, Mari glared at the two boys with a stern expression.
“We know what you’re going to say,” Alex said first.
"So, there’s really no need to say anything,” David added.
“Then we’ll cut right to the chase,” Mari replied. “I want you to tell me what’s stopping me from going straight to Mom and Dad and telling them why you weren’t at work yesterday.”
“For one, because you love us,” Alex answered with a mischievous grin. “And I, for one, know you would deeply regret it if anything terrible happened to us.”
“You would cry into your pillow every night,” David added. “You’d regret it to the end of your days.”
“You still haven’t given me a reason.” Mari shook her head.
“Because it’s the right thing to do?” suggested Alex. “Because one Ramirez never rats out another Ramirez? How many more reasons do you need?”
“And if I choose not to tell Mom and Dad what I know,” Mari continued, “what do I get in return?”
“Our undying love." Alex gratefully held out his arms.
“Hmm, not good enough," Mari replied.
“We will never take cash out of your wallet again,” David commented.
“Unlikely.”
“I’m all out of ideas.” David threw his hands in the air. “Why don’t you stop torturing us and tell us what you want?”
“Just this,” Mari said, and her eyes burned with a fierce glow. “I won’t tell our parents what the two of you have been up to if you’ll agree to help me catch a murderer…for the restaurant's sake.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
That night Mari slept fitfully. She dreamt that she was back at the restaurant, helping Tabasco make a Delicioso Special. Somehow Tabasco was a full-sized person, and he sounded just like a New Yorker. He was what Tabasco might have looked like if he had been human, but with his combination of combativeness and cheerfulness. The two were talking and working together like old friends. Tabasco, who turned out to be an expert at making cakes, made the dulce de leche cake and the chocolate chili cake while Mari made deep-fried vanilla ice cream.
Mari woke briefly and got out of bed to get a glass of water, and when she fell back asleep, the dream had taken a different turn. Her dad had figured out that Tabasco was helping Mari make desserts and had forbidden him from ever coming back into the restaurant. “I don’t want to see him in here with his dog hands,” Mari's father had said in her dream. "He's a dog a murderer!"
And suddenly Detective Price and Officer Penny marched Tabasco to prison, surrounded by the flashing lights of reporters who wanted to know how Mari could have sheltered and defended a killer.
Mari awoke suddenly at 8:00 AM to the sound of Tabasco's barking. Someone was knocking on the door. Mari remembered that her brothers had said they would be coming over in the morning, though they hadn’t said why. She had forgotten to set the alarm. Shouting apologies, Mari stumbled into a pair of blue jeans and raced into the living room.
“Where are we going?” Mari said, dazed and still sleepy. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll just have to see,” David and Alex responded in unison. As though in a dream Mari drifted down the stairs after them. They drove through the town square, past their dad’s restaurant, past the railroad tracks into the abandoned industrial part of town. Not too long ago red smokestacks had belched smoke into the air day and night, and the noise of trains coming and going was omnipresent. Now, the smokestacks were rusting ruins against the blue summer sky.
David turned into the empty parking lot of a shopping center littered with discarded bottles and free-floating trash bags. In front of them stood rows of old storefronts with boarded-up windows. It was an abandoned shopping center.
“You see that place?” David said, pointing to the edge of a building. “That’s where we’re going.”
Mari wanted to ask how he expected to get in but realized that the honest answer was probably one she didn't want to hear.
She was right.
As the three siblings approached a wooden door—rough and unpainted, like a block of wood in a carpenter’s shop—David instructed Alex to ensure no one was watching them. Alex strode back to the edge of the concrete and placed his hand over his eyes in the most conspicuous way, like a sailor gazing out over the far horizon. He looked to left and right.
“We’re the only people in this parking lot,” Alex announced.
“What about over there?” said Mari, pointing at the opposite end of the shopping center.
“Over there?” Alex responded. “No one will see us.”
“Okay, but how are we going to get in?” Mari asked.
“Today, Mari,” David answered, “you’re going to learn that sometimes having brothers who are willing to bend the rules a little has its advantages.” Pulling out a credit card, he held it up in front of her.
“Do I even want to know what you're about to do?” Mari asked.
“Well, I would hate for you to turn me in so…no.” Deftly and gently, Alex took the card and slipped it in between the lock and the door frame. With a satisfying click, the lock gave way and the door opened.
Mari gaped at him. “How many buildings are you able to break into with that trick?”
"See, I told you she wouldn't be able to handle it," David commented. "She's too much of a goody-goody."
"If goody-goody is your definition of a responsible adult," Mari added.
“Relax, you asked for help, and that's what we're giving you,” Alex said, ushering them both inside. “Now hurry up and shut the door before we’re all in trouble.”
“What is this place?” Mari glanced around at the unkempt room.
“This was Steve's office," David answered.
Mari stood in the doorway, hesitating. If she followed them inside and they were caught, the whole family would be in trouble. That would have looked horrible on the news. The incident could be spun very badly. And even if they weren’t caught, Mari's brothers might think she was condoning their actions by following them inside. Not to mention, that her father would have a heart attack if he knew what they were doing.
“Come on, Mari,” David said, who seemed to sense her reservations. “You said you wanted to help Dad out. This is how we’re going to do it.”
Ignoring the anxiety that was twisting at her insides, Mari crossed over the threshold into the cool silence of Steve's office.
One corner of the room looked like a normal office, though one that was uniquely cluttered. Papers lay scattered everywhere. A bowl of dry cat food stood half-empty on the desk, and a small tower of tax documents threatened to topple over at any moment. The freezer room where Steve's meat was stored was right next to his desk. Anyo
ne sitting in Steve’s swivel chair could easily see most of the room.
Alex stood in the doorway quietly scanning the street for signs of cars while David and Mari examined the stacks of papers on top of the desk.
“We could be here for hours,” Mari commented, noting the differences between her father's organized file folders and Steve's piles of mess. “I’ve never seen anyone so disorganized.”
“Here are some newspaper clippings,” David said. “Hey here's one from when you gave that interview when the restaurant was doing that charity thing."
“Why is there a newspaper clipping of me?” Mari bit her lip.
“That’s not the only one,” David continued. “Listen to this. Hometown Heroine Returns from College. Local Restaurateur Has Thoughts on the Presidential Election, and Election is spelled wrong. Nice.”
“Someone at the newspaper has a thing for you,” Alex concluded.
“And it looks like they’re not the only one,” David added. “Steve had an entire portfolio of clippings.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Alex said, scratching his chin. “Maybe Steve was a serial killer, and whoever killed him was doing the community a favor.”
“He was doing Mari a favor, from the looks of it,” David replied.
“Will you guys cut it out?” Mari, who wanted to disappear under the covers, kept a brave face. “We need to stay focused. If we can find Steve's delivery route schedule, we’ll know all the businesses in town he delivered to the day he died. We can begin drawing up a list of possible suspects. People he knew, enemies he might have made.”
“There are about a dozen open bank statements.” David observed Steve's desk, brushing aside a key ring with a dozen keys on it. He held up one of the papers and flipped it over. “It looks like he was in some serious financial trouble.”
Mari took the statement and scanned it. “He couldn’t afford the upkeep for this office. The bank was getting ready to foreclose, which would have been the end of his business. This is the first serious piece of evidence we have.” Mari gathered up the bank statements and placed them in her purse.