"Of course."
"Do you want to come by the bar and talk to her?" Jerry asked. "She's working tonight."
"No, actually, I'm back in Miami."
"Oh, I didn't realize you were leaving so soon."
"They found the lieutenant's body last night, so Michael and I came back."
"Well, I guess it's over then."
"Not entirely. We still don't know who killed her. I may be back to Texas soon. But in the meantime, could I speak to your bartender over the phone?"
"I'll give her your number and have her call you. Her name is Monica."
"Great. Thanks, Jerry."
"I don't know that you should be thanking me. It sounds like you need to get out of this situation, Alicia. It's dangerous. Three people are dead already. I think your father would tell you to leave it alone."
"But he wouldn't have left it alone. He was all about justice, standing up for what is right."
"Well, that's true," Jerry said, a heavy note in his voice. "But that got him into trouble, and I'd hate to see the same thing happen to you."
"I'll be careful."
"Sometimes that's not enough."
"Thanks for calling, Jerry."
"I'm almost sorry I did. I'm worried about you."
"You don't have to worry. I'll be fine."
"Well, take care."
"I will." After hanging up with Jerry, she called Michael. She'd intended to give him space, but she really needed to talk to him about Sandbury. She could take the information she'd gotten from Jerry to the police, but she'd prefer to consult with Michael before doing that.
His phone went to voicemail. She decided to leave a message. "Hi, it's me. I hope you're doing okay. I just talked to Jerry. One of his bartenders, not the one who testified, told him that Paul Sandbury was following Connie and taking pictures of her. I know you're in the thick of things, but we really should think about talking to the police in Corpus Christi. They might be more receptive than Detective Kellerman. Anyway, call me back."
She'd barely set down the phone when it rang. Again, her heart jumped in anticipation, and again it was let down. It was her friend from Channel 2 News. "Hi, Jeff. What's up?"
"A new storm. Looks like we're going to get a show tonight."
His words drew her gaze to the window. The clouds had grown thicker and darker since she'd gotten home. "I haven't been paying attention to the weather report. What's the forecast?"
"Heavy electrical storm activity headed our way in the next hour. I'm shocked you don't know that," he said. "Are you sick?"
She was a little shocked, too. "I've been distracted."
"You must have been."
"Thanks for letting me know."
"No problem. Talk to you soon."
She got up and turned off the tea kettle, realizing it had been singing for several minutes. She poured the hot water into a mug, dipped the tea bag up and down a few times, and then walked over to the window. The approaching storm clouds reminded her that less than a week ago a similar storm had turned her life upside down.
What would this one bring?
As she thought about the last storm, her mind drifted back to the illuminating flash of lightning that had highlighted a struggle in the park and then the tag by the carousel. Had Liliana's body been found near there?
She wished she could see where her body had been found. Maybe it would give her some closure, because right now she felt restless and charged up and it wasn't just the possibility of more lightning jangling her nerves, it was the feeling that she was so close to solving the mystery, but she didn't know how to put all the pieces together.
Liliana had obviously found one more clue than she and Michael had, something that made everything make sense. And it was more than likely that that clue was going to die with her.
Alicia stood at the window for another ten minutes. Then on impulse, she grabbed her rain gear and her cameras and headed out the door. She needed a distraction and there was one coming just over the horizon…
* * *
After twenty minutes with the Valdez family, Michael felt overwhelmed with sadness and anger, and he was not alone. Liliana's parents were devastated. Her mother Theresa couldn't stop crying. Her father Dominic looked like he'd aged twenty years since he'd gotten the news about his daughter. Rico was getting drunk. Juan had gone silent, barely able to speak to anyone as he cooked in the family kitchen, doing the only thing he could do that would help anyone.
Michael's father was also at the house along with his stepmother Veronica and two of his sisters. Like Juan, his dad had gone straight to the kitchen, bringing more food from the restaurant to the already overflowing kitchen counters.
The neighbors had come in a steady stream, some of whom Michael remembered from the old days, others who were new. An entire community was suffering a huge loss, and it made him realize how many lives besides his own that Liliana had touched.
The living room in the Valdez house had become ground zero for planning funeral arrangements, the women in the neighborhood already getting down to practical matters. They couldn't change what had happened, but they could send Liliana off with all of their love.
The younger kids were in the yard or in the dining room, snacking off the platters on the dining room table.
The men seemed to move restlessly in all directions. It was a feeling he understood quite well, because now that he was here, he was torn between wanting to stay and wanting to go.
He didn't want to plan Liliana's funeral. He wanted to find her killer. He just didn't know how to do that.
Alicia would probably have an idea. He needed to call her back, which he would do as soon as he left here. He just didn't know how soon he could leave. He felt like he needed to pay his respects with time. It was the least he could do.
"Michael," his father said, drawing him into the hallway. "I'm glad you're here."
"I came as soon as I heard the news."
"Where have you been the last few days?"
"Trying to find Liliana. Obviously, I wasn't successful."
His father nodded, a weary, sad recognition in his gaze. "It is a tragic outcome, however, I am grateful that Dominic and Theresa can now bury their daughter. I hope that will bring them some peace," Ernesto said.
He didn't know how a headstone would bring peace, but maybe it would. "We still need to find out who did this."
"I hope that will happen," Ernesto said. "Sometimes life doesn't give you all the answers you want."
"That's not acceptable to me."
His father smiled. "No, it wouldn't be. You've always needed to know everything. You were so angry when your mother died. You asked me a million questions about how and why it happened, and none of my answers satisfied you. They didn't satisfy me, either." He paused. "I don't want Liliana's death to follow you the way your mother's did. I don't want you to waste years looking for the truth and not live your own life. Your mother wouldn't have wanted you to grieve as long as you did for her, and Liliana wouldn't want that, either."
"I don't know how to stop looking for answers. To forget what happened."
"You'll never forget, but you'll go on. You have to forgive yourself, Michael. What happened to Liliana is not your fault. If you can learn anything from this terrible tragedy, learn that life is precious, that each day means something. You don't want to waste a minute. You don't want to put off relationships for another day. You don't want to let anger keep you away from people who love you."
He knew his father was talking about their relationship, and for the first time in forever he actually agreed with him. "I have let anger and resentment keep me away from the family," he said.
His words brought surprise to his father's face. "I'm a little shocked you'd admit that, but then it's been a long time since you shared your thoughts with me. You've been closed off for so many years."
His father was right about that, too. "I had to close off. It was the only way I could survive. When you sent me a
way to school, it felt like you were throwing me away," he said harshly. The words he'd been holding back for fifteen years suddenly came flooding out. "You were so disappointed in me. I didn't think you cared if I came back or not. If you didn't care, why should I?"
Pain filled his father's eyes. "I was disappointed in myself, Michael. I had let you down. You'd gotten into trouble, because I wasn't paying enough attention to you, because I couldn't figure out how to reach you after your mom died. I felt guilty for marrying Veronica, for having more children, for not being able to make you see that I loved you, because I always loved you, Michael, and I loved your mother. You're my firstborn, my son."
Emotion put a knot in his throat and a tightness in his chest. He'd been holding on to the negative feelings for so long, it seemed impossible to let them go.
His gaze drifted past his father's face to the portrait on the wall. Liliana's thirteen-year-old face stared back at him. Her eyes pierced his soul. The day he'd left for prep school, she'd told him that one day he'd forgive his dad and say he was sorry so that they could be a family again. He'd told her that day would never come.
But maybe it had come. Maybe Liliana had brought them back together again.
"Michael?" his dad asked, a question in his eyes.
He turned his gaze to his father. "I'm sorry."
His father's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, too."
"Then why don't we call it even?"
"Yes, yes," Ernesto said, nodding excitedly. "You'll come to the house and see your sisters?"
"As soon as I get a chance." He let out a breath. "Right now, I need to find Isabel. She's the only one I haven't spoken to yet."
"She's upstairs."
"Thanks." He put his hand on his dad's shoulder and they looked at each other eye-to-eye, man-to-man. "I'll talk to you soon."
"I look forward to it."
After leaving his dad, he went up the stairs to the room Isabel had once shared with Liliana. The room no longer had the twin beds that he remembered, but rather a queen. In the middle of that mattress surrounded by loose photographs was Liliana's sister, Isabel, her cheeks streaked with tears.
"It's too hard," she said, her voice breaking.
He moved quickly across the room and put his arms around her. "You shouldn't be doing this alone."
She sniffed and pushed him away. "I'm okay. I sent everyone away. I wanted to be alone with her one last time."
He sat down on the bed across from her. "These are from a lifetime ago." He picked up a childhood picture of Liliana. She was sitting on the top of a picnic table at some camping spot with her brothers and sister. Liliana couldn't have been more than eight.
"I'm putting together a poster and a slide show for the service."
"I'm sorry, Isabel."
She nodded. "Me, too. I kept hoping she'd just come back and everything would be all right. I knew I was lying to myself, but I had to keep hoping. I just wish I hadn't asked her to come back for my wedding. Then she'd still be alive."
"We all wish we'd done something differently, but the only one responsible for what happened to Liliana is the person who killed her. And to be honest, Isabel, I've learned some things in the past few days that lead me to believe Liliana's trouble followed her from Texas. You're not responsible for her death. If she hadn't come here, she would have still been in danger."
Isabel looked like she wanted to believe him. "Is that really true?"
"It is. I can't prove it yet, but I will. I will find the person who took her away from us."
There was doubt in her eyes. "It's been so long." She shivered and wrapped her bare arms around her waist.
"Are you cold? Can I get you a blanket?"
Her eyes watered as she pointed to the light-weight white coat hanging over the desk chair. "I'll take that."
He grabbed the coat and handed it to her.
"This was Liliana's," she said as she slid her arms into the coat. "I got cold when we were waiting for the valet after the rehearsal dinner, and she took this off and gave it to me. That's the kind of sister she was; she'd give me the coat off her back."
He could feel her pain as keenly as his own. "She was great."
"So smart, too. I was really proud of her. She made so much of herself. Look at me—I cut hair for a living. I never had the kind of ambition she had. I need a tissue," Isabel said, sniffing again. She reached into the pocket, her expression changing as she pulled out a small white envelope. "What's this?"
His pulse quickened. "Did that belong to Liliana?"
"I think so. I didn't notice it before. I guess I never put my hand in the pocket." She stared at the envelope as if it might bite her.
"May I see it?"
She handed it to him. "There's nothing on the front."
He could see that. He opened the envelope and pulled out three photographs. It took a minute for him to realize what he was looking at—the bar at the Flight Deck. A blonde woman he recognized as Connie Randolph was handing an envelope to Jerry Caldwell.
His brows knit together as he moved to the next photo. It was another shot of Connie and Jerry. This time they were in the parking lot behind the bar. Judging by the change in clothes, it had been taken a different day. Connie was reaching into her bag, another envelope visible inside her purse.
The third photograph showed Connie and Jerry back in the bar again. As Michael peered at the picture, he realized that the mirror behind the bar had captured the person shooting the photo. It was Paul Sandbury.
His heart started beating incredibly fast.
Sandbury had shot these photos of Connie and Jerry, which meant that whatever was going on was happening between Jerry and Connie, not between Connie and the professor, or at the very least, in addition to that relationship. This was the information Sandbury had given to Liliana. It probably explained why he was suddenly so scared and quite possibly why he'd quit his job after speaking to Liliana. Had someone at MDT known he was spying on Connie? And why had he been spying on her? What was in the envelopes she and Jerry were exchanging?
"Who are those people?" Isabel asked in confusion. "I don't recognize them."
"They're involved in the case Liliana was working on. I'm going to take these, all right?"
"Okay," she said in confusion. "Are they important?"
"They might be."
"I feel so stupid. I never thought to check her coat. When the police asked to go through her personal belongings, we showed them her suitcase and her clothes hanging in the closet in Juan's old room. She was sleeping in there while she was here. I never gave them her coat. I never thought about it."
He could see how easily it had slipped her mind. She probably hadn't worn the coat since that night. "It's okay," he assured her. "Showing these photos to the police wouldn't have helped save Liliana. You know that she was killed almost immediately after she disappeared."
"I know, but—"
"No buts. You couldn't have stopped what happened, but maybe now we'll be able to find who killed her." He jumped to his feet and strode quickly out of the room, jogging down the stairs. He didn't bother to say goodbye to the family. He needed to take the photos to Alicia and get her take on them. She was not going to be happy to hear that Jerry might be involved.
It seemed difficult to believe. The man had been so cheerful and friendly. But he'd lied when he'd told them he didn't know who Connie was and had no idea if he'd ever met her. So what else was he lying about?
And Sandbury? He was another big question mark. He must have told Liliana something about the photos, so why hadn't he been willing to tell him? Was it fear that had now kept him silent?
But there was something else Michael didn't understand. Why get rid of Liliana and leave Sandbury walking around to tell his story? There had to be a piece of the puzzle that he was missing. Sandbury knew something but not enough to make him that dangerous. Liliana must have known more than Sandbury.
He doubted that she'd put it all together, though. She hadn't ac
ted in fear while she was home. Maybe she'd thought she was safe in Miami.
When he reached his car, he pulled out his phone and called Alicia. He frowned when the phone went to voicemail. Damn. Where was she?
A rumble of thunder drew his gaze to the sky. A flash of light to the east sent a chill down his spine. He had a feeling he knew exactly where she was.
Twenty-Three
Alicia felt an eerie sense of déjà vu as she parked in the lot at Virginia Key National Park a little after six. Just like the last time she was there, the lot was empty and a light drizzle was dampening the ground. She took her backpack and headed down the trail toward the carousel, using the flashlight on her phone to see where she was going. She had no idea where Liliana's body had been found, but she suspected she'd find some evidence of crime scene tape somewhere in the park.
When she reached the carousel, goose bumps ran along her arms, and she shivered as a gusty wind lifted her hair off her neck. It wasn't just the approaching storm that had her nerves on edge; it was knowing that a murder had happened in this park.
She was probably crazy to be out here alone, but she doubted that Liliana's killer was lingering in the park or that he was even in Miami. Liliana's problems had started in Texas. Maybe they'd followed her here. But there was no reason for anyone to be here now.
Lightning streaked across the sky, too far away to make a real impact. But the rumble of thunder that came a few minutes later told her it was getting closer. The lightning had called to her before. It had shown her what she needed to see. Maybe tonight it would do the same. Even if she couldn't find the place where Liliana had been buried, she could still get some stunning photographs. It didn't have to be a wasted trip.
She walked around the carousel, thinking that one day she'd like to see the merry-go-round filled with laughing, happy children, instead of looking like a ghostly, spooky structure in the woods.
Her nerves got tighter, and she was suddenly assailed with the urge to leave, to go home, to get back to her real life—a life she needed to live instead of just spectate. She'd spent too many days taking pictures of other people's important moments. Where were hers?
Beautiful Storm (Lightning Strikes Book 1) Page 25