They were walking through the midway when Lillian spied the merry-go-round ahead of them. She hadn’t ridden one since she’d been a teenager. Sam must have sensed her interest because he led her to the ticket booth where he purchased two tickets. It wasn’t the type of thrill ride preferred by most of the carnival’s visitors, so she had her pick of horses. His hands on her waist, he offered to give her a side-saddle boost which she declined in favor of being bold. If she could ride astride his motorcycle, she could certainly do so on a colorfully painted, wooden horse. He mounted the horse next to her.
“So, Sam, what exactly is an investment banker?” Lillian asked, the horse moving up and down with the beat of the music. She held tightly to both the teddy bear and the rod that impaled her horse while the merry-go-round increased speed.
“I only know what Albert Marks did, and that was to negotiate high-level investment strategies for large-dollar investment transactions between governments, large businesses, and other investment and commercial banks. He ran a very successful firm ten years ago and still does, even in the current market.”
“What does a mathematician do for an investment banker?”
“He develops algorithms for quantitative analysis of post-trade analytical tools in order to better understand market microstructure.”
Lillian could only stare at him, her mouth open. “You know, of course, that I have no idea what you just said.”
Sam chuckled. “Neither do I. Not anymore, and I’m not sure I did then either. Rachel, my ex-wife, didn’t like the idea of being married to a school teacher, so after a year of enduring it, she asked her father to find me a job in his business. The job didn’t last, and neither did the marriage. Much as I’m glad I have Ben, the divorce has been hard on him.”
Hard on Sam, too, she suspected. She smiled sympathetically. “How old was he when the two of you separated?”
“He was two. He lives with his mother in a pretty glitzy area of San Diego, so it’s hard for me to compete with that.”
“You’re his father. There is no competition.”
Sam brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Thank you, Lillian. I needed that.”
Long ago memories crowded into her thoughts while they drove back to the hotel parking lot. Times when it had seemed that Rusty had totally ignored his first born daughter in favor of his son. A son he had tried to fashion in his image, but who had favored his mother instead. For the daughter who had held his attention all to herself for the first four years of her life, it was a bitter blow to realize that no matter what she did, she would never measure up. Because women did not become captains in the U.S. Navy. They did not command a destroyer at sea nor lead men into battle. That place was reserved for men. For Michael, whether he wanted it or not.
The love Amanda had craved so badly from the man who had given her life had also been reserved only for Michael. Quiet, studious, sociable Michael. The son who had no idea what he wanted out of life, yet in order to assert some measure of independence, had enlisted in the U.S. Army, an act for which his father had refused to forgive him.
Though Sam had thanked her for her words, she hadn’t meant them as a compliment.
Chapter Ten
Jorgé Molina hated his job. For the past three months, he had worked for Janitorial Services, Inc., and every night but Sunday he cleaned at four different businesses in San Sebastian. From 9:00 in the evening to 5:30 the following morning, he cleaned bathrooms, emptied waste baskets, and vacuumed or polished floors. His employer, miser that he was, allowed only a thirty-minute break to eat and never paid more than minimum wage. No benefits of any kind.
Just work.
Jorgé detested such menial labor, and as he readied the JSI van for his next job, he wished for the thousandth time that he could have stayed single. But he’d made a mistake, a costly one, and now at only twenty-two years old, he was stuck. Up to his neck in other people’s dirt.
The museum job had taken longer tonight than usual. Old man Kessler had changed out the displays again, so Jorgé had been left with dozens of smudged glass cases to clean and cardboard boxes to break down and dispose of or recycle. Having the museum as his client meant that he could get in to see every new exhibit for free. However, there was rarely anything that interested him, so he didn’t consider that a perk.
When he passed the Caravan Tap Room, Jorgé decided to stop there to eat and short his time on the next job rather than give up his allotted break. The barman waved as he settled into his regular seat at a table in the back and signaled for a beer. He didn’t always drink with his midnight meal, but today was an exception.
Mariah had been promoted. Again. She wasn’t even nineteen, and she’d moved up from a stock clerk, to a sales clerk, and now to a cashier at Wal-Mart. She not only had a classier job than he did, she made more money. Damn. He supposed he should be glad she would be bringing in more dough. They could certainly use it with the baby growing and needing new stuff all the time. But he should be the one doing that. And he wasn’t. And the way things were going, he never would be. Since they’d gotten married, the cleaning job was the only one he’d held longer than a month, and that was only because he didn’t have to work with anyone else where his temper put him at risk of getting fired.
But he wanted something better. He wanted money and the finer things it would buy. Mostly he didn’t want his friends laughing at him because his wife was more successful than he was. There had to be something out there waiting for Jorgé Molina to claim it. Something big. And if his old man hadn’t forced him to marry Mariah, he would have found it.
He liked to think it was all her fault. Mariah had looked older than seventeen that first time he’d seen her behind the deli case at the Safeway in Fresno. He had just turned twenty-one, a good-looking, broad-shouldered guy working in the fields for the summer, and hungry for something besides twelve hours of back-breaking work picking cantaloupe. She had smiled at him, brought him a refill on his soda, then sat down at his table to talk.
Later that night while they lay kissing in the bed of his beater pickup truck, he’d counted down the time it would take to have her thoroughly fucked. Within five minutes his hands had been on her breasts. Another five minutes, and they had been in her pants. Five minutes after that, his dick had been pressing for entrance into sweet nirvana, and it wasn’t until she’d cried out that Jorgé had realized she’d never been with a man before. He’d taken her virginity in the back of his truck with only God and the stars as witnesses. But instead of fucking Mariah, he’d been the one fucked. Fucked but good.
She was two months pregnant when she’d shown up on his doorstep in San Sebastian, and in the time it had taken to say I do, he was married, kicked out of his parents’ house, and on his own. They had rented a small two-room apartment, she’d picked up the job at Wal-Mart without mentioning the bun in her oven, and he’d drifted from job to job. Then, when José had been born, his dad had taken pity on them and asked his friend in the janitorial business to put him to work. With Mariah working days, and him working nights, they could take care of the baby without having the expense of day care.
Jorgé chewed on the final bite of the dry-as-dust cheese sandwich he’d brought from home, then washed it down with the last swallow of beer and a heavy sigh. So, during the night he cleaned toilets, and during the day he changed diapers. What a way to live!
Please, God, let me do something more exciting than this with the rest of my life.
* * *
Sam slipped the Harley into the parking space next to Lillian’s car and shut off the motor. Reluctantly, he discovered, as he removed his helmet. Since his divorce, he had been on many dates. Some with women he’d known much longer than he had known Lillian. Some he hadn’t met before the date. But never before in his life had he enjoyed himself as much as he had tonight. Felt so totally at ease, yet so unbelievably excited. With her arms around him, he’d actually traveled a good part of the distance from San Marcos with a major hard on
.
It was unfortunate that they were standing in the hotel parking lot beside her car door. Had he been seeing her to her home, he would have leaned against her doorjamb, hoping for a kiss and an invitation to spend the night.
With the thought of continuing the evening in her bed swimming around in his brain, he exchanged the hair comb and evening bag for Ben’s helmet and leather jacket. Tonight was not the time. Even though she was technically no longer his student, it was too soon. Yet he was unwilling to let her go.
“Has anyone ever called you Lilly?”
Lillian stopped digging through her purse in search of keys that Sam figured should have been easy to locate in the small bag. Perhaps she was equally reluctant to end the evening.
She smiled up at him. “No, I don’t think anyone ever has. Not even my parents.”
“Would you mind if I did?”
She hesitated, appearing to think about the possibility. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all.” Keys in hand, she started to turn toward her car door, then paused again. “Sam, I want to thank you for giving me the most exciting adventure of my life.”
He couldn’t keep the chuckle silent. “It was my pleasure. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such fun or such pleasant company. I’m glad I came tonight, and that you were here.”
In the muted glow of the parking lot lights, he could see a soft, secretive smile curve her lips as she opened the car door. He held the door open, watched her toss her handbag and comb onto the passenger seat while he searched frantically through his brain for something to say that would keep her from leaving.
“How did you get involved in the baby-holding program?” When she turned to face him with what he thought might be relief in her eyes, he was sure she didn’t want to leave either.
“I suppose I had an in you might say. My husband was on the hospital board, and I was a member of the women’s auxiliary when the program was first being considered. I knew about it right from the start, though I didn’t really get involved in it until after Rusty was killed.”
Sam’s immediate thought was that people died. They weren’t killed. “Killed?”
“My husband left the Navy six years ago, and for a man used to being in command of a ship at sea, retirement was a pretty harsh fate. He never did find his land legs.” She stopped briefly, then took a quiet breath. “Rusty was always a social drinker, but when he was passed over for Admiral a second time, he quit the Navy and began to drink more heavily.” The fingers of her right hand brushed the locket at her throat. “One night four years ago, he got behind the wheel of a car when he shouldn’t have and hit a bridge abutment going considerably faster than the legal speed limit.”
Sam reached for her left hand, held it gently in both of his. “I’m very sorry, Lilly.”
Though she tried, her smile was weak. “I was a Navy wife for twenty-five years, and with the exception of the first four, Rusty was commanding a ship at sea for most of them. I used to follow him to his assignments, but then he decided that I should make our home here. After his death, I needed something to fill the void. The baby-holding program was just getting started, so, with the kids grown and on their own, I decided to apply for it. I’ve been doing it for the past two years.”
“How much time do you give?”
“As much as I can without being overwhelmed by it. A lot of the time, it’s simply a child who needs extra care due to a birth issue. The hospital prefers to keep the parents involved as much as possible, and I’m there to spell them when they need a break. Then there are the really hard cases. Drugs. Or like the other day. Little Nathan has two young parents who should never have had him.” Again her fingers toyed with the locket on the delicate gold chain hanging around her neck, the sadness in her eyes transforming slowly into a smile. “But it’s really incredible how quickly these children respond to being held. I call it a strength transfer.”
And the lady wondered why he was impressed. “Please don’t misunderstand me, Lilly, but why, when you have such a gift to give, are you going back to college?”
“I’m not sure. Believe me, after these last four weeks, I’ve asked myself the same question. The thing is, I’ve never really done anything.” She held up her hand when he started to protest and hurried on. “For myself. I’ve always stood in Rusty’s shadow. At the hospital, I’ve been pushed to the sidelines when a life was at stake. Don’t you see? I’m not the one out there defending my country, or the doctor or nurse saving a life. I’m not a woman of the world, Sam. I’m nothing, and I want to be something. I just don’t know what.”
A few minutes ago, he had merely wanted to keep her talking. Now he just wanted to keep her. How long he wasn’t sure yet, but forever came instantly to mind. When he opened his mouth to reassure her, she placed two fingers against his lips.
“Then I look at you. I see you standing at that whiteboard, where all those complicated equations just pour out of you, and I watch amazed, wondering if I’ll ever be able to figure out what X plus Y equals.”
Capturing her hands in his, Sam felt himself drowning in the deep blue sea of her eyes. He had been enjoying the evening so much, he’d forgotten she was still his student. “It can equal anything you want. You set the parameters. It’s your equation. Come back to class, Lilly.”
“I’m failing. That’s a hard thing for me to do.”
“Then let me tutor you.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not. I’m offering.” And he meant every word. He wanted to teach her more than anything. Well, that wasn’t quite true, but it was close. “How about we try this? I’ll give you a word problem to solve, and if you can give me the correct answer presented in an algebraic equation, you’ll come back class.”
“Oh, Sam. I don’t know.”
“Please, Lilly. I want you to succeed.” To emphasize that, he squeezed her hand. “Because I know you can be that woman of the world.” When her tongue skimmed thoughtfully along her lower lip, the temptation to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless nearly overwhelmed him. “At least say you’ll try.”
“All right,” she whispered, the fingers of her free hand twisting the locket chain. “But does it have to be a word problem? I’m not very good at those.”
“I know they’re hard for you, so I’m going to give you an easy one.” Though her laugh was feather light, disbelief clouded her blue eyes. She was going to need convincing. “Lilly, I promise that this challenge will be right up your alley. In fact, I can’t think of anyone more suited to answer it.”
“Now you’re really making me nervous.”
Sam laughed. She had no idea how very badly he wanted to make her nervous. In fact, he wanted to tie every one of her nerves in a knot so tight she would beg for release. But that was out of the question, and he needed to yank himself back to reality. If she passed his challenge, she would be his student. Again. He felt honor bound to respect that no matter how much he wanted a personal relationship with her.
“Ready?”
She nodded, her smile uncertain. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”
He chuckled, releasing her hand reluctantly. “Okay, here’s the dilemma I want you to solve. You’re going to give a dinner party. You’ve invited twenty couples and a single man. What will it cost to feed your guests and serve each one of them two drinks?”
* * *
Finished with his beer, Jorgé contemplated ordering another one, then thought better of it. He’d dawdled long enough in his past. Such thoughts weren’t going to get him where he wanted to be, and he had two more cleaning jobs to complete tonight. If he tried to skip any of them, a complaint would be lodged first thing in the morning. No matter how much he hated this job, he didn’t want to lose it. Not yet, anyway. He tossed his last five-dollar bill on the bar and hurried out the front door.
As he approached his van, two expensively-dressed Latino men exited from each side of a large black SUV and started toward him. Jorgé tensed instinct
ively, edging closer to the van. The men didn’t look like robbers, but Jorgé wasn’t taking any chances. After all, this wasn’t one of the better areas of town.
“Excuse me,” the passenger said, his accent definitely from south of the border. “You are Jorgé Molina, si?”
“What do you want?” Jorgé couldn’t think of any reason why either of these men would be looking for him. Or even know his name.
“Answer the question first, and I’ll tell you.”
The passenger was definitely in charge. Jorgé nodded slowly, his eyes darting between the two men and the safety of his van.
“Good, now we can do business.”
“Look I have to get to work, so maybe we can do this some other time,” Jorgé said with more bravado than he felt.
When he turned toward the van, the driver lunged, pinning him solidly against the door. The man’s big right hand wrapped tightly around Jorgé’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Lifted off his feet, his shoes banged frantically against the van, his fingers clawing at the man’s wrist.
Holy, shit. Is this maniac going to kill me?
“He is no good to us dead, Carlos.”
Carlos merely grunted, increasing the pressure until Jorgé was finally forced to yield.
“Okay,” Jorgé whimpered. He was released abruptly, but not before the man’s equally large fist jabbed into his stomach. Sinking to the ground, Jorgé groveled on his hands and knees, unable to stand.
“That’s much better.” The passenger squatted down casually in front of him. “Now you will listen, and you will do as you are told. Do you understand me?”
Jorgé nodded, struggling for breath. He clutched his gut with one hand and massaged his battered throat with the other one, terrified the crazy one might still kill him.
“There is a Mayan display coming to your museum from Mexico in approximately three weeks. I want you to get one of the items for me.” When Jorgé opened his mouth to protest, the man smiled. “Of course, for doing me this favor, I will pay you very handsomely.”
An Equation For Murder Page 7