Bruja Brouhaha

by Rochelle Staab

  “And?” I said.

  He cracked a smile. “And nothing. How is Mrs. Rojas?”

  “She has moments when she accepts what happened, but she’s still in shock. Dr. Morales has her on medication. Any updates on the investigation?”

  “Nothing I can or want to talk about, Liz. Still looks like Paco was collateral damage in a revenge kill, and Mr. Saldivar and/or Mrs. Suarez was the intended victim.” He tilted his head at Teresa, swaying in front of the band with a drink in her hand. “Although Mrs. Suarez doesn’t seem too worried right now.”

  “Why shouldn’t she dance? People work through their emotions however they can, Bailey.”

  “I stand corrected,” he said.

  “Is there anything Nick or I can do to help?”

  “Call me if you or Mrs. Rojas remembers something salient.” Bailey leaned in. “But don’t let your law enforcement genes or curiosity steer you into unnecessary trouble. This is a rough neighborhood.”

  “Believe me, investigating murder is not on my mind. But I hope someday Lucia can have closure.”

  “I want that, too,” Bailey said.

  Nick slipped between us. “I left a pitcher of sangria on the table next to Lucia’s. Would you like to eat with us, Bailey?”

  “No, thanks,” Bailey said. “I’m leaving in a minute.”

  Nick and I got back in line and filled two plates. We took our food to the table and sat with Carmen and Victor.

  Victor crossed his arms and glowered at his partner. “She made a mistake.”

  “No, Victor.” Carmen flushed. “I’m telling you she did not recognize me. And she asked Fidencio if he saw Paco.”

  “She was confused by all the people around her. Let it go. Lucia is tough.”

  A voice from behind us said, “I don’t agree, Victor. In my opinion, Lucia should be placed in a nursing home.”

  Chapter Five

  I turned to the sophisticated, olive-skinned man in his early fifties behind us. Dr. Anthony Torrico’s dark, curly hair was slicked back from his square sculpted face. He smelled like amber and spice, and in his tailored gray suit, white shirt, and blue tie, he exuded arrogant sexiness.

  “You obviously don’t know Lucia,” Nick said.

  “Obviously?” Tony scoffed. “You obviously don’t know me.”

  “Gentlemen, please,” Victor said. “We all care about Lucia. Tony, meet Nick Garfield. Nick, this is Dr. Tony Torrico, our physician associate at Park Clinic. Please, let’s sit down and talk about this. We all share concern for Lucia.”

  Tony turned away from Nick’s salutary nod and sat next to Carmen.

  “Lucia is much better off at home,” I said to Tony. “Coping with violent death is a huge challenge to the system, and a move now, on top of the shock and her grief, could impact both her mental and physical health. We all know she shouldn’t be alone. That’s why Victor hired Cruz.”

  “Cruz is a caretaker, a stranger to her,” Tony said. “Lucia doesn’t have close family for emotional support. She would be better off in a home, surrounded by professionals.”

  Nick snorted under his breath.

  “Lucia won’t leave her home,” Victor said. “And I won’t force her. She has her friends. She has us. I’ll watch to see how Cruz and Lucia get along.”

  “Liz made an interesting point, Victor. Shock affects state of mind, especially for the elderly. Is Lucia capable of running her business and making decisions?” Tony said.

  “I’ll be available to advise her,” Victor said. “Before Paco died, he and Lucia asked me to assume power of attorney over their affairs, medical and legal. They wanted assurance they could live out their years in their own home. I’m committed to follow their wishes. As soon as Lucia and I complete the paperwork, I’ll have full authority. If her health deteriorates, I’ll replace Cruz with a licensed professional nurse—at home.”

  Tony cocked his head. “And Lucia is of sound mind to sign the documents?”

  “Definitely,” Victor said.

  “I didn’t realize you’re taking over both capacities,” Carmen said. “You’ll be her legal guardian and remain her doctor?”

  “Just legal. I’ll consult on her health care, of course, but splitting the medical and legal responsibilities seems more ethical to me,” Victor said.

  Victor’s consummate professionalism ended our table debate. Carmen and I exchanged reassured smiles. I’d picked up my fork to tuck into the plate of enchiladas, rice, and beans in front of me when a screech of microphone feedback jolted my attention toward the stage. The band stopped.

  Lucia stood on the small dance floor in front of the band, tapping the head of the mike. “Is this on?”

  The crowd went silent. A waiter darted to her side and blew on the mike. “Testing.”

  Lucia waved him aside then said, “Thank you all for coming to our anniversary party. Paco? Where are you? You’re being rude to our friends. Come up here and dance with me.”

  I started to get up, but Carmen held me back. “Let Victor handle this.”

  “There you are.” Lucia came toward our table, reaching for Victor’s hand. “Come, Paco, dance with me, my love.”

  “No, Lucia.” Victor rose. “I’m not Paco. I’m Victor. Give me the microphone. Please, sit down. You’re confused.”

  Lucia stepped back, blinking. She glanced back at Paco’s urn on the table behind her. Slowly first, and then with increasing momentum, she began to shake her head as if the realization of Paco’s death had slapped her in the face. Victor put his hand on her shoulder. She wrenched away.

  “Leave me alone. I have something to say.” Lucia clenched the microphone, addressing the room full of people. “You think you’re our friends? You came to tell me you’re sorry? It’s your fault Paco is gone.”

  Carmen, Nick, and I got out of our chairs. Lucia pushed each of us aside. “I want my say.”

  “Lucia, please, everyone here loved Paco,” I said.

  “Loved him?” She elbowed me away, turning to the crowd again. “You killed him. All of you. You murdered Paco the second you let the gangs run our streets. I’ll have my vengeance on you, starting now.”

  Lucia circled the restaurant with one hand on the microphone, the other to her throat. “A hex. A brujeria tie on you, on the neighborhood. That’s you. And you. And you.” She jabbed her finger at a woman, a man, then another man. Startled adults hustled children toward the door. She continued, “All of you, your shops, your homes, your children, and your ancestors. I curse your destiny.” She went to the base of the stage and said to the mariachi, “Start the music so Paco and I can dance to their doom.”

  Carmen waved no at the musicians. Victor, Nick, and I blocked Lucia from the remaining crowd. She teetered, dropped the microphone, and then crumpled into Victor’s arms. He cradled her until Nick brought a chair.

  “Should I call an ambulance?” I said as Victor knelt by her side.

  “No. I can take care of her,” he said with a clipped tone. “She needs to go home. Where is Cruz?”

  “I’m here, Dr. Morales,” Cruz said.

  He glared at her. “Who gave her a microphone? Weren’t you watching her?”

  “I . . .” Cruz shook her head. “I didn’t know what she was going to do.”

  “Well wake up,” Victor said. “Help me get Lucia out to the car.”

  Victor and Cruz guided Lucia out of the restaurant. Nick picked up the urn with Paco’s ashes. Carmen and I followed them out.

  “Victor should be alone with Lucia so he can calm her down,” Carmen said. “I don’t have my car, and Tony had to go back to the clinic. Can you and Nick drive me home?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  When we reached the parking lot, Victor settled Lucia into the backseat of the hired town car. Cruz took the urn from Nick and then got in next to Lucia.

  Before Victor got into the front seat, Carmen stopped him. “Maybe you should stay with Lucia again tonight. Take tomorrow morning off. Tony and I c
an handle the clinic patients.”

  “No. Your stomach. The doctor warned you to take it easy,” Victor said.

  “Well, bull. I’m a doctor. I know how I feel. You don’t need to be fawning over me. Lucia needs you more. I can take care of myself. Tony can certainly handle the patients,” she said. “Go. We’ll talk later tomorrow, after you get some rest.”

  “All right. Just take care of yourself, Carmen,” Victor said, getting into the car.

  Lucia waved through the car window as they sped away.

  Carmen climbed into the front seat of Nick’s red SUV. “Still has the new car smell.”

  “Because he babies the thing,” I said.

  “Good. He takes care of things. He’ll make a good father,” Carmen said.

  I got into the backseat and tried to breathe. Either there was no air or I couldn’t take in the thought of Nick and me as parents. Or married. Hell, we hadn’t reached the I love you stage yet.

  Nick inched the car into the heavy traffic and steered north, past the merchants lining both sides of Alvarado. We passed 7th Street, and the fountain shooting water in the center of MacArthur Park Lake. Trees lush with bright green leaves and flowerbeds vibrant with April blooms lined the sidewalk along the park.

  Carmen’s shoulders jerked. “Oooh.” She bent forward, holding her side and gulping air.

  “Are you all right?” I said.

  “I shouldn’t have had the enchiladas,” she said. “I think they were too rich for my stomach. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  I sat back. Something Lucia had said earlier confused me. “What did Lucia mean, Nick? What is a broojer-something tie?”

  Nick enunciated: “Broo-hay-REE-a. Brujeria is Spanish for witchcraft. In sections of Central and South America, including regions where Lucia and Paco traveled to buy herbs, brujeria refers to black magic. A tie is an obscure form of a hex. When Lucia held her throat as she made the threat, her gesture was symbolic. A tie creates a blockage to bind the subject with negative energy and thoughts, creating paranoia.”

  “A violent threat,” Carmen said. “I’ve known Lucia a long time. I never knew her to invoke black magic.”

  “Lucia has a sophisticated knowledge of the variants of religion and the occult from south of the border,” Nick said. “Santeria may be her practice of choice, but in our conversations Lucia gave me lessons in obscure rituals of nontraditional belief systems. The hex she invoked this afternoon is irreversible. The locals who understand black magic will be threatened, and will probably scare the hell out of those who don’t. It’s a mind game—like voodoo.”

  “They can’t take the hex seriously. Her friends must know Lucia was crazed with grief,” I said.

  “They take her very seriously, sweetie,” Carmen said. “No one doubts her power to control minds.”

  “Bewitch an entire neighborhood?” I snickered. “Hexes escape reason. Only naïve people believe in the supernatural.” I caught Nick’s eye in the rearview mirror. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” He glanced at Carmen. “Liz likes a logical explanation for everything.”

  “I understand the comforting draw of symbolism. But I prefer to use logic to solve my problems,” I said. “Do you agree, Carmen?”

  “Intellectually, yes,” Carmen said. “But when I was a girl my parents and grandparents prayed to their Santeria statues on one side of our living room, and to Catholic saints on the other side. Childhood beliefs are hard to unlearn no matter how logic contradicts them. My family taught me to believe in a power beyond. I’m surprised, Liz. I thought you understood Lucia and Paco’s beliefs. Your mother believes in the supernatural.”

  “I respect the reverence Paco and Lucia have for Santeria and the influence it had on their lives,” I said. “On the other hand, I was raised by a mother who wouldn’t buy mechanical toys for us if Mercury was retrograde.”

  “Poor Liz.” Nick turned left on Wilshire Boulevard, through MacArthur Park. “What did you miss? Barbie’s convertible?”

  How did he know I wanted that damn pink car for my eighth birthday? “Say what you want, wise guy. Mom’s supernatural baloney drove me to the rational side. I hope local compassion for Lucia overwhelms the fear of a hex. She needs her friends right now.”

  “She’s lucky to have a friend as compassionate as Victor,” Nick said.

  “He’s a saint, isn’t he?” Carmen said.

  “Confess,” I said leaning between the seats. “Is he going to be husband number five?”

  Carmen laughed. “If he’s lucky. No, if I’m lucky. Victor is the most principled man I know. He truly cares about all the people in his life.”

  “You’re both saints if you can tolerate someone like Tony Torrico,” Nick said.

  “Don’t let Tony’s arrogance put you off,” Carmen said. “He’s a good doctor. He works extra hours when Victor and I need him. Tony is an asset to the clinic and the whole neighborhood. You have to get to know him.”

  “I don’t have to, but if he gets involved with Lucia’s care, I will.” Nick turned right off Wilshire Boulevard onto Bronson Avenue and parked the car in front of Carmen’s two-story English country house in Hancock Park.

  Before she got out, Carmen turned to me. “Sweetie, don’t forget you have a physical and TB shot tomorrow. I know we’ve been distracted, but the exam and the immunizations are a staff requirement.”

  “I’ll be there, Carmen. I’m sorry I put it off so long. Nick is driving to the clinic with me. We’ll check in on Lucia afterward.”

  “Good. I’ll see you both tomorrow, then,” Carmen said.

  As we pulled away, I said to Nick, “You’re sure you don’t mind waiting for me at the clinic?”

  “I waited twenty years for you. An hour is a snap.”

  I ignored his tease about his college crush on me. He hid his feelings for me back then, while I batted gaga eyes at Jarret, my future ex-husband. “Thanks. I hate getting shots.”

  “I’ll buy you a post-shot cookie. We can bring a bag of them to Lucia to cheer her up,” he said.

  “I get one cookie?”

  Nick steered through Laurel Canyon into Studio City and turned right onto Sunshine Terrace, a shortcut bypassing traffic on Ventura Boulevard. He curved past the bungalows and houses that bordered Carpenter School and dropped me off at my front door on Carpenter Avenue.

  My kitten, Erzulie, meowed from inside while I collected my mail. I adopted Erzulie the same week Nick and I began our . . . affair? Dating? Relationship? Nick was Erzulie’s superhero. She wove between his legs and sat at his side whenever he visited. She howled at the door when he left. No doubt her current cries were because her radar ears recognized his exiting car rather than heralding my return home. If Erzulie had thumbs, she’d pack her food dish and move in with him. Our occasional weekends at Nick’s were a kitty karnival for her. She rummaged in the crawlspace beneath his house, hid in his cabinets, and followed him everywhere. Me? I’m just her meal ticket.

  I dropped my mail on the coffee table and followed Erzulie upstairs to my comfy, girly bedroom. I loved the whole town house, but the bedroom was my haven. After years of renting houses in different cities during Jarret’s career, I created my post-divorce environment to suit my personal taste—all white, plush, and soft. No dirty cleats or sweaty uniforms in sight. I hung up my dress, slipped into sweats and sneakers, swooped my hair into a loose ponytail, and went back downstairs.

  Erzulie led the way again, stopping every few steps to be sure I followed her to the kitchen. When we got to the pantry cupboard, I took out a yellow can of Deep Sea Delite, one of Erzulie’s favorites.

  She jumped on the kitchen counter. I opened the can while she watched with the focus of a brain surgeon. I knew her plan. Erzulie aspired to learn to open the cans herself and eliminate me, the middleman. I couldn’t blame her. Independence was a gift.

  As Erzulie inhaled her dinner out of the dish on the floor, I poured a half glass of white wine and sat on the sofa to go
through the mail. The phone rang.

  “Oh good, you’re home. It’s Mom. I just got off the phone with Carmen. I heard you had quite the afternoon. When you get to the clinic tomorrow, remind them I’m bringing over cases of socks and underwear for the homeless on Friday. In fact, why don’t you delay your appointment and come with me to the clinic then?”

  “Sorry, I have to go tomorrow,” I said.

  “You can still come back with me on Friday and help me carry the boxes.”

  “What about Dad? I have clients on Friday.”

  “Your father has an LAPD retiree luncheon. You only have clients in the morning, right?” Mom knew my schedule as well as she knew her hairdresser’s days off. “We’ll go in the afternoon. Carmen told me about the hex at the wake today. Chilling. I hope you weren’t anywhere near Lucia Rojas. Do you think it will affect our fund-raiser?”

  “No, Mom. Lucia was angry and upset. The hex means nothing.” I began to open my mail.

  Conversations with Vivian Gordon were low maintenance on the reply end, but I had to give Mom at least half of my attention. She was known to slip in little bombshells, committing me to things I didn’t want to do. She rattled on about Nick conjuring a hex-breaker and what she thought I should wear to the fund-raiser. The flyers, coupons, and bills in my mail required little attention until I came to a white envelope, hand addressed to me in unfamiliar penmanship. I slid open the flap and took out the letter inside.

  “Carmen told me the hex cleared the room,” Mom said. “This won’t do at all. The Cherries solicited local merchants for donations. I don’t want our guests to cancel out of fear of leaving their houses. We promised Carmen and Victor . . .”

  Her words faded out as I read the letter in my hand:

  Dear Dr. Cooper,

  Your three-year lease at 3915 Carpenter Avenue, Unit B, expires at the end of May. We hereby inform you the lease will not be renewed due to planned ownership occupancy. Your full security deposit will be refunded pending inspection. It has been a pleasure having you as a tenant. We wish you the best of luck in the future.