by Livia Quinn
"So when was the last time you saw him… exactly?" I put down my coffee and took out my notebook while she prevaricated.
"I'm a busy woman, Sheriff. I can't keep track of everyone in my employ." I looked around. It wasn't like she was running a big plantation or even the biggest house on the block. The only employees I knew about were Manny and Maria. "All I know is that he worked his shift Saturday a week past. I was gone most of the day."
"What time did you leave?"
"Around nine," she said then with eyes hard and glittering with self-importance, she called, "Maria!" I tapped my finger on the side of the coffee cup while the quick tap tap of footsteps sounded in the hallway.
When Maria came scurrying into the room, "Yes, Mrs. Karrakas," she barely managed to stop herself from bowing. Damn. Karrakas must make her employees bow to her when no one was present. I wanted to bring her down so bad. Maria's boss commanded her to give me the information.
Worked for me. I nodded at the housekeeper, "Maria, how are you? I'm Sheriff Lang. I understand you were working Saturday?"
"Maria lives here, Sheriff," Karrakas interrupted.
I gave Maria a sympathetic smile. "When did you last see Manny Martinez?"
"Saturday morning, sir."
"And what time was that?"
"Please tell the Sheriff what you know," Karrakas prodded Maria but there was an unspoken warning in her tone.
The small Hispanic woman turned to me nervously. "Manny was here, Sheriff. His shift started at 6:30 but I do not know when he finished because I left at 9:00 a.m. and did not see him again."
It was an odd time for her shift to end, I thought, but then I remembered that she lived here so she must have left to run errands. It seemed Mrs. Karrakas had messed up because there was no one to set a time frame for her return.
"Maria, do you know Manny outside the job? Do you ever see him when you're not at work?"
"She's always working, Sheriff. She lives here."
"So she's a prisoner with no other life?" I snapped. Okay, I was tired and my temper was short but for God's sake this was the twenty-first century and slavery was dead.
"I don't like your tone, Sheriff Lang."
"I apologize, Mrs. Karrakas. I didn't mean any offense"—liar—"but I need the answers to come from Maria." I turned back to Maria who was obviously concerned about her responses now. "Maria, do you ever see Manny when you're not working? What about his family?"
She glanced at Mrs. Karrakas wringing her hands. "Well, occasionally I see him or sua familia at mass," she said. "He is a good man. He gives his money always to his wife and brothers, and the church."
"What was he was wearing the last time you saw him? Clothing, jewelry, etc."
"No, he wears no rings, no watch, he can no afford. He was wearing a red…" she made motions with her hand across her midsection.
"Stripes?"
"Si. Stripe shirt, blue jeans, and black shoes for…running."
"Jogging shoes?"
"Si, si."
"Anything else you can think of?" I asked.
She looked over at Mrs. Karrakas, "No."
"If you think of anything at all or hear anything from say, a friend at your church that might help me find him, please call me." I handed her my card. "Anytime."
"Get back to your work now, Maria," her boss said.
After Maria left the room, she said, "I don't know how you understand that broken English. Dealing with workers like these is so tiresome." She augmented that with a heavy sigh. When I ignored the obvious slur she looked at me cocking her head to the side. "You understand, don't you, Sheriff? Manny and Maria are Mexican immigrants. You can't depend on them, I can tell you from experience, although he did an adequate job."
Did? There was that flutter again. I took a sip of my coffee, maintaining my composure. "Actually, that's not correct, Mrs. Karrakas. Manny Martinez is a US born citizen whose parents immigrated from Cuba."
She shrugged and waved her hand, "All the same."
This was probably true—to her. Manny probably looked identical to her Bolivian housekeeper. Ryan had given me the background on all the connected individuals in the case.
"Don't leave town. I may have more questions for you. And please don't get up. I'll let myself out." She puffed up and glared. I smiled as I walked toward the door.
Maria was there to open it. "One last question, Maria." She cast a quick look down the hall then nodded. "You never saw Manny after 9:00 a.m.?"
"No, sir, I did not." I started to tell her there was no reason to "sir" me but she was used to showing respect and needed this job to survive. I decided to put out some feelers for someone who might need a hardworking housekeeper.
Chapter 27
Since you zapped me, my flag is always up."
Jack
When I arrived at the Martinez household there were twenty-one family members there in addition to his wife. According to Ryan, the missing man had been born to Cuban parents and had been married to the blonde woman standing in front of me for ten years.
"Mrs. Martinez," I held out my hand and she returned it with her firm grip.
"Sheriff, thank you for coming. Have you heard anything?" I didn't doubt she was truly appreciative. I'd heard my predecessor, who'd been kicked out of office by the Louisiana State Police, was racist as well as corrupt. "Please sit. Have some refreshments."
She poured me a cup of coffee laced with cream and sugar. It was like drinking a hot dessert. Mrs. Martinez was no wallflower. Her gaze was direct and her manner confident.
The room was spare, with worn but authentic handmade rugs and wall hangings, which showed the family's pride in their heritage. There was plenty of seating and a few small knick-knacks, but the main area of focus and decoration was the wall of family photos. I walked over to it and asked her to point out Manny's picture.
She selected the one in the center, a young couple at a wedding reception. Recognizing her and Manny and many of the people in the room I fanned out from it to others showing births in the hospital, holidays on the beach. The explosion of a close thriving family was all right here and Mrs. Martinez appeared to be the heart of it all. The home may have been crowded but it was neat as a pin and except for the worry on everyone's faces, seemed a happy home.
"I understand you filed a missing persons report."
"Yes, Sheriff Lang. Please, call me Terry. Manny, I'm sorry, Manuel Roberto Martinez is his legal name." I'd already gotten this from Ryan. "How long since you last saw your husband?"
"It was a week ago, Saturday morning before he left for work, but Tomas…" she nodded her head at the serious looking rotund figure to her left, "…Tomas, saw him at noon."
Tomas looked at her expectantly and I assumed he didn't speak much English. I pulled out my rusty Spanish and asked, "¿cuál es su nombre?"
"Tomas Espero Martinez," he said, obviously relieved I spoke his language.
"¿su lazo a Manny?" I asked about his relationship to Manny.
"I can save you some of this translating, Sheriff," said Terry. "Tomas is Manny's brother, though they look very different. Here's a picture." She handed me another black and white of Manny. A skinny but well muscled man in his early twenties."
"When was this taken?" It looked pretty worn, like she'd carried it around with her.
"It is the picture I used when Manny and I applied for our marriage license. He didn't marry me to become a citizen," she said rather defensively.
"Look, Terry. I'm not here to judge anyone; I already know he was born here. Why don't I ask some questions and you can translate for me. My Spanish is rustier than I thought." I smiled at her and she relaxed. I had some work to do in this community.
"Tomas, where did you see your brother?"
I waited while she asked her brother-in-law and translated, "He says he saw him at noon in the backyard of his job. Manny couldn't talk to him very long because his employer doesn't allow him to have visitors while he's working. He told Tomas
he'd see him after work. He didn't. And he didn't come home, either." Tears sprang to her eyes as she clenched her fingers in her lap, trying to be strong for the others.
My heart went out to her. "Is this unusual behavior for him, Terry? Where else could he go?"
"Sheriff, my Manny is as regular as the sun's rising every morning. He works. He brings his paycheck home to share with his brothers and sisters. And he works to bring more of his extended family to this country. It has always been his way. He's a good man." She wiped away a tear and I hated like hell to ask my next question.
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask, it's procedure… did you and Manny have a fight? Could he have been acting out of character for once?"
Her blue eyes flashed in anger, "No. It 's not even remotely possible. Manny l-loves me, all of us." Her hurt expression and the quivering bottom lip made me feel like a complete heel.
I patted her hand, "All right, I understand. Does he just have one employer or does he work for others?"
"He does work occasionally for others but his regular job is for the Karrakases in Enchanted Glen." Her look told me what she thought of them.
I pulled out my card and laid it on the scarred coffee table. "If any of you think of anything else, call me. If I don't answer my cell, call the second number. They'll put you through. That's a twenty-four hour number." Terry got my point. She took my hand and tears spilled over her lashes.
"Thank you, Sheriff Lang. Please find my Manny. I'm very worried."
"I'll do my best, Terry." My gut feeling was that it wouldn't be the news she wanted to hear.
Twenty minutes later I arrived at the M.E.’s new office in downtown Destiny. The old building, the one he'd shared with the parish corner, had been destroyed by weather during the Para-moon.
Dan pulled his gloves off and walked to the sink when I entered. I looked down at the table. He pointed at the bones. Glancing back up I found him grinning. "Something big stepped on them, postmortem. We've yet to find the rest of Mr. Doe. What I can tell you from the tests I did on the bones is that… this victim was poisoned."
I frowned. Poisoning was an unusual style of murder and we'd had three cases, four if you counted Lancelot, in recent months.
"I see the question on your lips, Sheriff, and the answer is yes. It's the same exact poison that was used on the clubhouse victim and that alligator." The alligator, Lancelot, Enchanted Glen's official mascot at the golf course lived in a slew behind the clubhouse. Doc didn't know it, but he was also a shifter named Garrick. The doctors at LSU had saved him after he swallowed part of a golf club and a vial containing the poison.
When Tempe came across the dead Nucklavee, we hadn't known he'd been poisoned but we soon learned that his fate, the alligator's and River's had been linked. Dan didn't know about River but I suspected this poison had been used on him as well. I picked up the flyer with Manny's picture on it from the counter and waved it. "So there's no way to know if this is our victim?"
"No sir, not yet."
"All right, thanks, Doc. I'll check with Ryan to see what else he knows. Were you able to get any other genetic markers on the Vic?" He knew what I was asking.
"No fingerprints of course but I did take a DNA sample. Now that I know what to be on the lookout for, I'm processing the DNA here. I'll let you know as soon as I get the results." If he was human, he meant.
If he wasn't, that added a lot of factors to his demise. And even if the victim wasn't human, had he been killed accidentally or with intent by one of our supernatural enemies who'd stuck around after the Chaos? My job was a helluva lot more complicated since I'd become aware of the other side of Destiny.
Hadn't Ryan said Mrs. Karrakas filed a complaint over a shipment of chemicals she didn't receive? And it was her word against a computer scan. My eyes flared a little with excitement as I anticipated my next encounter with Mrs. Karrakas. I seemed to be growing a testy new set of cujones—and I found I didn't have an iota of regret.
Tempe
The rest of the afternoon was routine and before long I drove onto Mr. Jackson's street. I'd been trying to figure out how to broach the subject Inez had confided. Our communication style in the past could have only been described as barely avoiding a World War. But that had changed since he'd been with Inez.
I needn't have worried. He was standing by his mailbox in a stance reminiscent of my encounter on that fateful day when my powers had come alive, but he wasn't mad, bent over, or smoking like a chimney. He stood straighter, looked healthier and acted almost respectful and I realized he'd been a very unhappy man before Inez. And…he didn't seem very happy now.
He smoothed his sparse hair in place over his ears and rocked foot to foot, his impatience palpable. When I pulled to a stop, he seemed oddly at a loss for words. "Ms. Pomeroy." He'd only called me "Ms" anything once.
"Mr. Jackson. Um, hello. Was there something you needed? I haven't been to your box yet."
"No, that is, it's nothing to do with the mail." He looked at the sky, his eyes traveling across the clouds absently, "It's… that is, I was wondering if…" his eyes came back to mine and I saw the worry there. "Have you seen my Inez today?"
Oh, what to say. Probably best to stick with the truth. "I did. She was at her house this morning."
His shoulders sank at the news. "I was afraid of that. All right, thanks." He turned away.
Zeus' tears! He was pitiful. "Mr. Jackson, wait. Um, I asked her if she was still living here with you and she said yes, she was just er…visiting…her old house." Well, not exactly the truth, but close enough. "Do you mind if I ask what's going on?"
I for sure wasn't going to tell him Inez' tale but before I could take a breath he launched into the enhanced version complete with a strip show.
Jerkily tugging the hem of his shirt from his pants, he ripped it open and sent buttons flying. I would have looked away but his upper torso didn't look like I expected. He was actually rather buff for a man his age. His index finger landed on his left pec. "See that? You did that to me and ever since you zapped me, my flag is always up."
I wished that phrase was a reference to his days as a mail carrier, but the tattoo on his chest was clearly an image of a woman's head with rainbow streaked hair. No one had ever told me this would happen and as far as I knew he was the only one it had happened to.
"Ever since you brought me back from near death, and don't get me wrong I owe you for that, because if I hadn't wound up in that hospital I'd have died and never met my lovely sweet Inez, but I'm wearing her out. I'm not a bounder, and I'd never cheat on Inez. I love her, but I'm afraid my constant—"
My eyes went wide and I placed my palm up, "Got it. No need to explain. I'm just not sure what you think I can do about it."
His eyebrows rose. "Well, Inez and I were talking…" I knew what they'd been talking about. "Inez thought maybe you could increase the juice in her…"
"Mr. Jackson! I understand what you're asking, okay? Inez mentioned it, but as I told her, it's not that simple. I didn't even know the uh," I winced, "flag thing was a side effect. And I wouldn't know how to, well… we're going to have to come up with another solution. Have you seen a doctor?"
He threw up his hands and stomped around, a bit like the old Jackson. "How am I supposed to make a doctor believe I can't get my flag to go down at my age?" He had a point.
"I know but maybe he could give you something to counteract it…" like anti-Viagra? Right. "…a tranquilizer? Let me think about it. And talk to um, someone I know." Like who?
"If you can't help Inez, can you fix me? Put me back like I was before? I wouldn't care if I couldn't get it—" I flashed my palm again and he stopped. "Inez would be happier, and if Inez is happy, that's all I want, Ms. Pomeroy. Please."
The puppy dog look on his face had me making a false promise to fix it, for the second time today, though I had no friggin' idea what I was going to do. I couldn't manage my own love life, how was I supposed to fix theirs?
Chapter 28
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"Thank you, thank you very much. . .”
Tempe
Elvis' House of Blues sat alone at the end of the street behind a black iron fence and, as I discovered when I pushed on it, a locked gate. The colorful eighteen hundreds style Craftsman house sat in front of me just a short distance down a wide brick path. Five weathered turquoise steps set between two white spindled balustrades led to the porch, the end posts bearing stick figures of stars, no, on closer inspection I saw it was a man and woman. The trim on the elaborate spindles lining the porch and upper edge of the portico all matched the vibrant oranges and blues and yellows of the house.
My gaze rose to the double French doors, purple with orange trim, inset with some kind of opaque glass inserts and handcrafted iron bars to keep thieves out. On either side of the doors were posters painted by local artists on musical themes—a black choir, musicians performing in New Orleans at Preservation Hall, one of them, a notice of some kind. There were decorated window casings at either end of the porch facing the doors.
I pushed against the gate finding it suddenly unlocked and started up the steps feeling as if I was being observed through the windows, probably bedrooms added to the original center structure.
In two shades of blue with squiggles and stars and swirls of orange and pink, the sign above the door read "The Only House of Blues". A unique replica maybe but the real one was in N'awlins. The SOAPS had gone down one Sunday for the Blues brunch. The food had been out of this world.
The place beckoned with its bright sunny appearance but as I stepped on the porch I felt needle pricks running down my spine and along my nerves. Menori perked up. I whipped around expecting to see someone following me so strong was the feeling, but the walkway was empty. I spotted movement out of my peripheral vision and saw the shades on the inside of the window to my right moving slightly against the pane.