Trouble in a Big Box (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery)

by Alter, Judy

  “Why should you be sorry? Your husband is alive, isn’t he? That’s what they told me.”

  “Yes.” I drew a deep breath. “He was badly injured, but he’s alive. That doesn’t make the loss of your daughter any easier. May I come in?”

  She stepped aside and motioned me into a darkened room where the TV blared and teenagers lounged on a sagging couch. Only the girl, who I guessed to be Rosalinda’s twin, looked up at me. None of them greeted me, and their mother did nothing about introducing me.

  “I…I thought you might like this ham. I wanted to do something to express my grief.”

  The young girl stood suddenly and stepped belligerently toward me. “Take your damn ham. There’s nothing you can do. Your husband killed my sister.”

  I looked at her, all bravado with a bandana tied at the back over her hair, too much make-up, a tight shirt that didn’t quite reach the top of her equally tight jeans—and she had a ring in her belly button. I only glanced and then resolved to look elsewhere. In fact, I looked her straight in the eyes. The longer I did, the more anxious she became, darting her eyes away, then looking to see if I was still looking. That old dominance trick. What I thought—hoped?—I saw was a scared girl, hiding under bravado. If her sister died, could it happen to her?

  This wasn’t the time to argue that she should direct her anger at Sonny Adams, or at least I didn’t think so. “My husband is devastated by what happened.”

  “Sorry won’t cut it,” she said, while her brothers looked on with more interest now—the first sign of life I’d seen in these apathetic kids, all of whom should have been in school.

  “Bella,” Mrs. Garza pleaded, “the lady came out of kindness.”

  “Kindness my ass. She’s got a guilty conscience. I will have my revenge someday.” She turned away, but I heard her mutter, “You have kids, don’t you? You better watch them close. I know what it’s like to lose someone I loved.”

  Mrs. Garza gasped, but she seemed incapable of controlling her brood. The boys were now softly cheering their sister. “You go, Bella” and other less pleasant taunts rang out. And I knew then that Bella Garza was stalking me. Somehow that was a comfort—what would a young girl do? I didn’t think her words about the girls were real, but I wouldn’t be taking any chances. My bet was that Bella wanted someone to save her from what she saw as her self-appointed duty.

  I thrust the ham at Mrs. Garza but she shook her head. “They won’t eat it. It will go to waste. Feed it to your husband and those girls, and treasure them. I…I apologize for my children. I can do nothing.”

  I took my ham and fled. The whole scene made me want to talk to Joe Mendez. His mother too had lost control of him, and he’d gone with a bad crowd, done bad things. A tangle with the law—and my intervention—set him on the right track. I wanted to ask him how we could reach out to Bella Garza and her family.

  A few blocks way, I pulled over to the curb, pulled a Kleenex out of my purse and wept. I wasn’t sure whom I cried for—Rosalinda, Bella, their mother, myself—but I cried until my eyes were puffy and red. Then I called Keisha and told her I was going home for the rest of the morning. I’d be in after lunch.

  Mike was asleep, which gave me time to splash cold water on my face and try to restore my appearance at least a little. Instead of repeating my suggestion of the Grill, I fixed BLT sandwiches for lunch, and I think the smell of frying bacon brought Mike hobbling into the kitchen. One look at me, and he said flatly, “You’ve been crying. Is this all getting to be too much for you, with me unable to do anything?”

  I shook my head. “No, no, that’s not it. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

  He boxed me into a corner with his walker. “We’re going to talk about it. Now.”

  “Let me get lunch on the table.”

  He moved slowly to the table and sat, his expression uncompromising. I wished he didn’t know me so well.

  When I put his beer and sandwich in front of him, he said, “Pull your chair up close to mine.”

  I got my own lunch and pulled my chair up.

  Mike looked at my face again and said, “Wow! It must have been bad.” He reached out a gentle hand and covered mine. This was the Mike I knew and loved, not the remote invalid I’d been living with lately. A good cry was worth it if it brought him out of his self-absorption.

  “Tell me.” It wasn’t a command; it was a plea.

  “Promise you won’t get mad at me?”

  That brought a questioning look. “Maybe exasperated?”

  “I went to see Rosalinda Garza’s family today—a mom, her twin sister, and three younger brothers. Oh, Mike, it was sad. None of them were in school, and the mom obviously had no control over them. Bella, that’s the sister, tried hard to intimidate me, even threatened the girls, so I know she’s the one who’s been stalking me. But I think she’d love to be rescued from what she sees as her duty—revenge. I didn’t even suggest she should be mad at Sonny Adams. I just left and brought my ham with me.”

  He opened his mouth in amazement and finally choked out, “Your ham?”

  I looked down at my lap. “Yeah, I took a spiral-cut ham, figured they could use some food. I still think they could. But Bella refused it, and the mother said they wouldn’t eat it and it would go to waste.” I hesitated a moment. “I guess we’ll have ham and potato salad Sunday.”

  He laughed this time. “We have ham sandwiches almost every day, so this ham is supposed to be a treat?”

  “I won’t let it go to waste.”

  “Good. But Kelly, you can’t save the world. Just because you lucked out with Joe, you can’t take on everyone’s problems.”

  “I think Joe could help them. I’m going to talk to him about it Sunday.”

  “I’ll be part of that discussion,” he said, drinking the last of his beer. “Kelly, one of the reasons I love you is that you care so much about other people, but I won’t let you put yourself or the girls in harm’s way. I can’t…I can’t afford to take a chance. And it burns the hell out of me that right now I can’t protect you. If I saw someone chasing you, the best I could do is holler for help.”

  I knew his male pride was hurt, but there was little I could say.

  “Come on. I want to show you what I can do. Bother the dishes. Let them sit.”

  He clumped down the hall to the bedroom, almost banging his walker because he seemed in such a hurry. Once there, he threw back the covers on the bed.

  “What are you showing me?” I asked, truly puzzled.

  “What I can do with one bad leg,” he answered with a smile.

  “Mike? Should you? I mean, should we? I mean….”

  “Stop talking and take off your clothes, woman.”

  It was amazing what he could do with one bad leg, and we stayed in bed until it was time for me to pick up the girls. If Keisha called, I didn’t hear the phone.

  ****

  Keisha didn’t ask about my absence or about my visit to the Garzas except to say, “I guess you told Mike about going to the Garzas yesterday.”

  “Yes, I did. He understood…sort of. I’m going to see what Joe can do to help them.”

  “Help them? If I guess right, they’re the ones stalking you, and you want to help them?”

  As I saw it she shouldn’t be surprised. This was kind of Keisha morality. You did what was right in the world for others, regardless of yourself. I’d long been impressed by that.

  “You got it. It’s the twin sister of the girl who died. She tried to be so hostile and threatening, but she was really just pitiful.”

  Keisha scoffed. “Pitiful, my foot. You watch out for her. Those girls know tricks you haven’t even thought about. She’d as soon stick a knife in you as look at you. I went to school with girls like that, and I know them.”

  “Then how did you escape being like them?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “My mama,” was all she said, and it was enough.

  Apparently Keisha morality went on hold when t
here was a threat to those she loved. She saw no benefit in trying to help the Garzas. To her mind, they were beyond help, and I was putting us all in danger.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, I do.”

  A frosty silence filled the office for quite a while, until at last I asked, “Keisha, can you bring your mom’s good cheese grits on Sunday? We’re having ham, and I’ll make potato salad.”

  “What happened to burgers on the grill? If Mike can’t grill, I can.”

  “Oh, I bought this ham. Just thought it would be a good idea.”

  “Garzas wouldn’t take it, huh? So now we’re eating their rejects. I’ll bring grits but I think I’ll also bring a layered Mexican dip—we might as well mix our cuisines, and I’m tired of sour cream and onion soup. Oh and I’m bringing José. Did I tell you that? That boy is growing on me.” She looked coy, almost girlish. Then with the devil in her eye, she said, “I sure am glad I moved out of Mama’s house.”

  She wouldn’t dare mention my absence yesterday after that. I sat there linking José and layered Mexican dip in my mind. In truth, I was glad for a chance to know him. If I could only remember his real name.

  Chapter Seven

  Christian called after I got back from lunch. “Kelly, I kind of wandered on Magnolia today, in the area where Lattimore wants to build, and I went into a clock shop. Old guy named Otto Martin owns it. And he’s madder than six demons. Making threats about Lattimore. Says he’s too old to move and start over again and can’t afford it. I want to meet with him…and you.”

  “Sure. I told you we need a meeting, and I’d like to include him. Did you ask Jim Price?”

  “Yeah, he’ll make himself available. Feels as strongly as we do. How about your office—not as many people around as at my office. What day’s good for you?”

  “Hmm, this is Friday. Could we do ten-thirty Monday morning? I checked and Tom’s hearing with the zoning commission isn’t until next Thursday.”

  “Great. I’ll call Otto—he’s really a great guy, you’ll like him. You call Price and see if he can make it.”

  Jim Price was a lawyer in solo practice with an office on Magnolia. I imagined he’d make it if he weren’t in court. When I called, he answered his own phone—I love lawyers like that—looked at his calendar, and said he’d meet us.

  “Keisha, we’re having a meeting of four people—plus you, of course—on Monday at ten-thirty. Can you take some petty cash that morning and get, oh, I guess doughnuts or whatever? And will you make a note to have fresh coffee?”

  “Got it. What’s this meeting about?”

  “That shopping center Tom Lattimore wants to put in. Making plans to stop it.”

  “Guess the zoning regulations gonna be your weekend reading.”

  “Nope. I bet Jim Price is on top of that.”

  It turned out he was.

  Shortly after that John Henry Jackson called. His voice boomed over the phone: “Little lady, I’ve talked to this Lattimore fellow, and I need to talk to you about this business on Magnolia Avenue. How about I take you to the Fort Worth Club for lunch on Tuesday—closed on Mondays, you know.”

  I didn’t often get invited to the Fort Worth Club, a kind of upscale downtown club for businessmen. Most of Fort Worth’s high society frequented it—and that didn’t include me. “I’d appreciate a chance to talk, John Henry.”

  “Good. We’ll meet at eleven-thirty. You know where to go?”

  “Yes, I do. See you then.”

  ****

  Sunday night supper was delightful. By now my ham was a joke, and everyone teased me about it, which I tried to take gracefully, but it was a bit of a sore subject. Mom brought a chocolate meringue pie and a chocolate cake—she knew her granddaughters’ addiction to chocolate. Claire brought sautéed green beans, fresh, with sliced almonds, declaring Megan and Liz loved them—and she brought enough for an army. Anthony and the boys arrived with a veggie and dip tray straight from a supermarket, and Theresa and Joe brought beer. It struck me what a difference a year made—Anthony frowned when he saw Theresa drink a beer, but after all she was a married woman now, and he said nothing.

  The girls had set a festive buffet table. I taught them how to roll silverware, using those good sturdy paper napkins, and we had the clear plastic plates that I like. I’d splurged on flowers for the table, but even so Em accusingly said to Joe, “You didn’t bring me balloons like you did last time.”

  “Do I have to bring you balloons every time I come to dinner?” he laughed.

  “Yes,” she said, flouncing away.

  Theresa went after her, gave her a big hug, and asked about school. Em melted.

  It was a bit cool outside, so we ate perched around the house, wherever we could find seats. Mike, as usual, sat in his big chair, and Maggie fixed him a plate, carefully cutting his meat for him, which I know amused him. He could, after all, still use a knife and fork, especially since he’d been ordered to exercise the fingers on his left hand. Maggie also heaped his plate with more food than any two men could eat, but he made a valiant effort.

  José fit right in, although quietly. He talked some with Mike, but he never took his eyes off Keisha, and I saw them exchange a quick kiss in the kitchen. Em saw it too and screamed, “Keisha!” Keisha laughed and said, “Em, come give this boy a kiss. He deserves it.” But Em turned shy. Joe jokingly told José that if one of them was to be called José so as to avoid confusion, it should be him since he was Mexican on both sides. José smiled and said, “I kind of like it as a nickname. Keisha gave it to me.” As a couple they reminded me of Jack Spratt and his wife—José was taller than Keisha but not nearly as big. They made a handsome couple.

  Soon after dessert everyone began to depart—work and school loomed for each of us the next day. I pulled Joe aside. “I know you and Theresa have early mornings, but could you stay a little bit? I want to talk to you.”

  “Sure, Miss Kelly. Whatever I can do.”

  Theresa took the girls off to get ready for bed and read a book, and I told Joe about the Garzas, without pausing for breath. Mike just sat and listened.

  “So this lady, she’s like my mom. Can’t do anything with her kids. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’m off Tuesday. I’ll go see them. Those boys got to be in school. The girl?” He shrugged. “I don’t know what I can do. But I’ll try. Keisha may be right. You’re not taking her seriously enough. And that would piss her off. Miss Kelly, please don’t go up there again.”

  I evaded the asked-for promise.

  “Thanks, Joe,” Mike said. “I’ve been trying to tell Kelly.”

  “I haven’t seen her following me since I went up there,” I said defensively.

  “Don’t mean anything,” Joe said. “Be foolish to think you scared her off with your visit.” He rubbed his knuckles. “Tell you what, Miss Kelly, before I go see them, I’ll check around and see what the word is, especially about the girl. Meantime, you be careful.”

  I really did think I had put an end to the stalking. I didn’t worry about it as much as I should have.

  ****

  Monday was my meeting with Christian, Jim Price, and the threatening Otto Martin. Threatening only because Christian said he made threats against Tom Lattimore. He turned out to be anything but. In fact, he was almost cherubic, with a slight hint of Old World charm about him. Short and chubby, balding with round cheeks and eyes that sparkled with an interest in life. When we were introduced, he took my hand and bowed low over it, almost but not quite kissing it.

  I managed to stammer, “Charmed to meet you,” which I thought was truly appropriate under the circumstances. Keisha, however, given the same treatment was speechless for the first time I could remember.

  We pulled chairs up around my desk, which made me feel that I was conducting the meeting, so I jumped in.

  “Jim, how effective can the neighborhood association be in blocking this zoning change?”

  “Depend
s, Kelly. We’ll need petition signatures—ideally we should have a team go door to door. Not everyone will sign, but I think most will. We can’t do that before Thursday.”

  “Pardon me, but I have a question. Can I be forced to sell my building? What if I just refuse?”

  “The developers—whoever Lattimore is representing—will sweeten the pot.”

  “Sweeten the pot?” Otto asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Offer you an outrageous amount that you can’t afford to turn down.”

  “I can’t afford to accept anything. My building is all I have in the world. In the back, there’s two rooms. That’s where I live. My clock shop doesn’t bring in enough to let me live anywhere else.”

  Forgetting why we were meeting, I asked, “Do you have a kitchen?”

  He smiled. “I have a small refrigerator and a hot plate. It’s all I need. I eat a lot of—what do you call it?—fast food.”

  “Oh, that’s awful,” I blurted out.

  He shook his head. “No, I like my life. I don’t want to change anything about it. I don’t want to move if they offer me a house. I like where I am. My faithful customers know where to find me.”

  Jim Price was a kind and compassionate man. “If that’s your home, they can’t force you to move. The state has the right of eminent domain, but not private developers. I doubt they can prove public purpose or public necessity for a shopping mall.”

  “That’s good,” Otto said contentedly. “Because if they take my store, I’d have to kill Tom Lattimore.”

  I looked around as though I expected someone in authority—Buck or Mike, at the least—to be listening. “Uh, Otto…Mr. Martin, you mustn’t ever say that aloud. It won’t go any farther than this room, but if something were to happen to Mr. Lattimore, you’d be in big trouble.”

  He smiled. “I would be a happy man. I told the son of a bitch so.”

  Christian was convulsed behind his handkerchief, pretending to blow his nose, and Jim’s mouth was quivering as he tried to quell his laughter. Keisha and I were simply amazed at this gentle man’s open discussion of killing someone.