Devil's Deal

by Terri Lynn Coop

  I scooped up the little dog and without thinking held him against my cheek. I could feel his heart beating. He was so tiny. I doubt he weighed more than one of the cash bundles in the car. When I met his bright eyes, something in my heart thawed.

  “You say he’s well-trained? Does he like riding in a car?”

  Javier looked away and tugged at his ear. “Oh yes, chica. More than you can know.”

  In my delight, I let that cryptic statement pass unchallenged. “What the hell. I’ve never had a pet before and this has certainly been a week of firsts. I assume he comes with gear?”

  It was the lawyer’s chance to blow his poker face. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone look quite that relieved. His wife must have some mean-ass cats.

  “Of course he does.”

  He returned with a miniature pet carrier and a good-sized tote bag containing food, leashes, brushes, and ridiculously small dog bones. I have to confess, I was entranced.

  “Jelly-bean poops, you say?”

  “I would rather clean up after him than scoop a litter box. He is less than no trouble.”

  I was looking into Simon’s eyes again when my right hand warmed. Taking it away, it was wet and then an acrid ammonia-like smell hit my nose. Javier pushed a box of tissues toward me with a smirk.

  “Well-trained, my ass,” I said, cleaning off my hand.

  Again with the huge loud laugh. “Hey, he is still a dog. It will happen less as you get better acquainted. He is excited because he knows you are taking him home. Trust me: I have five children and nine grandchildren. If pee was fatal I would have been dead many years ago.”

  I caught his good humor and laughed along with him. Real laughs were rare in my world, especially in the last few days. Simon joined the fun with little barks.

  “Okay, I’m sold. Now, tell me about this jug?” I asked, although I had already guessed the answer.

  Javier got serious. “Per his wishes, Jaime was cremated. In his will he said he hoped you would take his ashes to the Gulf of Mexico and scatter them. I can arrange it if you refuse.”

  I was about to take him up on his offer when it hit me. Of all the people in the world, after more than twenty years of near-silence, Uncle Jimmy had wanted me to have his dog, his stuff, and his practice. That’s a lot of trust. It was his way of saying he was proud of me and that any slight was forgiven. All he was asking in return was for me to take him to his favorite fishing place and lay him to rest. Only a self-absorbed snotty elitist bitch of a silk-stocking Dallas lawyer would say no, and I almost had. I thought about my father sitting in a jail cell because he couldn’t leave it alone. Because he had to always chase the deal.

  After a while, it wasn’t the money. It was the thrill and the game that mattered.

  “I’d be honored.” I tucked the small urn into the tote with Simon’s things. Maybe off the snow-white beaches of Biloxi. Jimmy had loved the casinos as much as the fishing.

  “Jaime would be proud. Now, here is a copy of the will and his keys. All I can say is to keep an open mind. If you’ll sign this power of attorney, I can take care of the few documents needed to transfer ownership.”

  I glanced at the agreement. It was vanilla and I signed it without a second thought. I was wary as I took the envelope. It was the second time he’d said I could expect some surprises.

  Might as well go all in. How bad could it be?

  Silence yawned between us. I should make a gesture, but I didn’t know exactly what to do or say.

  “Um, Javier, are there any outstanding bills?”

  Serious again, he said, “No. Jaime and I worked this out long ago. This was my last responsibility. I would invite you to dinner, but you need to go soon if you want to get to Cochinelle before dark, and there is Mr. Simon to consider. I also have court this afternoon. But please, keep my number. If there is anything I can do to help, do not hesitate. Think of me as your new uncle if you wish.”

  “Gracias, Tio Javier.” The Spanish rolled easily. I had a fair number of Mexican clients. His smile was as warm as sunshine. Embarrassed, I made a show of tucking Simon into his carrier and hefting the tote bag onto my shoulder. With a wink and a kiss on the cheek, he let me out his office door.

  “Come on Simon let’s go see what Uncle Jimmy left for us to deal with. Once a cleaner, always a cleaner.”

  I could have sworn that the answering bark sounded like a laugh.

  CHAPTER 8

  By the time I was a mile outside of Beaumont, Simon was fast asleep in his carrier. Part of me was all, Holy hell, what do I need with a dog? The other part of me was all, Oh, look at his widdle feet. I had to face it, I was toast. A few miles later I buzzed through a McD’s and ate in the shady corner of the parking lot. At the smell of food, my co-pilot perked up. After a dainty nibble of meat, he looked at me expectantly, like I could speak Chihuahua.

  Damn. The leash. Quick!

  I strolled with him along the grassy median as he sniffed and decorated every blade of grass. A little girl squealed with delight and ran up to us. Not sure how the dog would react, I tightened the leash. I didn’t need to worry. He did his belly flop and wriggled as she petted him.

  Thank you, Uncle Jimmy. This is good.

  Back in the car I let Simon ride in my lap and he snoozed while I cruised through the barren Texas countryside. It was less than a hundred miles, but two more walk stops made it after five by the time I saw the first signs for Cochinelle.

  “Hey, Buddy what do you say we stop for the night and see what Uncle Jimmy has in store for us tomorrow? I need a hot bath and some real sleep.”

  The sign at the first clean-looking motel clearly said No Pets. But I’d certainly dealt with bigger obstacles than this in my career.

  “Hey, Buddy, we are about to execute a clandestine operation.”

  Two minutes later, me, Simon, and our cash stash were safely behind a locked door. SEAL Team 6 couldn’t have done it smoother.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Who wants to take a walk? I could use some coffee.”

  After checking both ways to make sure the contraband-dog-strike-team wasn’t around, I got my first look at Cochinelle. Well, at least the far outskirts of it. There was a mass of dense green trees and not a hint of city or chemical funk. At the convenience store, I bought a cup of generic coffee, a local paper, and a badly photo-copied map touting the annual ladybug festival.

  I let Simon romp around on the grass next to a picnic table while I searched, with no luck, for Uncle Jimmy’s address on the smeary map. I was about to give up when a nice looking old man came out of the store.

  “Excuse me. Could you help me with some directions?”

  “Honey, I’d help you with anything you ask and thirty years ago, I’d been the one asking.”

  Somewhere in his strange response was a harmless old-fart flirt, so I batted my eyelashes and responded, “Thirty years ago, you wouldn’t have had to ask.”

  With a smile, he held out his hand and took Javier’s letter. After fumbling with his glasses, he gave my document the same grave consideration as a curator looking over the original Constitution. Finally, he said, “You’re looking for the trailer park?”

  Trailer park? Shit.

  Despite what Javier said, I am a pretty good card player, so I kept a sweet face and let the old guy ramble.

  “Well, you go down this highway. It’ll take you right to the entrance. It’s quite a ways, out near the lake. Now, don’t take the first exit with the street name on the sign. It dumps you on a dead-end dirt road. Stay on the highway until you come to a road with the name on it, no exit sign. That’ll take you right where you want to be. You do this right and there’s no missing it.”

  Highway past the exit to the turn that wasn’t an exit. No problem. Piece of cake.

  “Thank you. Guess it’s time for me and Simon to take off.”

  “Simon?” He tilted his glasses down.

  “I’ll be damned. Come here, boy.” The dog complied and w
as cradled in the old hands.

  “Um, you know my dog?” I was baffled now.

  “No, but I know Jim Delgado’s dog. I didn’t know he had a daughter. Please accept my condolences. Jim was good people. He helped me out big-time.”

  So, this was one of Uncle Jimmy’s clients I was here to help.

  “Actually, I’m his niece.”

  He peered at me closely and said, “Well, hell yes. I’ve seen your photo a hundred times in Jim’s office. He and I would tip a couple after closing time. Let me see, isn’t your name Jade or something like that?”

  Yeah, something like that.

  “Close, it’s . . .” I hesitated. Juliana Martin was a cynical city attorney who wouldn’t be caught dead in a Walmart outfit. She was a stone bitch. I knew I’d need her again at some point, but not today.

  “I’m Jewel. Jewel Martin,” I said, adopting my eyeroll-inducing pet name. Funny, here in Jimmy’s world, it didn’t feel bad at all.

  “Well, you certainly are. Now, get on down the road. Stop in at the office and they can show you Jim’s spread. You gonna close it up?”

  I hesitated again.

  “I don’t know. See, I’m an attorney as well. Uncle Jimmy’s last wish was that I look over his files and make sure everyone was taken care of.”

  “Damn! Smart and pretty as a picture. Jim was a lucky man. You’re going to cause quite a stir down at the courthouse.” The twinkle in his eye took the edge off the leer in his voice.

  Just what I needed was more compliments. Evidently, if I ever wanted to run for Miss America, I had the south Texas over-sixty vote locked up.

  After a handshake and my promise to call him Danny, rather than Mr. Pearson, I headed back to the motel to pack up. Ten minutes later, Simon sat on my scribbled notes as I turned left toward my next adventure.

  “Okay, Simon. You’re the navigator, you’ve been here before. Remember don’t let me turn at the exit sign.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Fifteen minutes later, I realized Danny’s glib statement—you can’t miss it—was an understatement. I’d swallowed my doubts and blown past the big exit sign and now I was driving under a flashing neon arch with the name Heaven’s Gate spelled out in LED stars. It must be blinding after dark. Clueless where to go next, I followed the winding drive to a garden gnome holding a sign that said OFFICE.

  I parked my beater under a tree and walked up a gravel path so immaculate it seemed I was defiling it with my footprints. I wondered if the gnome would rake it when I left. The office door sported a straw wreath festooned with fabric birds and flowers looking like they were cut from a plastic soda bottle. I tried the door and found it was locked. Peeking through the window, I spied a country-chintz stuffed room and an overflowing desk, but no one to help.

  “She’s at her rig.”

  I jumped. Since the only human-shaped thing I’d seen was the gnome, the female voice scared the hell out of me. Turning, I faced a spark plug of a woman with gray hair bushing out from her visor. Her thick body was encased in a pink t-shirt that read, Spending My Kids’ Inheritance.

  “Stella is over to her rig. She’s got a kink in her black water hose and we all know what that’s like!”

  Her expression and laughter indicated that she expected me to join in, even though I had no clue what she’d said.

  “Yes . . . um . . .”

  Obviously not the answer she expected because her laughter trailed off. Luckily, the strained silence was broken by Simon launching out of my grasp and dashing up the path to her. With the grace of a ninja, he executed a running half-roll and landed at her feet belly up.

  “Well, I’ll be. Simon! I can’t believe it! Where’d you come from?” She knelt and tickled the little dog until he yipped with pleasure. From her perch, she looked at me with the same incredulous suspicion as my new boyfriend Danny Pearson.

  “Jamie always said you’d come. Welcome to the Gate. C’mon, let’s go find Stella. This is just a kick in the pants.”

  She tucked Simon under her arm like a football and headed down another path, leaving me to catch up and wonder how many more versions of “James” I would hear before this was over. As we came to the top of a small hill, a barrage of cursing that managed to be both virulent and lady-like at the same time hit my ears. The woman I presumed was Stella stood next to an old bus surrounded with pink flamingo lawn ornaments.

  “Stella, guess who I got here?”

  “Unless, it’s a plumber, I don’t give a flying damn.”

  At the word “plumber,” the breeze brought a waft of ripe foulness. I now knew what black water meant.

  “This is Jamie’s girl. Come to claim his rig.”

  Stella turned a valve and stood. Even in her rough clothes, she was one of the loveliest women I have ever seen. Under her neat cap of silver hair, her flawless black skin stretched smooth and unlined over cheekbones a supermodel would gladly shank you for. When she smiled, warmth spread through the air.

  “How many times since you hit town has someone said they’d know you anywhere?” Her voice was as smooth as cognac mixed with honey.

  “Once or twice,” I said.

  “That’s because it’s still early. I’d offer you the traditional Heaven’s Gate welcoming hug, but—” She gestured to her long stained gloves.

  I caught her drift and laughed. “I’ll take a rain check.”

  Despite the strangeness of the situation, something about her warmed me to my toes.

  “Betty, why don’t you take our newest Gater back to the office while I clean up? This mess isn’t going anywhere.”

  A couple of minutes later I was sitting on a plaid sofa so overstuffed that my feet barely touched the floor. The sparkplug had brought me coffee in a chipped mug, saying Styrofoam wasn’t friendly. As I savored the tasty brew, I realized this wasn’t what I’d thought when I heard Mr. Pearson say “trailer park.” Photos of trailers and motorhomes, large and larger, covered the walls, with mottos like Full-Time or Bust! and We’re Homeless and Living in a Tin Can!

  What the hell?

  Stella swept into the room, refilling my cup and scratching Simon behind the ears. Depositing herself behind the cluttered desk, she said, “I am so sorry about Del. I can’t believe he’s gone. I was visiting my daughter when it happened and was devastated that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. We loved him here so much. I think he helped about every full-timer at the Gate in one way or another.”

  Del?

  Chalk up another name for the uncle I turned out to not know at all.

  Stella pulled out a file folder. “Okay, he was eight years into a twenty-year lease. He paid in full when he moved in, so the owners gave him an extra two years on the agreement. He traded some contract work for this year’s Association dues, so that’s taken care of. There is a small electric bill, and you’ll need to deal with the phone or disconnect it. Can I ask you about your plans? Don’t mean to be nosy, but people are asking.”

  Finishing my coffee, I decided the straight truth was my best tactic. Well, the straight truth minus what was going on in Dallas right now.

  “Stella, I have to confess I am clueless about this situation. I’ve barely talked to Uncle Jimmy in the last twenty years. I had no clue about any of this until a lawyer in Beaumont contacted me. Can we back up to the first chapter?”

  Stella folded her hands and said nothing. I could feel those wise brown eyes sizing me up and looking for answers. Obviously, something didn’t add up.

  “Miss Delgado, I need to show you your inheritance. Then you’ll understand more.”

  “It’s Martin, and please call me Jewel and, yes, I would like that very much.”

  “You can drive. It’ll be quicker.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Stella didn’t say anything as we drove along another winding manicured path. Through the trees were motorhomes of different sizes. Some had houses built around them while others had nothing but an extension cord and a barbecue grill. Frankly, it was kind o
f cool. I’d never been to a place that seemed less pretentious.

  Finally, we turned onto a neat paved street.

  “This is our long-term lease section. Everyone here has an assigned spot. Del is in the back corner at the end of Angel Lane. And here we are.”

  The world went silent as I pulled into the driveway.

  Sandwiched between a vehicle the size of my apartment and a silver trailer sporting a half-dozen antennas was something akin to a pickup with a thyroid problem. A small truck with a house built on the back. Behind the camper was a double-sized yard barn with an array of lawn furniture folded and stacked neatly in front of it.

  “Yes, it’s small, but it’s a classic. Toyota built these little rigs in the eighties. Del loved it. He could drive down to the lake and park wherever he wanted. I’m not seeing love in your eyes. Don’t worry. You can sell it any time you want. I’ve already had people asking. But you need to at least go inside and check out his office. Then you’ll understand more.”

  “Office?” All I saw was a shed like the one my parents’ gardeners had used to store the lawn mowers.

  My cards must have showed because Stella’s brows came together. “I can’t believe you don’t know anything. Del built an office in his storage barn and practiced law. He helped people with wills and property and all sorts of problems. We loved him. He let folks trade for legal work and pay what they could. He was a good neighbor with never a cross word. He may have not lived large, but he lived good. He got up every morning in charge of his day. Can you say that?”

  The rebuke stung like needles on my skin. She was right. I hadn’t been in charge of anything for years. My schedule was dictated by the demands of dockets and clients and my father. I’d had more freedom in the last two days than I had in the last ten years.

  Totally chagrined, I said, “Please accept my apologies. I’ve had a rough week. You’re right, I was jumping to conclusions. The answer is that I don’t have any answers right now.”