“Then stay and discuss it.” She stood, knowing Freeda was eager to tell the story. The three had spent the afternoon visiting relatives so there was no opportunity for girly gossip.
Tony appeared at the table interrupting their conversation. “Mayor Foster says he’s buying dessert. May I suggest our tiramisu? It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Heavenly,” Lottie said. “Cere, you should stay and try this.”
“I can’t eat any more.” She patted her stomach that stretched against her knit dress. “We spent all day sitting. I need to walk. But you stay. I know you both love your sweets.”
Lottie nodded at Tony. “Two espressos and one dessert. We’ll split it.” As he left, she looked up at Cere. “Can you find your way home? It’s not that far. You go down Main Street two blocks and turn right for three… wait, I’ll draw a map.”
“I can find it. I did earlier.”
“You were in the car. I don’t want you wandering around lost.” Lottie dug in her purse, brought out paper and pen and began to draw. “Thank you for meeting Bradley, hon. I had such a crush on him when I was a teenager. He was deputy sheriff, and he always looked so handsome in his uniform.”
Cere tried to imagine the heavy, jowly man as young and appealing, but the image refused to appear.
“He seems nice,” Freeda said. “Kinda like a cuddly teddy bear, but what about Mr. Gennaro?”
Lottie’s eyes blinked rapidly, and she looked startled. “Tony? What do you mean?”
“He’s giving you the eye, Tia.”
Lottie flicked her hand in dismissal. “I’ve known Tony since high school. He’s always been a friend, one of the boys. Bradley was special. He would drive me home on snowy days. Sometimes when he saw me at the drug store, we’d have a coke together.”
“I guess I should be pleased he never paid attention to you or I wouldn’t be here.”
Her mother’s face grew pink and she looked up. Her voice grew low and conspiratorial, as though sharing a secret. “No. He was married and I was so jealous of his wife.” She sighed like a teen with a crush. “I guess he was friendly to everyone, even though I liked to think he took special care of me. In high school, when boys bothered me… he… well… rescued me.”
To Cere’s surprise, her mother’s eyes had a girlish gleam unlike anything she’d ever seen. She’d never considered her mother’s life before Del Medina. She had always taken for granted that he was her mother’s first and only love.
“Did you date a lot when you were young?” Freeda asked.
“Heavens, no! My parents were strict. I couldn’t go out alone so Millie and I double dated. Since she was dating my brother, I was well-chaperoned.” She finished her map and handed it to Cere. “Don’t get lost. And relax. Sit in the back yard, enjoy the stars. You’ve been too tense since you arrived.”
Cere drew a deep breath. Relaxing at home was the last thing on her mind. When her mother told her about buying a cozy place, Cere had visions of a new townhouse or gingerbread Victorian. Instead, the two bedroom bungalow had the cookie-cutter look of the 1950s and its narrow rooms barely held the family furniture. The only attempt at updating was the addition of a second bathroom. With no air conditioning, the little house would be hot and stuffy.
Cere intended going home, but only to get her car and find out where the Mayor had gone. Maybe this place was the murder capital of New Mexico. This could be a story.
Finding the murder location was easy. She didn’t even need her car. The center of town was unnaturally quiet as she hurried along the sidewalk. She didn’t see one car before turning toward the residential area. At first she was struck by the silence, then a strange noise seemed to buzz around her. It took her a few seconds to recognize the sound of crickets. But she didn’t have time to think about them. As she reached the next intersection, she caught sight of a crowd gathered a few blocks away. Police cars with flashing lights stood like beacons on both sides of the street.
Without hesitation she turned in that direction. As she approached she could see small knots of people gathered outside a tiny well-kept yard. Bradley Foster stood in front of the house, listening to an overweight man in a police uniform, his jowly face a study in concentration.
Inner excitement stirred as she neared the scene and she felt the thrill of arriving at a breaking news story. She didn’t cover murders often, and seldom anyone besides Hollywood stars, but she’d been to crime scenes. She pushed her way to the front of the throng until a short brick fence stopped her. She leaned forward, hoping to hear what the mayor was saying to the uniformed officers.
“Well, well, the media arrives. What brings you out here?”
Cere jumped and turned to find Sheriff Tafoya standing nearby. Much to her dismay, her heart skipped at the sight of him. A cowboy hat cast shadows on his eyes, but his face wore a grim smile.
She feigned disinterest, shrugging her shoulders and gesturing at the people around her. “I’m just an onlooker, like everyone else.”
The crowd was a mixture of young and old. Curiosity mingled with anxiety on tense faces. A few children pushed at each other, while others circled the street on bikes.
“Why aren’t you inside?” she asked.
“City jurisdiction. I’m an observer too.”
“How did he die? Mr. Foster said maybe an accident?”
His full lips drew down, and he shook his head. “He was killed. I saw the gun.”
“My mother told me how safe this place is compared to Los Angeles.”
“Safe enough. First murder in years.”
“Since Marco Gonzales,” said a dark man beside him.
Cere twirled toward the voice. The speaker was the man in the black T-shirt who had been at the restaurant earlier. What was his name?
“Really?” she asked. “You know Marco was murdered, uh, Jerry, right?”
“Hey!” Rafe shot him a hard look. “Don’t start that.”
Jerry lounged on top of the brick wall at the corner of the yard, and as she studied the men near him, she recognized several others from the café counter. Interesting. Her heart thumped. Maybe they would be more talkative tonight.
“Nobody’s goin’ to care about Marco no more.”
“Why?” she asked, spinning around. The comment came from the man she’d talked to earlier in the green baseball cap. She hadn’t learned his name.
“Why go looking for ghosts when you can stay in town and search for treasure?” he said.
Cere’s curiosity rose like a building wave.
“Do you think there’s treasure buried here? Want to tell me about it?” She didn’t have a notebook with her, but she pulled out her mother’s map and a pen from her purse.
“Stop it, Bill.” Rafe moved to stand between her and the group. “I told you before I don’t want to hear that nonsense. Those ridiculous rumors about Naldo burying stuff in his backyard was nothing but talk, and you damn well know it.”
“Maybe,” another man said, jerking his unshaved chin at the house. “But I bet there’s gold in that house and he was killed for his money.”
“The coins probably,” Jerry added.
Rafe drew a deep breath. “Will you guys stop? Jerry, Monte, you know better.”
“Just saying. She’s a curious reporter.” Jerry nodded at her as though he was suddenly her friend.
“Hollywood stories,” Rafe replied, disgust rippling through his voice.
“I’m a reporter tonight and I’m always looking for interesting stories.” She stepped around him to stand beside Jerry and his group.
She directed her gaze at the man Rafe had called Monte. He was tall and wiry with long gray hair that hung to his Led Zepplin T-shirt. He had not been at the restaurant.
“What coins?” she asked.
“Naldo’s people used to own a pawn shop,” Rafe interrupted. “Years ago. He still had things that people couldn’t redeem.”
“Gold coins,” Jerry repeated. “Had them appraised once
and ended up in a fight with the Santa Fe appraiser who said they was worthless.”
“Yeah, worthless,” Monte added with a grunt, “but the guy was willing to give him a thousand for them. I saw them once and they looked real to me.”
Jerry nodded in agreement. “Naldo threw him out. I saw the fight right here.” He pointed at the edge of the sidewalk. “Kicked the guy in the ass and chased him to his car with a shovel. Told him he’d rather bury them in his backyard than let that crook have a single one.”
Monte leaned toward Cere, eyes wide, eyebrows raising and lowering. “And the next spring, whaddya know? The old man digs up his front and back lawns and puts in fresh sod.”
The men laughed, but it carried an uneasy, uncertain ring.
“Ever since, these guys have been convinced he did bury them,” Rafe finished in a sarcastic tone.
“You don’t think it’s true?” Jerry asked. “I’ll tell ya, he never showed ’em to no one again. Used to be, if you ran into him in the street, and he needed money, he’d have a silver or gold coin he’d show you and say if he didn’t pay you back, he’d give it to you. They looked real, but he hasn’t shown them in years.”
“Since he dug up the yard,” Monte finished, nodding in agreement, gray hair dancing on his thin shoulders.
“Don’t believe them,” Rafe cautioned in a low voice.
Cere looked from one man to the next. Jerry stared at the yard, dark eyes glittering in the klieg lights that had been put up along the fence. Monte leaned against the pillar where Jerry sat, unlit cigarette in one hand, while Bill, the man in the green baseball cap, stood beside him, hands thrust into the back pockets of jeans that clung to narrow hips.
She couldn’t tell if they were teasing. They had joked about Bradley Foster at the café and he was dating her mother. A quick glance toward Rafe offered no answers. He shifted and for an instant she caught sight of his eyes under the brim of his hat. His dark eyes glowed and something strange sparked inside her. She grew suddenly aware of his large body next to her and the difference in their heights. Her eyes were level with the badge on his chest.
As if he noticed their close proximity and her eyes on him, he turned away, shaking his head. He ambled around the yard, scanning the yard and house. Was he looking for clues or checking for where the old guy might have hidden the coins? She was tempted to follow him, but given her strange reactions to him, she stayed put.
****
Rafe watched the scene unfold with a sense of unease. He had heard enough from the men and he wasn’t certain he wanted to remain near Cere much longer. She smelled too good and he was too aware of her presence as she stood beside him. In a slim black dress with short sleeves and a dipping neckline that gave him a tantalizing view of her cleavage, she raised the temperature in his blood despite cool night air. His uncle Willie waved from across the lawn and he walked over to him.
“The old man? They’re certain it’s murder?” Willie asked.
His uncle ran the town newspaper and much as Rafe wanted to provide an answer, he knew anything official had to come from the chief or there would be hell to pay. He’d already screwed up with comments to Cere.
“You better get the details from BJ.”
“They’re ignoring me.”
As though on cue, BJ and his dad, Mayor Foster, seemed to notice them and marched forward.
“Old Naldo Sanchez has been shot,” the mayor announced. “We’ve called the state crime boys, and they’ll be here in the morning. That’s the only statement we can give tonight.” His hard gaze pointed at Rafe.
“Did you tell them he’d been murdered?” Rafe asked, wondering what BJ had told the crime lab. He couldn’t believe the technicians would wait so long.
Like his son, Bradley’s face reddened visibly. “We don’t know what happened. We’re putting up tape around the scene once the coroner takes out the body. Nothing more to do tonight.”
Rafe glanced at the lingering crowd as the Fosters walked away. He doubted a string of yellow tape would hold them back long. “I hope you’re keeping someone here all night.”
BJ drew up abruptly and whipped around toward him, visibly angry. “We’ll lock up.”
“The guys out there are talking about that crazy treasure story,” Rafe said, stepping forward and lowering his voice. “If you don’t keep someone posted, you may come back in the morning and find the damn yard dug up. Someone might even break into the house.”
BJ shook his head, but his father grunted. “Damn, he’s right. Better keep someone here tonight. Can you lend us a deputy, Rafe?”
He didn’t have to think about that request for more than a second. “I’ll stay.”
BJ kicked at the ground, refusing to look Rafe in the eye, but he nodded. The mayor muttered a quick thanks.
He had several reasons for volunteering. He was curious about whether Diaz might venture by. And, if he was on duty he could look around. “Say, either of you run into a guy named Diego Diaz? Came into town a couple of days ago. Drives a black SUV with plates from Texas.”
The men exchanged a glance before both said, “No.”
“Talks with a funny voice,” Rafe continued.
“Wait. A strange guy stopped in the Matador the other day,” Mayor Foster said, stroking his chin. “Lottie and I were having lunch. He had a funny voice, kinda hoarse? Black sunglasses? He kept ’em on the whole time he was eating. Never talked to anyone except Josie, had lunch and left.”
“That’s him.”
“So?”
“He gave Naldo a ride the other night. When I asked him later, Naldo said he knew him but that he was leaving town. I haven’t seen him since, but he’s been hanging out near the Palladium. People saw him there yesterday. Maybe I’ll take a quick drive out there tonight and then come back and keep watch.”
“Yeah, sure.”
The men walked away and Rafe gave one last look around. Cere remained beside the fence, along with Jerry, Monte, Bill, and a couple of others from the neighborhood. He didn’t know what they were discussing, but he could see the impact of their words. He hadn’t known her long, but he could sense her rapt interest.
“Cere, how about if I give you a ride home?” he said, holding out his hand to take her arm. “I’m not going to let you stir up trouble.”
A quick smile crossed her lips, and his breath quickened as a dimple showed on one cheek. She lifted her hands, eyes wide and pleading innocence as she stepped out of his reach.
“I’ll behave, Sheriff. Honest.”
He wasn’t certain he believed her, but he didn’t have time to argue. He tipped his hat and walked to his vehicle. Maybe this was for the best. If she got caught up in the talk of buried gold, she might forget Marco Gonzales.
****
Cere didn’t stay long after Rafe left. She spoke to a few neighbors, asking questions and introducing herself. Most people agreed with the men. Someone was looking for Naldo’s hidden treasure. Was it a story that might interest Scope? Probably not. This was just another death in a small town. But the evening wasn’t a waste of time. Now people knew who she was. Next time she asked about Marco, a few might be more willing to talk.
She said her farewells and walked away. Her feet throbbed in pain from too long in her stiletto sandals, and she had several blocks to walk. Rounding a corner, she gave up and stopped to remove the offending shoes.
A black SUV approached as she straightened. She gripped a sandal tightly as the vehicle slowed and the window came down.
“Hey, what’s going on down there?” a whispery voice asked.
She could barely see the man but she knew that voice.
“Hey, I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he said with a strange laugh.
“Damn right, you won’t.” Cere felt no fear, not with a crowd down the block. She waved a sandal at him. “These heels are really sharp and I can yell really loud.”
Again the unsettling laugh. “You got me really scared. What’s happening down there?”
>
“Some old guy got killed. Mr. Naldo?”
He gasped and leaned forward. To her surprise, despite the darkness, he wore sunglasses. “Naldo Sanchez?”
“They said he was shot. They’re waiting for the coroner.”
Abruptly the window rolled up and the SUV roared off. To her surprise it didn’t go toward the crowd. With tires screeching it rounded the corner onto the main stretch of road that led out of town.
Chapter Twelve
Rafe leaned back against the headrest and fought to keep his eyes open. He checked his watch. 6:15. Less than an hour and his relief should be coming and he could go home and sleep. His plan to catch Diaz had not paid off. The Palladium had been eerily silent and the black SUV had not come by Naldo’s house during the night. Most of the crowd was gone by the time Rafe returned, and he recognized the few cars that drove by.
Josie had brought him a container of coffee on her way to open the Matador and he poured another cup before opening the car windows. The crisp morning air washed over him. He loved that clean, natural scent of pine trees, so different from the grimy stench of LA traffic. Rosy streams of sunlight streaked the sky above the rim of the mesa to the east.
The streets were quiet, except for a faint tapping behind him. It grew louder and he glanced in the mirror. A lone runner jogged down the street and he jerked up, nearly spilling his coffee. At first he thought it might be Lottie. Then he realized it was her daughter.
Cere stopped in front of the house. She wore a T-shirt and wrinkled cotton boxer shorts. Her auburn hair was pulled into a messy pony tail. She pulled a small rectangular object from her pocket and pointed it toward the house. A cell phone. He couldn’t help himself.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he called.
She jumped, fumbled with the object and whirled around. When she saw him, she held up her phone and smiled. “Taking a picture.”
“Why?”
“Just to do it. I’m not bothering anyone and I’m within my rights. I mean, I’m on public property.” She gestured at the sidewalk.
“That’s not going to turn up on TV, is it?”
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