“A neighbor?” Cere asked.
“Rafe’s little girl,” Lottie explained with a warm smile. “Didn’t you meet her at the restaurant?”
Visions came of the half eaten food as disturbing thoughts crossed Cere’s mind. He was married? She shook off a small stab of disappointment.
Lottie tapped Cere’s arm, blue eyes twinkling with mischief as she spoke in a low voice. “I forgot to ask what you thought of our sheriff.”
An unsettling vision of the dark, handsome face danced in Cere’s vision. She had been trying not to think of him, and now she had a reason. A child meant a wife.
“Kind of full of himself,” Cere grumbled.
Lottie’s tanned face frowned in disapproval. “I’ve always thought of Rafe as very nice. He does a great job with Ginny, given that he’s a single parent.”
Her insides leaped, though she reminded herself his marital status shouldn’t matter. She studied the girl more closely. Ginny bore a strong resemblance to Rafe, especially her long, thick eyelashes. Twin plastic barrettes held back shiny brown hair and she wore baggy jeans and a light blue T-shirt.
“Cute,” Cere said, thinking single parent as she noted that one of the pink butterfly barrettes had slipped and the part in her hair was crooked.
“He’s a devoted father, despite his job,” Lottie continued.
Ginny skipped toward them, clutching two handfuls of greens. “May I put them in?”
“Of course, sweetie.” Lottie raised the wire door, and Ginny dropped a pile of limp stems into the cage. The girl looked up at Cere through bangs that nearly hid her eyes and Lottie performed an introduction.
“Hello, Ginny,” Cere said, holding out her hand.
The little girl accepted the handshake smiled and whispered a quick “Hello.”
“I’ll leave you to get acquainted,” Lottie said. “I need to get a hose to clean water dishes. You are going to help me, aren’t you, Ginny?”
The girl gave an eager nod.
Cere had little experience with children so she wasn’t certain what to say. “How old are you?”
“Six.” She began hopping on one foot and twirling in a circle.
“Where do you and your dad live?”
“Down the block. But not Mommy... she lives...” Ginny stopped her dance and gestured up with a small thumb.
“In heaven?”
The girl nodded and spun again.
Cere smiled at the child’s antics. It must be rough being a single father to a little girl, especially for a macho guy like Rafe. Lottie returned, and she and Ginny took turns washing out water bowls with the hose.
“Staying out of trouble?”
Cere was so involved watching her mother and Ginny, she hadn’t noticed Rafe enter the yard. She inhaled softly as she looked him over. In full uniform, he was an impressive sight. The tailored cut of the beige shirt made his shoulders appear wider, his chest thick and muscular. The slim slacks with a thin green stripe gave his legs a long lean look. The brim of a peaked cap shielded his dark eyes as he approached.
“I’m behaving. For now,” Cere retorted saucily, aware her heart was beating quicker. “How’s the cop business, Tafoya? Did you recover from being up all night?”
Rafe shrugged, wishing he didn’t feel so pleased to see Cere. She had been on his mind much of the day. When he realized Ginny was missing from the back yard, he knew where she would be. He’d been excited to search for her at the Medina house. He forced down the wattage of his smile.
“It happens sometimes. I got a couple of hours sleep, then I had to go to court to testify on a case. Gin, are you hungry?”
“We’re almost finished,” Lottie called, waving her hand. “You two visit.”
Cere dropped her head, and Rafe noted a roll of her eyes. “Your daughter seems like a good little girl.”
“Like her dad,” he replied with a chuckle. What the hell was he doing flirting? Why couldn’t he stop that? She shifted, and Rafe grew uncomfortable, shoving his hands in his back pockets. He tapped the grass with a polished boot trying to think of something clever to say.
“Who takes care of Ginny for you? I would think a sheriff’s hours are unpredictable.”
“My sister and Mom. Sometimes she stays at the café with Josie or with your mom.”
“Her mother is...dead?” Her eyes were wide, inquiring.
“Yep.” He hoped she caught his curt, reluctant tone. Discussing Carmen was not something he did with strangers. He changed the subject. “Where’s your crazy cousin?”
Something shifted in Cere’s eyes. “She’s on a mission to find her father. Who knows when she’ll be back.”
Was that jealousy he heard in Cere’s tone? He couldn’t stop the sudden light mood that overwhelmed him. “How did you spend today?”
“Visiting Mom’s friends. But all anyone talked about was the murder.”
“Figures.” Naldo’s death had been the main subject at the courthouse too.
“How’s the investigation going?”
“Are you asking out of curiosity? Or as a reporter?”
How did she manage to look so fresh in the late afternoon? Her hair was neatly pinned behind her head and held in place by a floral silk scarf. Her beige slim fitting sundress looked like she had just put it on. Not even her nose was shiny.
“I’m not working on that murder case,” she replied, flashing a withering look that spoke volumes. “My relatives agree it was robbery, like those guys last night were saying. Is that what you think? In your professional opinion?”
A smile twitched at his lips as her eyes grew wide with open curiosity. “Why do your questions always sound as though I’ll be quoted on TV?”
“Why do you always sound as though you don’t take me seriously?” she retorted.
“I do. Maybe too seriously. By the way, my uncle liked your blog. Did he call you today?”
“Mom and I had lunch with him at the Matador. He seems nice. Why didn’t you tell me you had relatives in the media? He and your dad run the newspaper? Why didn’t you go into the family business?”
The question surprised him. At times his uncle and dad made him feel guilty for choosing law enforcement. He’d thought about it, but he didn’t like writing as much as he liked investigating. “Why didn’t you go into teaching, like your mom and dad?”
She laughed and shook her head. “They were better at it than I could ever be. Besides I like this better.”
“I bet.”
As she edged closer to him he could smell a hint of lilac. His pulse quickened as she turned a brilliant smile on him. “I got a note from someone wanting to talk about Marco. It was unsigned, just a phone number and I’ve been calling all day, but no one answers. The number appears to be unlisted and it just rings, doesn’t even go to voice mail.”
He fought the sharp pang of disappointment that ran through him. “May I see the note? Maybe I’ll recognize the handwriting or the number.”
She hesitated. “I think it might be that Diaz man. I mean, he is probably the only person in town who knows my car.”
“Maybe it was a prank. You’re not going ahead with this Marco thing, are you? I thought you were doing another blog on Rio Rojo.”
“I am. I can use this new murder as a peg for the other story. You know, first murder in years, but the town is no stranger to violent death. Now that I set that up, I—”
“No!” His voice came out louder than he wanted, but was she serious? “You can use this murder? Well, I’m glad Naldo’s murder wasn’t in vain. Damn, are you really that callous?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, he whirled away and called to Ginny. “Let’s go, hon. I’m sure Cere has a story to write.” He put a large hand on Ginny’s head in an affectionate gesture, fearing she had heard his upraised voice.
As they walked toward the back gate, Lottie approached, holding a gallon jar of sun tea. “Would you like to come inside for iced tea, Rafe?”
He smiled at Lottie, but f
ound he couldn’t keep his cool when he turned and saw Cere watching him, eyes challenging. “I’m sorry, Lottie, we have to go. If I’m around your daughter much longer, I’d be tempted to throttle her.”
Chapter Fifteen
“What in the world did you say to him?” Lottie asked, as they sat at the kitchen table with large glasses of iced tea. “He looked angry.”
Cere shook her head and sipped her tea, unable to answer. She still smarted over Rafe’s comments. Was she being callous? She’d heard the complaint in the past, but it never stung as it did coming from him.
“I should invite him over for dinner,” Lottie said. “What do you think?”
“Mother, you heard him. He wants to strangle me!”
Lottie laughed and patted her hand. “I’m sure he’s teasing. Rafe’s a nice man. You two have more in common than you realize.”
“Yeah, right.” Cere shook her head in disbelief.
“What were you discussing?” Lottie asked, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
Cere sighed. She had finally admitted her suspension to her mother, but she hadn’t indicated her reason for choosing Rio Rojo for vacation. Perhaps her mother could help. She would have been away in college when Marco died, but maybe she knew his family.
“I told you I’m trying to get back into Alan’s good graces at Scope. You know we do those cold case stories?”
Her mother’s brow furrowed. “So?”
“I’m trying to do a story on Marco Gonzales.”
Her mother coughed softly, and her head jerked up as her glass dropped to the table with a thump. Her bright blue eyes looked stunned, then…confused. “What? Why in the world would you want to do that?”
“There were questions about his death. Did you see the story Gary Riggins did in the Santa Fe newspaper? You emailed it to me.”
Lottie jerked upright. “Oh, my word. I send you links to the paper to read about our bowling team. Why don’t you do something on how the town is becoming more like Taos? There’s a new artists’ colony and I hear they’re talking about building a fancy spa on the old Hollister place between here and Casitas. Hon, there are so many things you could do.”
“It’s just an idea.”
“Good.” Lottie’s voice grew cool, the authoritative teacher in charge. “Then put it on hold. You should relax. I’ll invite Rafe and Ginny over some night.”
“Ginny told me her mother is dead?”
“She died just before he came back here. I’m not certain how. He’s never told me, and I’ve never asked Ginny. She’s a quiet child, doesn’t say much.”
“Her father probably doesn’t let her. He’s the macho sheriff, probably bringing her up to be the proper little lady who knows her place—subservient to men.”
“Don’t shrug him off because he’s from here, Cere.”
Her serious tone brought a bubble of laughter from Cere. “You’re playing matchmaker. Big city reporter and tiny town cop? It’s never going to work, Mom.”
“Rafe is not small town. It’s why we get along. We enjoyed the city, but we came back to our roots. I know I belong here.”
Cere wanted to question her mother further, but she held her tongue. Her gaze slid around the kitchen, trying to make sense of familiar possessions in strange surroundings, like the old cuckoo clock on a bright yellow wall instead of on the mantel in a formal dining room.
“I’m glad you’re here,” her mother added. “I want you to get to know my family. I’ve always loved Nena and the Medina family, but you need to know the Winslows too. This is where the other half of your roots are.”
She couldn’t imagine any part of her being based on the tiny town, but she kept silent as her mother continued in a wistful voice.
“I didn’t think I’d get used to California. I was such a small town girl.”
Cere studied her mother’s reflective pose. She had never before noticed the line of wrinkles forming on the edges of her mother’s lips and eyes. Lottie’s age was showing. She was nearly Marco’s age. How would he look now? Visions of her dreams popped into Cere’s head. The Marco she envisioned was the young man of the picture. Maybe she should have an artist do an aging portrait of him.
“What are you thinking? You look a hundred miles away.” Lottie leaned toward Cere and took her hand. “I can tell something’s wrong. What is it? This suspension?”
Cere sighed. “I am concerned about it. That’s why I need to do this Gonzales story.”
“Why?” Were her hands shaking? She frowned at Cere. “Why that particular story?”
“It’ll be a great piece. The hand print is a town legend, and it left so many unanswered questions. No one knows how he died or what happened to the money that he supposedly stole.”
Lottie’s lips set in a firm line and her eyes blazed as she dropped Cere’s hand and waved hers in dismissal. “Don’t be silly. Everyone knows how it ended. He got depressed because everyone was against him, so he shot himself. No one ever proved he took any money or that he burned those buildings. There were lots of strangers in town because they had just opened that commune in the hills.”
Cere stared at her mother in surprise. Maybe she had been talking to the wrong people. “So you know the story? You were around when he died?”
Her mother ran her hands over her thighs as though straightening her neatly pressed slacks. Her blue eyes remained glued to her glass of tea. “That was a long time ago.”
“How did those ghost rumors get started?”
Lottie’s laugh was soft and sad. “That handprint. If someone had washed it off before it stained the wall, none of that nonsense would have taken hold. Now, honestly, Cere, the sooner you forget this, the better.”
“Don’t be a spoil sport, Mom. Maybe we should go out there now. I bet you know how to get inside and where the hand is.” Pushing away from the table, Cere hopped to her feet. “I can do a blog on it. Think of how much fun it will be, an evening adventure!”
To Cere’s surprise, her mother gasped, a look of horror crossing her face. Her curls shook violently as she twisted her head back and forth in a negative gesture. “Certainly not! Cere, I don’t think you should do the story. The 60’s and 70’s were a bad time. Lots of upheaval. The town went through so much turmoil and it didn’t end until he died. I think everyone was frightened by the violence and we just wanted peace. The town was rebuilt, and the wounds healed. I don’t think anyone wants to recall those days.”
The negative reaction disturbed Cere, but it didn’t deter her. “I’ll bet the change was good. Don’t you want to find out if he was murdered? There could be a killer in this town who has gotten away with it for years. Obviously this town harbors some bad guys. Look at whoever killed that old man. You probably know the person.”
Lottie drew a deep breath and shivered despite the warmth in the room. “That’s ridiculous. And if it isn’t, what if you’re right and there’s someone who won’t want you dredging up that old stuff? Have you thought of that? You could be in danger.” Her voice had risen with every word, shocking Cere. Her mother seldom betrayed emotion, but her carefully made up face was pinched with distress.
“Danger,” Cere repeated breathlessly, her interest even more piqued, thinking of the message on her voice mail. “Do you know something? Suspect someone?”
“Of course not.” Lottie stood, shaking her head and holding up her hands. “Now, I am finished with this discussion. I’m going up to change. I promised Bradley we would join him for dinner. Please don’t bring up this subject.”
“Bradley again?” Cere teased, trying to lessen her mother’s unhappiness.
Lottie’s cheeks grew pink, and her eyes avoided Cere’s, but a smile played over her lips. “We usually have dinner on Tuesday. I go over to his house and cook for him since he has a late afternoon council meeting. You can go with me now, or you and Freeda can join us when she gets back.”
While she was curious about her mother’s new relationship, Cere couldn’t i
magine another evening with the pompous Mayor Foster.
“Do you mind if I skip it? I don’t know if I’m up to another long dinner. The last few days have been hectic.”
Lottie put her hand to Cere’s face, the picture of motherly concern. “You do look tired, sweetie. We can do this tomorrow night. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“Why don’t you go alone? I don’t want to spoil your routine.”
“But it’s your third night here,” her mother protested.
“I’m going to be here a couple of weeks. What I’d like is to take a bath and unwind.”
A gentle smile crossed Lottie’s face. “All right, but I better get busy. I promised I’d cook arroz con pollo and I need to run by the market.”
“You better not be using Nena’s recipe to feed another man.”
The smile turned sad. “Your grandmother knows about him. I can’t keep secrets from that old bat. She told me when I moved that I needed to get on with my life. She knows that’s what Del would have wanted. I hope you give Bradley a chance. He wants to get to know you better.”
“I want to get to know him,” Cere said, trying to muster enthusiasm. “Have he and his family lived here a long time?”
“His great-great-grandfather was one of the founding fathers and now his son is the police chief. Bradley was sheriff for years.”
Cere didn’t respond. She’d watched the big man glad hand people at the murder scene as though it was a political occasion.
His pudgy face had been filled with concern, but it appeared to be a mask. The comments she overheard him make were patronizing, but the crowd seemed respectful, in awe.
“I’d like to have him over for a special dinner some night.”
“Sure, Mom. That sounds good.”
****
The house echoed with emptiness once her mother was gone, despite its cramped size. The familiar furniture jammed into the tiny rooms created claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm her. Cere wandered from room to room, restless energy driving her. The thought of soaking in a hot bath no longer appealed to her.
Eventually Cere settled on her favorite chair, leaning back. Her gaze fell on an old magazine rack beside the chair. It had been an early shop project of her father’s. She smiled at it fondly, touching it gingerly since it had always been known for its instability. It teetered, and Cere grabbed at it, jerking it forward and sending newspapers and magazines spilling across the wooden floor.
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