“I’m just trying to come up with different ideas.” Cere pressed her hands together, trying to shake off the feeling of unease she’d had ever since receiving the envelope.
Frank came out of the back and approached the table, carrying plastic glasses of water and two menus. “Got the cheeseburger going. Do you need menus?”
“I’m just going to have green chili,” Cere said, despite her lack of hunger.
“I’ll have the carne asada,” Rafe said, “and can you bring us a big manila envelope if you have one?”
Frank looked from one to the other. “Envelope? Yeah, sure, I got some in the back.”
When he was gone, Cere leaned forward again. “So you recognize that it’s evidence.”
“I’m being thorough but I’m not going to get involved in a wild goose chase trying to link Marco to Naldo’s death. I don’t think they’re related.” His dark eyes shot arrows at her across the table, face becoming set, a nerve pulsing along his jawline.
Frank returned with a large manila envelope and handed it to Rafe. Once Frank turned back toward the counter, Rafe used a napkin to lift the other enveloped by a corner. He slid it into the larger mailer and sealed it.
“It may be a long shot, but I’ll send it to the crime lab in Santa Fe. We found the watch band in the same room as the box so it stands to reason the watch was there too. Has anyone else touched this envelope? Your mom? Freeda?”
“No. Think about it, Rafe, if they aren’t related, you could have two killers in Rio Rojo. No one wants to think that violence happens here. It’s why everyone is so eager to say Marco committed suicide. But Naldo’s death shows bad things do happen.”
Rafe looked away, hands clenched on the table. “You don’t know what it’s like to fear you can’t keep the people around you safe. I’m supposed to keep order. That’s my job. To look out for people.”
Her fingers slid over his fists. “You’re doing your job, but you can’t make the world perfect. Even here.”
His dark eyes flashed on her angrily as he jerked away. “You do your stories and never worry about people getting hurt. You don’t realize there are real people behind those stories.”
His anger stunned her. “Don’t turn this around on me.”
“Do you ever think about it? When you chased that actor kid, did you consider you might be hurting him? That you were invading his privacy when you interrupted what should have been a happy, private moment of homecoming?”
“You’re changing the subject. What about Naldo? Are you ignoring the truth so you can pretend this is a safe town?”
He flinched as though she had delivered a major blow.
“You can’t save the world, Rafe, any more than you could save your wife. You do your job and keep order as best as possible.”
He grunted, shaking his head. “You’ll never understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand why you won’t help me. Even just a little.”
Behind him, the door opened with a jingle of the bell and he turned as his mother entered and walked toward them. Rafe’s face softened in a look of relief and he rose to kiss her cheek when she got to the table.
“Thanks for coming to get Ginny, Mom. Frank’s fixing her a burger.”
Stella placed long burgundy nails on the edge of the table and smiled as her dark eyes swept from one to the other. “You two have a nice dinner. What do you think of his new look, Cere? Muy guapo, no?”
Cere grinned back and put her thumb and forefinger together in a gesture of approval while Rafe’s face grew red.
“I’ll go get Ginny for you.”
Once Stella and Ginny were gone, Frank brought out their meals. The spicy fragrance of chili and the smoky scent of grilled meat drifted up in a pleasing aroma, but Cere wasn’t hungry. Rafe dug into his meat, chewing slowly, but she only pushed the pork and chili around. Finally she tapped her spoon on the bowl.
“There’s something else I need to tell you.”
He put down his fork, a look of resignation on his face. “I was hoping that break finished that discussion.”
“Last night after the party, while I was cleaning up I swear I saw a boot print outside the yard. The same one from the hill by the Palladium.” She grew cold just saying the words.
“Is it still there? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“It was gone this morning. That was why I haven’t said anything, but think about it, the person who was shooting at us could have been at our party. Or peeking in from outside the gate. I thought I saw Diaz’s car parked down the block.”
“Cere…”
“Okay, okay,” she said holding up her hands. “I know, I’m accusing him again, but to be honest, I don’t know or remember half the people at the party, but one of them may be the person sending these notes. Think about that person in your safe little town.”
He stiffened and his jaw tightened but he didn’t answer. Fire rose in his dark eyes and for an instant she feared an angry reaction. Instead when he finally spoke, his words came out in a low monotone.
“Okay. Marco’s sister was probably the person closest to him, besides Naldo. Her son has the letters he sent her. He let me read a couple, but they were so private, I couldn’t keep reading, and I sure as hell wasn’t giving them to Riggins. Gus might show them to you if I call him.” His black eyes swiveled around to catch hers, pulling her in until she felt like she was drowning.
She dropped her gaze, her body warm. “I’ve called him, but Len told me he’s working up at a ranch. I’ve left several messages, but he’s never returned my calls.”
“I’ll call him and ask him to answer your questions.”
“Thanks.” She reached over and touched his hand, and he turned his hand up and caught her fingers, giving them a slight squeeze. Her heart began to thud as he smiled and winked.
“Maybe you deserve a little help. You did take care of Ginny for me. Who knows when I’ll need another favor.”
Sparks of fire ignited on her skin from her hairline to her toes. The fingers he still held were on fire. “Remember that, Sheriff.”
“But can we change the subject? Isn’t there anything else we can talk about?”
Her heart was thudding and she held onto his hand, squeezing it. She felt a smile splash across her face, like the sun bursting through a cloud. Another idea hit her, a safer one. “I keep hearing about Tres Padres. Is there anything you know about it? You said they’re-building.”
“No ghosts out there,” he said.
She slapped his hand away playfully. “I might want to do a blog.”
“There’s not much to know. You should talk to Uncle Willie. He’s written stories for the newspaper. Why are you smiling like the cat that just ate the canary?”
Cere couldn’t admit it was because of a lead on Tres Padres. Or maybe it was because he had finally agreed to help her. Hell, actually she just suddenly felt giddy.
He wagged a finger at her, but in a playful way. “Don’t take my help on those letters the wrong way. I still don’t want that story blown up into a tabloid expose. If I think you’re heading that way, I’ll come after you worse than whoever sent that watch.”
The words sounded like a threat and she started to fire back at him, but a slow smile drew his lips up, and she felt herself melting inside as his eyes grew warm.
“You don’t want me to come after you, Medina,” he said, in a low voice that made her tingle all over. “Because I always get what I want too.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
A tense, skinny man of about twenty stood outside when Cere answered a sharp rap on the door. With a thin, almost pretty face and long sweeping lashes, he reminded her of waiters in Los Angeles who wanted to become actors.
“Hi, I’m Gus.” He extended an elegant, fine-boned hand. “Rafe said you wanted to see these?” He offered a worn thick manila envelope held together with a rubber band.
“Thanks, I’m Cere. I could have come by your house. Would you like
to come in?”
“I’m on my way to work.” He wore the orange-red uniform of a discount house.
A twinge of disappointment touched her. Cere had been pleased to see the packet, but she wanted to talk to Gus about his uncle. “I thought you worked up at a ranch?”
“Part time. Mr. Diaz lets me work there when I’m available.”
The name grabbed her, and she stiffened. “Diego Diaz? He’s in charge?”
He lifted a thin shoulder. “I guess.”
“How long has he been working there? He doesn’t seem to know many people in town.”
“Most of the Hollister Ranch people don’t come into Rio Rojo. The main road from the ranch goes west into Casitas.”
“May I call you later? If I have questions?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know much about the songs. I just found them.” His head dropped, a long lock of hair falling over his eyes. “See, my mom died a coupla months ago. I found these songs and letters when I was cleanin’ out her house.”
Anticipation buzzed in Cere’s head. What if these new letters held the key to Marco’s death? “Thank you so much for bringing them over. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
The instant the door closed she carried the envelope to the dining room table. Luckily she had the house all to herself. Her mother was getting her hair done and Freeda remained in Taos.
She tore open the package and dumped out two packets of envelopes. All were old, the ink faded with age. The envelopes were standard, and the stationery was the cheap lined variety that came in a tablet. The letters to his sister were poignant, and tears filled Cere’s eyes as she read through them. They were written when he first went away to jail. The uneven scribbling portrayed a teenager unskilled in proper grammar or spelling.
I miss you all more then I knew I could—I wish I could bring it all back and do the things they want me to do. Don’t ever go to jail. It’s a sad empty place.
One of these days the truth will came out and I can came home. I don’t know why I am send here for something I didn’t not do. Someday everyone will know they was wrong about me.
The letter sounded as though he had been telling the truth when he said he did not commit the original crimes, but slowly the tone changed, from one of hope to one of resentment.
I hate this prison and being here. Being locked up is the worst that can happen to a man. I can’t do nothing without permission, cannot go outside when I feel like it. I don’t know why no one could tell the truth. I’ll never forgive the people who put me here. You’ll see. I’ll get them all. Expecially her.
The words chilled Cere. Her? Who was he talking about?
Cere did not find much new information in the letters, except Marco became an angry, bitter man. He also grew intellectually, taking classes and working on his writing. In the end he focused his anger not so much on a personal level, but at the system.
I can see why I was an easy target. Rebellious and too immature to see and recognize that I was nothing special, just another cheap hood.
History has always dealt harshly with rebels. My reasons were not even valid. My actions were a show, the vain performance of a confused adolescent.
Cere picked up the second packet and began going through it. These letters were different. They contained songs, but not folk or protest songs. One letter explained them.
I know you think I’m crazy, but I think she regrets what she did. Why would she write me that letter? I wrote this song. I had to do it in Spanish so the guards can’t read it. I can’t give it to her, but maybe you can. Type it on the old typewriter and translate. Make it nice for her and then give it to her, okay? Tell her to think of me singing it to her, just like the old days down by the pond.
These were love songs, some very touching. A few were written in Spanish. Cere fought tears as she read them. Marco had been a sensitive young man, in love with the wrong woman.
Only one letter referred to the mystery girl as writing to him, but he kept sending love songs to his sister. Had Rafe seen these? What was his take on Marco’s ill-fated romance?
Thoughts of Rafe brought a bout of physical awareness. Cere tugged absently at her lip. He always seemed to be on her mind these days. He was like Marco in a lot of ways—putting on the gruff show but she could see the sensitive side. She envied his wife whom he described so reverently. It was obvious he kept a warm place in his heart for her. Could anyone ever replace her? Cere chased away those thoughts. Someone might, but it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be her.
****
Carrying her video camera, Cere walked from one end of the downtown Rio Rojo main street to the next. She stopped on one corner to photograph the street that had once burned, noting the newer buildings. Only at one end where she could see exposed brick that was painted over with white could she tell where the old town ended and the fire stopped.
On one side block she saw a sign for the Rio Rojo News. She walked down the street until she was in front. The name was printed across the plate glass window in gold script and she could see Stella behind a high counter inside.
While her mind was on the Gonzales story, Cere hesitated. Since she was here, perhaps she should stop in and see if Willie had time to talk to her about Tres Padres. Rafe hadn’t provided many answers the night before. Mainly they’d flirted and verbally sparred.
Stella looked up, saw Cere and waved. “How nice of you to come by,” she said, walking around the counter as Cere entered. “Ginny told me about her afternoon with you. Quite a little handful, isn’t she?”
Cere grasped her fingers and squeezed them. “She’s fun. I’ll do it any time.”
“You looking for Rafe? Or Ginny?” She tilted her head to the side. Beyond the counter, Cere saw an open entrance that yawned into the back area, which hummed with activity. The scene was chaotic, reminiscent of Scope at deadline, except on a more modest scale. Several people sat at battered desks in front of computer screens frantically typing on keyboards. Their faces carried identical looks of determination and concentration.
To Cere’s surprise Rafe sat at one of the desks, tapping at a keyboard with two fingers. They moved like pistons. He was concentrating so hard on his work he didn’t notice her arrival.
“The sheriff is writing for the paper?” she asked, pausing by his desk. Hadn’t his father mentioned that Rafe had a degree in journalism?
“I help out every so often,” he acknowledged, stopping. He surprised her with a warm smile. “This becomes a family operation when help is short and there’s a deadline.”
“I won’t interfere.”
He hit a key and looked across the desk to his uncle, who was also at a keyboard, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. “There’s the story on the high school requirements, Uncle Willie. Got anything else?”
“Thanks. Hi, Cere.” Willie waved and tapped his keyboard, his face carrying the demeanor of a man with too many things on his mind. He turned to a thin-faced blonde who was toiling away at another keyboard.
“Caroline, where’s the story on the drugstore closing? All I have here is the press release from their Santa Fe office. Did you ever call the place?”
“I didn’t have time. We can use the release and follow up later.”
“I hate using straight releases,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Maybe I’ll hold it until next week.”
“Want me to do it?” Rafe asked.
Willie whirled toward them. “I need you to do the water rights story and road closures.”
Rafe snapped his fingers and sat back at his keyboard. Cere drew a deep inner breath and stepped forward.
“I can do the drug store story,” she volunteered.
Rafe drew back, dark eyes wide with surprise. “You?”
“I can write. Besides, you helped me. Gus brought by the letters so I owe you; I might as well repay your uncle.”
“You helped me too.” He gestured toward Ginny who sat in a back corner at a small, plastic desk, dark head bent over a co
loring book.
“I know, but maybe we can talk later about the letters.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I should’ve known. You wouldn’t volunteer without an ulterior motive. Take the help, Willie. I want to see if she is a reporter, like her card says.”
The rebuke was issued in a teasing way, and Cere took it in that spirit. “Maybe I want to show you I can write.”
“Okay.” Willie held up a sheet of paper. “Here’s the release. Give me two inches.”
“Two inches?” She wrote in minutes. How long was a story that ran two inches?
“Newspaper talk,” Rafe said. “Just write it. We’ll let you know if it’s long enough. And try not to make it too tabloid.”
Cere tossed down her purse. “I can write, Tafoya! Prepare to be dazzled.”
Willie punched the keyboard of a nearby computer and the screen flashed to life. “I’ve got you logged on. Just click on the post button and it will come to me for the final edit and I’ll send it on to composing. Do you mind explaining to her how to use the word processing system?” he asked his nephew.
Rafe’s glance swept over her, and her heart thudded. His dark eyes smoldered as he agreed. He leaned down and she caught the tangy scent of his aftershave as he brushed across her to capture the computer mouse. Luckily she had a vague idea how to use the program. She certainly wasn’t learning from him. Her senses were too aware of the big hands maneuvering the mouse, the dark hair sprouting from the neck of his white shirt, which was open at the collar and the muscles of his biceps as he moved.
“You all set?” he asked finally, looking down at her.
Cere blinked, fearing he might notice how distracted she was, so she simply nodded. As he moved away, she settled herself at the computer and read the release. It explained the local chain drug store was one of dozens being closed in the state. Cere looked for Rafe, but he was on the phone. She turned to Willie.
“What about current prescriptions? This doesn’t say when the drug store is closing.”
Willie gave her a blank stare. “That’s why the release should be rewritten.”
Dead Man's Rules Page 24