Right now, though, I appreciated the silence of the chapel most. I sat and put my sore feet on the kneeling bench—what a relief. Incense and the smell of votive candles filled the air while the oil burning inside red glass containers reflected on the gold leafed retablo behind the altar. All that gold had me thinking of the keys Larry took with him, and something else, what he asked me on the way back to the house: "What kind of person is Ruby? What does she like to do? What kind of places does she like to go to? You should know." He was right.
I should know.
And I should be exploring each and every possibility. What was I doing here, moaning about my feet while my son sat in a jail because of my so-called best friend? I needed to get home, change into comfortable clothing and go find that heartless bitch.
What would be the fastest route from the mission to my car? I should avoid Camino Capistrano. The only way to accomplish that meant getting out through the cemetery on the east side of the chapel, and I had a strong feeling that gate would be locked on Las Golondrinas' Day. May as well go out the same way I came in. I braced myself for the lunch crowd, much more aggressive than the morning strollers I bumped into on my way in. Everyone would be cranky, hungry and ready for chips and salsa.
Leon Rene's song "When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano" played from several speakers, as it did every year. People sat under colorful umbrellas and century-old trees, while waitresses in smocked Mexican peasant dresses hurried around with pitchers of water and margaritas. My prediction proved right. The minute I reached the corner of the mission's wall, I got sucked into the crowd. I was a woman on a mission. What side of Camino Capistrano looked less mobbed? The left side had more shops, so people tended to slow down to look in windows. The right side housed more eateries. Decisions, decisions. I began to cross to the right side of the road when I noticed my hat!
Dio mio, was I hallucinating? Nope, I would have recognized the red ribbon even at a red-ribbon convention. It was my hat. I couldn't see the person wearing it. It moved along with the crowd. Because of the height of the wearer, the hat appeared to be bobbing—now you see me, now you don't.
Damn, I was going to take care of that thief, boots or no boots.
I picked up the pace, pushing my way through people, garnering dirty looks and insults. Maybe it was an illusion, but it seemed as if the hat also moved faster. For a moment I got a better glance and saw it was a woman dressed in black. I could only see her upper back and head. A blond woman. Could I attract her attention? How? Screaming wouldn't help. The streets had enough noise to drown a foghorn.
I got lucky. The blonde moved away from the river of humanity and walked into the covered Capistrano Plaza, past the row of small shops, down the narrow stairs, turning right at the last step and taking off through the parking lot. These parking spots were mostly reserved for customers of surrounding restaurants. She knew the neighborhood.
"Excuse me," I yelled after her, feeling stares on me from people waiting at the train station. I kept moving, painfully aware I could only walk at a certain pace and swearing at my decision to wear the spiky heels. We were tracking back where I came from. "Hey, hat lady."
The woman turned to look at me for an instant. I caught a glimpse of blond hair, large dark glasses and red lips. Those red lips—Ruby!
Oh my God, oh my God. I had problems coping, thinking and moving. I could hardly breathe. I kept on walking, searching my purse for my cell phone. Come on, come on, damn phone. I called Larry's cell. I had a good view of Ruby's back, in a black pantsuit, running at full speed away from the train depot.
Larry picked up. "Hi, sweetie."
"It's her. She's here. She's here," I panted. "What should I do?"
"Lella, what's wrong? Slow down. Where are you?"
"At the mission. It's Ruby."
"Lella," Larry said. "Tell me where you are, and I'll get someone there right now. Stay away from Ruby. You sound breathless. Are you listening?"
"She stole my hat." The silence that followed my statement spoke a thousand words.
"Sweetie"—the snake-charming voice rang in my ears—"are you okay? Maybe you should find a place to rest, and I'll send someone to get you?"
"Shut up, Larry. I'm trying to catch Ruby. Remember her? All the cops in California are looking for her? Well, she is right here, by the tracks, a block north of the mission, and I'm going to get her. You hear me?" No answer. He hung up after I told him my location. He was as familiar with the place as Ruby and I. Damn you, Larry.
I can do this.
She gained ground ahead of me. I knew where she was headed: a small opening in the chain-link fence siding the train tracks to the east. She found it and crossed over, heading toward Los Rios Historic District. Not good. Where were the cops when you needed them? Should I call 911? I pulled out the phone, still trying to catch up with Ruby. It slipped out of my hand and fell to the hard ground. I saw the battery fly one way, the rest of the phone the other.
Why?
Forget the phone. My feet felt fat and heavy, and hard to lift. I had to get over the tracks. The heel of my left boot got stuck in the steel groove, and I couldn't budge it. I looked to see where Ruby was headed but the bougainvillea bushes and the purple vines dotting the low fence hid the road below, and she disappeared out of sight. I was close enough to the train depot to see people looking at me and motioning. I squatted down and began to unzip my boot. It was then I felt the tracks rumbling. The Amtrak Pacific Surfliner was coming in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I had a captive audience at the depot. In spite of the tracks shaking and rumbling I unzipped the boot; my foot was so swollen I couldn't get it out. I heard the people waiting for the train calling to me. How fast could the train be going when it needed to come to a complete stop fifty yards from here? No time to find out. I wiggled and twisted and pulled. Come on. In a desperate attempt to free myself from the tracks, I stood, took a deep breath and then jerked my foot back hard. It came loose, but something snapped and I lost my balance, falling on my behind. I heard folks clapping, laughing.
I wasn't going to leave my boot there to get run over, I could always sell the pair at the consignment store. One person's torture devices could be another person's footwear from heaven. I retrieved my boot a split second before the steel mammoth roared by me. The gush of air from the row of passenger cars zooming by lifted my skirt. I jumped back, one boot on, one off. I heard the hiss of the train coming to a stop at the nearby station. The thing must have had great brakes.
Someone grabbed my arms from behind and pulled me farther from the train tracks. "What are you doing?" an angry woman's voice said. I wiggled myself free and turned to look at this tall, thin woman with short hair and a stern look on her face. She wore a frothy chiffon dress, open sandals and some silver jewelry that rattled like my cutlery drawer every time she moved her hands.
We stared at each other. "Mrs. York, just what were you thinking?"
"You know me?" When I said that, her expression relaxed, she attempted a smile, and little wrinkles formed just above the bridge of her nose. "Flor—Detective Florian?" I didn't have a clue as how to address her. "You look—different."
"It's my day off." She sighed. "Devin called." She looked me over. "What were you doing?" Her impatience barely concealed.
"Why did he call you?"
"He called everybody. I live in Laguna Niguel, so I happen to be the closest to you." She pronounced "you" as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.
I had a strong hunch she wanted to call me something else.
"I was trying to catch Ruby."
She looked around. "Where is she?"
Was she mocking me? "She went that way." I pointed to the west side of the train tracks. "Los Rios. I'm not sure where she's headed. And then my heel got stuck in the tracks." I could tell she didn't give a hoot about what I was saying. She wanted to get back to her lunch. "Shouldn't you be calling for more cops to come and comb the area?"
Flori
an looked at me for a long time. Was she ignoring my question? I fidgeted with the left boot still in my hand.
Finally she spoke. "Can you walk?"
I put my foot on the ground and pain shot all the way up to my knee. I wished to die, but I wasn't about to let that snotty young lady know, so I smiled. "Of course I can walk. My feet are just a little sore. I was running in heels trying to catch up with Ruby."
"I'll get the car and drive you home." She ignored my reference to chasing Ruby.
"I have my own transportation, and I can drive myself home. Thank you. However, if you would be so kind as to help me get to my car…I'm not sure I can get the boot back on." I held her stare. I could tell she was weighing the pros and cons of her next move.
"Where's your car?"
"The other side of El Camino Real, around the corner, in the public parking by the Egan House. I was heading that way when I spotted Ruby. She's a blonde now." Judging by her expression, the more details I shared, the less she bought my story. I shut up and took painful little steps. While I hung onto her stiff arm, we walked in the direction of the parking lot.
"If you don't believe me, ask all these people." I pointed to the train depot. We turned our heads to see the empty platform and the train slowly pulling out of the station, heading south to San Diego.
Her deep impatience hung over me. I had ruined her day off. I was realistic enough to know I needed help, so I stopped and got the car keys from my purse. "Florian, would you mind bringing my car around? It's all I need, honestly." I handed her the keys. Conflict shadowed her face. Frustration won.
She grabbed the keys "What's your license plate?"
"Huh?"
"Your car, the license plate of your car?" We looked at each other and her judgmental eyes reminded me of that American eagle you see on anything patriotic, from stamps to national parks ads. Damn.
"I—I don't know it. Wait. It's a Ford Mustang, silver-gray, with a custom dark gray stripe on the hood."
Florian checked me over deliberately from my bare feet to my gray roots. The look on her face declared she hated me. What could I say? If I was her, I'd probably think I had it coming.
She left, walking quickly toward the parking lot. I tried to retrace my steps. Maybe I could find my phone. I hopped around, careful where I put my bare foot, diligently picking harmless spots to land on. I got lucky. I found the battery first then, not too far away, the rest of the phone. I wanted to try to reassemble it, but I heard a car horn—my car horn. I looked up and saw Florian, standing by my car. What a wonderful sight. I dropped the battery and phone into my purse and hopped toward her.
She didn't move, made no attempt to come and get me. The short distance felt like the trek to the Promised Land. I reached the car. Florian handed me the keys without a word.
"Thanks, Florian. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome." She turned around and went up the short alley.
I sat in my car. My butt hurt. I bet I had bruises. Too bad, I had to get home. Most importantly, I had to get out of here, in case Florian kept an eye on me. I switched on the engine and headed out of San Juan Capistrano. As soon as I got out of Florian's sight, I parked on the side of the road and removed the other boot. The minute I took it off I felt instant relief—wonderful. With both feet freed of the harnesses from hell, I could drive home. Or not.
I felt a noticeable difference. The right foot started to be normal but sharp pains shot from the toes of my left foot all the way to my brain. Oh, oh. I lifted the foot up on the seat and massaged it. The closer my fingers inched to my big toe, the more the pain intensified. Could the foot be broken? Maybe the toe? I couldn't put any pressure on it. It looked huge and getting bigger by the second. No way to wear shoes with that toe. I started the engine again, made a U-turn and headed for the emergency room at San Clemente Hospital.
Chasing Ruby would have to wait.
I gave a watered-down version of the facts to the admitting nurse then sat in the quiet lobby and waited for a doctor to look at my foot. I had time to analyze my encounter with the hat thief. Was it really Ruby? My Ruby? I went back through time, to see if somewhere along the way I missed important clues. Never mind that. All I saw was a blonde wearing my gaucho hat. In all the time I'd known her, Ruby never wore such enormous dark glasses. The only familiar aspect was the luscious ruby-red mouth. Then again, this wasn't about appearances.
Mind games popped into my brain. What would Ruby gain by playing cat and mouse with me? Maybe it wasn't about me at all. Maybe it was about Ruby and Kyle? The more I analyzed the events in my mind, the less sense they made. Ruby had a lot more money than Kyle or I. Except for the lingering side effect of the accident, she was in good health. With Tom dead, she turned into a healthy, wealthy, good-looking single woman. For all practical purposes, she appeared to be invisible too. Two days before I left for Italy we had lunch together down at the marina. I forced myself to revisit details of the lunch to see if she acted differently than normal. We ordered the same food we always did. Soup and salad for me. Chicken and coleslaw for Ruby. And a glass of wine. We both had wine. I drove away, leaving Ruby at the marina because she needed to run some errands, and I, of course, had to get home and start packing. The next time we saw each other, she picked me up to drive me to the airport. If changes had taken place in Ruby's life, she hid them well. Either that or the Ruby I thought I knew never existed. Was she created by the real Ruby to gain my acceptance and forgiveness? Nah, who was delusional now? Every time I felt the need to give Ruby absolution, memories of Nick at the funeral home found their way into my consciousness. That and my son Kyle, in a cell for something he didn't do. Would an unbiased outsider assume that Ruby's ultimate goal was to destroy my family? Oh, dear God. I never thought about it that way. I felt like someone punched me in the middle of my chest.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" The voice of the woman behind the desk brought me back to reality.
I smiled at her. Nodded. "Yes, thanks. I'm fine."
My doubts and my fancy rationalizations began to fade once again. Drama, my life seemed to have become a series of dramatic events. All in need of closure.
What about Larry? He called Florian. I managed to ruin Florian's day off. She didn't believe a word I said. Did she tell Larry about rescuing me? Did it matter? I knew my name would be mentioned among Larry's co-workers. I decide not to dwell on it. I needed to focus on finding Ruby. One thing I knew for sure—for the first time since Ruby's disappearance, I feared my old friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My toe was sprained, but not broken. Thank God for that. The doctor taped it to the one beside it, then he bandaged my whole foot and told me that only time and staying off my toe would help. He suggested taking an over-the-counter painkiller if necessary. The cute nurse gave me a pair of non-slip socks, the kind surgery patients wear. I hobbled back to my car and headed home, feeling physically better but emotionally drained. I drove into the common garage. Larry's Mercedes sat next to my parking spot. The driver's door was wide open and his legs hung out. Uh oh. I expected him to jump to his feet to greet me or perhaps yell at me. He didn't do either. I parked next to him, grabbed my evil boots, locked the car and gingerly walked toward the Mercedes.
"Hi." I smiled.
He stared at me. I sensed his irritation; what did Florian say to him? "Are we back to not answering the phone?" It came out as a sigh. He was concerned about my wellbeing, I assumed.
I rummaged into my purse, looking for the broken cell phone. Larry must have noticed my no-slip socks for the first time. "What happened to your shoes?"
What? Detective Florian forgot to give him a detailed report? Besides, my boots were in plain sight, dangling from my hands. Not sure what element nudged his consciousness, but something did because he got to his feet. "Sweetie, are you okay? You're limping. What happened?"
If he tries to carry me, I'll slug him, I swear.
"It's nothing. I sprained my toe."
"How did you
sprain it?"
"Let's not waste our time discussing my feet." Did I really say that? I must have. Larry looked at me with a whole different attitude, or at least that was how I credited the smile overtaking his usually brooding eyes.
"Need help?"
I relented. It hurt walking on that hard concrete.
"Yes, please."
He kicked his car door shut, walked over and hugged me like you hug something or someone very special and dear. I got so choked up I nearly dropped the boots on my good foot.
He put his arm around my waist. "Lean on me, take the weight off the foot."
We walked over to my place like an old couple, in perfect harmony.
"Did you talk to Florian?" Like it or not, I needed to discuss my chase with someone, to test my sanity. He was the perfect someone, a trained detective with an invested interest, I hoped.
"I thanked her for lending you a helping hand." He didn't look at me.
"Do you believe me? It was Ruby I saw, I swear. Were you able to find out something about the small key she had mailed me?"
"Okay, one question at the time. Regarding Ruby, other facts support the possibility of the woman being alive and roaming around." He shook his head. "It's hard to believe she hasn't been caught. She must have some means of transportation, and a place to stay. She isn't invisible. The theory that she changed her appearance is also a possibility. Regarding the key, I'm told it's a safety deposit box key."
I sat on the couch next to Larry. "You said a safety deposit box? Like the ones people get at banks for important stuff?"
"Yes, that kind of safety deposit box. Can I get you something to eat or drink?"
Murder Under the Italian Moon Page 15