Inked Up

by Terri Thayer

  He shook his head, his tapping getting louder and more insistent.

  April wanted to get out of here. “How about the club? Is Pedro working today? You want me to swing by?”

  He opened the door and leaned in. His eyes were frowning, the pain so deep. “I can’t let the police tell him about Xenia.”

  “Get in. My mother’s working today. I’ll call her and see if he’s there.”

  Mitch slid into the passenger side and April pulled away as she used her cell to call the country club kitchen where her mother and Pedro worked. The phone rang sixteen times and they were practically to the club’s driveway before Bonnie came to the phone. April put the phone on speaker while she drove.

  “What?” Bonnie said.

  April was used to her mother’s total concentration at work. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven, the heart of Saturday night dinner, and a busy time for the restaurant. “Sorry, Mom. Mitch and I are looking for Pedro.”

  “Pedro?” Bonnie asked, mystified.

  “Pedro Villarreal?” April had to shout to be heard over the noise behind Bonnie. People were yelling, and she could hear fat splattering and dishes clattering.

  “I know Pedro who. He’s not here. He hasn’t come in yet.”

  Mitch frowned.

  April’s heart sank. “Do you think something happened to him, too?” April said to him.

  Bonnie hadn’t heard her. She said, “If you see him, tell him to get his butt in here. It’s not like him, but I don’t care what his reason is. The kids are sick, that wife of his has a meeting to attend. I need him.”

  April pushed the Off button. Mitch was looking out the window.

  “Drive by their new house,” Mitch said.

  “I thought there was no one working this weekend.” Mitch had given everyone the weekend off. They’d needed a break.

  “Pedro’s probably there pulling weeds or something. He can’t stay away.”

  April took a left on Birch Road and cut across the valley. Ten minutes later, she pulled off onto the private road of the Winchester Homes for Hope house. The lot had been graded and leveled. Where there had been a steep embankment was now a gentle slope. Most of the trees remained, hiding the house from the main road. The road curved, then branched into four driveways. The first one on the left had a beat-up VW Rabbit parked in front. The other drives led to empty lots, where stakes with orange plastic ribbons marked the locations for future houses. Houses to be built as soon as Mitch raised enough money to complete them.

  “That’s his car,” Mitch said, scanning the lot and nodding toward the Rabbit. There was no sign of Pedro. There wasn’t much of a lawn, just some scrubby grass that grew where the trees let in weak light. “He’s probably around back. He wanted to surprise the kids with a swing set. He’s been using scrap lumber and salvaged metal to build it.”

  Mitch didn’t move to get out. April sat still, hands resting on the wheel. She looked over at him and saw he was staring out the windshield, his mouth moving as though practicing what he wanted to say.

  “We can leave,” April said. “He doesn’t know we’re here. Leave him in peace. Let the cops tell him. At least he won’t know his wife is dead. He can be happy for a few minutes longer.”

  Mitch was quiet for so long, she took his silence for acquiescence and turned the key in the ignition. The car roared to life, but Mitch reached over and stopped her, his hand closing over hers on the gearshift so tightly she gasped.

  “We’re not going anywhere. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell him,” he said.

  With one explosive move, he was out of the car and running toward the back of the house. April pulled her keys out and followed.

  By the time she caught up to him, he had already turned the corner of the house and was in the backyard. The ground was littered with construction debris. The well-drilling truck hulked in the dark.

  But the back porch light was on and Pedro was there, sitting on an empty plastic five-gallon joint-compound bucket. His hands dangled in front of him. For a moment, April thought Mitch had told him. Pedro’s face was so devastated, so ravaged by pain that he had to know. She could see streaks from tears on his handsome face.

  But Mitch hadn’t had time. And they weren’t looking at each other. They were both facing the back of the small one-story ranch. Four windows ran across the back, which was bisected by a small concrete porch with three steps leading to the back door.

  April followed their gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest.

  “Wetback, go home” was scrawled in black spray paint across the siding. The lettering was awkward and the paint had dripped, making irregular peaks that looked even more obscene.

  “Oh, Mitch,” she said.

  All of his hard work.

  Mitch went to Pedro. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder as they faced the ruined façade.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Pedro said. “I tried to clean it . . .”

  A ladder was leaning against the wall, with a bucket of sudsy water underneath. Pedro had tried to wash the siding, but he’d only succeeded in making it wet.

  “Shh,” Mitch said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Mitch looked even sadder than he had a few minutes ago. The determination he’d shown in the car was gone, replaced by a resignation that made April hurt. She felt like an interloper in their very private moment.

  Then she realized people were missing. “Where are your kids?” April asked, looking into the trees around the property. She didn’t want to be surprised by little ones who’d been gathering arrowheads. They didn’t need to overhear what Mitch was going to say.

  Pedro nodded formally at April. He recognized her from the work she’d done on the house with the Retro Reproductions crew. “Xenia has them. She and her sister were going to the pumpkin festival.”

  He looked to Mitch. “Isn’t that where you were all day? Didn’t you see them there? She said she was going to stop by and say hi.”

  Mitch said no and glanced at April. She shook her head. “I didn’t see her or the kids.”

  “They were going out to eat after. Maybe they’re at Perkins,” he said. “I came over to touch up the drywall in the living room. And this is what I found.”

  He pointed at the wall. His eyes filled with tears and he turned away. Mitch leaned over him.

  “Mitch?” Pedro said. “You look like hell. Oh, sorry,” he said to April. “Heck.”

  Cursing was going to be in order. April looked at Mitch, who didn’t seem to be able to get enough saliva in his mouth to form a sound. He swallowed hard.

  “It’s Xenia,” Mitch began. “Something happened to her.”

  “Happened?” Pedro looked to April for clarification. She felt tears well up in her eyes. She knew her expression was giving her away, but she was incapable of hiding the tragedy in her face.

  She closed her lips, pinching them together with effort.

  “She’s dead, Pedro. I’m sorry,” Mitch said.

  April’s eyes filled as Pedro looked disbelieving from her to Mitch and back again. “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  Mitch coughed, a strangled noise that left him panting and unable to speak. April moved to him, rubbing his back as he tried to regain his composure.

  April filled in the quiet space. “We found her body in the maze,” April said. “It looked like she just collapsed or something.”

  “Her body?” Pedro was shaking his head from side to side like a big cat.

  “Come with us,” Mitch said. “We’ll take you to her.”

  April drove quickly back to Suzi’s nursery. With Yost at the maze, there was no one to ticket her for exceeding the speed limit, so she hit sixty on the straightaways. Mitch kept his face to the backseat, where Pedro sat. He still carried the sponge he’d been using, and he shifted it from hand to hand.

  Glancing at him in the rearview mirror, April could see he hadn’t processed what they’d told him. The fact that his wife was dead was not s
inking in. He could have been going to pick out a kitchen sink for all the emotion on his face.

  April slowed going into the curve before the nursery. She didn’t want to slide on the leaves, but it was more than that. She didn’t want to get there at all.

  Mitch was out of the car, almost before she stopped. She threw the car into park. Mitch opened the back door and pulled Pedro out.

  Pedro saw the police cars and the EMT vehicles at the same time and dropped the sponge on the ground. Vince and Chief Gray were sitting on top of a picnic table. They jumped up when they saw April approaching.

  Vince came to April and put an arm around her shoulder. She leaned in, again taking comfort in his steadying presence. The chief approached Pedro.

  “That her husband?” Vince asked, sotto voce.

  April nodded. Mitch was talking to Pedro, urging him forward. “Do you think this is a good idea?” she asked.

  “Not my call,” Vince said.

  “Any word on how she died?” April asked.

  “Nothing new. The staties are here, setting up their crime scene. We’re just waiting to transport the body when we get the okay.”

  The chief led Mitch and Pedro toward one of the brightly striped tents. The spiderweb decorations and string of plastic-skull lights mocked their mission.

  Before they reached the tent, Yost broke out of the latticework declaring, “Pedro Villarreal, you’re under arrest.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Mitch’s headlights filled April’s rearview mirror as they each turned off the road into the barn’s driveway. The return to the barn was nothing like she’d planned, but she was glad he was coming home with her. Neither of them should be alone tonight.

  It was just after ten thirty. The police had questioned them and let them go with the caveat that they remain available. The air was still warm, hinting that the unseasonable weather would be with them for another day at least.

  An owl hooted. April looked up to see if she could see him, instead catching sight of three bats as they wheeled around the top of a tall pine. She felt her skin crawl.

  As they walked around the barn to the kitchen door, motion detection lights came on, lighting their way. The barn belonged to Vince and Ed, who’d restored it into a beautiful living space before moving on to another old home that needed their attention. The outdoor lights were a new addition. They’d insisted on installing them when April moved in over the summer.

  She unlocked the door. It led right into the galley kitchen. A small slow cooker sat on the countertop, a steady orange light glowing from the panel indicating the apples and mulling spices April had started hours ago were still cooking.

  Mitch took one step inside and involuntarily covered his nose.

  Instead of filling the barn with the essence of fall, the cider smelled burnt and cloying. After more than fifteen hours on high, even a slow cooker can overheat.

  April unplugged the pot with a yank.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I thought we’d be here hours ago. Real mulled cider was something I missed living in California.”

  She flipped on a light switch. She was glad now she hadn’t set out the tiny cheese plates with the matching tiny forks. The evening was not going to be the cozy time she’d envisioned for them.

  She stepped closer to him, and he opened his arms to embrace her. She laid her head on his shoulder and felt his strong arms draw her in. He nestled his head against hers, and they stood for several minutes without talking, just letting their bodies take comfort from each other.

  “Yost was his usual charming self,” April said. He’d had to back off arresting Pedro Villarreal, but had encouraged the state police to hold him for questioning.

  “Understand that from Yost’s point of view, Pedro has a lot that he doesn’t have. He’s played by the rules as he sees it, and he doesn’t have a house as nice as the one I’m building for the Villarreals. It makes him a little nuts.”

  April wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. “Do you think he had aspirations beyond being the number two cop in a town so small the dog catcher lost his job for lack of action?”

  Mitch smiled. “Pay for cops in this country isn’t much.”

  “I’m just appalled at the mentality.”

  “Hey, you’ve just come from the big city and not only that but San Francisco. I’m sure tolerance is brewed in the coffee out there.”

  “Well, we can’t let Pedro be the victim of this town’s ignorance.”

  Mitch drew her in for another hug.

  The refrigerator clicked on, startling them both. April began babbling about the evening she’d planned. “I bought that kielbasa that you like. The venison stuff that Del Hin key makes. He’s nearly out, you know. I got the last batch out of his freezer. Hunting season doesn’t start for another month.”

  “I can’t stay,” Mitch said, his voice muffled by her hair.

  Disappointment made her knees weak. She looked at the fireplace and thought about how long it had taken her to lay the logs in perfect formation.

  She broke away, quickly grabbing some pot holders from a hook and then dumping the contents of the cider pot into the sink, splashing the noxious liquid onto the countertop. She grabbed a sponge and began wiping. Anything to keep busy.

  She didn’t like herself right now. She felt silly, but she didn’t want to be alone. Even though the romantic evening was out, she didn’t want Mitch to leave.

  Mitch grabbed her hand. “Of course I’d rather stay. But I’ve got to get back to Pedro’s house and make sure everything is locked up tight, and I want to be at the State Police barracks when they move him in the morning. Yost told me they do it bright and early. I need a few hours’ sleep.”

  She opened the back door. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. You need to be there for Pedro.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. He pecked her cheek and left.

  April walked around the barn turning on every light, even climbing into the loft and flipping on the reading light over the bed and climbing back down. She didn’t want the darkness outside seeping into her place.

  The barn was stuffy, and she was sticky from having the day’s sweat dry on her again and again. She tried a cold shower, wrapping herself in a short terry robe when she was done and letting her hair dry naturally. Then she sat down at her drafting table. Most of the time, as soon as she put her butt in the chair, she was transported into her imagination. There she’d find peace of mind. She could sit at this table for hours, sketching, stamping and creating. Her bedtime routine started here. It was always the best part of any day.

  Not tonight. She felt completely spent but unable to sit still. She pushed away from her desk, leaving her sketchbook unopened. Suddenly, she hated the barn with its wide empty spaces. She was too small to fill it up. She wanted to talk to someone. But who?

  Deana wouldn’t be home for hours because she was tending to Xenia. Her father had left a message expressing his concern for her. But she didn’t have the energy it would take to reassure him she was okay. She’d let Vince do that. Bonnie was working and wouldn’t be home until after midnight. Her boyfriend, Clive, was probably at home, but April was still getting to know him. She couldn’t just call him up out of the blue and vent.

  She had nobody.

  April’s ire rose. She’d had plenty of friends in California she could have called in the middle of a crisis. Now, none of them would return her calls. One guy, her estranged husband, Ken, was responsible for that.

  She called Ken’s cell. She would leave him a blistering message about not signing the final divorce papers. To her dismay, he picked up on the third ring.

  “Hey, April,” he said. She was still in his caller ID, obviously.

  “Ken,” April said briskly. He’d never been able to accomplish the smallest task without her constant nagging. She was done with that. She would talk to him as though he were a dawdling subcontractor. No coddling.

  She said, “You haven’t
sent me the final paperwork. What are you waiting for?”

  “I thought maybe I’d deliver them in person,” he said, his voice taking on the hoarse tone she used to find so seductive. Now she recognized it for what it was—a pitiful ploy for attention. Nothing behind it but empty promises.

  “Not necessary,” April said, clipping off the words so he understood she wasn’t playing. “Just find a post office and mail them to me.”

  Ken wasn’t giving up. “Come on, babe. You know I’ve always wanted to see Pennsylvania in the fall. I’ve never seen the leaves turn. I wanna be a leaf peeper this year.”

  Leaf peeper, my foot, April thought. Loser peckerwood was more like it. She gritted her teeth. Going off on Ken never worked. He just shut down and ignored her words. He needed a mother, but she’d long given up that job.

  She put even more bite in her voice. “The leaves are gone, Ken. You’re too late, as usual. Not only that, but the temperature is averaging ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity. It’s like that twenty-four hours a day. You have no idea what that feels like. I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning.”

  “That sounds good to me,” he purred.

  April kicked a box she’d emptied earlier. She’d ordered special inks for her work project. A project that she was supposed to have ready to show Trish on Monday morning.

  “I’m giving you five days to get that stuff out here. You’ve got my PO Box number. Do it.”

  She hung up the phone and leaned against the kitchen counter, shaking. She didn’t know how she’d follow through if he didn’t send the divorce papers, but she hoped the threat was enough to get some action. Boy did she want to be a free woman.

  A light went on outside and she stiffened. Deer didn’t usually come close enough to the barn to set off the motion detector. Bears were a possibility, but her garbage was safely locked up in the shed. Then she heard a knock on the kitchen door and looked out to see Bonnie’s car in the drive. As she walked through the galley kitchen to the side door, Clive’s face appeared pressed against the glass. Behind him Bonnie was smiling at him, tugging at him to move back but giggling at his silliness. This was the new improved mother that April was still getting used to.