A Blossom of Bright Light

by Suzanne Chazin

  “That dog? The one that belonged to the state trooper? This is the body it found in the woods yesterday.”

  “Oh my God,” said Adele. “Was she a student?”

  “Not that we can ascertain so far. She’s Hispanic, between the ages of fifteen and seventeen. She’s not on any missing persons’ registries. Her prints don’t show up in any federal databases, so she’s never been arrested for a crime or illegal entry into the United States. Do you recognize her?”

  Adele pulled her glasses from her purse and settled them on her face. She hated wearing them, Vega knew. But they didn’t look bad. The black rims gave her a scholarly appearance, filled his head with fantasies of getting down and dirty between the stacks with the school librarian. A very voluptuous school librarian. He felt his cheeks go hot. Here they were, about to break up, and his thoughts still flowed in one direction. That was his curse.

  Adele seemed oblivious. That was hers.

  She frowned at the flyer. “The picture looks like a few teenagers I’ve seen come through La Casa. But it’s hard to say. People look different when they’re . . .” Adele’s voice trailed off. She folded her glasses and put them away. “I’m confused how a dog that was supposed to track Joy ended up tracking this girl instead.”

  “The dog did track Joy. As it turns out, the hoodie the girl was wearing once belonged to Joy—”

  “What?”

  “According to Joy, she cleaned out her closet over the summer and Wendy gave her stuff to Goodwill. It’s just a coincidence that the hoodie happened to be on this girl.”

  “Creepy coincidence,” said Adele. “And serious, besides. Have you checked with Wendy?”

  “I can’t. It’d look like I was tampering with a witness. I have to let Teddy Dolan check it out. He’s been assigned to the case.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “That Joy is involved?” Vega blew out a long breath of air. “Right now, all I can do is hope we figure out who this girl is. Maybe then the rest will fall into place. When we get back to La Casa, can you take some flyers, show them around?”

  “Sure.”

  Claudia’s didn’t have a parking lot. Vega parked across the street from the stucco two-story building with the red awning. He was glad to be here with Adele, even if he knew he was fooling himself. For an hour at least, he wanted to pretend.

  “Do you think Claudia will let me put up a couple of flyers in her store?”

  “She has a bulletin board by the register,” said Adele. “I don’t know. A dead girl can be sort of off-putting.”

  The sleigh bells on the back of the door announced their presence in the tiny store. Claudia was bustling behind the deli counter, slicing roast pork and various types of luncheon meat while three customers in dusty jeans and baseball caps grabbed sodas from the refrigerated case and slapped them on the scuffed counter. They cracked goofy jokes in Spanish and chatted up the pretty woman ringing up their order—a relative of Claudia’s, no doubt—who pretended not to notice how hard the men were trying to flirt. Vega could see why. She had full, pouty lips and big astonished eyes that reminded Vega of those Beanie Baby stuffed animals Joy always favored when she was younger. Adele called her Inés. Vega got the sense she was Claudia’s daughter.

  Everyone said hello to Adele the moment they saw her: the workmen, Claudia, Inés. They called her Doña Adele, as a sign of respect. Vega wondered if anyone would call her Doña Adele if she moved to D.C.

  The people in the store said hello to him too, but it was a guarded and formal greeting, and their eyes quickly shifted away. The gossip mill in town had no doubt spread the fact that Adele was dating him. But even so, his presence spooked them. Nobody in Adele’s world ever looked at him and saw a man. They always saw a cop. The fact that he was Hispanic seemed beside the point.

  The only person who said hello to him with unabashed gusto was a young man he hadn’t noticed at first. He was short and round and dressed in the dark blue pants and blue-and-white-striped uniform shirt of the employees over at the Car Wash King. There was something glazed and off about his eyes.

  “Hello, Mr. Police Officer! Can you put on the siren?”

  Vega realized he’d seen the young man in the store before. He was Claudia’s grandson or something. Claudia must have told the teenager that Vega was a cop.

  “I’m not driving a patrol car,” said Vega. “I don’t have a siren.”

  “I love sirens!”

  “Well, uh—next time I’m near a patrol car, I’ll see if they can switch one on for you.” Vega was never particularly good with people with cognitive disabilities. He always over- or underestimated their intellect, which left him feeling frustrated or embarrassed or both. He hung back and scanned the aisles until the other customers finished their orders.

  Some of the items brought back memories of the bodegas and mercados of his youth in the South Bronx: the ubiquitous blue jars of Vicks VapoRub, the yellow-andred cans of Café Bustelo, the bruised stalks of ripe plantains dangling from ropes on the ceiling. But the South Bronx of his childhood was poorer and the people much less sophisticated. There were so many things here that Vega never could have imagined at Manny’s Bodega on East Tremont Avenue. Exotic fresh fruits. Colorful peppers. Vials of herbs whose names and purpose Vega could only guess at. The world, it seemed, had gotten much smaller.

  Inés finished wrapping the men’s sandwiches and rang them up. Vega gestured to the car-wash kid that he was next.

  “No, no. My mami gives me a sandwich.”

  “In a minute, Neto,” Inés answered. “First, I take care of Doña Adele and the señor.”

  Mami? Vega did a double take. No way could Inés be Neto’s mother. The kid had to be at least eighteen or nineteen. Inés still had the sweet, firm face of a girl. She turned heads. Maybe she’d turned one too early. Vega could only imagine what a difficult life it must have been for her to be saddled with a child with special needs at such a young age. He wondered if there was a father around or if he’d picked up and left the moment he saw what he was in for.

  Adele asked Vega what he wanted to order.

  “I’ll have ham and Swiss on a roll with lettuce, tomatoes, and hot peppers,” said Vega.

  Adele debated less than a minute before ordering the same on a wrap. Vega was so glad to finally be with a woman who didn’t consider a lettuce leaf and a wedge of lemon to be lunch. Eating with his vegan, macrobiotic, gluten-free daughter and ex-wife felt less like a meal and more like a science experiment.

  The men in baseball caps and jeans were putting their money away and gathering up their sandwiches. Vega wanted as many eyes on his flyer as possible, so he approached them at the counter. Their bodies stiffened the moment Vega made eye contact. Just being asked a question by a police officer seemed to fill them with dread.

  “Relax, muchachos,” he said softly in Spanish. “I just want to show you a picture, see if you recognize this girl.”

  They looked at the picture. They looked at each other. They shook their heads, no. Vega felt like he was a high school principal asking who broke the gym window. They were nervous, but it was the general nervousness of young men who likely had no papers and no wish to hang around an officer who might decide to ask for them.

  “Let me see the picture,” said Claudia, ever the snoop.

  Vega passed a copy of the flyer to her and Inés.

  “Do you recognize her?” Vega asked the women.

  “The girl—she’s dead?” asked Inés.

  “Yes,” said Vega. There was no way to disguise the obvious.

  “I don’t know her,” said Inés. “How did she die?”

  “That’s still under investigation.”

  Claudia stared at the flyer. “Where did you find her?”

  “She was discovered on the grounds of the community college campus,” said Vega. “Maybe you’ve seen her around town?”

  Claudia tucked a wiry strand of hair back into her bun. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can
’t help you.”

  “Can I put up a flyer on your bulletin board?” He nodded to the overflowing corkboard by the register that was filled with notices for English tutors and courier services. “Maybe someone in town will recognize her.”

  Claudia hesitated. She had the reaction Adele had predicted. But like many Latinos, she hated saying no, especially to an authority figure. Instead, she took the flyer and mumbled, “I’ll see what I can do.” Vega was already betting the flyer would get tossed in the trash as soon as he was out the door.

  The men took Vega’s conversation with Claudia and Inés as their cue to be excused. Vega heard the sleigh bells jingle as they slipped out of the store. Inés was leaning on her elbows, biting her pouty lips and staring at the flyer, when Neto came over again, asking for his sandwich.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Inés. She walked off to make it, leaving the flyer still resting on the counter. Neto pointed a stubby finger at the photograph.

  “Mia’s—sleeping?”

  “Mia?” Vega felt his breath cinch in his chest. “You know her?”

  Neto screwed up his face and bit down on his lip just like his mother. “That’s Mia.”

  Claudia hustled over. “Neto! Don’t make up stories!”

  Vega ignored her and focused on Neto. “How do you know Mia?”

  “I see her with her mami. At the car wash. She likes Chicha, my dog. She says hi to me. A lot of people don’t say hi to me.”

  Vega pulled out a pen. “When did you see her last?”

  “When?” Neto repeated.

  “Today? Yesterday? Last week?”

  Neto shook his head vigorously back and forth like he was trying to shake something loose.

  “You see?” said Claudia to Vega. “He doesn’t understand. You’re wasting your time.”

  “Doña Claudia,” said Vega, using his most respectful tone. Adele would have his head otherwise. “Please let me be the judge of that.” He turned back to Neto and decided to try a different approach. “So Mia’s mother is a customer of the car wash?”

  Neto frowned. “Customer?”

  Carajo! Vega hated to admit Claudia was probably right. “Mia’s mother—she gets her car washed there?”

  “Oh yes. Yes! She gives me a good tip!”

  “So other people have seen Mia at the car wash?” Vega was hoping he could find another witness.

  “I don’t know,” said Neto. “Mia goes away sometimes.”

  “Where does Mia live?”

  “In a birdhouse.”

  “A birdhouse?” Coño!

  “I told you,” said Claudia. “Neto doesn’t understand.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Vega tried every which way to get something more out of the teenager—a description of the girl, a description of her mother—the name of another witness. Neto wanted to help, but he was so suggestible that in the end, Vega couldn’t tell whether anything Neto readily agreed to had actually happened. After fifteen minutes, Neto seemed on the verge of tears, and Adele was glaring at Vega like he’d just water-boarded the kid. As soon as they got into his car with their sandwiches, she exploded.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing in there?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “You were riding Neto like he’s a suspect. He’s a disabled kid, Jimmy! His grandmother and I go back years.”

  “I asked him a few questions, that’s all.”

  “And he answered them because he trusts you. Claudia trusts you. Because we’re—we’re—”

  “—We’re what? I don’t even know myself anymore.” Vega tossed his sandwich to one side. He suddenly didn’t feel very hungry.

  Adele blinked at his reflection in the window, then slumped in her seat. “You’re not coming to Schulman’s gala Saturday night, are you?”

  “To watch you dump me publicly?”

  “I never said we had to break things off. That was your idea.”

  “And how are we supposed to have a relationship with me here and you down in D.C.? I’m supposed to tuck my laptop between the sheets and pretend it’s you in bed beside me?”

  “That’s all I am to you? A friend with benefits?”

  “Ay, puñeta! Of course not!”

  “Then why can’t you support my desires and ambitions?”

  “I do! I know you’re smart—much smarter than I’ll ever be. And I want what’s best for you, Nena. It’s just—why is it that what’s best for you is not to be with me?”

  They were both silent after that. Then Adele laid a hand tenderly on his thigh. “I want you, Jimmy. That part hasn’t changed.”

  He pulled her toward him and cupped her face in his hands. He brushed a calloused thumb across her mouth, then leaned in and gave her a long, sensual kiss, his tongue softly caressing the contours of her lips until they parted and she welcomed him, the sandpaper thrust of his tongue, his hot breath on her neck, the stubble of his skin.

  The temperature inside his Impala rose ten degrees. Already, he felt sweaty with desire. He brushed her hair back from her neck and ran his fingers playfully down to her collarbone before he remembered he was on duty in an unmarked police car. He pushed away and took a deep breath like some pimply-faced adolescent caught French-kissing behind the school.

  “Sorry,” he said when he’d regained his composure. “Losing my job’s one way we can be together.”

  Their eyes met in the reflection of the front windshield.

  “Maybe when you get off work tonight,” said Adele, “we should talk—”

  Her words were interrupted by Vega’s cell phone. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. He cursed under his breath. “It’s Greco. I have to take it.”

  “Vega,” he answered, the way he always did when on duty.

  “Where’s Joy?” Greco growled into the phone. An odd question.

  “Dunno. Probably finishing up her classes. Why?”

  “Can you get hold of her?”

  “We already cleared up everything with Dolan this morning.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ear, Vega. Joy’s gonna need to come home ASAP. And you’re gonna need to call a lawyer. Dolan’s executing a search warrant at your ex’s place as we speak.”

  “What?” Vega leaned forward, his muscles suddenly rigid. Adele must have sensed the change because she put a hand on his elbow and gave him a quizzical look. He shifted away. He didn’t want any distractions at the moment.

  “Your pal Dolan just finished paying a little visit to WastePro Management,” said Greco. “Lake Holly has a contract with them for garbage pickup.”

  “So?”

  “Seems Dolan got that lady state trooper to take her dog to their sorting facility down in Port Carroll. And the word coming back ain’t good. That mutt just picked up traces of the dead girl’s blood on a quilt—”

  “Which could have come from anywhere, Grec.”

  “Not when the quilt has your daughter’s name on it in laundry marker.”

  Chapter 18

  Vega dropped Adele back at La Casa with a thumbnail sketch of his conversation with Greco and a quick “I’ll call you later.” He managed to get hold of Joy by phone just as she was about to leave campus to meet with a student. He told her only that the police were at her house and she should cancel her afternoon tutoring sessions. He didn’t want to alarm her more than he had to. Instead, he asked her to meet up with him in a commuter parking lot ten minutes south of town so he could explain things more fully. Thank God Greco had given him a heads-up. The man had broken every rule to do it—and Vega would be forever grateful.

  As soon as Joy’s white Volvo pulled into the parking lot, Vega nosed his blue Impala behind her, parked, and let himself into the Volvo’s front passenger seat. He began speaking as soon as he shut the door. There was a good chance that his guys were on the lookout for her car, and he didn’t want to get spotted before they’d had a chance to talk.

  “That state police trooper on campus yester
day?” he said. “The one with the dog?”

  “Daisy.” There was a hint of wistfulness in her voice. She still saw that culturally confused German shepherd as some cute pet-shop puppy instead of the relentless police tool it had been trained to be. She jingled her keys, already bored by what she perceived would be some sort of parental lecture.

  “Well, Daisy, as you say, is at your mother’s house right now. With the trooper. And they’re not giving demonstrations. This is for real, Joy. Detective Dolan obtained a warrant to search the property.” Vega wanted to deck that Irish bastard with his smooth-as-Guinness charm for going behind Vega’s back today. But he knew it wasn’t personal. Dolan wouldn’t be a good cop if he allowed himself to be blinded by their friendship. Taking that stupid dog to the dump was a clever bit of police work. It required no warrant, so no one would have been any the wiser if it had produced nothing. Of course, once that dog found Joy’s quilt, all bets were off.

  “You told me about the search warrant on the phone,” said Joy impatiently. “I guess if they have to do it”—she shrugged—“I understand.”

  “You understand? You understand?” Vega felt his blood pressure rising, felt it pulsing up his neck and through the arteries to his brain until his whole head throbbed from it. “That dog you like so much uncovered a quilt in the dump today in Port Carroll with your name on it and this girl’s blood.”

  “A quilt? I didn’t throw away a quilt in Port Carroll. Why would I go all the way down to Port Carroll to do that?”

  For a smart girl, she could be pretty thick sometimes, thought Vega. “The garbage company that picks up trash in Lake Holly has their sorting facility in Port Carroll. The quilt is yours, Joy. It has your name on it in laundry marker.”

  “But I don’t know her!”

  “I’ve got a witness who says her name might be Mia.”