by Maria Walton
"This ends now," said Fabian.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, there was nothing more that I could do. As a single gunshot rang out, I said my final prayers.
Chapter Fourteen
The pain rocked through my body. My eyes flew open just long enough to see blood gushing from an open wound in my arm. He had terrible aim but I was quickly losing blood. I lurched forward to attack him but the world around me started to spin. The light sky began to fade to darkness as I stumbled forward. As I fell to the ground and heard the second gunshot, I knew that everything was over. The fight had finally ended.
"Cass? Cass please wake up. Please don't do this to me now," whispered my sister.
I opened my eyes and looked around. I was still laying on the ground but I felt less woozy. The wound in my arm had a medical bandage wrapped around it. I tried to sit up with my sister's help but everything started to spin.
"Hey now, lay back. The paramedics will be here soon okay?" she said.
"What the hell happened?" I asked, my throat dry.
Alyson smiled, "Donovan got here just in time."
I looked around and for the first time saw that Donovan and his men were milling around. A large black sheet of plastic lay on the ground near my feet. I didn't need to be a cop to know who was under it, Fabian.
"He shot him just before he got to you," said Alyson.
I watched her eyes light up as Ryan came over to her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders before laying one over me. I saw a look pass between them and I knew that my sister had found her soulmate. For all his flaws, Ryan loved her in a way no man ever had before. If it was up to me, I would have hugged them both but I still couldn't move.
"Ryan," I started.
He held up a hand, "Donovan told me everything. I can see why you would think that I had done something to Alyson. I'm sorry that I didn't catch on sooner to what was going on."
I smiled at him, "The money though?"
"My grandfather passed away. He left the house to my father but the contents to me. He wasn't a man who believed in banks."
Alyson cut in, "His grandfather left jars of money hidden in the attic. That's why he always has cash on him and why he was trying to pay off Jenna's debt. He knew how much she meant to me."
I saw sadness in my sister's eyes and knew that Donovan or Ryan had told her about Jenna and her hand in everything. I covered her hand with my own.
"I'm sorry Alyson, I know she was your friend."
"I guess it just goes to show that you can't always trust people."
"You can trust me though, and your sister. Look at what she did just to find you. If you ask me, that's pretty amazing."
"I know, I don't know what I would do without you two," she said with tears threatening in her eyes.
"Why don't you get her home to my parents? I will be fine here," I said with a smile.
She shook her head, "I'm not leaving."
"Yes, you are," said Donovan from behind them. "Sheriff's orders. You need to get home and get some sleep young lady. You have gone through enough. I will make sure that Cass is taken care of."
"Are you going to put her in jail?" Asked Alyson, "Because if you think that I'm going to let you do that, you've got another thing coming! Hell, you should be giving her a job if anything."
Donovan looked down and me and winked, "I have to think about it. Now go, I need to have a few words with your sister."
Alyson and Ryan stood up. Alyson walked over to Donovan and hugged him. He turned and walked with them to where a police cruiser was waiting to take them back into town. I couldn't believe that it was finally over. Alyson was safe and I knew that Ryan would protect her in the future. He was one of the good ones.
Suddenly the city lights and the FBI didn't seem like my home anymore. I had fought so hard to get away from the small town but now it seemed almost too good to be true. Donovan walked back over to me and knelt on the ground next to me. He smiled. I missed everything about the small town. Most of all, I missed my family and the man that I had loved for so long. I had to wonder if it was possible to come back home after trying so hard to stay away.
"You look like you just saw a ghost, are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded my head and smiled. "I'm fine, I'm just reconsidering the choices I've made in life."
He raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Oh really? You think just because you beat up my girlfriend, you can just strut back into my life?"
I laughed, "Something like that. In my defense, she was a bitch. And who said I wanted back into your life? Maybe I just like the community."
"I'm going to call bullshit on that. Since when do you like a gossiping small town?"
I shrugged my shoulders, "It has its charm. The police force could use a little help though."
He laughed at me and started to relax. It was like no time at all had passed between us. The struggles that had been ripping us apart months ago, and the anger that we shared in the last few days had dissipated.
I let out a content sigh, "So, how much trouble am I in?"
Donovan leaned back against the car, "Well, let's see. Breaking and entering, assault, fleeing police custody, breaking and entering again, and if I'm not mistaken, this car isn't yours?"
I blushed and shook my head, "I don't know what you are talking about. This car just happened to be available."
"Huh, because the owner reported it stolen. That's how we found you. They have a tracking device in their radio system."
"How did you know I had it?" I asked.
"Come one now Cass, I'm not that bad of a police officer. It went missing from the same apartment complex that your sister lives in. I don't believe in coincidences."
"Then what do you believe in?" I asked him.
He looked down at me, our eyes locking together and my heart started to race.
"Fate," Donovan whispered.
He tilted his head down and our lips touched. The spark once again ignited between us. I knew that I was finally home.
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The Gardener
By Maria Walton
The story didn’t begin with a body, although murders always start with a body. Instead the story began with two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, two candles, a table with two chairs and a man and a woman. They, of course, were on a date. What do men and women do otherwise when they are together?
They’d progressed past lust, to actually being interested in each other. Lips had collided, mouths had mashed, and what had initially been full of the heat of passion, was now changing into something different. Katie’s voice wasn’t just used for moans it was used to tell Vi something but, of course, like all dates it started off a bit awkwardly.
“How was your day,” Vi said. He was dressed in a polo shirt. Yellow stripes ran around his biceps. His chinos were cut comfortably tight to his body and his black belt was made of leather. His black hair swooped to the side, held in place with pomade. His eyes were as black as a starless night.
“Good… good,” Katie replied. She smoothed her dress, letting her fingers cascade down the fabric that drew a shapely outline of her body. “Ummm… what about you?” Her blue green eyes matched well with her turquoise dress.
“Oh, okay. One of the mechanics at work hurt his finger on the car jack. I ended up having to stay and finish his work on the axel of this VW. I’ve been having to do a lot of extra work lately… Even been driving uber. That’s why I’m late. I’m sorry,” Vi told her.
“It’s no problem,” she replied. Her face said otherwise but Katie was brought up to present a decorum of politeness, and to wrap her emotions into little boxes with bows. “Have you been here before?”
“No, have you?”
“No.”
“So why did you suggest it? How do you even know if it’s gonna be good? Did a friend tell you about it?”
“I just saw
it. I wanted to try it out. I thought it would be interesting. Do any of the choices look interesting to you?”
“I think I need another glass of wine,” Katie said.
“You aren’t even,” Vi said. He lifted his eyes from the menu and saw her empty glass. Legs of alcohol slipped down the insides of the glass the aftermath of her quick consumption. “Done.”
Vi took an internal survey of Katie trying to remember what he knew of her. They’d met at a bar. She said that she was waiting for someone when he’d approached her although, she’d been waiting for him. She’d followed him for a few days to get a sense of his routine and then conveniently showed up when he was there. It didn’t take much for him to get off his bar stool and go out with her. They’d left together. He didn’t ask who she’d been waiting for. He hoped that she’d been waiting for him. She’d paid for her own tab and said it would be a company expense. They’d gone to his place, she said that her apartment was her office as well and she needed to get away from work so they went to his. After they were done she stayed nestled against him. He liked the way she smelled and her light auburn hair. She spooned her body with his and fell to sleep quickly. The sounds of her snores were light, almost inaudible but Vi heard them and he thought they were cute. In the morning, he’d made coffee. She took hers black. She’d taken out her phone and scowled and then she gulped her liquid caffeine in one gulp and left without a word. Later, he remembered he’d gotten her phone number to text her directions to his house. They’d driven separately. He’d asked her out. She said yes but it would take a few days until they met.
“It’s been a hard day.”
“Why?”
“I’m stuck on a case.”
“A case?”
“A woman died,” Katie said. She looked away from Vi not wanting to meet his eyes.
“Are you a cop,” his voice’s pitch rose with his question straining to its limit.
“No. I’m a PI.”
“Like a private investigator?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“That isn’t a deal breaker, is it?”
“No… it’s just, I’ve never dated a PI before.”
“Dated, it’s past tense already? Is this going to be a problem?”
Vi looked down at the menu.
“I’m joking, lighten up,” Katie said. She let her finger glide down her wine glass from the lipsticks marks that she’d made to the cup’s stem.
Vi looked back up with a smile. “Do you catch everyone off guard?”
“That’s what I’m best at.”
“So, the case. What happened?”
“Well, a woman died.”
“Past tense.”
“Yes, past tense.”
“And you are looking for her killer...” Vi said. He took a moment and looked at the menu. It was California cuisine and small plates. There were a litany of salads and appetizers, the restaurant ran off of a tapas model with a few entrees. He’d picked the place because of its high ceilings and the modern art that covered the walls. The paintings were reminiscent of Jackson Pollock, the canvases splashed with difficult colors of paint.
“Yes, but it didn’t start like that. First the body was found,” Katie said. She took a deep breath and began her story.
“It was four hours old when the police came into the house in Walnut Creek. The corpse was sprawled out on the floor of two-bedroom house. It was the type of place with a little front yard and a white picket fence. There was an apple tree in front. It was the type of place that neither you nor I could afford.
There were no abrasions on the 33-year-old Melanie Richardson. However, her body was littered with bruises. Contusions all over. The normal white of her skin had been rendered jaundice and purple. She’d been beaten to death- next to her, a bag of blood oranges. Some of the oranges had broken open and the purple flesh had oozed out onto the woman’s body making the scene bloody and graphic. She was laying in the living room with her arms and legs akimbo. She didn’t have any defensive wounds. It looked like she just submitted to the beating. There were no signs of forced entry and nothing other than her body was damaged in the house.
Coroners on the scene didn’t need to go to the lab. They pointed at the fruit. They pointed at the body and then they pointed at the Latino landscaper.
His name was Esteban. He’d been doing maintenance on the yard work for the last year. A pair of gloves were found at the scene. Threads from the gloves were found on the bag of oranges. He was brought in and when the screws were turned he confessed. The screws were turned hard too as Mr. Richardson was a cop. He’d been with the LAPD for a hot minute. I knew him. He knew me. We both knew Tony, that was who got me into PI work. Mr. Richardson was a real bastard but all signs pointed at the handyman.”
Katie took a sip of her wine and let the memories come back to her. The image of Melanie’s body broken, shattered, and dead on the floor sharpened and came into focus like a polaroid picture developing. She’d seen the autopsy photos. The public defender had shown them to her. “Open and Shut,” he’d said. The public defender was one of those thin-lipped types more worried about yelp reviews than prison sentences.
He’d also shown Katie pictures of the gloves. They were brown and still had dirt on them. The gloves were expensive for gardening gloves, twenty-three dollars for a pair. She’d look them up later on Amazon. The gloves had goatskin palms and protected against most of the minor nuisances of shrubs and thorns.
The public defender didn’t show her much else. He pushed papers around waiting for Katie too leave when she had gone to his small office in downtown Oakland. The office was in the basement and was guarded by an old man with thick eye brows who made Katie wait an hour to see paperwork that was worthless. The public defender, after her sixty-minute wait, offered no help besides tossing the photos at her along with a copy of the ten-page confession.
The confession was nonsensical. It was a transcription of dialogue between the police officers and Esteban. He stated that he had gone to the house at 3 pm in the afternoon. He’d worked for her in her garden planting roses, tulips, and weeding.
“So, that was it? Case solved? I don’t get it, where did you come in,” Vi asked. He looked intently at her. Vi gazed at her face letting his eyes soften on her button nose and then her mouth, which was perfect to him with its two plumb pink lips.
“Anita lived next to me. That’s Esteban’s wife. They lived next door to me in East Oakland. I’d been born and raised in the neighborhood. Everyone knew everyone. From Hector, the young Cholo, who was also, related to Anita, to Javier the guy that owned the burrito truck in downtown, to Anita and Esteban. Everyone knew everyone and everyone knew everyone’s business. Oakland is a big town but in Fruitvale it seemed real small. Anita also works at a nail salon. She does everyone’s nails in the neighborhood, she’s really good too. Even the men go see her. She called me to go see her.”
The nail shop was always bustling but when Katie arrived there was no one. Anita had called Katie crying and when Katie got to the shop she was still crying into her hands. Long red nails and tanned palms covered her face as Anita’s shoulder rose and sank. Anita’s eyes were rimmed with red and her mascara ran black threads down her face.
Robotic clumps circled on her back and legs as Anita cried. Katie meanwhile closed her eyes and listened.
“You, you, you have to help,” Anita said. “He’s everything to me.”
Anita talked about how they met in high school. How he had invited her to the prom. How she had helped him start his landscaping and gardening business as Anita’s brothers were landscapers, they knew the trade and taught Esteban. The two had been together forever. The gardener and the manicurist. He, growing things with his hands she, making people’s hands beautiful. Most of the nail salons in the bay were owned by the Vietnamese but Anita’s shop in East Oakland had stood out. It served as much of a gathering space for the locals as the burrito trucks, and the late-night salsa bars. Anita
was proud of the life she had made for herself and Esteban. They had both come from Mexico when they were just teenagers and had fought hard to get their green cards. Esteban had stood outside of Home Depots for days on end to just get a little work. Anita had worked the flea markets peddling homemade tamales. She’d worked for hours putting together the masa and wrapping the dough in banana leaves.
“Anyways, they knew Tony and so they knew me. When Esteban was picked up for the crime Anita didn’t go to a lawyer, she came to me. A good thing too. The public defender didn’t even bother considering the coercion factor of the statement. Esteban was just another case, another spic that had murdered a white woman. He was just lucky that Trump and his friends hadn’t built gallows along with a wall.
Anita and I went to visit Esteban in jail. I’d been to the prison out in Santa Rita a few times. Picking up and dropping off people for Tony while he was still alive,” Katie said.
Anita cried the entire ride to the jail. It was 30 minutes of tears in the car then another 30 minutes of tears waiting to see Esteban. Anita didn’t say much in the actual jail. She looked at her husband with the lost broken eyes of a puppy dog. She wanted him back that was for sure.
He couldn’t talk, neither in English nor in his native Spanish, as his jaw was broken. He wrote notes to the two of them. “I love you Anita said one,” the other “I am innocent.”