One of the paramedics came into the living room. Rico got up and followed the man back into the bedroom.
I let myself out and closed the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The discussion and the settlement were just a blur. What I really wanted to know was what was happening next door. Was Vivian okay? Was she home or at the hospital?
Logan had already explained to Larry about our neighbor's health problem, but Logan didn't know about Vivian's connection to Anton Hasan, and I wasn't going to discuss it while he was present. Even if Rico didn't come out and say it, I knew that wasn't the kind of personal information Vivian would want shared.
I could hardly contain myself. What I'd found out was huge. Come on Logan, go home, or go to happy hour with Greta, but go! Finally! Then Larry decided to walk him to the parking lot to show off his new Mercedes. Arghhh. Men.
I paced like a caged tiger back and forth. Flash decided that was an interesting exercise and sort of followed my erratic wandering. Just when I was ready to send out a search party, Larry came back. My edginess had not gone unnoticed.
"Sweetie, what is it? I could hear your little engine roaring the whole time poor Logan was here. Is it Kyle?"
"Kyle? No, no. You're not going to believe this. Oh my God!!! It's Vivian and Anton."
"Anton? You're on a first-name basis now?" he joked.
If looks could kill, Larry would be ashes. How dare he crack jokes about these star-crossed lovers?
"Shut up. Sit down and listen."
I must have sounded convincing because he sat on the sofa and watched me with a mix of concern and interest plastered on his usually unreadable face.
I blurted out the whole story so fast that I couldn't breathe. Larry listened without interruptions, but at the end he didn't seem too convinced.
I was incensed by his lack of empathy. "Are you suggesting that Rico lied to me?"
"Not consciously. How can she not know about Hasan's activities? They ran in the same circles: Maxim's, airlines flights. Come on. I'm not accusing Rico of lying, but he only knows what he was told, if indeed he met Vivian after the fact."
"What fact?" It was so irritating, his sense of know-it-all Mr. Detective.
"Rico met her after the body of the murdered husband-to-be had been discovered in Arizona, not too far from here, Vivian's home. What a coincidence. She apparently was still in Las Vegas, never left her honeymoon suite. How convenient. It would be interesting to see tapes of the hotel security cameras if they're still available, which I'm sure they aren't."
My first impulse was to jump on him and scratch his imperturbable face, but my parents' upbringing won out, so I breathed in and out and counted to ten. He was hugging me by the time I got to eight.
"Sweetie, I didn't mean to upset you. After all these years working Homicide skepticism is pretty much part of who I am. Can't shake it. Nothing personal. Best way would be for me to talk to Rico so that raw emotions don't get in the way."
I knew that raw emotions was a pretty accurate description of my reaction to Rico's account of the facts.
"By the way, this confirms my suspicion that Vivian and Hasan's lives were somewhat intertwined." He kept his eyes on me while talking. "Are you planning on poisoning my next meal?" he asked.
"No, I was thinking more like your next glass of wine. Thirsty?"
"Excellent idea. Let's invite Rico over for a glass of wine." He kept a straight face.
"You're going to poison Rico? Drop some truth serum into his drink? What?"
He reached over and touched my lips. "Shush, I'm not the enemy. All I'm looking for is the truth. Please don't make it personal. Let's not forget about Carillo. He's still in prison. Help me out here. You obviously know more about Rico and Vivian than I do. What's the best way to have a civilized conversation?"
"I don't even know if Vivian is home or if she was taken to the hospital."
"That's what we need to find out."
His flawless logic irritated me to no end, while it also made me proud. I blamed the confusion on pre-menopause. "You really want to talk to Rico?"
He nodded.
"Okay then." I walked to the front door and opened it wide.
Within one minute Flash had zipped out the door, leaped on the patio table, and disappeared over the common wall. I closed the door.
"Let's give her five minutes," I said.
Larry didn't say a word. He kept nodding his head, his eyes locked on mine. He finally sighed, came over, and kissed my forehead. "I swear, I could live to be one hundred, and I still wouldn't understand women."
We waited about twenty minutes before heading next door. The sky, usually a blue so intense you had to look away, was today a bit gray. No clouds, just a flat gray that reminded me of Italian skies before snow. If only.
More strange things awaited. Vivian's gate was unlocked, and her front door was ajar. I hesitated but Larry stepped ahead of me and walked up to the door. Before he could knock it opened wide and Rico stood on the threshold.
"There you are," he looked at Larry. "I bet you have lots of questions."
I couldn't see Larry's expression, but I wished I could.
"Do you mind if we sit outside? I don't want to wake up Vivian. She's finally resting."
This whole thing was taking an interesting turn. Suddenly Rico was in charge?
"Sure, no problem." Larry walked to the patio table and pulled out a chair for me.
I wasn't sure what to do, what to say. Once again I had become a spectator.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Rico asked.
"No, thanks." Larry and I spoke in unison.
Rico smiled. He closed the front door and joined us at the table under the tree. I couldn't wait to see how Larry was going to handle the situation. This Rico was no dummy, and he didn't appear intimidated by Larry. Of course he must have been aware that Larry was no longer a cop, and even if he were he had no legal power over Rico. Then again, power was but a phone call away.
I wanted to ask about Vivian, but I couldn't—my brain seemed to be stuck in idle. So I sat and waited. Who would speak first?
"Look, I don't blame you for wanting to check out the validity of what I said to Lella. I can either give you the unabridged version as I know it, or was told, or you can feel free to ask questions. You decide. I have nothing to hide."
Filipino, I remembered Larry telling me the man was Filipino and in the States legally. And Larry was right. He spoke with something like an English accent, ever so slight. So that's how Filipinos spoke? Or was it just him, Rico?
"You know why I'm in Phoenix," began Larry. "I've always felt that Carillo had nothing to do with Hasan's killing. Today, I believe that more than ever. He's already spent seventeen years in prison. Three days from now we're going to court to try to right a wrong. Will we succeed? I don't know—I hope so. Why didn't Vivian ever tell the authorities what she knew about Anton Hasan? It could have made a difference."
"How so?" asked Rico. "What difference could it make to know that the dead man was in love with a woman?"
"She knew he was due in Vegas. Apparently he never made it. That information could have helped track his movements before his death. If indeed he was there to marry her, she must have known his immediate plans for after the wedding. How long was he going to stay in Vegas? Who else knew about their arrangements? Someone must have known. Don't you find it suspicious that his body showed up in Maricopa County, a long way from California or Nevada, yet only a few miles from Vivian's home?"
"It wasn't a few miles from her home. Hasan's body was left in a spot in the desert often used by Mexican cartels to unload their victims."
"Oh, so you're telling me Hasan was involved with the Mexican mafia? Cops from two states and the FBI tried to find a connection, but couldn't. Well? I'm listening." There was no snake charmer in Larry's voice. In fact, he sounded quite upset.
"I admit I have no answers. The only point I want to make clear is that Vivian di
dn't know anything about the man's real reason for his trips to the States. She didn't know he traveled to California. They met on a flight from Las Vegas to London. She was off duty, on her way to take over a flight from London to Los Angeles for a co-worker who got sick. It was love at first sight, at least according to Vivian.
"After that they always met in London. She would fly there when he went there for business. He told her he was in the banking business. She didn't tell anyone, not even her parents. She was afraid to jinx it, she told me. It was her first real love affair. When she had just about given up on romance, she'd met her prince charming: wealthy, educated, and he even spoke the language of her ancestors.
"She spent her free time taking classes to learn Russian. Her mother thought it was to please her." He shook his head as if to get rid of bad memories. "Anyway, none of that matters now. She's dying. The chemo that was supposed to help her is only hastening the loss of her brain functions." He inhaled and closed his eyes, as if signaling he was done, like it or not.
Larry drummed his fingers on the tabletop. I could tell by the tightening of his jaw muscles that he was past the point of disappointment—he was angry. "Do you think perhaps I can have a word with her in the morning?"
"A word? About what?" Rico's cool was also fading.
The air felt heavy. I found myself wiping perspiration from the back of my neck. It trickled down the front of my shirt, between my breasts. So uncomfortable. What happened to the dry heat?
"Perhaps she could share with us what she knows about the other countryman?"
"Countryman?"
I don't know, but Rico's question seemed to come a tad too fast. Although I'd thought the same thing, "countryman"?
"Yes, you know, what was his name again?" Larry's eyes, mere slits, stared squarely into Rico's. "Ah, yes. Valeri. V-A-L-E-R-I," he spelled it out, slowly.
"Never heard of him," Rico said. The twitching of his eyelids told a different story. "Come on." He turned to me. "Come get your cat. I think we're done here."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"For a caretaker he knows an awful lot about his lady boss," Larry said.
"True, and he seems very passionate about her well-being. You think he's in love with Vivian?"
I couldn't tell if Larry had heard me or not. He seemed lost in contemplation, staring at the inevitable blank wall.
"The sad part is that even with all this new information, it doesn't make any difference in court. It's all talk. The only good result from this evening is that I don't worry so much about Rico harming you."
"Good, because I never did worry about that," I said.
He pulled me close, nuzzled my hair, and we sat there for a while in silence, the kind of bonding silence few people get to experience.
"Three days," Larry said as he left the next morning. "Three days and it will be over. We should go out to dinner. Someone told me about a really nice Mexican restaurant. I'll make reservations. 6:30?"
"Okay. Be safe." I watched him walk toward the parking lot.
It was 9:30, and the sky had that same flat gray coat as the day before. How bizarre. I had to do laundry—no more postponing. I'd already had my coffee, so might as well hop into the car to get some laundry detergent.
Twenty minutes later I was driving down Camelback Road on my way to a Safeway. There was a sense of stillness in the air. I kept the car windows open because I didn't want the AC blowing on my face, and really, it wasn't that hot, just sort of muggy.
Three more days. This had been a strange week.
For reasons I couldn't understand I felt sad about leaving Vivian. Honestly, I'd exchanged a little more than a dozen words with the woman, yet there was such a sense of vulnerability exuding from her as if her unhappy destiny had been decided for her at birth and there was no way to escape it. The acceptance of her fate that I read in the sorrow in her eyes…I didn't want to dwell on it. I couldn't dwell on it.
I walked by her front patio on my way back from the store, and as I unlocked the front door I heard someone calling me.
"Lella, Lella."
It was Rico, hurrying to catch up with me. He looked rather disheveled.
"I need your help. It's Vivian." The tightness around his mouth was belied by the tremor in his voice. "She's not well. I need to drive her to the hospital. She refuses to go by ambulance." He kept his eyes on my face, probably to force himself not to break down. "Here." He handed me something.
I looked—a key.
"It's for the door." He motioned with his head toward Vivian's place. "I called Logan Thompson. He's coming by to collect Lucy." He stopped and swallowed the tears I wasn't supposed to see. "It may be a while, and I don't want Vivian to be concerned about her baby. She trusts Logan. I already called him," he repeated. "It's all set. Do you mind?"
"No, of course not. Is there anything else I can do?"
He shook his head. "Got to go. Please go inside. She gets embarrassed when people see her…you know…" He didn't finish his sentence. Rico turned around and left.
I stepped inside my place and waited for Logan. Flash sat by me. I scratched her back, with my mind churning around different scenarios, all with terrible endings. Poor Vivian. What would become of Rico? And Camelview Suites? She'd thought of Lucy first, her baby, Rico said. I looked at Flash…but I had Kyle and Larry. I was so lucky.
Depression lurked in my soul. I had to do something, move around, but not to the laundry room. I didn't want to miss Logan. I turned on the television. The weather-Barbie talked about a coming storm. That explained the flat gray sky, maybe. I got up and paced, peeking out the window now and then.
Waiting. Waiting was always the worst part of anything, regardless of who or what you were waiting for. It was like waiting to try a new food: it didn't matter how good it looked, you never knew if you'd like it until it was in your mouth. Maybe Logan would call first? Did he know my number? Suddenly, there he was at my front door. I hurried to open up.
"Logan, I'm glad you're here!"
He seemed surprised by my state of anxiety, my sense of urgency. After all, this had nothing to do with me. I was just the messenger. Not even that. I handed him the key.
"Maybe I can come over there and help you gather Lucy's things?"
I had no clue what Lucy's things could be, but he didn't know that. He nodded and smiled. I closed the door behind me and followed him.
Once inside Vivian's home, I could see no trace of a hurried departure. A pet carrier was left on the dining room table with a note and what looked like a box of kibble. Logan read the note, folded it, and put into his pants pocket.
"Okay then, let's find our girl," he said.
I followed a few steps behind him. Perhaps the note told him where to look? He went into the bedroom, the one with all the photos on the walls. He didn't pay any attention to them, his eyes squarely searching the floor. Two steps and he would stop. I figured out he was listening for any noise that would point to Lucy's hiding place.
"She's probably upset," he said. "Pets sense when something around them is out of whack. Either that or she's taking a nap." He got down on the floor, lifted the silky bed skirt, and looked under the bed. He didn't find the ferret, but he pulled out a shiny object, a lipstick case.
"Oh, yes," he smiled, "we're finding her trophies. Ferrets are such determined little thieves." Affection flavored his voice. He didn't get up but continued his quest on all fours, like a child at play.
"What have we here?" He hurried around, looking sort of funny, this grown man, a lawyer, on his hands and knees tracking a rat-sized pet named Lucy.
He finally located her in the very back of the walk-in closet. She'd managed to slip inside the sleeve of a pink T-shirt that must have belonged to Vivian. Logan picked her up without separating her from the cotton tee.
"Her security blanket," he said to me, stroking the white furry back. "Can you hold her a minute? Relax—they don't bite."
He handed me the bundle. She must have weighed
a pound at most.
"I'm going to collect a few more of her things so she'll have something familiar with her," he explained. Logan went back into the closet.
Lucy didn't stir, but her little face looked up at me from time to time. Poor thing.
"She has quite a collection in here." Logan deposited several odd objects on the floor.
I understood she meant Lucy. I bent down to see what he was talking about, careful not to crush the ferret. There was a pen, a teaspoon, what looked like a worn out rubber duck, and—a ring. My heart skipped a beat. I handed Lucy to Logan and squatted down to the floor.
"Oh my God." I gasped for air—I was that excited. I picked up the ring and began examining it.
"Looks like someone is into jewelry," more snarl than comment, from Logan.
"The ring," I exhaled the word. "You don't understand. The other night I helped Vivian look for her wedding ring; she was so distraught. This must be it. She'll be so happy."
He took it from me without a word, examined it, then looked at me again, shaking his head. "This isn't a wedding ring. It's a man's pinky ring. Lella, Mrs. York, are you okay? Are you passing out?"
I wasn't passing out, as he put it, but I was close to hyperventilating. A man's pinky ring? I remembered Boris's words "he even had a pinky ring he always wore. We used to tease him and call him the Godfather." It had to be Hasan's ring. The ring wasn't just talk—it was an object to see, feel, present as evidence. I was getting ahead of myself. Meanwhile Logan looked at me as if a screw had come loose from my head and rolled out the front door.
"Logan, that ring is very important."
"I'm sure it is." He spoke to me the way you speak to tantrum prone tots. "And we will put in a safe place, and I'll make sure to let Rico know. Okay Lella? Ready to go?"
"No!" I said it so loud even Lucy seemed startled. "You don't understand. It's Hasan's ring. We need to call Larry or your father. Better yet, we should call them both. Now."
Murder Under the Desert Moon Page 15