by Mary Marks
The interviewer approached and asked my name. “We’re talking to a Marsha Rose.”
“Martha. It’s Martha Rose.”
She ignored me. “Marsha, can you tell me what went on down there today?”
I mentioned the West San Fernando Valley Quilt Guild and my Encino neighborhood. “Even though there’s a heat wave right now, we’re concerned about what the homeless people will do in the winter when the weather turns cold and rainy. We gave away over fifty quilts and blankets today. We also distributed toiletries and hygiene products donated by concerned neighbors.”
The dull expression in her eyes said this wasn’t the kind of story she had hoped for. “Such a good deed to do on a Sunday morning. Thank you, Marsha. Now back to the studios.”
She hurried away.
“It’s Martha. Martha Rose.” Then I untied my shoes and placed them on the side of the road.
Lucy walked over. “Birdie’s not riding back with us.”
“Why not?”
She pointed over to where the Harleys were parked. Birdie giggled while Carl carefully adjusted a black helmet over her long white braid.
CHAPTER 27
As soon as I got home, I looked for the message light on my phone, hoping to hear from Simon Aiken, but nobody had called. I really needed to tell him what I overheard in the park between Lawanda Price and Barbara Hardisty.
In all the enthusiasm about helping the homeless, I’d forgotten about Charlissa’s Weight Watchers meeting this morning. One week had passed since I joined, and I was due for a weigh-in. I’d either have to find another meeting tomorrow or skip this week. I sighed. After my encounter with Beavers, I really didn’t care much about anything.
I scrubbed my feet with rubbing alcohol before stepping into the shower. My walking shoes sat forever abandoned on the side of Burbank Boulevard, near the access road to the wildlife reserve. I only wore them three times, and all three times nasty things had soiled them. It was a sign: Clearly, a walking career wasn’t in the cards for me. I’d have to figure out something else to do for exercise. Maybe when this was all over, I’d ask Ed about Yoga.
Hot water and shampoo suds rolled down my body as I let myself cry. I didn’t think I had any more tears left, but there they were, mixing with lilac-scented soap and Pantene. How could Beavers ever think I could be sleeping with another man? Then when I threatened to actually do it, why did he suddenly laugh? I refused to think about it.
I stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. The homeless Latino man revealed Javier and Graciela were staying with someone at the Heart of Zion Church in Van Nuys. Even though the time was after two on a Sunday afternoon, I wanted to see if the church would still be open. Maybe I’d find Javier and Graciela, or at least someone who knew where they were. I quickly got dressed.
Lucy and Birdie were waiting for me at Ed’s house, where everyone went for ribs and beer. To take his mind off his troubles, Ed offered to feed us when we got back from our mission at the wildlife reserve. Since I didn’t eat pork, Ed was also barbe-quing some chicken. I briefly wondered if Crusher would opt for the chicken too. After all, he said his bandana was a religious head covering.
I hated to miss out on the party, but we had no time to waste; the witnesses could be on the move. If I didn’t go to the church right away, I might lose my only opportunity to talk to them. I looked up the church address on Google and hurried down the street to Ed’s.
I looked around for Aiken, but he wasn’t there. Ed stood over a smoking barbeque in the backyard while people sipped drinks and laughed. Birdie listened intently to Carl, and Crusher stared at me like a trapped animal while Sonia chattered at him. For a fleeting moment, he reminded me of a big, lost teddy bear—I wanted to give him a hug.
Lucy walked toward me, holding a can of diet soda. “Hi, hon. Feel any better?” She knew seeing Beavers again rattled me.
“I’m so over him.”
She looked at me sideways. “No, you’re not.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. At least not here.”
I walked over to the dining table and picked up a chicken breast and wrapped it in a paper napkin to eat in the car. I also grabbed a frosty can of diet cola. “Listen, Lucy, I can’t stay. I got a lead on the witnesses and have to go over to this church in Van Nuys. I came to see if you wanted to come with me.”
“Sure. Let’s get Birdie.”
Carl hunkered toward Birdie with an animated expression. “. . . and we only missed running into the sucker by an inch. Man, that was a good ride.”
Birdie smiled at him. “You were so brave, dear. I’m sure the driver will never forget such a close call.”
Carl beamed.
I gave them a little wave of greeting. “Sorry to interrupt, Birdie. Lucy and I are going to run an errand and want to know if you’ll come with us.”
“All right, as long as I don’t have to walk. My knees are shot from standing all morning. Where are we going?”
“To church.”
We drove in Lucy’s vintage black Caddy. Lucy’s husband, Ray, was a successful auto mechanic, who had a string of shops and a wide collection of loyal customers. He loved to restore old cars, and this one purred like a panther in love. I sat in the creamy leather backseat and read directions out loud between hungry bites of savory chicken.
The storefront church was situated in a strip mall on Vanowen Street, surrounded by three-story apartment buildings with FOR RENT signs in Spanish. Next to the church sat a convenience store, a panadería, and a liquor store.
Although the overwhelming majority of Latinos were Catholic, various Protestant denominations had made inroads in Latin America. Consequently, many immigrants brought their Protestant traditions with them and small, independent Christian churches emerged in the Latino community of Los Angeles.
We parked on the street and walked toward the sign saying IGLESIA CORAZÓN DE SIÓN. Music flowed from within—singing accompanied by the sound of guitars, drums, and a trumpet. I looked at my friends. “I didn’t expect there’d be an actual service going on.”
Birdie lowered her voice as we neared the door. “So many little churches are like families. They spend all day Sunday together. They worship in the morning, and then they eat lunch together and have fellowship in the afternoon. Some of them have evening services or Bible studies to top off the day.”
“I’m impressed with such commitment.”
“It’s a tight little community, dear. So tight, they may not be willing to hand over your witnesses. You’ll have to be careful how you approach them.”
The windows and glass door of the storefront were covered with beige privacy drapes. Lucy pulled open the door and we immediately stepped into a small white room, with around fifty dark-haired men, women, and children sitting in folding chairs facing a six-inch raised platform at the end. Two tall oscillating fans swept the crowded room, working hard against the heat.
The wall behind the platform featured a hand-painted mural. Christ stood on a hill in a light blue robe with a spiky yellow halo behind his head. His arms were raised in blessing over a crowd of people and animals. Parked discreetly behind the Savior, on a side road, was a red truck with SANDOVAL CONSTRUCTION lettered on the side. Maybe Mr. Sandoval donated the money for the mural.
A middle-aged man, with nut-colored skin, sweated in an electric-blue suit and stood behind the lectern at the side of the platform. He sang and clapped along with his flock to the music of four musicians. Happy voices sang in Spanish, and I caught the words “Diós,” “gracias,” and “bendición” (“God,” “thanks,” and “blessing”). Three men who sat in the back row quietly stood and gave us their seats.
When the singing ended, the pastor gestured to the back of the room and boomed out, “Bienvenidos. You are welcome in the name of the Lord.”
All heads turned and one hundred eyes focused on the three Anglo ladies sitting and smiling self-consciously. Birdie waved her hand. “Thank you so much. We feel most wel
come.”
Everyone clapped as the pastor gestured for us to stand. I regretted I hadn’t thought to wear something dressier than just my clean jeans. Then again, I hadn’t expected to walk into a religious celebration.
As we stood to be acknowledged, I leaned over to Birdie and whispered, “What exactly is going on?”
“Anglo visitors are uncommon, dear, especially in such a small Spanish church. I think they just want us to feel at home.” Her eyes teased. “Smile big, or they may try to convert you.”
We sat and the singing continued for the next ten minutes. Little children craned their necks to get a good look at us. I scanned the room. Were any of the couples the one we were looking for? Finally the singing ended and the pastor began to speak in Spanish. I understood about 30 percent of the words, but I couldn’t string them together into anything meaningful.
Lucy leaned her bright orange head of hair in my direction and whispered, “What’s he saying?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really understand. Something about Jesus.”
Lucy just looked at me. “Duh.”
Were Javier and Graciela in this group? When I ruled out those mothers with children, a dozen couples still remained. Which one were they?
The service ended at around four and the pastor made his way to the back of the room to shake the hands of his flock as they left the storefront. I imagined they were all going home to prepare dinner.
Finally he turned to us with a smile and big question marks in his eyes. His English was only slightly accented. “I am Pastor Luis Sandoval.”
Oh. That explains the red truck.
“Did you ladies enjoy the service?”
I spoke up. “We certainly did.”
“Even though you don’t speak Espanish?” His voice was unmistakably wary.
“We very much enjoyed the music,” answered Birdie.
He looked at me; a sharp intelligence sparked his eyes. “You aren’t dressed for church. Ladies of your generation normally wear their good clothes to church. My guess is you didn’t expect to encounter people actually worshipping. When you did, you decided to stay, anyway, because you really came here seeking information of some kind. How am I doing?”
Lucy and Birdie looked at me as I took a tiny step forward. This man was astute. “You’re right so far, Pastor.”
“How can I help you, señora?”
I didn’t waste time. “Six days ago, I discovered the body of a man who was murdered, not too far from my house. One of my neighbors is being blamed, even though he is innocent. The police have already questioned him once and they may arrest him soon. I want to prove he couldn’t have done it.”
“How does that involve my church?”
“A homeless couple was camping nearby on the riverbank. I found out their names are Javier and Graciela Acevedo.”
Luis Sandoval’s eyes went dark. I was in the right place.
“Somebody told me the couple is staying with someone from this church until they can find a ride out to Mountain View. I need to speak to them before they go. If the Acevedos saw the killer, they can tell the police it wasn’t my friend. They might even be able to identify the real killer.”
“If these people do exist, señora, their lives would be in danger. They wouldn’t be safe talking to the police. Even if they could be protected from the killer, once they were exposed, they couldn’t be protected from immigration. If they were deported back to their country, they’d be executed. They’re political refugees.”
“I’ve got a lawyer who could help them for free. What if this lawyer could get someone in the US Attorney’s Office to grant them political asylum? If the Acevedos were given refugee status, they wouldn’t have to return to their country.”
“That would be a wonderful thing. Such a thing would guarantee their safety in a very important way. In that case, señora, they most certainly would be able to tell the police what they saw. They might be able to identify the killer.”
“So they did see the killing?”
He said nothing.
“Can I just speak to them?”
“I think people in their position would first need assurance they wouldn’t be deported.”
“Can you at least keep them in the area while I work on their legal status?”
“If such people exist, señora, they might be persuaded to stay for a few more days.”
I gave him a piece of paper with my name and telephone number on it. “Please call me before you let them go anywhere.”
He looked at the paper and put it in his pocket. “Mrs. Rose, would you know anything about what happened in the Sepulveda Basin today? Some of my people live down there. One thought he recognized you from this morning.”
So he already knew we’d been asking around for the Acevedos.
“Yes, Pastor Sandoval. We organized the event to try to help some of the people who have to live in those awful conditions. The need is so great. Twice as many people showed up as we planned for. I don’t think we were able to make much of a dent in their suffering.”
His voice softened and he looked at the three of us. “Diós las bendiga. May God bless you.”
Then he reached over and took my hand in both of his. Kindness replaced the wariness in his eyes. “Please understand my first priority is to help and protect my people. If I can, I’ll also try to help your friend.”
“I believe you, Pastor Sandoval. I just hope you can keep Javier and Graciela—if they exist—from running away.”
CHAPTER 28
Lucy dropped me off at my house and I waved good-bye as she and Birdie drove away. All the motorcycles were gone from Ed’s house and the street was quiet. Bumper head-butted my ankles as soon as I walked in the door. I reached down to scratch him behind the ears and he purred in ecstasy. One good thing about animals—their love was uncomplicated.
I thought about Arthur’s uncomplicated love and loyalty the night he got stabbed while trying to defend me. I decided to pay him a visit at the animal hospital to say thank you. It might be my only chance, since I’d probably never see him again once he went home with Beavers.
I drove to the Boulevard and entered the parking lot next to the hospital. Just as I passed the entrance, Beavers and Kerry Andreason, Arthur’s veterinarian, came out the front door together. I quietly pulled into a parking space at the end of a row of cars so I could watch them without being seen.
“Little Miss Scrawny” wasn’t wearing her lab coat. As a matter of fact, she wore a sexy hot-pink minidress that showed way too much cleavage. She grabbed Beavers’s arm as they walked toward his car, swinging her perky little ponytail and hanging on to him.
He opened the passenger door; and before she slid in, he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, right on the mouth. Her laughter tinkled like bells before he closed her door. I wanted to run right over there and stick all ten fingers in her eyes. Then, smiling broadly, he walked rapidly over to the driver’s side and got in. I think they kissed again before he started the car, but I couldn’t really see.
They drove right by my car to exit the lot, and I was terrified he’d see me, so I ducked down in the seat, heart in my throat, and stayed there for a good thirty seconds until I was certain they were gone.
I didn’t know which one to be angry at the most. That scrawny vet wasted no time getting her claws into Beavers, but then who could blame her? He was quite a catch. However, it had been less than a week since Beavers had broken up with me. Here he was kissing someone else already.
So I was right not to trust him in the first place, and this proved it. At the first sign of trouble in our relationship, he broke up with me. Then he laughed at me. Now he was kissing another woman.
I decided not to stick around. All the way home, I told myself I was lucky to have seen them together. I would just put Arlo out of my life, the way he shut me out of his. I wouldn’t think about him anymore. I wouldn’t miss him anymore. I wouldn’t waste any more tears on him. At least I’d try not to.
My body felt achy and sore from all the exertion of the trip to the wildlife reserve in the morning, the shock and heartbreak of seeing Beavers, and the tension of tracking down Javier and Graciela at the Heart of Zion Church. I opened my prescription bottle, shook out a Soma for muscle pain, and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen from the morning. A lone apple fritter sat in the box from Western Donuts. I’d only eaten a piece of barbequed chicken since the morning, so I brewed a cup of Taylor’s Scottish Breakfast Tea and ate the donut while waiting for the muscle relaxer to work.
Why hadn’t Aiken called me back? He really should know about Lawanda Price and Barbara Hardisty. Now I also needed his legal help for the fugitives Javier and Graciela. The church pastor hinted they actually witnessed Dax Martin’s murder. If we couldn’t prevent them from being deported, they’d disappear in the next couple of days and we’d never find them.
I called Aiken’s cell phone, which sent me straight to voice mail again. “Simon, this is Martha. Please call me as soon as you get this message. I’ve found our witnesses, but I can’t question them without your help. I also want to tell you about a conversation I overheard between those Army Corps of Engineers people, Lawanda Price and Barbara Hardisty. I’m sure bribery and blackmail were involved in the Beaumont deal. You need to know all the details before you talk to the US Attorney’s Office tomorrow. I don’t care what the time is, just call me back.”
I was still hungry, so I nuked the leftover brisket in the microwave and sautéed zucchini slices in olive oil and salt.
About two hours later, Beavers called. My hands started shaking as I remembered how he kissed Kerry Andreason just a couple of hours ago. I was tempted to hang up.
He got straight to the point. “I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning. Kaplan still has the lead on this case, but I want you to tell me what you know.”
Oh, so now he’s willing to listen. I knew he’d be smart enough to get my hint about something huge going on between the Army Corps of Engineers and the Beaumont School. After the way he dismissed me this morning and betrayed me this evening, I wasn’t in the mood to cooperate.