by Maria Lima
"Anything in particular?” I asked after a few beats of silence. Tucker sat still, watching the both of us.
"Sort of,” she said. “Something a bit strange, actually."
"Strange?"
"Well, not so much strange as...” Her voice trailed off and she clasped her hands on the table in front of her. She was doing a damned poor job of okay. From what I could tell, she was one second away from wringing her hands and bursting into tears.
"Seriously, Bea, what's up?” I placed a tentative hand on her back, reinforcing my shielding before I did so. With the latest developments in Vision Central, I wasn't about to take a chance in the middle of a crowded restaurant. “Tucker, go get her some coffee."
"No, wait, don't,” she said. “I'm good. Only ... I was out back a few minutes ago, taking some trash to the Dumpster. Remember what I told you about Pete Garza?” she asked, glancing over at Tucker briefly.
"You mean the grade A asshole part?"
I replied.
"Yeah, that.” She took a breath and paused again, probably glad that I hadn't brought up the story she'd told me in confidence. “Since that time, he hasn't come around here at all. Not even close by. When I was out back, I could swear I saw his truck drive by."
"You saw the truck behind the café? Why the hell didn't you come get us?” Tucker demanded.
"Calm down, Tucker,” I said. “Let her explain. Bea, was he right out behind here? Isn't that a service road for the strip-doesn't go anywhere?"
"Mostly, yeah, but you remember that one place where it connects out to Lohmann's Crossing? It's part of the easement back by the old deli."
Strange that in a few short months, the abandoned store once run by the elderly brother and sister that became my cousin's murderers was now the “old” deli.
Bea continued. “I had some trouble with the Dumpster lid, so I went around back of it and when I did, I saw a white Ford F150 pull out onto Lohmann's Crossing from the service road."
"You're sure it was him? There are a lot of white Ford pickups around here. F150's got to be the most popular."
"Mostly sure,” she replied. “I know it was a few years ago since I last saw him, but yeah. It's pretty beat up, and he has a couple of bumper stickers on the back. Something about Jesus being his master and some disgusting thing about women. I couldn't tell in the dark, but it sure looked like the same truck, bumper stickers and all."
I snorted and blurted out the first words that came into my mind. “So if Jesus is his master, does that mean Pete likes to sub?"
"You did not just say that!"
Bea sounded more amused than shocked, which I silently applauded. Whether or not she'd seen Pete Garza, I wanted her to laugh. I missed our camaraderie. As much as I was ... or had been ... enjoying my time at the Wild Moon, some nights, when I was hanging around waiting for Adam to stop playing Lord of the Manor for the evening, I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa with Bea, both of us sharing a big bowl of microwave popcorn, some decent wine and some sappy romantic movie. Not that anyone or anything stopped me from doing that, but the timing was always off. These days, Bea worked too many late nights and by the time she was done, she was usually too pooped to enjoy any friend time. I made a mental vow to rectify this soon, by conspiring with her aunt and uncle to liberate her for a girls’ night out. Even if we simply hung out at my house, it would give her a chance to relax a little.
"Sorry. I couldn't help it,” I said. “Look, why don't Tucker and I go out back and take a look?"
There wasn't much behind the strip center but an undeveloped plot of land about an acre deep. Another one of those red-tape real estate deals caught up in the hell of what happens when financing goes bust. About a year ago, it was slated for some additional retail spaces, intended to complement the strip center. I'd never been sure how anyone thought they'd support said retail, being as how Rio Seco's population was falling instead of growing. We had a ton of weekenders and summer vacationers, but not enough to warrant new shops.
"That's fine, but I think it's okay,” Bea said.
"Okay or not, I'm going out there.” Tucker slid out of the booth and vanished into the kitchen.
I patted Bea's back, positive she was more rattled than she'd let on. Seeing Pete's truck like that was like my turning a corner at the Wild Moon and running into Gideon—although as bad as he'd been, he never pulled a similar stunt on me as Pete Garza had with Bea. I'd have emasculated him without a second thought. My papa ... well, my great-great-granny actually, hadn't raised us to hesitate. Bea, however, was a human woman who rightfully feared a crazy man with a loaded gun.
"You think he was looking for you?” I asked.
"Or maybe Ignacio,” Bea replied. “I've told him that I saw Pete and to not go out back tonight."
"Good point. You know, here's a thought. It's already eight, the spring break special's over. Get a couple of those high school boys to take out the trash for you and do some of the heavy clean up. Offer them some free pizza or something. I'll hang out here until you close. Then you and Ignacio can go stay over at my place. Pete may know where you live, but I'm sure he has no idea where I live."
"Babysitting me?” I could hear the small smile in her voice. I was glad that she'd told me. I'd been so caught up in events the past couple of days that face time with Bea would be great, even though it was a direct result of her seeing Pete Garza around. Of course, she could be wrong about who she'd seen. Old beat up white Ford F150s were a dime a dozen around here, including bumper stickers extolling the virtues of everything from Skoal to Jesus. The distance from the back of the café to the easement road was close to two hundred yards. In the dark, with the poor lighting back there, it wouldn't be hard to mistake one truck for another. Still, I wasn't going to take any chances. Pete Garza stalking either Bea or Ignacio: definitely a bad thing.
"You know I'll feel better if I do,” I said. “Seriously, Bea, come stay at my place tonight. We'll hang out, watch a movie or something. Ignacio can watch Univision on the cable in the guest room."
"Thanks, chica, I think I will. I miss you."
"Yeah, me, too. Life keeps getting weirder. We were out searching earlier, then we had a run-in with Pete at the Diamondback."
"You did? What happened?"
I filled her in on the details of our trip to the bar, then subsequent events, up to and including the cemetery.
"Wow, I'd forgotten about that place. You guys find anything?"
"Yeah, actually, Tucker thinks the kids were out there, and based on what young Crystal over there says and the wild but whacky vision-o-rama, so do I. Then freakish energy, the ward or whatever."
Bea looked a little confused. “Ward as in Cleaver?"
"No, more like ward as in something family might have left behind."
"Your family, I'm guessing."
"Got it one, sweetie,” I said. “We ran across some sort of energy or something, more on the freakish side than not. Tucker and I decided to table it for now, get some rest and figure out what it is later."
I didn't really want to go into any more details with Bea. She knew about us, knew about Tucker's ability, but I wasn't at all comfortable with explaining what happened, especially since she was already a bit unnerved. The fact that some sort of energy forced my brother to shift wouldn't help her stay calm.
Tucker came back a few minutes later.
"Anything?"
He shook his head. “No, there's definitely signs of at least one vehicle out there, but too many scents, too many tracks to distinguish one particular one. All I could tell is that someone drove through there at least once in the last hour.” He settled back into the booth. “Bea, I think to be on the safe side—"
"She's going to come home with me, tonight,” I interrupted. “So's Ignacio."
"Good.” He gulped down the dregs of his coffee. “We'll hang out here until you close, Bea. When we leave, you two ride with Keira and I'll take your car and go back to the Wild Moon. That
way, if Garza is trying to follow you, he'll pick the wrong victim this time."
"I need to come in to work in the morning,” Bea protested. “I've got to open."
"All settled,” Tucker said. “I spoke to your aunt and uncle. They're going to take the breakfast shift and you're going to sleep in. Keira can bring you in and we'll work out the car situation later."
Bea capitulated. “Thank you."
After all, she knew better than to argue with common sense. Especially when it was presented by a more-than-a-millennium-old hellhound.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I hung up the phone and stretched. We managed to herd the rest of the teenagers and attending parents out by eight-thirty, but cleanup and prep for the morning took a while. Both Tucker and I pitched in, neither of us complete strangers to kitchen duty at the café. In my own teen years, I often hung out here in the afternoons, “helping” Bea and snagging free munchies. With everyone helping, we wrapped things up in about an hour.
"Good thing you don't own anything smaller, Bea.” Tucker packed his body into Bea's subcompact, grumbling good-naturedly. “Everything cool at the ranch, sis?"
"Suppose so,” I said. “I left a voice mail. Adam's not answering. I imagine he's in a meeting."
"Makes sense. Damn, this seat doesn't go back far enough,” Tucker complained.
"I sure hope that Pete Garza does follow you, bro,” I laughed. “I'd love to see his face when you get out of the car."
"You take care of Bea, you hear?” he said, quietly. I glanced over at Bea, who was explaining to Ignacio what we were doing.
"I will. You call me if anything happens, okay?"
"Ditto."
I nodded and he drove off. Bea, Ignacio and I piled into my car and we headed to my place.
As I pulled up into the circular drive, it occurred to me that this was more Bea's home these days than mine. Other than the short nap when Tucker and I had sacked out here before going to view the Pursell ranch, I didn't think I'd been back to this house in at least a month. Once, not that long ago, it had been a refuge. My own small comfort zone and a place where I was free to be me. After Adam came back into my life, my comfort zone changed and home became his house at the ranch. Fickle? Maybe. More a realization that “home” signified a concept more than a physical place. For Tucker, home was wherever he could relax. Sometimes that was with me. Sometimes with Niko. I didn't know what home was for Bea.
"I can't believe I'm hungry again,” I said, as we entered the house. “Didn't we eat a little bit ago?"
"Three hours,” Bea replied. “Let me get Ignacio settled in the small guest room and I'll help you fix something."
"Fix something? There's no food here, is there?” I racked my brain. “I can't remember the last time I've bought any groceries for the house. Months ago? There might be some boxes of microwave popcorn or something, but real food, not likely."
Bea laughed. “Yes. There is. Remember, I stay out here sometimes? I like to eat and I don't always want to fix something at the café or eat old microwave popcorn."
"Oh.” I flushed, embarrassed at my gaffe. “Egads, I'm a terrible host."
"You're not a host, chica. You're family. I'm perfectly capable of stocking the kitchen and cooking for myself. I'll be back in a minute."
Bea spoke briefly to Ignacio and motioned for him to walk down the hall with her. I'd suggested he take the smaller guest room, primarily because the other cable feed was in there and he could watch the Spanish language stations and not be bothered by us gabbing.
There were some clean men's clothes in the guest room closet, some of Marty's stuff that had never been worn. I'd pulled them aside when I donated the rest of his stuff to Goodwill after his death. My cousin, on the most part, had had execrable taste, but a few items, including some jeans and some nice button-down shirts and Polos were still in their original packages. Flotsam and jetsam from his final life's spending spree, I supposed. Purchased with blood money. In any case, I'd meant to donate these to a place I knew of in San Antonio that helped folks get jobs. They were always looking for presentable clothing. Some of the items might fit Ignacio. Even though he was thinner than Marty, they were about the same height and build.
Bea came back out into the living room, Ignacio trailing her. “He's offered to cook for us,” she said.
"He has? He doesn't have to."
"He knows, he would like to do something for us, for you."
"Por favor, senorita,” Ignacio broke in. “Les agradezco lo que hicistes por mi. Dejame cocinar para ustedes. Les cocinos algo muy bueno."
Bea translated quickly. “He wants to cook. Says he's grateful for what we've done for him and that he'll cook something very good."
"Oh for—Bea, he really doesn't have to do that.” How could this guy be so grateful, so patient? “I mean, all we've done is establish that his brother took off with some waitress for a night of drugged up sex and then probably got himself lost and died of exposure or something out in the middle of nowhere. We haven't even found his body, for pity's sake. And here Ignacio wants to cook for us."
"Let him, Keira, really,” Bea said. “I know how you feel, all I did was put him to work. But, we need to let him do this."
"Okay, okay,” I said. “But he needs to sit with us and eat, too."
"Done.” Bea turned to Ignacio and spoke to him, then they disappeared into the kitchen. Thirty minutes later, the three of us sat down to fluffy cheese and mushroom omelets, accompanied by pan fried potatoes and slices of garlic bread.
"This tastes wonderful,” I said, stuffing my face. Eating dinner at the Inn's restaurant every night was fabulous, but they tended to cook elaborate meals, since their primary customers were the resident vampires. The vampires usually wanted meat dishes, heavy on the rare, which I loved, but occasionally a simple sandwich or omelet would do me fine. I hated to ask for special treatment there, so tended to have something off the night's menu.
It didn't take us long to demolish the excellent food.
"Thank you very much, Ignacio,” I said. “Muchas gracias. This was excellent."
Ignacio ducked his head. “De nada, senorita.” He stood and started to gather the empty plates.
"Wait a moment, please.” I put a hand on his arm. “Please sit down and relax.” I motioned to the chair. “Bea, can you tell him that I'd like to ask a few questions? About Alex? I don't want to upset him or anything, but there are a few things I need to ask."
Bea quickly explained to him. Ignacio hesitated, then sat, his hands folded on the table, like a particularly obedient school kid at his desk, waiting for the teacher. Opposite him, Bea sat patiently, ready to play interpreter.
Something Bitsy had said to me earlier had been nagging me so I opened with that. “Ignacio, when I spoke to Mrs. Pursell today, she told me that other workers had left the ranch before. Do you know anything about that? Was that something your brother talked to you about?"
Bea translated and his face immediately grew animated. “Si, si,” he said, and spoke rapidly. I caught a word or two, “Alejandro” and “dinero,” but couldn't follow most of it.
"He says Alex told him about that in a phone call a week or two before he last heard from him,” Bea explained. “They talked for a long time, Alex saying how much he missed home, but the money was too good on this side. He made a hundred a week cash and got nearly every Sunday off so he could call Ignacio twice a month and send two hundred a month home to the family via Giros Postales."
"Seriously? He made that little and still sent half of it back home?"
"I know,” Bea said. “That's way less than minimum wage, and you can bet those men aren't working forty hour weeks. A couple hundred dollars goes a long way in Mexico, but not here."
She said something to Ignacio, and he responded. “Oh my. Ignacio says that the men get room and board plus their wages, so it's really good.” Bea shook her head in disbelief. “Damn, and I have trouble keeping kitchen workers at minimum wage. That's wr
ong."
"Totally,” I agreed. “But that's what happens when they bring in these guys. They have no recourse since they're here illegally. I suppose that's a problem for another day, though. You and I can't really do anything about this now."
"True. It still sucks."
"Very much so,” I said. “Bea, ask him if he thinks the men who left, left of their own accord."
Ignacio shook his head at the question and shrugged. He spoke for a long time and then waited for Bea to translate to me.
"He says he doesn't know, but that Alex thought at least one of them was odd,” Bea said.
"Them?"
"The situation. He says Alex worked for the Pursells for nearly two years. Most of the time there at the Pursell ranch, but sometimes he'd get loaned out when some of the judge's pals needed extra workers. One of the patrones had a great ranch house and paid Alex nearly double his weekly wage to help build a stone barbecue at the poolhouse. Ignacio says Alex worked with two other guys there and that one of those guys knew the worker who had gone from the Pursell ranch. He told Ignacio he would ask about it next time he worked at the new place, but that was the last phone call he got from Alex."
"Damn,” I said. “I can't help but wonder if there really was something going on and Alex stumbled across it by asking questions."
Bea chewed her lip. “If he did, I'd go directly to blaming Pete Garza."
"Yeah, that's kind of where I was headed,” I said. “From what you've told me, and the little I've seen of him, he's the type to either run off workers or do something nasty. Except in this case, I'm pretty sure Alex never made it back to the ranch after his little party with Jolene."
"You're probably right.” Bea yawned and stretched. “Man, I'm so beat. Why don't we clean up and then we can sack out? I'll tell Ignacio to go on back and get some rest. He did all the work, so we'll take care of the dishes."
"Sounds like a good idea.” I picked up my plate and Bea did the same with hers. She spoke to Ignacio, and although he seemed to protest, he bowed to the inevitable and after saying goodnight to both of us, went back to the guest room.