“I would if I was you,” Gabi smiled sweetly. “Because your sublease will be for one full year.”
I had to laugh. “OK, I hear you. But I have a request of my own. As subleaser, I’ve got a few rights. The painting’s done, OK? Enough with the purple and pink.”
“No problem! I hold the lease, Miss Jaymie, but you’re still the boss.”
Had I detected a sly little smile?
* * *
It was just after one in the afternoon, and the Molinas’ cottage garden was quiet, drowsing in sunshine. Bees droned in the citrus trees. A blue jay scolded me raucously, protesting my presence.
I’d decided to visit Teresa when Claudia was at school. The last thing I wanted at this point was a confrontation with the Tasmanian devil. It was time for me to pick up the strands of the investigation, and this was the place to begin.
The door was cracked open. I knocked and it fell away. “Teresa? Hello, are you there?” I called into the drape-shrouded room.
I’d hardly expected to find a fully recovered Teresa already moving on from her daughter’s death. Still, I was taken aback: the woman who shuffled to the doorway didn’t look like the same person I’d met before. She was gripped in a deep depression.
Teresa wore a man’s worn flannel robe, which bagged open to reveal a food-stained nightgown. Her skin was puffy, discolored under the eyes, and her mouth was slack. She looked as if she hadn’t slept for weeks. Her eyes were sharp, though, burning.
“Teresa,” I said gently. “May I come in?”
“I … forget who you—” Her voice was a croak.
“I’m Jaymie Zarlin. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk with you for a bit.”
She nodded slightly and stepped aside.
Misery had settled into the room, staining the atmosphere like smoke. Every curtain was drawn, and the only light came from the single candle flickering on the altar. An unpleasant smell lingered. My gaze fell on the birdcage covered with an old tablecloth.
Teresa gestured with a limp hand. “Lili’s bird—it’s dead in there. It couldn’t go on living … it had to be with her.”
Her words chilled me. “Teresa can we talk in the kitchen?”
Without answering, she shuffled ahead of me.
The square kitchen table was littered with food-encrusted dishes and a dirty cat’s bowl. Teresa eased herself onto one of the chairs and I sat in the other, facing her.
It was all I could do to stay put and not hop up and clear the table. I felt an urge to scour: the kitchen, the house, and even Teresa, who needed a shower and a shampoo.
“I’m sorry, Teresa. I can see how terribly hard this is for you.”
Her head slumped.
“I won’t stay for long, not unless you want me to. But I have something to tell you.” I wanted to hold her hand while I talked, but the table was so covered with crap I couldn’t reach her.
I got up and moved my chair around to the end of the table. When I took Teresa’s hand in my own, I nearly dropped it in surprise: it felt tissue-light, freeze-dried.
“Teresa, do you know about Danny Armenta?”
She nodded once, without raising her head. “Dead.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” I pressed the fragile hand. “I want you to know he didn’t harm Lili, not in any way.” No need, I decided, to tell her Danny had been murdered too.
“Then tell me who … who…” Her voice trailed off as she raised her head and met my eyes.
“I don’t know yet. That’s why I need to ask you more questions, Teresa. Because I promise you, I will find out who did it.”
“It won’t bring my baby girl back.”
“No, it won’t. But they’re going to close the case, Teresa. The killer will go free. That matters, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her voice grew stronger, harsh. “Yes, it matters. Ask me anything.”
“Thank you. First, about Lili’s costume. It was made down at the Guild, right?”
“Yes, the girls made it down there. But Lili brought it home the night before the parade, and I worked on it too.”
“Why did she bring it home?”
“The seams were scratching her, driving her crazy. They used the wrong kind of thread. I opened it all up and sewed it with nice cotton thread, soft.”
“And in the morning? Did she try it on here at the house?”
“Yes, she said she tried it on and it was good. I was already at work, but she called me and told me.” Teresa dropped her eyes again to the floor. “Lili loved her costume.”
“I’m sure she did,” I said quietly. “So, what I’m getting to is this. Was there any reason she might have wanted to change out of it in a hurry—after the parade?”
“No, I don’t think so.” A shadow of a smile flitted across her face like a moth. “She loved how she looked in it.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, there’s something else I need to ask you about, Teresa. The Stellatos. I know you worked for them for quite a while.”
“Twelve years. But not for over a year now.”
“Twelve years? You must know quite a bit about them.”
“I guess.”
“Would you mind telling me a little?”
“Well … Maryjune, she’s a nice lady. Her husband—” Teresa shrugged. “Mr. Stellato gave me a lot of money when he fired me. But he’s mean. He yells a lot at his wife.”
“What about Lance?”
“Lance? Lazy. Always a messy room.”
Clearly, Teresa had no idea Lance had manipulated Lili into having sex. I decided there was no need to tell her now.
“About Vince Stellato. Does he have any girlfriends?”
She slowly withdrew her hand from mine. “I don’t know if I should…”
“Teresa, listen to me. Personally, I couldn’t care less about Stellato. But you have to understand: this is how I fit the pieces of the puzzle together.”
“OK, I’ll tell you. Mr. Stellato, he has a girlfriend—just one. All the time I was there, the same one. Sometimes she even called the house.”
“Do you know the woman’s name?”
“No. None of my business.”
“Does Lance know about her, do you think?”
“He knows.” Teresa nodded. “One time he even mentioned it to me. He said it was like his dad had two wives.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Teresa. What can I do for you?”
“There’s nothing. Nothing anybody can do.”
“How about Claudia? How is she?”
“Claudia?” Teresa shrugged. Leaning heavily on the table, she raised herself to her feet. “OK, I suppose.”
I followed Teresa back into the living room, where she halted. I understood she wanted me to join her at Lili’s altar.
Several new items had been added since my earlier visit: concert tickets, a small makeup bag, and a blue pottery bowl holding three mottled oranges glowing in the candlelight.
“You haven’t found La Virgen de Guadalupe,” Teresa murmured. It was a statement of fact, not a question. “The medallion belongs here.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Teresa. I will find it, as I promised.”
“When you find the killer, you will find the medallion.” Teresa’s voice was growing more anguished.
“Yes. Yes, I think you’re right.”
Teresa plucked one of the oranges from the bowl, and I smelled the sharp scent of citrus as her fingers dug into the rind. Her face contorted with pain. Then, with both hands, she ripped open the orange.
I gasped: was it some trick of the candlelight? The interior of the fruit was dark, the purplish color of clotted blood. As Teresa dug her fingers further into the flesh, the bloody juice trickled over her hands to her wrists.
“Teresa, that orange—what’s—wrong with it?”
“It’s a blood orange. They grow in my garden. It looks so pretty on the outside, doesn’t it?” She was panting hard, as if she’d run a long race. “Like life, that’s what I think. Pre
tty on the outside, but inside, so ugly and cruel!”
Her hands fell open, and the mangled fruit dropped to the floor.
* * *
I climbed into the Honda, pulled the door shut, and closed my eyes. Life was brutal, all right. I couldn’t argue with Teresa on that. The innocent ones were ground down, buried. Then the corrupt waltzed over their graves.
As Charlie said, you just had to keep plugging away.
I snapped the elastic band off my notebook. Next on my list was Jared Crowley. He was no innocent, I was certain of that. But was he corrupt? Time to find out.
I reviewed what I’d jotted down. Working backward: at 3:19 P.M. on the day of the murder, Shawna had taken a photo of Jared and Lili getting into the BMW at the park … 3:15, a photo of Jared and Lili walking to the BMW … 3:14, Jared talking to Lili, probably telling her she had to go to the Guild warehouse to change out of her costume … 3:12, Jared studying his phone. Abruptly, I choked.
Jared studying his phone. Damn! I thumped a fist on the dash, frustrated at my own slow-wittedness.
Fixated on Shawna’s snaps, I’d forgotten all about the primary function of a phone, which was not to take photos but to communicate. Jared studying his phone? Sure. The guy was most likely reading a text message.
And if that message ordered Jared to drive Lili down to the warehouse, the sender could be Lili’s killer.
I grabbed my own phone as I switched on the ignition. “Gabi, I need you to check something. If I remember right, Jared Crowley works at Olio e Vino. Would you get me their number?”
“Miss Jaymie? First I think you better come back to the office.” Gabi’s voice was tight as a rubber band. “We got a little problem here.”
* * *
“I know you speak Spanish and I know you aren’t deaf. Now sit up and get your feet off that chair!” It was Gabi’s voice, all right, but I’d never heard her so mad. I paused on the office steps, just outside the screen door.
Then, an insolent girl’s voice sounded: “Say the magic word and maybe I will.”
“The magic word is now! I’m telling you”—I drew open the door just as Gabi jumped up behind her desk. She saw me and her face flooded with relief. “Miss Jaymie, thank goodness you’re here!”
“To the rescue,” I sighed. “Hey, Claudia. What’s up?”
“Nothin’.” The kid nonchalantly pulled a pair of earbuds from her pocket and stuck them in her ears. Her feet remained where they were: pressed firmly against the chair arm.
“Miss Jaymie,” Gabi said airily. “You know what this girl reminds me of?”
“Now, Gabi—”
“Tinker Bell. So dainty and small, you know? Tinker Bell the fairy, that’s who.”
Apparently Claudia had no problem hearing through the earbuds. She leaped to her feet, her face scrunched and red. “I’ll make you sorry you said that.”
“No you won’t,” Gabi snapped back. “Now sit down the right way with your feet on the floor, and shut up if you want to stay. Otherwise I’m calling a cop I happen to know.”
I listened, fascinated, reluctant to intervene. Two worthy opponents, head-butters, one with youth and energy on her side, the other with age and all the cunning the years can bring.
“Call all the cops you want,” Claudia said archly. “They don’t scare me.”
“Oh they don’t? What do you weigh, maybe ninety pounds after Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Ninety-four,” the girl shot back.
“Ninety-four, my, my. Well, this cop I know—he’s Miss Jaymie’s boyfriend, by the way—he weighs maybe two and a half times what you do.” Gabi settled back into her desk chair and raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh yes, I’m really sure she could handle him.”
Claudia curled one corner of her lip in a snarl. “Jaymie, I came here to talk to you. Do I hafta put up with this shit?”
I parked my messenger bag on the corner of the desk. “I need to go over something with Gabi first. Then you and I will talk.”
“Whatevah.” She hopped up and walked over to the open window. Deadbeat started to shriek, and Claudia shrieked right back.
“Gabi,” I shouted over the din. “I need you to call a restaurant, Olio e Vino, and ask—” But Gabi wasn’t listening. She was staring at Claudia’s back. I followed her gaze: a tattoo of a snake crawled up Claudia’s neck from under her white T-shirt.
Gabi shook her head sadly at me. “That one’s not like a girl. She wants to make herself ugly.”
Claudia spun around. “I heard that. You got a problem with the way I look?”
Gabi ignored the question and asked one of her own instead. “You’re never gonna get a boyfriend, looking and acting like that. Don’t you like boys?”
“Sure, they’re OK. I just don’t wanna fuck them.”
Gabi sucked in her breath. “This is a place of business! In here you don’t talk like that!”
“Claudia,” I said firmly.
“OK, OK. Hey. I wanna glass of water.”
“In the kitchen. Glasses are in the cupboard over the sink.” Fortunately, a week before I’d taken down the disturbing photos of Lili’s mutilated body and tucked them away out of sight.
The kid disappeared. The cupboard banged shut—of course—and the tap ran, for way longer than was necessary. “Jesus, please help me,” Gabi muttered.
“OK, Gabi, let’s get down to business.” I sat in the hot seat.
“No, listen,” Gabi insisted.
All I could hear was the sound of cellophane rattling. “She’s stealing my chocolates,” Gabi hissed. “The little rata!”
But then, just as I groaned in frustration, there came from the kitchen a sharp cry of pain.
I shoved back the chair and ran to the doorway.
Claudia stood before the wall, her skinny arms wrapped tightly around her thin chest. She was staring at a captioned photo of Lance Stellato. “It says—it says he—forced my sister to have sex. Forced—”
“Claudia, listen to me.”
With a high-pitched scream, Claudia ripped the photo from the wall and turned on me. Fury rampaged in her eyes. “He raped her!”
“That was almost two years ago. Listen to me—” I stepped forward and grasped the wildcat by her shoulders.
But she twisted out of my grip and bolted for the door. Before I could react, she was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
It was an evening in midweek, and the national economy was struggling. Even so, the upscale Olio e Vino was packed to the gills with the dinner crowd.
I stood in a doorway across the street, observing the scene in the restaurant. The view in through the huge plate-glass window was excellent: apparently those who could afford to pay through the nose for a few tattered scraps of radicchio were happy to be observed by the peons in the street.
Everyone inside Olio was putting on a show, but no one more than the waiters, and no waiter more than Jared Crowley. Dressed in a freshly ironed white shirt and black slacks, his crisp blond hair gleamed platinum under the halogen lights. Even from this distance I could see how he affected an indifferent attitude toward the more submissive diners, and employed an obsequious touch when dealing with the dominant types.
Twenty minutes into the show, Jared disappeared. Another waiter responded to a crooked finger from one of Jared’s tables. I figured my prey must be on a break.
I crossed the street and entered the rarified atmosphere. Chatter and laughter, lights and delectable odors assailed me. I’d missed dinner, and my stomach sat up and begged. I tried not to think about food, glorious food. Because what did I have at home waiting for me, a frozen Salisbury steak?
“May I help you?” The hostess, who was probably also the manager, wasn’t sure if I’d come to eat or to present a problem. A hard edge ran just under her polite words. My jeans and T-shirt were not standard attire at Olio, but Santa Barbarans tend to be scruffy, and no doubt it could be tricky to distinguish the casual rich from the truly impoverished like myself.
“I’d like to speak with one of your employees. Jared Crowley.”
The hostess was in her fifties and rather handsome, in a plastic-surgery sort of way. Time for more work, though: the scoop neck of her sleeveless silk top revealed a good five inches of sagging cleavage. “I’m sorry. We ask our employees to conduct personal business outside work hours.” Her eyes had narrowed.
“I understand, but this is urgent. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Well, if it’s urgent … what did you say it’s about?”
“I didn’t, actually. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to say.”
She shrugged. “Oh, all right. Jared’s out in the back, taking a break. Make it quick, though. He needs to be on the floor in five.” She nodded at a swing door, then turned away.
I pushed through the door and found myself in the kitchen. A cook, one of four, was furious about something. He slammed a raw chicken breast down on the floor, then glared at me, challenging me to object.
“Where can I find Jared Crowley?”
“What?” he yelled. But then he pointed toward a heavy door set in the back wall.
I went through and found myself in a small, poorly lit yard paved in concrete. The space contained a metal table and chairs and an urn for cigarette butts, nothing more. A cyclone fence separated the space from an alley.
Jared sat at the table. The tip of his cigarette glowed orange-red.
“Chasing me down to my place of employment,” he said smoothly. “I don’t think I like it.”
“Sorry about that, Jared.” I made my voice as slippery-smooth as his. “Actually, that’s not true: I don’t much care if you like it or not.”
He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out on the tabletop. “What the fuck do you want.”
“You know what I want. Information. And just so we understand each other, with what I already know about you, I could go straight to the police.”
His face became a smooth unreadable mask. “Who says you haven’t?”
“I do.” I dropped into the opposite chair. “Know why?”
Jared curled a corner of his upper lip, but kept silent.
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