by Jeff Shelby
The boy eyed us suspiciously then barked something at Beto in Spanish.
“Is fine,” Beto told him, shaking his head. “They are friends.” He turned to me. “Excuse my son. He, too, get nervous when strangers arrive.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
Beto turned back to the two teenagers and beckoned them toward us. He chattered in Spanish to them and he spoke far too quickly for me to understand any of it. Both of the kids maintained their wariness.
“This is my son, Javier, and my daughter, Isabella,” Beto said.
Javier offered his hand to both myself and Carter, but the daughter stayed behind her father, still eyeing us with suspicion.
“Would you mind if I showed them the pictures?” I asked Beto.
“Of course,” Beto said, nodding. “Please do.”
I held them out to Javier and explained that we were looking for the woman and that the photos had been taken on the ranch. He looked at them, first one, then the other, then both again.
“Never seen her,” he said, without any trace of a Spanish accent. “Why are you looking for her?”
“We honestly don't know,” I told him. “She just showed up on Mr. Dowdell's computer, images captured from one of the cameras he has on the property, and he's asked us to see if we can find her and make sure she's alright.”
The boy looked at the pictures again and shook his head. “Sorry, I don't know her and I've never seen her.” He passed them to Isabella. “Take a look, 'mana.”
She made a face at him like she was annoyed with him, then took the photos from him. She glanced at them quickly, bit her bottom lip, then shook her head. “Me, either.” She held them out to me. “I don't know her.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“Didn't I say I was?”
“Isabella,” Beto said, sharply.
The girl's shoulders fell. “Sorry, Papa.” She shuffled her feet in the dirt. “Sorry for being rude. But I don't know her.”
I took the photos back from her. “It's okay. Thanks.”
“We're going down to 32,” Javier said to his father. “Manuel needs some help moving ladders. That okay, Papa?”
Beto nodded. “Si. See if anyone else needs you.”
Javier nodded, then motioned for his sister.
Isabella gave me one last wary look, then jogged after her brother.
“I am sorry,” Beto said. “I also must get to work.”
“What's 32?” Carter asked.
“A grove number,” Beto answered. “The ranch is cut into numbers and areas. It is so big, it is only way to keep track of places. My children, they help when they are home. After school and on the weekends.”
Carter nodded.
“What is your job here?” I asked.
“I manage our workers,” he said. “The pickers, the landscapers, anyone who works in the groves, I am responsible for them.”
“So then you work for Mr. Sloan?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. But as I say before. I only talk to him when I have problem.”
“Smart strategy,” I said.
He smiled. “Yes. But I really must go now.”
“One more question,” I said. “And I appreciate you talking to us. Do you like working for Henry?”
Beto stood a little taller. “Yes, sir. Mr. Dowdell, he is not like many other landowners. He treats us well. Fair.” He gestured to the house. “I pay for this house with my salary here. He let me put it here because he did not want me to leave.” He paused, thinking. “Mr. Dowdell treats us well. That is not a usual thing.”
I nodded. “I understand.” I handed him my card. “We’ll be around today and maybe tomorrow talking to people to see if they recognize the girl. If you think of anything or hear of anything, please call me.”
He examined the card and then tucked it safely into his shirt pocket. “I will do that, Mr. Braddock. Thank you.”
He shook hands with both Carter and myself, then jogged back into his home.
EIGHTEEN
Carter and I walked the ranch for another hour. We talked to maybe a dozen more workers, but struck out. The girl was familiar to no one. We decided to head out and regroup.
“So,” Carter said as we drove away. “Thoughts? Besides thinking your mouth is dry as fuck and you’re ready to eat a whale?
“My thoughts are what they were mostly before we started,” I told him. “This is a wild goose chase.”
“Except no one has even seen the goose.”
“Exactly.”
“You said mostly, though.”
I took us down the cloverleaf loop and onto the highway. “Two things, I guess. Sloan was a dick and armed when he didn't need to be. Just kind of odd, right?”
“Those two things aren't really that odd,” Carter said. “I'm usually both.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I could see being armed when you're out in remote parts of the ranch,” he pointed out. “So that doesn't seem all that off to me. The dick part, I don't know. He found two guys wandering around. Not someone we wanna have beers with, but doesn't necessarily make him a villain.”
“I suppose,” I said.
“What's the other thing?”
“The girl,” I said. “Beto’s daughter.”
“Okay.”
“Her reaction,” I explained. “Just felt...a little off.”
“And quick.”
I nodded. “And quick. Not sure if anything is there, but I didn't buy her answer or her reaction.”
“I don’t know,” Carter said. “But she might've just been pissed that we were talking to her dad. Or she might have just been pissed that she had to talk to us. She’s a teenager. Enough said.”
He wasn't wrong. Maybe I was just looking for things to justify the investigation. Because after spending the morning on the Dowdell ranch, we'd discovered exactly zero about the girl in the photos. I had no idea if Isabella did know something or if I was just looking for something because I wanted to find something.
“Maybe,” I said. “I don't know.”
“What now?”
“Truly have no idea,” I said, leaning back in the seat and checking the rearview mirror. “Probably canvas local businesses, though I don't think there are a ton. Just do kind of a perimeter ask and if no one knows her, I'll go back to Dowdell with that.”
“Not much else to do,” Carter said. “Sorry.”
“Is what it is.”
“I'm assuming we're heading for lunch,” he said. “The one you now owe me for services rendered.”
“You weren't of much service.”
“Come on. I asked a couple questions. I looked tough.”
“So tough.”
“I threatened Sloan with his own gun. That should count for something.”
I laughed. “I suppose. Yeah, we'll get lunch.” I paused. “How hungry are you?”
“Oh, so now there's like a dollar limit?” He shook his head. “That was not in the contract.”
“No, no,” I said. “Lunch is lunch, no limit on the amount. I meant, can you wait for a bit?”
He made a face. “For how long? ‘Cuz I’m pretty much ready to eat my hand.”
I glanced at the clock and then back at him. “About 45 minutes?”
“Where the hell are we going?”
I glided over into the fast lane and stepped down on the accelerator. “Coronado.”
NINETEEN
We ate at Clayton's, a coffee shop on Orange, just down the road from the Hotel Del Coronado. Carter devoured two fried egg sandwiches, a plate of cheese fries, and a peanut butter milkshake. I picked at a cheeseburger and ended up giving half of it to him, along with my fries.
Eating lunch was as much to pay back Carter for his help as it was to delay the actual reason I'd suggested coming down to Coronado. I knew that Liz's house was waiting for me and I'd purposely avoided it. But I felt like as long as it was in limbo, I would be in limbo.
I didn't want
to be in limbo forever.
I paid the check and we made the three-minute drive over into the neighborhood near the harbor side of the island. I pulled the SUV to the curb across the street from the house and shut off the engine.
“Well, this is really weird,” Carter said.
“Yep.”
“I'm totally serious when I ask this. Are we going in or are we just gonna sit here?”
“Ha.”
“Not being funny, Noah. If you just need to ease into this, I get it.”
I pushed open my door. “I think I've eased into this for long enough now.”
I stepped out of the car and a hard knot tied itself in my gut. The lawn in front of the house was a little ragged, and small blades of grass had crept into the minute cracks in the driveway. The windows were dusty, and the entire facade of the house seemed to have faded.
Or maybe that was just my eyes.
I pulled out my wallet and took the key to the front door from the back of the billfold. I shoved the wallet back into my pocket and wrapped my hand around the key. It felt cold, heavy.
We walked across the street and up the slight incline of the driveway and I paused on the short stoop at the front door. I hadn't been inside the house since...since. The knot grew inside my stomach. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and carefully slid the key into the lock. The bolt slid out and the clicking noise sounded like a cannon going off in my ears. I pushed open the door and we stepped inside.
Carter closed the door behind us and I stood there in the entryway for a moment, paralyzed. My legs felt wooden and my throat closed up as I took in the stairs, the living room.
“You alright?” Carter asked.
“No.”
“Okay.”
I realized my hands were clenched tightly into fists and I forced myself to let go. I flexed my fingers.
I knew the house had been vacant for too long for it to be true, but I smelled her shampoo and heard her laugh, like she was upstairs getting ready to come down. The thin layer of dust that had taken up residency on nearly everything was doing its best to convince me that my mind was playing tricks on me, but if I'd had to lay money on it, I would've said Liz was still in the house.
But I knew she wasn't.
I walked slowly through the rooms on the first floor, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath my feet, memories meeting me around each corner. My heart hammered inside my chest. I rested my hand on the tiled kitchen counter, steadying myself.
This was why I'd avoided it for so long. Because I knew it would be like this. I knew it would rip open the void inside me that I'd been desperately trying to fix.
But I also knew I couldn't avoid it forever.
I circled around out of the kitchen and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“I don't think I can go upstairs,” I said, my eyes moving in that direction.
Carter nodded. “Understandable. You want me to go take a look around?”
“You mind?”
He shook his head and took the stairs two at a time, disappearing around the hallway corner at the top.
I shuffled my feet against the wood and made my way into the small sitting room to my right. I sat down gingerly on the leather loveseat next to the window. I ran my hand over the wrinkles in the leather.
We'd made love in the same exact spot maybe a month before her death. I'd been sitting there, scrolling through emails on my phone, and Liz had walked in. She took my phone from my hand, pulled the curtain closed on the window, and straddled me on the couch, making her intentions very clear. I hadn't resisted and she'd collapsed against me when we'd finished, our skin pasted together with sweat.
“That was unexpected,” I’d said.
“Sorry,” she’d murmured, her heart pounding against my chest. “I know you hate surprises.”
“I made an exception.”
She'd laughed in my ear and wrapped her arms around my neck, her lips next to ear. “I love you, Noah.”
“Love you, too.”
We'd had a lot of moments like that before she'd been killed. I'd finally gotten my shit together, grown up maybe, and we'd found our footing as a couple. Partners.
I ran my hand over the leather again, my nails digging into the cracks.
I wished there had been more.
Carter's footsteps on the stairs brought me back to the present.
He found me in the sitting room. “You okay?”
“You keep asking me that. I must look like shit.”
He shrugged.
“I'm fine.”
He nodded. “Okay. Upstairs is...upstairs. Nothing out of place, everything pretty much where it’s supposed to be.” He looked around. “Same as down here.”
“Alright. Thanks.”
He nodded again.
The silence was deafening.
“I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, man.”
“No one says you have to.”
“I need to do something here.” I leaned back in the sofa. “I need to do something with this.”
“Okay.”
“Any suggestions?”
He smiled. “Not sure it's my place to make suggestions. She'd probably haunt both of us if you leave it up to me.”
I forced a laugh. “Maybe. But I'm asking.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. “I don't know, dude. And I'm not just saying that. I really don't know. I don't see you living here. I think it would be too...hard.”
I nodded.
“But selling this place?” he said, letting his eyes work the room. “I don't know. I mean, I think she'd be okay with it if you think it's what's best for you. I really do. I'm not saying that to make you feel better. She entrusted you with it.”
“I know. But?”
The corner of his mouth curved upward again. “But it's a fucking nice house on Coronado. Kind of hard to come by, right?”
I nodded.
“But you don't wanna be one of those assholes that comes in and tears this down and puts up some soulless box,” he continued. “That isn't you, and she'd hate that.”
“Agreed.”
“I'm not helping. Sorry.”
I waved a hand in the air. “It's okay.”
“Just think on it,” he said. “I'll think on it, too. There's no rush.” He paused. “This today? Coming here? This is a pretty good first step.”
I stood from the sofa. “I guess.”
“It is, Noah,” he said. “Don't dismiss it. Not easy walking in here for me, so can't imagine what it feels like for you.” He shrugged. “So this is a small victory. And so is thinking about what to do with it. That's forward progress. Be cool with that today.”
I reached into my pocket for the key. I held it in the palm of my hand, then folded my fingers over it.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling anything but cool. “Okay.”
TWENTY
I spent the rest of the day lost in thought about Liz and the house. I couldn't concentrate on anything else and even when we got back to the house and we went out to the water, I wasn't into it. I spent more time straddling the board and staring at the water than actually trying to ride it. I skipped dinner, took a shower, and went to bed. I woke in the middle of the night, realizing I'd never texted or called Sarah, and felt like a complete prick. I contemplated texting her there in the middle of the night and decided against it. Instead, I crawled out of bed early, went for a quick run on the beach, showered again, and showed up at her office at USD with breakfast burritos.
She looked up from her desk when I knocked on the doorframe, surprised. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said and held up the bag. “You have time for breakfast?”
“If you don't mind eating it here, sure.”
“Here's good,” I said, sliding into the seat across the desk from her.
She was wearing a pink sundress and a white sweater, and her hair was back in some sort of braid.
I laid the bag on the desk and s
he pushed a thin stack of manila folders to the side.
“Sorry I didn't call yesterday.”
“I cried all day,” she said, reaching for the bag.
“Shit. I'm sorry.”
She laughed and pulled one of the foil-wrapped burritos from the bag. “I'm kidding. You weren't that great.”
I froze.
“Shit. Now I'm sorry,” she said, observing my paralysis. She reached across the desk and laid her hand over mine. “Noah. Relax. It was one night. We aren't married.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. But, seriously. I'm sorry. I did mean to call you and I just got busy. Not blowing you off.”
She unwrapped the foil. “You brought me breakfast unannounced. I do not feel blown off. And thank you.”
I settled into the chair. “Okay.”
She took a bite, the steam wafting off the burrito. “This is good.”
“Little place on Morena,” I said.
She nodded, reaching for a napkin. “Glad I didn't have time to eat this morning.”
“Me, too,” I said, forcing a smile.
“So,” she said, pulling down a little more of the foil. “What were you busy with yesterday?”
“Was up at your dad's,” I said. “Carter and I went up there.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And?”
I shrugged. “I still think I'm wasting your father's money.”
“Tell me.”
I recounted what we'd done up at the ranch.
She'd finished the burrito by the time I was done and balled up the foil. “Lucky you, getting to meet Marcus.” She gestured at the bag. “Eat the other one or I'm gonna feel like a pig eating alone.”
I grabbed it from the bag. “You know him? Sloan?”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “He's worked for my dad since I was a kid. He's good at his job, but has pretty much zero personal skills.”
“Gathered that.”
“When I was a kid, he was just sort of scary,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “You know, just like the mean adult or whatever. So I tried to stay away from him. But then when I got older, I just decided he was a bit of a…a curmudgeon.” She shrugged. “Dad says he's great at what he does, though, and that’s what matters.”