by Kat Martin
It was a nightmare, she told herself. The same dream you had before.
Maria’s eyes welled with tears. She pressed a hand against her mouth to muffle a sob and tried to convince herself it was true.
* * *
Zachary Harcourt opened the front door of the house that was once his home at Harcourt Farms. It was a big, white, two-story wood-framed house with porches both front and rear, an impressive house that had been built in the forties and remodeled and improved over the years.
The molded ceilings were high, to help with the heat, and expensive damask draperies hung at the windows. The floors were oak and always polished to a glossy sheen. Zach ignored the sharp ring of his work boots as he walked down the hall into the room that had been his father’s study, a man’s room, paneled in dark wood, with shelves lining the walls filled with gold-edged leather-bound books.
The big oak, rolltop desk where his father used to sit still dominated the study, but now his older brother, Carson, sat in an expensive leather chair.
“I see you still don’t believe in knocking.” Carson turned toward him, one hand still resting on the paperwork on his desk. The enmity on his face was unmistakable. The same dislike was reflected in Zach’s eyes as well.
The men were about the same height, almost six foot two, though Carson, two years older, was heavier through the chest and shoulders, built more like their father. He was blond and blue-eyed like his mother, while Zach, a half brother born on the wrong side of the blanket, was more leanly built, with the nearly black, slightly wavy hair that had belonged to Teresa Burgess, his father’s long-time mistress.
It was said that Teresa carried a trace of Hispanic blood from a distant grandmother, but she had always denied it, and though Zach’s skin was darker than Carson’s, his cheekbones high and more sharply defined, he had no idea whether or not it was true.
One thing was certain. Zach had the same distinct gold-flecked brown eyes that stared back at him when he looked at his father, marking him clearly as Fletcher Harcourt’s son and Carson’s brother—much to Carson’s chagrin.
“I don’t need to knock,” Zach said. “In case you’ve forgotten, which you usually do, this house still belongs to our father, which means it is mine as much as it is yours.”
Carson made no reply. After the fall that had left Fletcher Harcourt’s motor functions impaired and his memory distorted, Carson, the eldest son, had been made conservator of the farm and all of their father’s affairs, including his health care. It had been an easy decision for the judge, since Zach was younger and had a prison record.
At twenty-one, Zach had spent two years in the California State Penitentiary at Avenal for manslaughter, convicted of a drunk-driving offense that had resulted in a man’s death.
“What is it you want?” Carson asked.
“I want to know what’s happening with the benefit. Knowing your penchant for getting things done, I assume everything is in order.”
“Everything’s under control, just like I said it would be. I told you I’d help raise money for this little project of yours and that’s what I’m doing.”
Two years ago, Zach had set aside his pride and come to Carson with the idea of establishing a boy’s camp for teens with drug and alcohol problems. As a youth, he’d been one of those kids, always in trouble, always butting heads with his family and the law.
But the two years he’d spent in prison had changed his life and he wanted that to happen for other boys who weren’t as lucky as he had been.
Not that he’d thought himself lucky at the time.
Back then, he’d been sullen and resentful, blaming everyone but himself for what had happened to him and what his life had become. Out of boredom and hoping to find a way of shortening his sentence, he had started to study law and discovered he seemed to have a knack for it. He had gotten his GED, taken the SAT’s and passed with extremely high marks, then gone to Berkley and enrolled in Hastings Law School.
Impressed by the changes he was trying to make in his life, his father had helped him with the tuition, and combined with the money from his part-time job, Zach had managed to get through school, graduating in the top percentiles of his class. He had passed the bar exam with flying colors and Fletcher Harcourt had used his influence to get Zach’s felony record expunged so that he could practice law.
Zach was now a successful lawyer with an office in Westwood, an apartment overlooking the ocean in Pacific Palisades, a slick new 645 Ci BMW convertible and the Jeep he drove whenever he came up to the valley.
He was living the good life and he wanted to give something back for the success he had found. Until that day two years ago, he had never asked his brother for anything—had sworn he never would. Carson and his mother had made Zach’s life miserable from the day his father had brought him home and announced plans to adopt him.
There was bad blood between them that would never go away, but Harcourt Farms belonged to Zach as much as Carson and though his brother had complete control, there was plenty of available land, and the location he had chosen for the site was exactly the perfect spot.
Zach remembered the day he had approached his brother, the amazement he had felt when Carson had so readily agreed to his proposal.
“Well, for once you’ve actually come up with a good idea,” Carson had said from his chair at the rolltop desk.
“Then you’re saying Harcourt Farms will donate the land?”
“That’s right. I’ll even help you raise the money to get the project off the ground.”
It had taken Zack several months before he realized his brother had once again neatly turned the tables. The project became Carson’s—though it was mostly Zach’s money that provided the funding—and the entire town was now in Carson’s debt.
Zach no longer cared. With Carson as spokesman, the money continued pouring in, enough to keep the farm running and even enough to expand. The more boys who could be helped, the better, as far as Zach was concerned. Zach would gladly stay out of the picture if it meant helping those kids, and with Carson’s name attached instead of his own, the upcoming benefit on Saturday night would likely be another success.
“I just wanted to check,” Zach said, thinking of the black tie affair he wouldn’t be attending. “Let me know if there’s anything you need me to do.” Instead, he would spend the weekend building the barn, working with the Teen Vision boys, something he had discovered he loved to do.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” Carson asked, though Zach figured having the black sheep of the family in attendance was the last thing Carson wanted.
“No thanks. I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”
“You could bring Lisa. I’ll be taking Elizabeth Conners.”
The name hit a cord in his memory bank. Liz Conners. She was four years his junior. Once, before he’d gone to prison, he’d been drunk and high and he had come on to her pretty hard outside the coffee shop where she had a part-time job after school. Liz had slapped his face—something no other woman had ever done—and he had never forgotten her.
“I thought she was married and living in Orange County someplace.”
“She was. She’s divorced now, moved back to town a couple of years ago.”
“That so?” San Pico was the last place Zach would want to live. Coming up to visit his dad in the rest home and working on expanding the youth farm was the most he could manage. “Tell Liz I said hello.”
Inwardly he smiled, thinking he was the last person Liz Conners would be happy to hear from. He’d kind of thought Liz was the sort of woman who’d be able to see through a man like his brother. Then again, there was no accounting for people’s tastes.
Carson said no more, just returned to the stack of work on his desk. Zach left the study without a goodbye and headed for his car. He was surprised Carson knew he had
been seeing Lisa Doyle and he didn’t like it that he did. He didn’t like Carson knowing anything about him. He didn’t trust his half brother and never had.
Whatever Carson might think, Lisa wasn’t really his type. But she liked hot, raunchy sex, no strings attached, and so did Zach, and they had been sleeping together off and on for years.
And he didn’t have to worry about getting a motel room when he was in town and Lisa didn’t have to worry about picking up some stranger in a bar when she wanted to get laid.
It was a good deal for both of them.
* * *
Elizabeth looked up at the sound of a knock at her door. The door swung wide and her boss, Dr. Michael James, stuck his head through the opening. Michael, just under six feet tall with sandy hair and hazel eyes, had a Ph.D. in psychology. He had opened the office five years ago. Elizabeth had been working for him for the past two. Michael was engaged to be married, but lately he seemed to be having second thoughts and Elizabeth wasn’t sure he was going to go through with the wedding.
“How’d it go with Raul?” he asked, another of the young man’s supporters. Raul had a way of endearing himself to people, though on the surface he seemed to do his best to achieve just the opposite.
“He’s decided to enroll in the program.”
“That’s great. Now if he’ll just stick to it.”
“He was excited, I think. Of course, Sam could sell sour milk to cows.”
“So you were impressed with the farm. I thought you would be.”
“It’s really coming along. Carson has done a wonderful job.”
“Yes, he has. Though it seems to me everything he does is a bit self-serving. Lately, I heard a rumor he may be running for a seat in the state assembly.”
“I don’t know him very well, but he seems community-minded. Maybe he’d be good for the job.”
“Maybe.” Though Michael didn’t seem completely convinced.
They spoke for a moment more, then Dr. James left the office and the phone rang. When Elizabeth picked it up, she recognized Raul Perez’s voice.
“I am calling about my sister,” he said simply. “I saw her this morning after Miguel went to work. She was very upset. She tries to hide it, but I know her too well. Something is wrong. Do you think you could stop by the house sometime today?”
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to get over there to see her. I’ll stop by this afternoon. Will your sister be home?”
“I think so. I wish I knew what was wrong.”
“I’ll see if I can find out,” Elizabeth promised and as she hung up the phone she wondered what it could be.
In a job where she dealt with family violence, drugs, robbery and even murder, it would take a great deal to surprise her.
CHAPTER THREE
It was after five o’clock, and the office was closed by the time Elizabeth was able to leave. She made the drive through town in the after-five traffic, nothing like the bumper-to-bumper, endless line of cars on the L.A. freeways she used to battle when she lived in Santa Ana, but enough to keep her stopped on Main Street through two sets of red lights.
Downtown San Pico was only ten blocks long, some of the store signs printed in Spanish. Miller’s Dry Cleaners, perched on the corner, had a laundromat attached. There was a JC Penney catalog store, several clothing stores, and a couple of diners, including Marge’s Café, where she had worked part-time in high school.
As she drove past the coffee shop, she could see the long Formica counter and pink vinyl booths inside. Even after twenty years, the place still did a brisk business. Aside from The Ranch House, a steak and prime rib restaurant at the edge of town, it was the only decent place to eat.
A few straggly sycamore trees grew out of the sidewalks that lined the downtown streets but not many. There were a couple of gas stations, a Burger King, a McDonald’s and a sleezy bar called The Roadhouse out where Highway 51 intersected Main Street. The biggest boon to the area had been the arrival two years ago of a Wal-Mart, built to service the town and several outlying farming communities.
Elizabeth continued down Main and turned onto the highway, heading for Harcourt Farms. The little yellow house where Maria and Miguel Santiago lived sat just off the road in an area of the farm that included three other overseers’ houses, half a dozen farm laborer cottages, and the big, white, wood-frame, two-story owner’s house, which sat some distance away.
Elizabeth’s car bumped over a set of abandoned railroad tracks not far from the house. She pulled off the road into a spot next to the driveway and climbed out of the Acura.
She had saved for two years to get the down payment for the car and she loved it. With its red leather seats and wood-paneled interior, it made her feel younger just to sit behind the wheel. She had bought the car because she thought that at thirty, she shouldn’t be feeling as old as she often did.
She walked along the cement sidewalk past a flower bed blooming with red and yellow zinnias. Elizabeth knocked on the front door of the house, and a few minutes later, Maria Santiago pulled it open.
“Ms. Conners.” She smiled. “What a nice surprise. It is good to see you. Please come in.” Maria was a slender young woman, except for the protrusion of her belly and her ever-increasing breasts. Her long black hair was braided, as she often wore it, and hanging down her back.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth walked into the house, which Maria kept immaculately clean. The girl, as neatly kept as the house, wore a pair of white, ankle-length pants and a loose-fitting blue-flowered blouse. Except for the tight lines around her mouth and the faint smudges beneath her eyes, she looked lovely.
“Miguel and I, we want to thank you for what you did for Raul. I have never seen him so excited, though of course, he tried not to show it.” She frowned as a thought occurred. “He is not in more trouble? That is not the reason you are here?”
“No, of course not. This has nothing to do with Raul. Except that your brother is worried about you. Raul asked me to stop by.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He thinks you are upset about something. He isn’t sure what it is. He hoped that you might talk to me about it.”
Maria glanced away. “My brother is imagining things. I am fine, as you can see.”
She was pretty, with her big dark eyes and classic features, and more than six months pregnant. Elizabeth had come to know Maria and Miguel through her dealings with Raul and she liked them both, though Miguel’s overly macho attitude could be irritating at times.
“It is hot outside,” Maria said. “Would you like a glass of iced tea?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
They sat down at a wooden table in the kitchen. Maria went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic pitcher, then popped cubes from an ice tray into two tall glasses and filled them with chilled tea.
She set the glasses down on the table. “Would you like some sugar?”
“No, this is perfect just the way it is.” Elizabeth sat down at the small round table covered by a flowered plastic tablecloth and took a sip of her tea.
Maria stirred sugar into hers, paying slightly more attention to the task than necessary, Elizabeth thought, wondering again what the problem could be. Raul was a shrewd young man. He wouldn’t have called without good reason.
“It must be hard being alone all day this far from town,” Elizabeth began cautiously.
“There is always work to do. Before it got so hot, I worked in my garden. Now, with the baby getting bigger, I cannot stay out in the sun for so long. But I have clothes to mend and food to prepare for Miguel. Since we moved into the house, he comes home for lunch. He works very hard. I like to make sure he has something good to eat.”
“So the two of you are getting along all right?”
“Sí. We get along very well. My hus
band is a good man. He is a very good provider.”
“I’m sure he is. Still, I imagine he often works late, which means you are home by yourself. Is that the reason you aren’t sleeping well?” It was a risk. She was guessing and a wrong guess might bring the young woman’s guard up even more.
“What…what makes you think I am not sleeping?”
“You look tired, Maria.” Elizabeth reached across the kitchen table and clasped the girl’s hand. “What is it, Maria? Tell me what’s wrong.”
The girl shook her head and Elizabeth caught the sheen of tears. “I am not certain. Something is happening, but I do not know what it is.”
“Something? Like what?”
“Something very bad, and I am afraid to tell Miguel.” She drew her hand away. “I think…I think I might be getting sick like my mother.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Your mother had a tumor, didn’t she? Is that what you mean?”
“Sí, a tumor, yes. In her brain. Before she died, she started to see things that were not there, to hear voices calling out to her. I think maybe that is happening to me.” Leaning over, she hugged her swollen belly and burst into tears.
Elizabeth sat back in her chair. It was possible, she supposed but there could be any number of explanations. “It’s all right, Maria. You know I’ll help you in any way I can. Tell me why you think you might have a tumor like your mother.”
Maria looked up, her hand shaking as she brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “In the night…when Miguel is working, sometimes I hear noises. They are very frightening sounds, creaking and groaning, moaning that sounds like the wind but the night is still. The air in the bedroom grows thick, and so heavy I can hardly breathe.” She swallowed. “And then there is the smell.”