Monday Girl's Revenge

by David A. Thyfault

  “But you might get carried away.”

  “Look, all I want is a single kiss—to start the day off right. You’re not backing out, are you?”

  “No, but I want to get started,” she fibbed.

  He grinned and leaned in. “I’m glad to hear that. We’ll make it quick.”

  It wouldn’t look good to deny him a single kiss on their big day. She closed her eyes and let him kiss her. Predictably his claws went right to her rear end. She cringed and reminded herself that other women had to do worse things with him. She secretly counted to ten and then pulled away as gracefully as possible. “Okay, let’s go.”

  In the Caddie, with her recorder going, Delores figured that Lorraine would be nervous and prone to ask questions and some of them could lead to some useful information. “How long does it take to get a license?”

  “Not very long. Then we can go back home and finalize the deal.”

  She winced at the thought.

  “What about an ID?” she asked. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”

  “Won’t need it.”

  Additional questions generated similar curt and confident replies, which indicated that Dixon had employed his formula before. Words such as fraud and conspiracy came to mind. She avoided smiling.

  An hour and a half later, they rolled into a parking lot inland from Santa Monica. Delores recognized the four-story office building but had never been in it. After parking, Dixon made a call from his cell. “We’re here,” was all he said.

  He took her hand and led her inside to the cafeteria and then to a corner table, away from other customers. Five minutes later a tall, pepper-haired white guy in his fifties joined them and introduced himself as Louie. “Let’s make it quick. I’ve got a lot to do,” he said, placing a thin packet of papers on the table. He eyed the top sheet and addressed Delores. “I take it you’re Lorraine Martinez?”

  She nodded and wondered if this guy really worked in the building or if he came from someplace else. “Don’t you have an office where we should do this?”

  “He’s doing us a favor,” Dixon said. “It’s best to do this right here.”

  Louie looked at Dixon. “You’re Devin D. Brown with no e, correct?”

  “Yep. Devin D.”

  Hmm. That was interesting. Another one of Dixon’s aliases. She wondered how many other names he and Louie might have used. “Devin?” she asked. “But I thought your name is Dixon?”

  “Dixon is my middle name.”

  She shrugged as if she bought his explanation.

  Louie asked a few additional questions about Lorraine’s date of birth, her parents’ addresses and so forth but he didn’t ask whether she or Dixon had ever been divorced. Too bad, ’cause she was curious how Dixon would answer that one. A few minutes later Louie reached the back page of his custom-made packet and stamped it with a notary seal indicating his name was Lewis Drabble. “Okay, that’s it,” he said.

  Amused by the brevity of the ritual, Delores looked at Louie. “A friend at work told me that the license is just permission to get married. She said there would be a separate ceremony by a judge or priest. When do we do that?”

  Louie looked at Dixon, who took over. “Ceremonies are optional, and too expensive. We’re not going to waste the money.”

  “What about a ring?” Delores asked, holding back a mischievous grin. “My friend said I’m supposed to get a big diamond.”

  “It’s on order,” Dixon said.

  Louie glanced around the room before sliding his hand, palm up, toward Dixon. “You got those other papers?”

  Dixon nodded, reached in his back pocket and slipped his friend a sealed envelope, presumably Louie’s fee for making everything look almost official.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Nothing that concerns you.”

  Louie stuffed the envelope in his shirt pocket, rose and moved toward the door. Delores waited until he reached the hall before she sprang to her feet and turned to Dixon, “I gotta go to the bathroom.” She hustled out the room and into the hallway in time to see Louie press the “up” button on the elevator. Good. It shouldn’t be difficult to find him later.

  From there, she found the restroom and made a call to Rodger Kraft who agreed to watch for her and Dixon to return to the Cal-Vista in a couple hours.

  As she and Dixon returned to Palmdale, Dixon drove quickly, spoke excitedly and made exaggerated hand gestures. He reminded her of a twelve-year-old on his way to Disneyland. At the Cal-Vista parking lot, she observed Rodger Kraft’s car and hoped he was standing by. Once parked, Dixon grabbed her hand and led her toward his apartment, but there was no sign of Rodger Kraft.

  At Dixon’s apartment, he disregarded the tradition of carrying the bride over the threshold and opted to pull her inside like a caveman. He quickly pulled the curtains closed then twisted the deadbolt and reached for the buttons on Delores’s blouse. “Let’s begin our honeymoon right now.”

  With still no sign of Rodger Kraft, she pushed Dixon’s hand away and clung to her purse. “Wait. I have something to say.”

  “This ain’t no time for conversations.”

  “But my priest said that what we did today wasn’t really getting married. It was just permission to get married.”

  Dixon’s scowled. “What priest? He must be talking about a church wedding. Ours wasn’t that kind.” He sounded like a big kid on the playground who was ridiculing a younger kid who didn’t know the rules to a game. He reached for her blouse again. “You owe me and I’m done waiting.”

  She hugged her purse. “But I got some money from the church I can give you.”

  Dixon stood motionless for a few seconds and then looked her in the eye. “You’ve been sandbagging me again.” He nudged her backwards. “Won’t work this time. We’re going to the bedroom.” His tone was firm and eerie; saliva had gathered at the edge of his lips.

  Out of time, Delores reached for the top of her purse and access to her gun just as a loud knock came from the door. “Dixon. It’s me. Rodger. You in there?”

  Thank God. Dixon placed his hand on Delores’s mouth. “Keep quiet. He’ll go away.”

  But she pulled loose. “Yes, we’re in here,” she said loudly to the back of the door. She rushed over, pulled it open and mouthed thank you to Rodger.

  Rodger stepped inside. “Sorry to butt in, but I saw you just got back. I’m going to the bank and wanted to see if you have any other money for me to take while I’m at it?” Delores reached into her purse for the money Mr. Kraft had given her previously. “I was just paying him my rent money,” she said. “I have it right here. The full seven hundred.”

  Dixon glared at her and then looked at Rodger.

  “I won’t need a receipt,” she said as she slipped behind Rodger and out the door. “You both know that I paid.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  There weren’t many rich people in Palmdale. Fewer still lived in the Valley Elementary School area, which made it a perfect place for Delores to do some volunteer work. She could relate to these students because both she and they were Hispanic and of modest backgrounds.

  Contrary to her usual practice, she wore her uniform in hopes of showing the kids that they didn’t have to fear the police.

  The school itself was comprised of two attached buildings. Stonework and deep-red bricks lent the older section a certain majestic coldness that was typical for nearly all the official buildings that were constructed a century earlier when the railroads sprawled across the country like daddy longlegs.

  Later, perhaps in the late ’50s, another section had been added. Constructed of blonde bricks and smaller windows and doors, it lacked the architectural charm of the original structure.

  The final bell had just rung and the departing students enabled Delores to bypass the security buzzer. She was told she could find the art teacher, Carlton Fayes, in the so-called “newer section,” by a cluttered bulletin board. Loud kids rushed through the stuffy narr
ow hallway with enough happy noise to remind her that there were plenty of positive experiences in life to offset some of the ugliness that she frequently encountered. Her quickened pace and swinging arms made her realize that Dr. Moreno was correct about finding something external to work on. Delores already felt good about being there.

  A minute later, the wider halls, lower ceilings and brighter overhead lights indicated she’d reached the new section. Two doors down, she saw the cluttered bulletin board and its heading: Warning! Creative Minds at Work. Beneath the title, dozens of pictures of students, stapled one on top of another, competed for a piece of the board’s fame.

  “Uh-oh. I guess I’m busted,” a man said from behind her. She turned to see a tall, thin man with an ivory smile that would light up a room. “Hi, I’m Carlton Fayes,” he said. “Principal Haley said there was a policewoman looking for me?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m Delores Sanchez. I’m actually a detective but I sometimes wear a uniform so the kids know the police are their friends.”

  “Good idea,” he said, pointing to his classroom. “Let’s step into my office.”

  Inside, the walls were packed with paintings, drawings, posters and quotes of all types. Only a few boasted of genuine artistic talent, the remainder being just a notch above the kind of thing one might see on the refrigerator in the home of any normal student. The odd thing was, every single piece had a bold A+ on it.

  Carlton twisted two student desks so they faced each other. “Have a seat,” he said, as he squeezed his lanky body into the farthest one. “So, I understand you want to do some volunteer work. Do you know any of these students?”

  “No. I’m not a mom or anything like that,” she said, peeking at his bare ring finger. “I’m not even married. I’m just looking to be a positive role model for some of the girls because I know how difficult life can be for them.”

  Carlton nodded, stretching out his legs. “Well, you hit your first nail perfectly. What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m flexible, but something after school. I thought it should be fun, as opposed to studious or strenuous. That way we might get more participation.”

  “We already have art class, so I don’t think they’d want to hang around after school for more of the same.”

  “Well, I know a lady who does magical things with her fingernails. I could probably get some pointers from her and help the girls do their own nails.”

  He curled his lower lip and cocked his head to the side. “That might be a problem. We don’t allow the students to wear nail polish in school. I don’t actually know why. But even if we could get an exception, they’d have to remove it before the next school day. Do you know any activities that would include the boys? We try to do things that include everybody.”

  “Not really. I can’t sing or play an instrument. I guess we could memorize some poems?”

  He curled his lip again. “Possible, but that sounds like extra schoolwork. What would you think of decorating cupcakes? I might be able to get Mrs. Carbone in the cafeteria to mix up a batch.”

  Delores’s heart jumped. “I’m not real creative but it sounds fun.”

  “And who doesn’t love a cupcake once in a while? Maybe we could even sneak in some information about cupcake history.”

  Delores grinned. That sounded exactly like something a teacher would say. “I’d have to do a little studying myself,” she admitted. “I don’t know anything about cupcake history or decorating them or anything like that.”

  “I’ve got a secret for you,” Carlton said while leaning forward. “You just have to know enough to stay one step ahead of the students. They’ll be happy that somebody is spending time with them.”

  Delores thought it would be good for her to be around a handsome, single man in a safe environment. “I don’t have any of the pans or tools, do you?”

  “I’m not sure what they have in the cafeteria, but it can’t be very difficult,” he reassured her. “Why don’t we do a little research? I’ll ask Principal Haley and Mrs. Carbone if we can use the kitchen. If I get the all-clear, we can get what we need and see if there’s any interest in the idea. If it works out, maybe next year we can expand it somehow, perhaps for the holidays.”

  “That would be wonderful, but I have to be honest. I never know when I get called away on a case. I might have to miss a meeting in an emergency.”

  “No problem. I can take over if that happens, but I bet the kids will be disappointed if you’re not there.”

  That sounded a little like flirting. Maybe because she’d made that stupid comment about not being married. “At least the messes won’t be as permanent as if we spilled nail polish,” she said, grinning.

  Carlton matched her smiling face. “Trust me. We’ll still have our hands full.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  As expected, Myles did indeed go to Oklahoma on Saturday to get his mother. Stump put in a long day painting the fence between Cal-Vista and the Connors’ property, then he spent some time with Maria before he and James went to the Target store and then to see the new Harry Potter movie.

  Now it was Sunday morning and Stump had just jumped out of the shower. He was looking forward to a catch-up day. No work; no driving lessons; just a few hours to make some progress in his long-neglected schoolwork and then a few hours with Maria, hopefully at his place and all alone. Just then Maria called. “Are you checking up on me?” he asked, hoping she’d say something to the effect that she couldn’t live without him.

  “There’s been an accident,” she said, breathing hard. “Mama was making sopapillas and splashed hot oil on her hand. I need to get her to a doctor.”

  “Oh, no. Does she need an ambulance?”

  “It’s not that bad, but it stings. The people at the medical center want to get some salve and a bandage on it before she loses too much skin. Dixon went somewhere with Manuel, and it’s Mr. Kraft’s day off. Can you come get her?”

  The law required Stump to have a twenty-five-year-old licensed driver with him until he obtained his own license, and he didn’t like to borrow Myles’s truck without permission, but this was an emergency. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Please hurry. We’ll meet you outside in the parking lot.”

  Stump threw on his clothes and bolted to the truck. Behind the wheel, he cautiously hurried to Cal-Vista where he picked up Maria and her mother, whose hand was wrapped in a wet towel.

  “It’s not super bad,” Maria said as she buckled her seat belt, thereby revealing she was still wearing that damn bracelet that Dixon gave her. “Mama just needs something for the pain.”

  “Thank you for helping me,” Maria’s mama said. “You’re a good young man.”

  “No problem. I know where that place is.”

  Stump rushed Maria and her mama to the center and waited until Mrs. Quintana was escorted into an exam room for treatment. He tugged on Maria’s arm. “It’s going to be a while before she’s done. Let’s go to the truck. I have an early birthday present for you.”

  Maria smiled. “You do? What is it?”

  “You’ll see.” He grabbed her hand. “It’ll just take a minute. C’mon.”

  At the truck, Stump handed her a small bag he’d gotten from Target the night before. “I think you’ll like this,” he said.

  Maria pulled out a small white box, removed the lid, and screeched. “A bracelet. I can’t believe you.”

  “That’s gold over sterling silver,” he bragged, “and a brand-new diamond, not a used rock like Dixon gave you. This is a better bracelet, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is,” she said with a full smile. “It’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever given me.” She hugged Stump’s neck, then kissed his cheek.

  “You deserve it,” Stump said without mentioning a word about it costing him all of his last paycheck—and two-hundred additional dollars that he authorized himself to borrow from his joint checking account with Myles. All he knew for sure was he’d given Maria a nicer gift than Dixon
gave her and it felt great to one-up the bastard.

  Maria’s mama was released a little later, sporting a large white bandage. They said she could expect a near-perfect recovery with minimal scarring. Once in Myles’s truck, Maria showed her mama her new bracelet, then suggested they go see the doggie park. “Stump made it for his own mama,” she said proudly.

  Stump probably should have returned Myles’s truck but this was a good chance to impress Maria’s mama. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” he said with feigned modesty, “but don’t expect too much.”

  Minutes later, they pulled into a good-sized parking lot where a large stone slab was engraved with Jean Randolph Park. “It’s lovely,” Maria’s mama said.

  They walked down a short path to a life-size bronze sculpture of a woman and a young boy holding hands and facing two large fenced-in areas. Maria looked at the statues and lifted her hands to her mouth. “Oh, my God. That little boy is you.”

  “And my mom,” Stump said, grinning. “We’re facing east so we can see the sunrise every day.”

  Maria’s mama tapped Stump’s arm affectionately.

  Maria grabbed Stump’s hand and read the plaque that lay near the base. “This park is dedicated to Jean Randolph and Rachel Louise Johnson. RIP,” she said. “Who’s Rachel Johnson?”

  “The assistant principal at my school. They thought she committed suicide, but when I proved she was actually murdered, her grandmother felt a little better and gave me a reward.”

  “And you used that money to build this park?”

  “Kind of. When I said what I wanted to do with the money Granny was so pleased she donated this land too. So, we both played a role.”

  Maria squeezed Stump’s hand. “That Granny must be a very nice woman.” Her mama nodded.

  “She was, but she passed away just after the park was finished. The weird thing was, she didn’t have any other kids or anybody else to give her money to so she gave some of it to me.”

  “So that’s the trust money that you’ve mentioned?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t really get it until I’m 21—unless Myles says it’s okay.” He pointed at the fenced areas where there were over a dozen leash-free dogs running around and sniffing each other while most of the people gathered near a large cement picnic table.