Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis

by Maria Grazia Swan

  I didn’t know if he cut me with the small knife, I felt no pain and refused to linger on it. Instead, I sprinted toward the clusters of people standing idle. He grabbed the back of my denim jacket and jerked me back. Not so fast. I kept on pulling forward, and in an instant he was left holding my jacket while I ran and screamed.

  “Help, help.”

  Was everyone deaf? And like in a predictable bad movie scene, I tripped and went down, and Rogelio tripped on my feet, landing inches from my face.

  The shadow of his hand holding the knife high above me fell across my face, and my whole body started to shake.

  That’s when I heard, “Put it down or I’ll shoot.”

  Neighbor Bob stood right across from Rogelio, looking like a real mean dude. He would have scared me to death had I not known him. Wow.

  In minutes we were surrounded by cameras, microphones, and media people. But no police? Someone helped me up, someone else handed me the bag I had thrown, and before I could check my left side, Detective Ross was splitting the crowd and arresting Rogelio Avondo.

  He didn’t even put up a fight. The weirdest part of all was when the people standing around spontaneously clapped and shouted bravo to Neighbor Bob.

  And me? I craned my neck as hard as I could hoping to get a glimpse of that mansion on the low hill. Was he watching? Did he see the man who may have killed Silvia De Aguilar now trying to kill me? Detective Liz Reid, rosy cheeks and steady stride, approached her partner to help with the arrest.

  I nodded at her and returned to stare at the hill. Detective Reid stepped closer, patted my arm, and whispered, “He’s not there. He’s staying with a friend.” Then she went to talk to Neighbor Bob.

  Was I so transparent? Some of the lookie-loos, like a changing wave, surrounded me, asking my name. But Detective Reid stepped in and reminded me I would need to go with her and Neighbor Bob to give a statement. Another police car arrived in a squeal of tires. Someone handed me the denim jacket, covered in dust. Whatever spunk had sustained me I didn’t know, but it was quickly evaporating. I offered to drive my own SUV to the police headquarters.

  Reid shook her head and pointed to my hands. Wow, didn’t know how badly I was shaking. Then she moved even closer and bent to check out my waist.

  “Monica, you’re bleeding. Let me see. We need to get you checked out.”

  I attempted to convince her it wouldn’t be necessary.

  “It doesn’t look deep, but we must follow protocol,” she replied. “Come sit in my car while we wait. How are you feeling? All that adrenaline must have kept you going. You probably didn’t know that creep cut you.” Suddenly Detective Reid was speaking to me as a friend, or even more, as a sister.

  I should have said something, thanked her, I don’t know. But I couldn’t. It was as if my whole being had sprung a leak and my soul had seeped out. All I wanted was to sit and cry and have someone close to keep me warm and dry my tears and tell me everything was going to be all right.

  But houses, even the special ones, don’t have a beating heart, only shuttered gates.

  EIGHTEEN

  THE EMT WHO cleaned my small cut and applied a butterfly bandage was from the fire department, not the police. Apparently, they had a whole emergency call system with smaller vehicles equipped for situations like mine. I thought that was a very clever and practical thing. He took his time while Rogelio was getting loaded into a vehicle for his trip to jail.

  With a little bit of luck, the pack of rabid news seekers would follow the police cars to catch shots of the man just arrested. They did, and soon only a few vehicles and one bicycle were left, and those might even have belonged to some of the crew working on the Dumont house.

  Once the emergency vehicle left, I went back to my SUV and took a slow ride by the front gate and then the side of the house on my way to Shea Boulevard and home. I looked up one last time and noticed the smoke damage to one of the windows. That was it. Still, it felt so personal.

  By the time I parked the SUV in the garage, Brenda was standing smack in the center of the entrance. No way to quietly let the door slide shut and run home without crushing her to death. Might as well listen to her lecture and be done with it. After all, I got lucky, it could have been a lot worse. And regardless, Neighbor Bob was bound to chat up the saving-my-life incident to the whole street. While getting my cut attended to, I gave Detective Reid a rundown on my second unfortunate encounter with Rogelio Avondo and had at least temporarily postponed a trip to the PD to make a formal statement.

  Now came the dreaded part, looking Brenda in the eyes and explaining why I went over to the Dumonts’ place after she spent thirty minutes warning me not to.

  To my surprise, all she said was, “Are you okay?”

  A loaded question... so I shrugged, rolled my eyes, and started to walk toward my place, ostentatiously bouncing the Fry’s plastic bag with the lonely salt purchase.

  She shook her head. “Bob called.”

  Nooo, so fast? “Neighbor Bob?” I nearly choked on the name.

  “Officer Bob Clarke. He said you were hurt.”

  Busted. “Oh.” I lifted my shirt. “It’s nothing, see? Tiny bandage.”

  “How about you come sit on my couch for ten minutes and get me up to speed?” Without waiting for my answer, she clicked the garage door. It shut behind me as Dior scratched at the back door, eager to join the party.

  Her TV was on, and even if it wasn’t time for the evening news, images of Rogelio Avondo being walked into jail filled the screen. Brenda totally ignored the arrest unfolding on the local channel, pointing to an envelope resting on the coffee table.

  What was that? I looked up, and Tristan’s home flashed on the screen. The sound had been muted. Dior circled around the coffee table with his perfect rendering of the so-sad eyes. I petted him, but the letter held my attention.

  “A young lady, forgot her name, delivered it for you. You weren’t home, so she left it with me.”

  “I see.” I tapped my finger on the top of the coffee table. Something didn’t feel right. Was this a trick? The envelope looked rather generic, maybe a little on the square side, like for birthday cards and such. It wasn’t my birthday. M. Baker. That’s all that was on it. I picked it up cautiously.

  “It doesn’t bite,” Brenda said.

  I turned it around, sealed.

  “I’m pouring myself a glass of wine. How about you?” I nodded, my eyes on the envelope. Oh, what the hell? I ripped the back open. Inside was a folded sheet of typing paper, and when I opened it, I recognized Tristan’s handwriting. I gulped, totally unprepared.

  Will call you this evening, around nine. T.

  I knew Brenda was watching me. Was I supposed to not tell anyone? Why all the secrecy? I handed the note to Brenda and waited for her reaction.

  “Why this?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Monica. The poor man must be going through hell. Bob said there is an APB out for Angelique Chervais. Her Escalade was found in the long-term parking of the Mesa-Gateway Airport. They are going through every flight to figure out where she went and if she used an alias. She must have acted pretty fast. I bet she left that criminal who attacked you high and dry. Why would he have been hanging around the house if he didn’t expect to meet her there? At least that’s what I’m thinking. I’m keeping the news on to see if something else shows up.”

  “What’s an APB?”

  “All-points bulletin. That’s the term used when they don’t know exactly where someone wanted by the law is. The notice goes out nationwide.”

  “My money is on Mexico.” I sighed. “I’m guessing they don’t think Angelique was the body in the burned car?”

  Brenda shook her head. “Bad people tend to die last.” She slammed down the wine glass, and I knew her anger was toward Angelique. “Look, Rogelio is locked up, Tristan is accounted for, and Angelique, well, I tend to agree with you regarding Mexico. But maybe that’s too obvious. What I’m saying is that the only other one
unaccounted for is... Lois. Except I can’t figure out how she even had anything to do with this mess.

  “Tristan was telling the detectives that Lois was hired after he came back from Mexico with his father’s ashes while Angelique was in a private clinic due to her so-called bad health and injuries from the car accident. You know what? Let’s stop guessing, and maybe we should eat a snack. Is Tristan going to call you on your cell?”

  “I don’t know. But that reminds me, I need to call my buyer to confirm tomorrow’s inspection time. You know that home he’s buying for an adult assisted living? All my paperwork is in the car. I’ll get it while you make the snacks.”

  “Good idea, I’d feel better with you sticking around here until we know they’ve found Angelique.”

  “Oh, Brenda, Angelique doesn’t care about me. I have nothing she wants, and I certainly can’t hurt her.”

  “See? Big mistake. Never underestimate the adversary.”

  “Adversary? Brenda, seriously... I think she hated Tristan’s mom even though she never met her. Why else would she have burned the room where Tristan kept all of his mom’s stuff?”

  “I think she set fire to the place to hide the fact she stole everything of value, including personal jewelry that Tristan had from his mom. And she emptied the ranch’s bank account.”

  I didn’t answer. Somehow deep down I knew Brenda was right. I got up to go back to the garage to retrieve my folder with Greg Coste’s info, and Dior beat me to the back door.

  “Oh, poor baby, I can’t take you for a walk right this minute, but I will before I go to bed? Okay, big boy?”

  He didn’t approve, but I meant it about the walk.

  Brenda said a young lady delivered the letter. Who? I couldn’t wash away a nagging feeling, I remembered Detective Reid’s comment. “He’s staying with a friend.” I was ashamed to admit to myself that I was jealous. Maybe it was the lack of food. I couldn’t possibly be so shallow, could I?

  “Can I help? Should I set the table?” I asked Brenda. On the TV screen a local reporter was interviewing one of the influencers and her entourage. I would have liked to know what they were talking about.

  “Nah, I’m making a salad, warming some rolls, and that’s it. I haven’t had time to go get groceries since I got back.”

  “I have salt,” I offered. We looked at each other and laughed.

  Brenda’s snack consisted of a scrumptious salad she put together with some of the apples from the ranch and plain lettuce, plus walnuts she always kept handy since they don’t spoil. Had no clue what type of dressing she used, buttermilk?

  I had to call Greg Coste before it was too late in the evening.

  “Hello, Monica, are we still on for tomorrow?” He sounded in a very good mood.

  “Yes sir, absolutely. Eleven o’clock. If you have questions regarding the items the inspector will be checking out, don’t hesitate to ask. I usually suggest buyers make themselves notes, because it can be overwhelming at times, and you may forget.”

  “That’s a very good suggestion,” Brenda chimed from the kitchen.

  “Who was that?” Greg Coste asked.

  “Oh, that’s Aunt Brenda. I’m at her house. I often invite myself to eat since she’s such a good cook.”

  “Right, I remember... the one you told me about, the expert regarding adult assisted living. Why don’t you ask your aunt if she’d care to come and take a look? Four eyes are better than two, correct?”

  Four? How about me? My eyes didn’t count?

  “I will; I promise. You’ll like her. She’s very, very knowledgeable.”

  I said goodbye and got off the phone five seconds before the dishrag Brenda flung at me hit my shoulder. And poor Dior was getting very confused about this game that he didn’t understand but we seemed to enjoy.

  Brenda ended up taking a walk around the neighborhood with Dior and me, and I talked up Greg Coste like he was a movie star or something until she finally agreed to go to the inspection with me the next morning.

  “You need to wear nice clothes,” I said. “He always dresses like that man on TV they say is the most interesting man or something.”

  “Hey, kid, are you trying to set me up?”

  “Why not? The widow across the street got Bob Clarke with her silly animal-print getups and all that perfume...”

  We were coming around the corner and saw Bob Clarke getting out of his car parked in front of the widow’s house. Talk about timing. He must have noticed us, because he crossed the street. I guess Dior is hard to miss even if he blends well with the early evening dusk.

  “Hello, ladies, glad to run into you. There have been some new developments. Make sure to watch the news. Unfortunately nothing good. The Medical Examiner has determined that the body in the burned car is that of Lois Thomas. I’m sorry. I know you both liked her. No cause of death yet, but they released her identity to the media hoping someone can provide us information.

  “And if that’s not sad enough, the criminal who attacked Monica twice may get out of jail. They are charging him with the attacks and vehicle theft. But until they can come up with something else, if he can post bond, he’s out.”

  If an asteroid had fallen on my head, I wouldn’t have felt so hit by the latest turn of events. Rogelio Avondo back on the streets of Phoenix? We all knew that old saying: Third time is the charm. He had already assaulted me with a knife twice.

  Brenda didn’t waste any time. “Monica, you need to stay at my place until that man is locked up for good. Don’t you agree, Bob?”

  Poor Bob looked at me and at Brenda, petted Dior between the ears, then sighed and said, “You two will work it out; I’m sure.” He turned on his heel and headed to the widow’s house.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Let’s pick what you’ll wear to the inspection tomorrow. Maybe you should do your nails while I do the dishes.”

  “Only if you agree to move into my house until this mess is over.”

  We stepped into the living room, and I removed Dior’s leash when my cell chimed.

  Tristan.

  Without a word, I walked out the back door and headed to my house in a hurry.

  “Give me a minute.” I sat on my couch in the dark. “Sorry. I was over at Brenda’s. She insists I stay with her until the cops figure out how to keep Avondo locked up. Tristan, how are you? Where are you?” I miss you; I miss you.

  He laughed that low soft laugh that always made me feel like he was whispering in my ear. “Much better now. Are you okay?”

  “I’m always okay when I can talk to you,” I said.

  “Girl, how I miss you. There are times I’m tempted to come get you and drive away with you as fast and as far as possible. Then reality sets in, and I would never want you to be exposed to the kind of disgusting curiosity frenzy that seems to have taken over the whole world. I asked Jessie to drop off the note because there is a group of young people camped around the house, and when either Alexander or I step out, we are followed every step of the way. They keep taking photos or videos and posting them. It’s extremely annoying. But they blatantly ignore Jessie. Go figure.”

  “I’m confused. Do you live with Jessie or Alexander?”

  “You don’t know? I assumed you did, I heard the home will be used for some big party your office is sponsoring, no?”

  “Wait, wait, whose home?”

  “Alexander’s of course. Jessie is staying in that Airbnb where we dropped her off. Don’t you remember? She’s living there until she has a steady paycheck. She often uses Uber and maybe that’s why the wanna-be reporters don’t follow her.”

  “Either that or the wanna-be reporters are females. That would be an easier explanation.”

  Now his laugh was open and joyous, and I felt happy for the first time in so long. “Oh, Fiat, I want to see you.” I heard a catch in his voice.

  “So do I. So do I,” I said.

  Then I remembered. “Bob Clarke stopped by a little while ago and told us that the burned
body in the Kia is... was Lois. It will be on the news tonight. He also said they may have to let Avondo go. That’s why Brenda wants me to stay with her.” I felt like a jerk telling him all that, but I figured it was better coming from me than the news.

  “I know, Fiat. Detective Ross is keeping me posted. That’s why I can talk to you on the phone. I know for a fact they have no interest in us. I mean they know that you and I have always behaved properly and have nothing to do with whatever Angelique has been scheming.

  “The Escalade has been towed to the police yard where it will literally be searched inch by inch. Detective Ross suggested that tire marks found by the burned Kia may match the Cadillac Escalade. After all, whoever set the Kia on fire had to have a way out of the desert. Right?”

  “Right.” A long pause.

  “I must see you, to hell with the snoops outside the house. I’m so lost. Tache is all alone down at the ranch, my house... no longer feels like my house and you—I need to be near you, to touch your face, to know you’re real and I haven’t lost you. Do you think we can meet sometime tomorrow at the 40th Street trails? Wait, no. Not where I usually take Tache. If you walk up 38th Street from Shea it dead-ends on the preserve. There is a very low chain-link fence. You can park your car there, and I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll arrange with Alexander to get dropped off, and then I’ll walk to meet you. I doubt those city kids will follow me.”

  He waited, and I wanted to say yes with all my soul, but I remembered the inspection.

  “Tristan,” —I hesitated— “I have an appointment, a house inspection I can’t cancel.” Sensing his disappointment, I spoke faster. “But I’ll be done before two o’clock. Can I meet you then? Please?”

  “You’re sure? I can’t promise that the snoops won’t show up.”

  “I’ll take my chances, a small price to pay to be with you.”