"Dar-dar."
"Whatever," he said. "I'm in a hurry. I've wasted enough time just waiting for you here."
His attitude bugged me. "If you don't want to wait, then don't show up unannounced," I heard myself say.
"It's not like you return calls," he spat out.
"A precedent set by you." I knew I was being childish, but all my mind could fixate on was the part where he was the one being snide and condescending when he ran out on our marriage in the middle of the night.
"Don't be petty."
My anger spiked. "How dare you adopt this condescending attitude!" I didn't care that my voice was loud, but Mr. Rockstar sure did.
"Keep it down. Let's go inside," he said, pushing himself off the side and of the convertible and heading toward our front walk without even waiting for my answer.
He comes over unannounced and then invited himself in! "No," I said, my voice firm and angry.
He stopped walking and turned around, his expression shocked. "What?"
"I said no. You're not invited inside."
He shook his head. "Whatever. Just sign the damn divorce papers, Christy."
"Not until there's a more equitable agreement."
"What the heck are you talking about?"
I couldn't believe he had the nerve to play dumb. "I know about the contract, Robert."
"I told you that fell through," he said.
"Then where did you get the money to prepare the divorce papers? And the money for this car?"
"The car's not mine, it's–" and then he stopped himself. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have to accept that it's over. I know it's hard for you..."
He rambled on about me not being able to accept that we wouldn't get back together, which would have made me angry if my brain hadn't been fixated on the car.
He said it wasn't his and then changed the subject. Then I put it together. I knew whose car it was. "So it's your new girlfriend's car," I interrupted.
"You need to move on," he said.
"And you need to understand that you're a snake, and I've moved on from dealing with your slithering lies and baloney. That recording deal wasn't cancelled, it's just been postponed. You're deliberately hiding assets that I'm legally entitled to, including the lyrics I wrote for your song."
"You didn't write a thing!"
"It was Valentines Day, remember?"
"A few lines. I let you contribute a few lines. Stop pretending like you wrote those lyrics. I let you give me some words, but it's not like I needed your help. I've written dozens of songs without you. How many have you written without me?"
I had no response. The answer of course was none.
My quiet gave him the time to continue. "This is the thanks I get. I let you be part of the dream, do a little paperwork so you could taste what it was like to not be ordinary, but you just couldn't keep up. You never fit in, Christy. I tried, but you'll just never be accepted in my world."
His words stunned me. This was our relationship in a nutshell. He never looked at my contributions as anything valuable. Everything about us, was really about him. I was nothing.
The familiar sting of shame heated my face. My insecurities flooded my thoughts. How I wasn't good enough. How I'd never be accepted. How I’d always been misunderstood and not valued. But then it hit me.
None of that was true.
Mom and Wenling and the people of Fletcher Canyon accepted me. I hadn't been judged in the slightest for moving back home. And even though I didn't do things perfectly, somehow my contributions here were plenty good enough.
And then I remembered the screen capture taken of that Tweet. I was literally holding up the lyrics that I'd written in my own handwriting, and I smiled. I needed nothing from Robert, and I had nothing to lose.
His cocky expression faded. I wondered if my epiphany showed on my face.
"That's not how the law sees it, Robert. And I don't care how you see it anymore." My voice came out calm and without any of my usual tight, high-pitched shakiness. I turned away and headed for our front walk.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he called after me.
I turned back. The dumbstruck expression on his face delighted me. I let myself smile. "It means you'll be hearing from my attorney, and you're not welcome here anymore."
Just as I reached for the front door, I heard his car speed away. Confronting Robert wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, but I'd been practicing. He'd be hearing from my lawyer. Well once I got one, and had the money to pay for one, but still. This round was mine. Mom was right. Change is good.
Time and Treasure
I entered the house half expecting everyone to be at the window spying on my altercation with Robert. I was disappointed to find they'd respected my privacy, and the living room and dining room was empty. The sound of their conversation lured me into the kitchen.
Mom had made Dar-dar a strawberry milkshake. "Want one, kid?" Mom asked.
"It's so good," Dar-dar said. Mom beamed.
"I'll grab a diet soda," I said walking to the refrigerator.
"Everything OK?" Mom asked. I knew she was referring to my situation with Robert.
"Yep," I said as I popped open the can and took a satisfied swig. "He won't be stopping by unannounced anymore."
"You told him," Dar-dar said.
"I sure did."
"Darwin was telling us about Brent," Mom said, motioning in Dar's direction. This was the first I'd heard her use his real name.
"Your dead guy was very particular. Wanted the same room every time."
"Was it always available?" Wenling asked.
"That's the funny thing," Dar said."When he first went to the room, it was under renovation, and I told him so, but he said he would take it. He came back every single week wanting the same room. I never even got to renovate it. I even charged him double to try to keep him from taking it so I could do the work, but he was okay paying double."
"Did you keep the money?" Wenling said with a conspiratorial smile.
Dar-dar didn’t respond to her question, which was all the answer Wenling needed. Darwin continued. "He was always banging around in there. Maybe he liked that in the dilapidated room, he didn't want to have to pay for damages. With all the noise he made, you'd think he was the one taking a hammer to the place. I wondered what he was doing in there, but he didn’t make a mess. He even made his own bed. I’d come in, and it would look like no one had even used it."
"Maybe he didn’t use it," Mom said. I could tell by her voice she was adding up the clues, "Dar-dar, we need to look at that room. When do you think the police will be gone?"
"The po-po will be gone by tomorrow, I hope," he said. I smiled at his slang. His English was impressive for someone who had only recently come to the United States, but then a lot of Filipinos speak English. They learn it in school. Dar rummaged through his gigantic, gold purse and pulled out a very old model, non-smart cellphone. "I have to call the owner and have him come pick me up."
"That looks like a ‘burner phone’ criminals use on the Crime Channel," Wenling said as she pointed to the phone.
A flash of worry crossed Dar-dar’s face. "It’s the phone my boss gave me."
"He’s probably just cheap," Mom said, elbowing her best friend.
Dar-dar smiled. "That’s it. Nothing criminal. He has to save money because we change phones so many times." Then he dialed his boss's number and walked into the living room.
I shot Mom a look. "He seems like he’s doing okay," Mom said, but her face looked worried.
Our new friend returned to the kitchen carrying our cat Moriarty in his arms and scratching him behind the ears. "My boss will call me back to pick me up in an hour. Can you give him directions when he calls?"
"If he's going to be awhile, let's go out to dinner. My treat," Mom said.
"I never get to out!" Dar-dar said, putting Moriarty down as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Did that cat hate everyone but me?
/> It surprised me that Mom didn’t want to cook for a new guest, but then she added. "When your boss calls, tell him to pick you up at the Fletcher Diner at the end of Main Street in Fletcher Canyon." That’s when I realized Mom didn’t want whoever was Dar-dar's possibly criminal boss to know where we lived. Mom was always thinking.
We entered the diner, and the place looked like it had been ransacked by an angry bear.
"It’s a disaster," Wenling said, not hiding her glee.
"Sit where you can," Sheila called out to us. "Try not to let anything get on you."
The three of us bussed our own table and took a seat.
"This place is nice," Dar-dar said. "I like the tile and the counters," he said pointing to the black and white, checkerboard tile and the white counters with chrome edges. "It’s so American. Everything here is so American, but with a mountain." Dar-dar talked about how he loved mountains, because it reminded him of home.
Mom had told me she found it interesting that rich people in Los Angeles lived on the mountain, and the cheaper houses sat in the more convenient flat lands. It wasn’t that way where she grew up, but she surmised that it might be because a lot of the mountains in the Philippines were volcanoes.
"I love everything about America, but sometimes I miss my mother," Dar continued. He was a fun dinner companion in that he was full of lively conversation. Then he turned to Mom with an expression that looked as if he’d remembered something. "You need to call my mother. She has news about that policeman," he said. "Do you have Skype?"
"No," Mom said.
"Yes," I said to Mom. "It’s the video chat on the computer."
"Oh," Mom said. "Yes."
Dar gave me his mother’s Skype handle, which took a while because when he spelled it out the letter "b" sounded a lot like the letter "v" and "e". Before I could ask what his mother knew, Sheila came to take my order. Dar ordered another milkshake, and when he got it, he proclaimed without prompting that Mom’s was "way better."
His boss called just as we all were finishing our burgers (practically the only thing the diner had in stock this time). "Call Mom when you can. I’ll let you know when the ghost is clear for checking out that room!" he said as he dashed out to meet with a burly, cigar-sucking man who gave him an un-boss-like hug and a pat on the bottom. Dar hopped into the man’s Escalade, waved out the window, and they were gone.
Wenling raised her eyebrows.
"Maybe they’re in love," Mom said, but I could tell even Mom didn’t believe it.
I worried about Dar-dar, and I wasn't sure we'd ever hear from him again.
The next morning I sat at the kitchen table with my half caff coffee, in my pajamas with unbrushed teeth. We’d dropped Wenling off at home after dinner last night, so it was just Mom and me. My half-awake mind replayed my victory with Robert yesterday, but now, alone and without a full cup of coffee in me, I struggled to figure out how I would afford a lawyer.
Then it struck me. I didn't have to hide this stuff from Mom anymore. The shame of my failed marriage was my baggage. Mom was here for me. "Mom, I need to get a lawyer to fight Robert. Do you know anybody?"
Mom smiled. "You spoke your mind yesterday, didn’t you?"
"I did."
Mom went to her address book to find a friend of a friend or a relative that knew somebody that could do us a favor or give us a good price.
It turned out that Eddie Harlow’s father was a lawyer, and Eddie had even studied law herself. They both had studied "intellectual property" law, not family law, but Eddie thought she knew someone who just started his own small family law practice who might be open to a payment plant or help us "mediate" the divorce, which could save us time and money. "If he’s in a hurry to close the deal, you might be able to save yourself a lot of money."
Mom traded pleasantries with Eddie and told her about the case "we were working." I'd almost forgotten about our case, because we’d hit a dead end. It didn't matter anyway. Our reputation had been saved, and the Lucky Dragon would open again.
But then Mom’s cell rang. It was Dar-dar telling us we could come and check out the room.
I rushed to get dressed, and Mom called Wenling.
"She’s not coming!" Mom called out.
"That doesn't sound like her," I yelled back as I got dressed.
"She told Jennifer about running from the po-po!" Mom yelled as she grabbed her purse from her bedroom. I smiled at Mom's use of the phrase "po-po." In the Philippines, they often use the same word twice. You see it in nicknames like Dar-dar and even the names of cities like Iloilo (pronounced "ee-loh ee-loh").
Mom and I met in the hallway. "So Jennifer thinks we're a bad influence on Wenling," I joked.
"Yeah," Mom said with a conspiratorial laugh.
I parked a little further down Foothill Boulevard at a parking meter, close to Mr. Toodles. It was a further walk, but if the po-po came, we wouldn't be blocked.
"Mom," I said as I pushed a few coins into the meter. "Can we stop here after we're done?"
Mom didn't share my zest for fast food, but she could tell that I wanted it. "OK, I hear they have salads now."
I know it doesn't say much for my amateur detective work ethic, but knowing I could have a roast beef and cheese and potato pancakes, both loaded with their special "Tood sauce," made the trip a win for me.
Dar-Dar waved at us when we entered the lobby. He was wearing what looked like overalls, but the pants were cut off and made into almost Daisy Duke style shorts. He had way better legs than I did. The man could've been a Rockette.
"It's so slow today. Word travels fast, but Burt, my boss, says we're going to step up our advertising and go totally legit soon."
I didn't have the heart to tell Dar that people who ran legitimate businesses rarely use the phrase "totally legit." Besides, change happens. I was proof.
"That's good," Mom said.
"Let's get to that room," Dar-dar said, grabbing a sledge hammer and whipping it onto his shoulder as if it weighed almost nothing.
"What's that for?" I asked.
"Half of the drywall is rotten in there," he said. "I've been dying to replace it, but I couldn't risk having the room not available when he came in. You know, him paying double at all."
"It's always good to have a little spending money," Mom said. "But before we go, do you have any gloves for us to wear?"
"Why?" he asked.
"In case there's evidence for his murder in there," Mom said. "We don't want our fingerprints all over."
"I think I've got something," he said leaving the room and returning with a 3-pack of yellow rubber gloves for cleaning.
"Perfect," Mom said, slipping on gloves that were huge on her.
I, for one, was glad Dar-dar had a large glove size. For once, I had something baggy.
All gloved up, we followed Dar into the room. It reminded me of the motel room I stayed in after my divorce.
"Isn't it depressing?" Dar said.
"Very," Mom answered back.
I remained silent.
Dar pointed to the right wall. "You can see where the bathroom upstairs leaked and then dripped down the wall."
Dar walked over with his sledge hammer.
"Wait!" Mom said before he could take a swing. "We need to search the room first."
He stopped and turned around. ""For what?"
"I don't know exactly, but we're looking for a place where he would've hidden something."
"Like drugs?" Dar asked.
"Like treasure," Mom said.
Dar's eyes grew wide. "Do we get to keep it?"
"No," Mom said.
"Oh," he said, and a part of me worried that he wouldn't help us. "If there's a lot, can we keep some of it?"
"We have to find it first," Mom said, which made Dar-Dar feel better, but I knew from when I was a kid that Mom not answering meant no.
I searched under the bed. Sure, it was a cliché hiding place, but clichés are clichés for a reason. Except, when I got und
er the bed, I realized that putting my face on the carpet of a seedy motel wasn't the best thing in the world to do.
I pushed that thought out of my mind and grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket to use it as a flashlight. My cell was still off. I'd forgotten that I turned it off during Mom's 18-person lunch ages ago. When I was with Robert, I'd been glued to my phone–always on the ready to take a call about his career. And then after he left, I'd been afraid to turn it off, worried I'd miss his call. I smiled to myself as I waited for my phone to power up.
The signs were everywhere. I was turning a corner and building a new life.
"Aye!" Mom yelled from the back of the closet. "This board is loose. Darwin help me!"
Mom's accent pronounced Dar-dar's full name as dar-Win, emphasis on the second syllable instead of on the first syllable, like we do with American English.
"Let me see," he said as he rushed into the closet. "You're right. It's loose. Let me get a crowbar so I don't ruin my nails." He rushed out of the room.
"Do you think it's gold? Because we didn't see any signs of it on the mountain," I asked Mom.
"I don't know," Mom said. "I think he hid something here. Something valuable he didn't want Nancy to find. I just hope it's still here, and his partner didn't get it."
"His manstress?"
"No," Mom whispered back. "I think he was here meeting his business partner, not a lover."
Darwin returned with the crowbar, still wearing his bright, yellow gloves. "This is so exciting," he said rushing to the closet. Three loud cracks later, he emitted a high pitched squeal. "There's something here! There's something here!"
He tossed the crowbar onto the ground. I jumped at the loud thunk it made. Dar-dar was a lot stronger than he looked.
"It’s heavy!" he said as he pulled out a large metal box and set it on the bed.
"Rats! It’s locked," I said.
"That means whatever is in there is valuable. I’ll go get my bolt cutters," he said dashing out of the room again, his flip-flops clicking against the backs of his feet.
Mom rattled the box a little. "It sounds like rocks."
"Gold rocks," I said under my breath. I’d never seen gold rocks before, but this was amazing. Brent Cryer had discovered gold in the mountains near our house. It all just seemed so incredible. I literally giggled with excitement. Mom did, too.
Milkshakes and Murder Page 10
