Hydraulic Level Five

by Sarah Latchaw

  “Oh, right.” He flipped open the front flap, whipped a Sharpie from his pocket, and began to scrawl.

  “Make it good. I want it to fetch a high bid on eBay.”

  A smile flitted across his face, at last. Snapping the book closed, he handed it back to me, fingers barely brushing mine. Then he escaped from the room, Caroline fast on his heels.

  I glanced at Molly. Her eyes were wide, mouth pinched like a lizard’s, and I knew she’d also caught the flirty exchange between Samuel and his agent. “Holy hell!” she silently mouthed. Well, maybe now she’d believe me about Samuel having moved on.

  Caroline returned, alone, this time with two iced chai teas.

  “Wow, this is great,” Molly said.

  “Thanks, Caro—” I began.

  “Please don’t.” She determinedly set the plastic cups in front of us. Then she turned to me with a hard glint in her dark eyes. What was with these flinty New Yorkers? “I have an idea of why you’re here and what you want,” she said calmly, “but I suggest you abandon your plan.”

  I stared at her in utter confusion. She leaned in closer—so close, I could see the tiny pores of her nose. Her palms were flat on the table, face level with mine.

  “I’ll be frank. The last thing Samuel needs is an ex-wife nipping at his heels, stirring up trouble. You had your time, now it’s over. So if you have a decent bone in your body, you’ll let him live his life, enjoy his success.”

  My mouth popped open. “What…what on earth makes you think I’m after Samuel? I’m not exactly a ‘crook my finger and they come running’ kind of woman.”

  She gave me a sardonic “oh please” look.

  “Listen, Caroline,” Molly cut in, “she just wants to have a chat with her old friend, not that it’s your business.”

  “Everything about Sam is my business. Don’t take it personally.” Caroline flashed a cool, patronizing smile. “I think you’re a genuinely nice person, Kaye. But Samuel Caulfield Cabral is a little out of your league.”

  Ouch. I didn’t know whether to spill my tea on her suit or cry in the bathroom.

  “Out of her league? Oh, let me tell you something, princess.” Molly sat up in her chair and waggled a finger at Caroline, but her baby face didn’t lend her the intimidating effect she was going for. “My friend is one of the most loyal, generous, wonderful people I know. If anyone’s out of her league, it’s your asshat client.”

  “Molly,” I hissed, begging her to step down.

  Caroline simply glanced at her expensive-looking watch. She straightened her back and smoothed a graceful hand over her suit. “Time to run, thanks for the chat. I’m staying with the Cabrals, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing you both.” She hustled out the door, leaving us stunned in her whirlwind wake.

  She nearly took Cassady down as he entered.

  “There you two are.” I’d never in my life been so glad to see one person leave and another arrive. Molly gazed at Cassady, who was soaked-through and frazzled, as if he were Superman. “Circled that bookstore three times, getting eyed up and down by half your ex’s fan club. Who was that haughty little ice queen?”

  “Cassady!” Molly gushed, “You just missed what is probably the world’s biggest harpy, hands down. How’d you find us?”

  “Finally met Samuel Cabral, just cut in line and before security threw me out, managed to get my sister’s book signed and ask if he’d seen either of you. Ya know, Kaye, I was kinda expecting your Beelzebub to have horns and a pitchfork. I’m disappointed.” Water droplets dripped from the ends of his curling hair, down his forearms. Molly shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Didja get what ya wanted?”

  “Not really. But I got a chai and a signed book.” I held up the bookstore booty for which I’d sold my dignity.

  Molly shot up from her chair, tossing her nearly full chai in the garbage. “That’s it. I need to get out of here.”

  Cassady grimaced at his wet clothing. I almost suggested we stay another ten minutes to give him a chance to dry, but I wanted out as badly as Molly. I gave him a rueful smile.

  “Sorry, Cassady. Let’s go.”

  “Are you happy?” I read the note in the front cover of my book again. Really, Samuel, no need for sarcasm.

  He’d signed it “The Unjoly Cliffhuckr.” I laughed. Okay, I had that one coming.

  “That didn’t go exactly like I’d planned.” Molly’s shoulders slumped dreadfully. Cassady rested an arm on her seat, offering something like comfort without actually touching her. Men.

  What the heck happened? I’d been entirely prepared for “Sexy Kaye” to knock him out of his celebrated author chair with one breathy word. Instead, I left feeling even more sapless than before, my backbone nothing but a wiggling pile of Jello. His chilly tone, remoteness…he made it clear he wanted me gone. Of course, it didn’t help that I’d nearly incited a fan riot.

  My ego took a hard hit today.

  I still wanted answers from Samuel, but extracting the reason why he stopped loving me wouldn’t be as simple as just asking. For Tom’s sake, he’d killed off Fiction-Me. If that wasn’t a clear (and creepy) declaration that he wanted me stricken from the archives of his life, I didn’t know what was. Our meeting wasn’t easy and familiar like Thanksgiving, two years ago. His defense walls were fortified, complete with a moat, spikes, and fiery arrows.

  And that was the next order of business: slipping past that purebred guard dog, Caroline. I definitely needed reinforcements to handle her. Molly couldn’t take Caroline on her own, and Danita would have been perfect for the job, but I couldn’t ask for her help. One, Caroline was a guest in her parents’ home. Two, I’d told her I could be an adult when I was around Samuel, and I’d already blown that promise. And three, she had too much on her mind, with the wedding just five weeks away.

  Then, like a ray of sunshine (or a hard tackle), it hit me. I knew who I’d ask for help. She was frightfully open about her dislike for me—our personalities didn’t exactly mesh. But, as a matter of principle, she might be game. She was a woman who’d also been cast off by the love of her life. A woman who could meet two Carolines head on and emerge without a scratch. A woman who knew every dirty trick in the book and had the legal chops to cover her tracks.

  My former divorce attorney and fellow scorned woman, Jaime Guzman.

  Chapter 5: Boulder Garden

  Maneuvering around boulders tightly scattered

  across a rapid requires precision and skill.

  “RAIN GEAR?”

  “Yes.”

  “First aid kit?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Angel’s trail mix?”

  “Yes, Danita.”

  “How about tissue paper?”

  “Dani!” I smacked the custom metal picnic table she was beneath. Her feet jerked, the only part of her that was visible. I heard her hiss at me.

  “Santo Dios, Kaye, never do that while I’m working!”

  “We’ve day-hiked since we wore high-top sneakers.”

  “Sometimes you forget things.”

  “One time. One time, and you’ll never let me live it down.”

  “Yeah, and that’s one time too many that I’ve had to wipe my butt with fern leaves.”

  One of the welders hovering over what looked to be an agricultural weed sprayer chortled, and I realized he could hear us over the sparks and clanks echoing through the metal service center.

  “Don’t worry, you’re covered this time.” But Danita had a tendency to make me second-guess myself. I unzipped my hiking bag to make sure the packet of tissues was there, just in case.

  I’d also brought The Last Other. After causing a fan-girl revolt last week at Samuel’s book signing, I felt guilty enough to give it a fair, closer reading this time—even if it meant reading Fiction-Me bite it nixie-style. But between multiple work projects (summer was tourist season), my maid-of-honor duties, and plotting my great endeavor in moving on, I’d had little time to read.

  Molly and I planne
d to hike the six-mile trail to Bridal Veil Falls in the northeastern part of the Rocky Mountain National Park. She wanted scenic waterfall photos for the brochure she was assembling, so we decided to make an excursion of it. Danita and Angel were joining us. The wedding was four weeks out, and they needed a break.

  Hector Valdez was also hiking the trail with us. He’d just finished a three-day mountain biking adventure for Paddlers, leading a group along the punishing terrain of the park. But Hector was an animal—more extreme than any of us, and could handle it. “Love to come, por supuesto. Nothing like a nice, quiet off-day.”

  Danita shoved away from the table, shed her visor, and attacked her face with a rag. Only eight in the morning and she’d already spent three hours bending iron. I held out a hand to her, and she took it, pulling herself up.

  “Jeff, this one’s good to go,” she called across the shop.

  “Yup. See ya Monday, Cabral.”

  The staff of Jeff’s Welding and Machine were men of few words, but they had a healthy respect for Danita and she’d earned it busting their balls on more than one occasion. She had a working knowledge in everything from custom fabrication to industrial machinery, and she was sex on legs. Jeff had a long waiting list of welders wanting in on his shop, just so they could work with the hottest ironhead in Colorado.

  “Give me a moment to finish some paperwork, then we’ll head out.”

  I followed her to an office cluttered with Post-its and empty coffee cups. Just as she grabbed a clip board, my cell phone bombastically wailed from my purse. Digging through my bag, I checked the display. Jaime Guzman. I’d left her a half-insane message, explaining how I needed someone out of the way and asking if she had the power to do that. After I’d hung up, I realized how it sounded. So, I definitely couldn’t answer with Danita standing right here and not expect a Spanish Inquisition. I dropped my cell back in my bag and put on my best innocent face.

  “Who was that?” Dani was bent over her clipboard, jotting.

  “My mom.”

  “Isn’t she working the farmer’s market today?”

  Oh, Dani was good. “Um, yeah. I suppose I should give her a call once I get in my car, see what she needs.” Argh! Lying was as easy for me as quantum physics.

  Danita’s pen paused, and she pointedly stared at me. I hated lying to my friend, but if I’d said no one, she’d definitely know it was someone. And that someone was my divorce lawyer—definite red flag. Getting unstuck had better be worth this.

  “I want to take a quick shower at Mom and Dad’s before we leave. You can make sure Mamá’s all geared up for the hike.” Normally, Sofia would wave us off the front porch with a “cuídate mucho, diviértete.” But Alonso was neck-deep in press deadlines for Latin Colorado—his regional magazine—and she hadn’t hiked the National Park in a long time.

  “You realize, Dani, you will just get filthy again.”

  “Look, I don’t want to stink like molten metal all day. Pure feminine sweat is much more alluring.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Samuel and Caroline won’t be there, if that’s worrying you. They’re in Denver for another book signing.”

  Oh crap, did she know what went down at the Boulder book store? I studied her face—no, she didn’t. I’d made Cassady and Molly promise not to breathe a word to Dani. A naughty part of me—Victim Kaye—wanted to enlighten her about the “Caroline Incident” and watch smugly as she busted Caroline’s posh rear. But she’d ask why I ambushed her brother in the first place, then declare I got what I deserved. Honestly, she’d probably be right.

  “Done.”

  She capped her pen, grabbed her purse, and we ran out the door. We hopped in our separate cars—her beautifully restored Coronet muscle car and my Jeep Wrangler. I was on my third Jeep now (the second met a sad, sad end in a winter weather incident involving three elk and a guard rail). It had a deep blue paint job and was my baby.

  We plowed down the tar-patched Main Street fenced by tall evergreens and a smattering of small businesses, including The Garden Market (where Dad worked) and Paddler’s, past Planet Bluegrass, which dwelled in the shadow of Steamboat Mountain.

  The Cabrals’ home was in the foothills above town, on the edge of the Hispanic neighborhood. Their beautifully crafted cabin was in stark contrast to the number of small homes and trailers the trip took me by, many occupied by migrant workers. There was a gas station with faded Corona signs, an authentic restaurant with peeling cornflower-blue paint, and a taco truck which sold the best breakfast burritos this side of the Rockies. I drove past the tiny grocery store, where I’d spent many hours shopping with Sofia and sneaking strawberry Jarritos into her cart. There was the Spanish-speaking community church I’d attended with the Cabrals. Sometimes Samuel whispered translations into my ear or sang the English versions of hymns until his father gave us a “you niños stop talking in church” look. Despite the worn-out feel of the neighborhood, the road was a scenic stretch of Virgin Mary garden statues and mountainside.

  Five minutes to the Cabral home, just enough time. I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

  “Jaime Guzman,” answered a gruff voice.

  “Jaime. Kaye Cabral.”

  “That’s not what I hear.” Of course. Jaime followed court business religiously.

  “Force of habit. Listen…about my message. I know what it sounded like—”

  Jaime cut me off. “It’s okay, I know some people. How much money do you have left in that hefty Cabral Alimony Fund?”

  Was she actually considering a hit? “I…I don’t want you to kill anybody.”

  “Relax, Trilby, I’m messing with you. So what, do you want me to bash Cabral’s knees while he’s in town? It’s about time. Hold on a minute.”

  I heard dogs yipping, followed by the clatter of what I assumed was a food dish. Jaime bred and trained black Labradors, the closest relationships she had save for her twin brother. She was obsessively proud of them. I made the mistake once of asking her, in a very crowded restaurant, if she’d considered breeding Labradoodles. She declared loudly, “No powder-puff poodle is going to fuck my dogs!” No one was shocked. It was Jaime Guzman.

  “Back. It’s breakfast, you’ve called at a bad time.”

  “Jaime, I don’t want you to hurt anybody. Just mess with them a bit.”

  “Psychological torture. Even better.”

  This was such a bad idea. “Listen, I need some real answers from Sam, but there’s a problem. Several, actually.” I explained how I wanted someone to monumentally sidetrack Caroline while I worked to pull information from a leery Samuel.

  A pause. “Have you ever considered getting a pet? It’s a lot more rewarding.”

  “No offense, Jaime, but pets aren’t my thing.”

  “Fine, it’s your self-esteem. Now back to my original question: How much of that alimony money do you have left?”

  I squirmed, not liking to bandy about my sizeable bank account. “All of it, except for the twenty thousand I used as a down payment on the TrilbyJones mansion.”

  She whistled. “More than enough for a large charitable contribution. This gives us resources—sky’s the limit. I’ve got some ideas that will kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Two birds?” Jaime embraced this more enthusiastically than I thought she would, and it made me nervous.

  She sighed. “Hopeless. Two birds. Bird Number One: get Caroline out of your hair. Bird Number Two: get in a jab or two at ol’ Sam. Someone has to, since you won’t. I still think you’re an idiot for trying to refuse his divorce settlement. The both of you are utter pantywaists.”

  I ignored that. “So, when and where do you want to meet? Your office?”

  “No, I need to keep this separate from law firm business, legal ramifications and all.” Oh crud, what was she planning? “How about the Lyons Café, Tuesday evening, seven o’clock?”

  Public was good, safer. “I can make it by seven. Please don’t do anything until we talk it over first.”
r />   “Just research. Tuesday at seven, Trilby. Bring your checkbook.” The line went dead before I could say goodbye.

  We were lucky the rain held off. It had poured yesterday, a typical afternoon mountain shower that reduced the path through the thick forest to mud holes. The Bridal Veil Falls loop was lush with wildlife—one of my favorite trails. It followed a stream through a couple of valleys, aspen groves, steadily-climbing slopes, and eventually broke into astounding views of hazy mountains. The trail also passed an old homesteader ranch, preserved by the park.

  We’d been on the path for a couple of hours, the high altitude and sun stealing our breath and crisping our backs. I could barely make out Hector’s loping stride far ahead as he lugged Molly’s camera equipment for her. Angel and Danita walked in front of Sofia and me, pushing through branches and hopping over dead tree trunks.

  “Señora Cabral, whaddya think of Samuel’s new girl?” Angel asked, never one to beat around the bush. “I’ve never seen so many suitcases.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Angel. You’ve seen hundreds of suitcases,” Danita snarked, side-stepping a puddle. “Airports, hotels, department stores…”

  “Your closet.” He wrapped his thick arms around her waist and planted a passionate, sloppy kiss on her neck.

  I don’t believe Danita and Angel had ever suffered a misunderstanding between each other. They were the bluntest people I knew. While he laced his straightforward nature with humor, she was no-nonsense, plain and simple. The only misstep occurred on the very first day of Kindercare, when Angel told Danita she was pretty. Then Dani, bawling, kicked Angel in the knee because she thought he was teasing her. That was the first of three times I’d known Dani to cry. The second was the day Angel left for Afghanistan, and the third, when he came home.

  “So, Mamá?” Angel wasn’t going to let it go.

  Sofia picked several big leaves and slipped them into a Ziploc bag. She collected leaves—alder, poplar, cottonwood—and pressed them into decorative tiles.

  “I’m not sure what to make of Caroline yet. They haven’t dated for very long.”