Ruben needed him to hurry. He didn’t want her to see him lurking in her yard, talking on the phone. “Okay, so what are the Reynas?”
“I don’t know how you knew to ask, but she’s double positive, and he’s double negative. That means—”
“I know exactly what it means.”
Music drifted from the side door to Tessa Reyna’s garage. Ruben stopped to listen. He recognized the song. Epistophy. Was that Thelonious Monk’s rendition?
The music ended and the next song came on. Evidence. Definitely Monk. No one else sounded exactly like him. Ruben not only recognized his work, he had that same CD.
He took a few more steps toward the open door. Music wasn’t the only thing spilling out. Paint fumes drifted on the slight breeze.
He peered inside. She was standing with her back to him, an oversized white shirt covered with splotches of various colors hung to her knees. A wide band pulled her hair away from her face, but allowed it to spill down her back.
Windows on all four sides illuminated the room. A skylight bathed her in a warm glow.
She stood perfectly still, studying a painting he couldn’t see.
He tapped on the doorframe. “Hello, Ms. Reyna? Tessa?”
As she swung around, paint drippings spewed across a cement floor already covered with similar drops. Sparks flew from her eyes so that he worried she might ignite the paint fumes.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
He’d had friendlier welcomes from drug dealers. If that’s the way she wanted to play it . . . He put his game face on.
“I thought we might trade information about your Aunt Yolanda.”
“What do you mean, trade? Have you caught her murderer?” Her body language wasn’t any friendlier toward him, but her eyes held out a ray of hope.
“That’s not the way this works. You answer my questions to the best of your ability, with no holding back, and I tell you what we’ve learned so far. Deal?”
Her jaw clenched and her nostrils flared, but she gave a curt nod. She swung back around and draped a cover over the painting, but not before he’d gotten a good look at it.
A feeling of familiarly swept over him so hard it almost knocked his breath out. But why? He’d never seen that room before.
The painting was of a young boy. Age eleven, twelve? Hard to say. His face looked young, but his body gave an impression of size and strength. The boy’s shirt looked older, out-of-date. In fact, he might have had one like it when he was that age. Even the haircut was out of fashion. A curl of dark, nearly black hair hung onto the boy’s forehead.
He almost smiled. How many times had Mamacita fussed at him to comb his hair when he was that age?
She was a good artist, no doubt about that.
Few people knew that he was something of an amateur art connoisseur. In college, he’d taken Art Appreciation as an easy A during football season.
The A hadn’t been easy, but he’d gotten it and developed an interest in the subject. Only once had he invited a date to accompany him to an art museum. Her laughter ensured he never made that mistake again, but he still went by himself occasionally.
Tessa slipped out of her painter’s smock and hung it on a peg by the door, then stomped out of the garage and through the back door of her house. He followed on her heels, half afraid she might slam the door in his face. Once inside, she washed her hands in a large, stainless steel sink.
He lowered himself into the sturdier looking of the two mismatched chairs at her kitchen table while she put coffee on to brew.
She pushed the start button and swung around to face him, her back against the counter and her arms folded across her chest. “Okay, you ask one question, then I’ll ask one question. How’s that for a deal?”
She wore cut-off shorts and a scooped neck T-shirt. Portions of her body that had been covered by yesterday’s long, flowing skirt were now bared. Portions that never should have been covered up in the first place. Those legs alone were a work of art. He forced his eyes away from the scar that disappeared under her shorts.
Anyone else, suspect or witness, he’d have shot down that idea, but she intrigued him. It wasn’t just her beauty, although he wasn’t immune to that, it was curiosity. She seemed to have a personal grudge against him. Why? He’d never done anything to hurt her—yet. But that might be about to change.
“Go ahead,” he said. “What do you want to know? I’ll give you first shot.”
Tessa’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping for air. She hadn’t expected him to be cooperative. Shit. She didn’t have a question ready. Think girl, think.
“How close are you to solving my aunt’s murder? Do you have a viable suspect?” There, that should put him in his place.
“That’s two questions, but they mean the same thing so I’ll let it go. I wish I could say we’ll make an arrest by tomorrow, but the truth is, I don’t know. We have a strong suspect, but we don’t know his real name. My partner and I are working diligently, following several leads and hope to close in on him soon.”
What a load of crock. He hadn’t actually said anything except we don’t know who did it. He’s the one you counted on to save you? No wonder you’re dead.
Ruben started right in, before she had time to comment. “We need to know more about your aunt. What she was doing here, who she might have offended. Everything she said to you. All the personal details of her life we seem to be missing.”
Like I’d tell you anything personal, about her or me. “If you know who did it, and are just trying to locate him, why do you need these things?”
“We don’t know who the person is or how to find him. And until we do, you need to be more careful about your own personal safety. With the door to your studio standing open and the radio playing, anyone could walk in and surprise you. You need to lock your doors and be aware of your surroundings. Is there anyone you could stay with for a few days?”
Leave the only place she’d ever felt safe? Not likely. “You just said you had a suspect.”
“We’re looking for a man who was seen around her place. He’s average height, broad body, almost square or rectangular shaped. He supposedly walks with an odd, rolling gate. He’s probably Hispanic and has been seen in a late model, black, Lincoln Town Car with a gang member, or former gang member, as a driver. Does any of that sound familiar to you?”
She wasn’t sure which surprised her more, that she had absolutely no idea who he was talking about, or that he actually had been trying to solve the case.
For some reason, she’d always thought the murder would come around to being his fault in some way. Maybe it still would.
“No, I don’t know who that is, but I’m fairly certain my aunt didn’t have anything to do with gangs. She gave advice on love and life problems. Steering people the way they were meant to go. She was all about helping people.”
“For someone who was so helpful to others, she certainly had problems in her own life. She hadn’t talked to your mother in years. She called you when she moved here, but you claim to have barely spoken to her.”
Tessa held his eyes and tried not to blink, but he’d had more practice. She glanced away and sighed. “Was there a question in there somewhere?”
“When I get back to my office, I’ll have a report waiting. It’ll tell me who she called, who called her, and how long they talked. Do you want to tell me the truth now, or shall I make a second trip out here?”
If only he weren’t so damn big. She knew Ruben wasn’t going to hurt her, force her in any way, but he was so intimidating. Like a stone wall she knew she couldn’t budge. “She called from San Antonio to tell me she was moving here. I told her not to and hung up. She called when she got here and I hung up again. She waited a couple of days and called again. That time I yelled at her, screamed even. I told her things I didn’t know I had inside me. Some were true, some, maybe not. She took everything I dished out and waited until I hung up on her.”
T
he coffee pot gave one long last gurgle signaling it had finished brewing and she twisted to the side and filled two cups. She slid one across the table in front of him, not even bothering to ask if he needed cream or sugar. Let him ask if he wanted something.
She leaned back against the counter with her cup. She hated the way he looked at her, like he could see through to her soul. All the lies and ugliness she had hidden there. But she needed the distance of the table between them to feel even a little safe.
He inhaled deeply as he lifted the cup and the corners of his mouth curved up. After a large sip, he sighed and set the cup down again. At least he seemed to think she could do something right.
“Did you ever call her?” he asked.
“Only once. She called a couple of more times, maybe three, and we talked. Really talked. I know I cried, I think she did, too. I called her the last day and said I wanted to come over. She wouldn’t let me. Said she was about to go out for an appointment. That we’d get together tomorrow.” A knot caught in her throat. “I should have known.”
“Known what?” He held the coffee cup halfway to his lips.
“She didn’t go out for appointments. People came to her. She had all her paraphernalia, all the accoutrements of her business where she worked. She might travel to a big fair for several days, but other than that, she stayed where she was.”
“Did she keep an appointment book?”
Had there been a burgundy leather book with a ribbon tied around it? “Yes, but even if you found it, you wouldn’t know what it meant. She had nicknames, code words, for all her clients.”
He jotted notes in a small spiral notebook. Damn. He certainly appeared to be trying to solve this case. Was she shooting herself in the foot by censoring every word she said to him?
She’d spent the last twenty-three years hating him. What a waste of energy. He obviously didn’t even know who she was.
Chapter 10
Ruben scrawled a notation in his spiral and sighed. If the victim had used code names for her clients, had they been spinning their wheels looking for someone named El Jefe?
And what should he do about the niece, tell her what he’d found out, or wait? Maybe she already knew. She sure as hell had some secret she wasn’t sharing.
Always. Every damn time. Relatives never told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. They always lied about something or kept something back. Why? Didn’t they want him to solve the case?
With the need to protect Mamacita until this case was wrapped up, he didn’t have time to pussyfoot around. “The ME isn’t ready to release your aunt’s body, he’s still waiting for test results to come back, but the blood work did turn up some interesting things.”
“What, that she was a drunk?” Tessa almost hissed the words.
“No, there was no alcohol in her system, and none in the house. Her liver wasn’t damaged and no one I talked to had seen her take a drink. In fact, my partner found a seven year token from AA in one of her drawers, although I haven’t been able to locate a meeting here that she was known to attend.”
For once, it was the girl who seemed surprised. Good, keep her off balance.
“She said she didn’t drink anymore, but I didn’t want to believe her. I’d heard that before.” Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t quite fall.
“Yeah, not many people manage it on the first try.” He’d already guessed that part from her record. Was that what the family had argued about? Hadn’t the nephew said it was religion? Family fallouts were never about one thing only.
He took the last swallow of his coffee and glanced at Tessa to see if there was any chance of a refill. Probably not.
“Did the drinking have anything to do with her arrest for exposing herself in front of a child?” If nothing else, that should get her so mad she’d start talking.
“My mo . . . Aunt Yolanda was not a pedophile. Who would have expected a Boy Scout camp-out that time of the year? She had no idea they were there and the stupid kid got lost and stumbled into her campsite. It was his fault, not hers.”
Yep, get ‘em mad enough and they spill all kinds of beans.
“If it was the wrong time of year for a camp-out, what was your mother doing out there?”
“She was celebrating the winter solstice. That’s all. And it was nobody else’s business.” She jerked back, knocking over the cup she’d set on the counter. Coffee ran down the counter and onto the floor. Some splashed onto the coffee maker, sizzling and emitting a scorched coffee smell.
She twisted away and grabbed a handful of paper towels and sopped up the worst of the mess. Her breathing was fast and shallow. Even the back of her neck was bright red.
He waited, hands crossed, until she got her breathing under control and twisted back toward him.
Her voice croaked. “How did you . . .?”
“Those blood tests I mentioned?” He kept his voice soft. “You’re type AB Negative. Carmen Reyna was type O Positive. There’s no way she could be your mother. Yolanda Garza, on the other hand, was also AB Negative. She is almost certainly your mother.”
She didn’t move, not even to blink.
“At first I thought you might be unaware of this fact, but I see that I shouldn’t have worried. You knew, have probably always known. The only question left is why your aunt took you away from your mother and claimed you as her own. If it wasn’t the fear of pedophilia, it must have been the drinking.”
“But . . .”
“She never adopted you or legally changed your name. You just showed up for the spring semester at a private Catholic school in San Antonio as the child of Carmen and Oscar Reyna.”
She pressed her back to the counter and slid to the ground, hugging her knees. “How could they get by with that?”
Ah, shit. She doesn’t know everything.
“You could get by with a lot of things in those days, especially in a small, private school. There’s one more thing we learned from those blood tests. Oscar Reyna was type A Negative. He was quite possibly your father.”
Tessa reached down and ran a hand over the scar on her leg. “That explains a lot about my shitty childhood.”
Tessa watched without moving as Ruben stood and crossed the kitchen. He righted her overturned coffee cup and filled it, then poured the last few drops from the pot into his own cup. He swung around carefully and placed both cups on the table before grabbing more paper towels and cleaning a trail of coffee creeping across the kitchen floor.
How could such a big man move so gracefully? She had always pictured him as a clumsy oaf.
He stood in front of her and she refused to raise her eyes. The only thing she could see was his feet. They must be twice the length of hers. Where did he go to buy shoes that size?
When she finally lifted her eyes, he held out both hands. She would have paid a thousand dollars not to have to touch him, but she offered him her arm and he helped her up, then held the nearest chair while she sat.
She pulled her cup closer and breathed in the aroma while he settled across from her.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you these things, Tessa. I know it was a shock, but I think not so much of one as it could have been.”
The coffee was hot, and drinking it gave her a few seconds to gather her wits. “I’m not sure what I knew or just guessed. I have memories of being with my aunt, or mother . . .” She shoved the cup away and dropped her head into her hands.
“Why don’t you call them Yolanda and Carmen for now. That way we’ll be clear who you’re talking about and it will give you time to adjust.” His voice was surprisingly gentle for a man his size.
“I think maybe Yolanda left me with Carmen off and on a lot of times when I was little, so moving to San Antonio with her wasn’t a shock. The shock was having to call her Mama. She slapped me, hard, if I forgot. So I trained myself, but I held on to the memory of my real mother. Until I didn’t remember anymore.”
“Did you ever see Yolanda again?
” His notebook was out and he was copying down her life as if it was directions to a restaurant or the recipe for blueberry pancakes.
“A few times over the years. Carmen never let us be alone, but Yolanda always managed to whisper, ‘I’ll come for you as soon as it’s safe, my little niña.’ Half of me hoped she’d hurry and the other half was afraid she might show up some day, but it wasn’t ‘til later that I realized the smell on her breath was booze. I just knew I didn’t like it.”
“So she was still drinking in those days?”
She pulled her coffee close and held the cup so tight she worried it might break. “Yes, but that was when I was little. I came home once when I was a teenager and heard them arguing. I stood on the porch and listened. Carmen kept saying didn’t she want a beer and Yolanda got mad. Said what was she trying to do, sabotage her recovery?”
He leaned forward. “Did you hear the rest?”
“Yolanda wanted to take me with her, but Carmen refused. That was after my father died. Carmen had quit even pretending she wanted me. My life was one day of Hell after another. Slaps and punishments and meals withheld for looking at her the wrong way. But she was receiving insurance payments for me and she would lose that if I moved away.”
“So that’s what the family feud was about, Carmen and Oscar taking you away because of Yolanda’s drinking?”
What? Didn’t he know anything?
“No, Yolanda started drinking because they took me away.”
Finally, something that surprised him.
He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “If they didn’t take you because of the drinking, why did they take you?”
How dare he sit there with his pen ready to take down whatever she said? This was her life, not some novel. Writing down all the secrets she’d guarded for so many years to be put in a file somewhere. A file anyone could read.
She wasn’t sure if he was her enemy or her ally, but until she decided, she couldn’t bear to see him one more minute. Sitting there, drinking her coffee as if he had any right. She wanted him out of her sight, out of her house, out of her life─now.
The Witch On Twisted Oak Page 7
