The Gamble and the Grave (Veronica Barry Book 4)

by Sophia Martin

  “Hm… I’m feeling like we should do something about Christmas,” Veronica mused.

  “Tis the season. Okay. But no It’s a Wonderful Life. Jimmy and I are on a break,” Sunny said, referring to the lead actor, Jimmy Stewart.

  “Oh?” Veronica asked, surprised. Usually Sunny liked him.

  “I overdid it. TCM was having a Jimmy Stewart marathon a few nights ago and I had insomnia. Ever since I’ve been having dreams mixing Liberty Valance and Harvey, with a little Mr. Smith thrown in just in case that wasn’t confusing enough. I think I like insomnia better.”

  “Ooh, that does sound weird.”

  “It’s giving me a headache just talking about it.”

  “Okay, no Jimmy. I’ll think of some good ones and order them by Monday so we get the DVDs in time.”

  “Sounds good. Should we go ahead and say Saturday for lunch? Will Daniel oppa be joining us?”

  “They’ve been having him work weekends for the last few weeks.”

  “Okay, just us girls then. You want to invite Melanie?”

  Veronica considered it. “I’ll ask her, but she’s been pretty tired lately.”

  “Tell her all she has to do is come and put her feet up.”

  “I will. I’ll call you when I know,” Veronica said.

  “Good enough. Talk to you soon.”

  Veronica hung up and sighed. It didn’t look like she was going to find anyone to help her avoid doing some of that grading. She’d have to take it as a sign. Nose to the grindstone, she thought. Well, there were worse fates than grading French quizzes while sipping mocha in a comfy chair at Penny’s.

  ~~~

  She was halfway through her second stack when Khalilah Jadeed walked up.

  “Veronica, how nice to see you,” Khalilah said. “Hard at work? How are your students this year?”

  Veronica smiled at Khalilah as the latter settled herself in the armchair next to her. Khalilah usually dressed in classy skirts or slacks and blouses, but today she wore jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt with a zipper that bisected some sort of logo with what looked like the Golden Gate Bridge on it. She held a large cup in one hand and a plain black purse in the other. She shifted a cushion and set the purse where it had been, then cradled the cup in her hands.

  “Very nice,” she murmured. “It’s getting so cold out, my fingers feel frozen still.”

  Veronica nodded. “December in Sacramento.”

  “I suppose they have it worse in other parts of the country.”

  “But I bet it’s hotter in Tunisia.”

  “It is,” Khalilah agreed. “Although by now I should be used to it, I’ve lived in this part of California for almost eighteen years.” She shrugged. “I suppose my bones and blood will always remember the Tunisian desert heat. I do miss it.” After a pause, she seemed to shake off some small sense of melancholy. She turned to Veronica. “So, tell me about your classes.”

  Veronica sighed. “Oh, you know, the usual. Most of the kids are great, but French One has about a third who didn’t want to take it but it was the only thing that fit their schedule, and then French Two also has a few of those.”

  “I can’t believe they send you students in French Two who haven’t taken French One.”

  “They never do that to you at Saint Pat’s?”

  Khalilah was also a French teacher. She worked full-time at Sacramento’s best private school, Saint Patrick’s. Veronica had met her when she had needed to complete a requirement to observe another French teacher. Sometime later, they’d become friends when Veronica helped Khalilah find a missing woman.

  “No, the parents pay far too much to put up with that sort of thing,” Khalilah said in answer to Veronica’s question. “I still get unwilling students in French One, of course. But usually by French Two they’ve made up their minds to stay, even if some of them aren’t thrilled about it.”

  “That sounds better than having to explain to a student that I know she hasn’t taken French One but I still expect her to pass Two.”

  Khalilah nodded with raised eyebrows. Sometimes, Veronica envied her the job at Saint Pat’s, even if Khalilah actually earned less than a full-time teacher in the public schools. Maybe it was worth a lower salary, if she didn’t have some of the headaches a public school teacher had.

  They chatted for a while longer, until three o’clock rolled around. Veronica began putting away her papers. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m meeting someone… for some business.”

  Khalilah narrowed her eyes. “Really? What sort of business?”

  Veronica felt her cheeks warm.

  Khalilah’s gaze narrowed further. “Veronica! Have you begun working as a psychic?”

  A wave of embarrassment washed over Veronica, despite the fact that she knew Khalilah believed in her. “I haven’t agreed to do it yet,” she muttered.

  “But that’s wonderful,” Khalilah said. “Will you finally allow me to tell others about you? You know I’ve got people who could use your help.”

  Veronica shifted in her seat. “Oh, I don’t know, Khalilah…”

  “It’s just silly to be so awkward about it. The things I’ve seen you do, Veronica… you could quit teaching, I’m sure of it. If you wanted to. You could do your—your thing full time if you wanted.”

  Veronica managed a smile. “I appreciate the supportive words,” she said, but she didn’t finish because she saw Miguel Santiago approaching. Khalilah followed her gaze.

  “Your client?” she said, but then her face registered surprise. Veronica frowned. Did Khalilah know Miguel?

  Miguel Santiago was about six feet tall, lanky, and very handsome. His dark, thick eyebrows arched over equally dark eyes fringed in sooty lashes. His curly black hair brushed his shoulders, though the last time Veronica saw him he wasn’t wearing a baseball cap and you could appreciate his hair even more. He wore a gray parka and jeans, and he was carrying a tan leather laptop satchel. Miguel came to a halt a few feet away, his eyes moving from Veronica to Khalilah. And, Veronica noticed uneasily, he seemed inappropriately interested in Khalilah’s chest.

  “Ahem,” Veronica said, standing. “Uh, Miguel? This is my friend, Khalilah Jadeed. We just ran into each other here, but Khalilah was going to leave so you and I could meet.”

  Khalilah started to laugh. Veronica blinked at her in confusion. Miguel grinned back at Khalilah, clearly in on the joke.

  “Uh…” Veronica said, feeling lost.

  “A Warriors fan in Sac? I thought I was the only one!” Miguel said.

  With that clue, it all started to come together. Veronica took in the logo on Khalilah’s hoody again, and noticed it was the same as the one on Miguel’s baseball cap. “Oh,” she murmured.

  Khalilah got to her feet, smiling warmly at Miguel. “I’m going to the game later. Are you?”

  “I can’t,” Miguel said with regret. “I wish I could. We could go together. Solidarity! We could fend off the Kings fans together. Though I bet there will be plenty of people from Oakland there.”

  “This is a baseball team?” Veronica asked.

  Khalilah favored her with a concerned look. “Baseball? No, Veronica. The Warriors and the Kings are basketball teams.”

  “You’ve… never heard of the Kings?” Miguel said, shocked. “You live in Sacramento, and you’ve never heard of the Kings? They’re Sacramento’s only major team, in any sport!”

  Veronica felt the warmth return to her cheeks. “I’m not very sporty,” she admitted. “I mean, I think I had heard of the Kings, but I never pay attention. You could have told me they were a baseball team and I would have believed it.”

  “Baseball season ended in October,” Miguel said.

  “And who are the Warriors?”

  “The Oakland NBA team,” Khalilah said. “The Golden State Warriors.”

  Veronica gave a short nod. “And you two are the only Warriors fans in the greater Sacramento area?”

  “Especially today—they’re playing the Kings
here tonight. I’ve taken my life into my hands wearing this sweatshirt,” Khalilah said with a laugh. “But I have to support my Warriors. I’ve been a fan since I was at Berkeley.”

  “My family used to live in Oakland,” Miguel said with a grin. He and Khalilah gazed at each other warmly, as if they were old friends who’d run into each other by chance. Veronica watched them until she started to feel like a third wheel on a date. For a moment she considered making some sort of excuse and slipping away, but she didn’t want to have to reschedule with Miguel.

  “Um, well, I’m sorry to break up the Superbowl party—” she began.

  Khalilah snorted. “You aren’t serious.”

  “Okay, maybe I know the Superbowl is football, but you know what I mean, and I don’t know what the equivalent is for basketball,” Veronica said. She held up a hand before Khalilah could tell her. “That’s okay, really.”

  “Doesn’t Daniel watch sports?” Khalilah demanded.

  “He doesn’t have time,” Veronica said with a shrug. She turned to Miguel. “We really should have our meeting, don’t you think?”

  Miguel cast a wistful glance at Khalilah, then smiled at Veronica and nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’ll be on my way,” Khalilah said with a smirk. “I don’t want to be late for the game.”

  Miguel watched her leave. “That game is going to be epic. All the fans from the Bay Area are going to drive here, you know.”

  “Yes, or take the train,” Veronica agreed with a sigh. Was she going to have to hear all about this basketball game before they go around to the point of this meeting?

  Miguel tore his eyes away from the door when Khalilah left. He focused on Veronica, giving her another smile. His teeth where white and even, and his smile was pretty dazzling. “Sorry,” he said. “Let’s talk about why I called you.”

  Veronica smiled back.

  Miguel took the armchair Khalilah had vacated and opened the satchel on his lap. Instead of a laptop, he produced a photo album. Veronica said nothing as he opened it. She watched his deft hands touch the pages they turned with reverence. He settled on a particular page and turned the album so she could see it.

  “This is my mother and father on their tenth wedding anniversary,” he said. There was a tightness in his voice.

  Veronica nodded and gazed at the aged photograph, which showed a Latino couple. The woman had a big fluffy hairstyle and a red jacket with shoulder pads that shouted “late 80s.” The man had a mustache and wore a suit and tie. He held his arm around her shoulders, and they were standing in front of a fireplace. They smiled into the camera, looking genuinely happy.

  “Do you recognize him?” Miguel asked.

  Veronica’s eyebrows drew together and she peered at the photo. Finally she grimaced and shook her head. “Should I?”

  “I suppose not. It’s been a while since his face was on billboards or TV ads,” Miguel said.

  “You father was in commercials?” Veronica asked.

  Miguel chuckled. “You might say that! He’s Hector Santiago. He was a state senator for eight years, and before that he was Oakland’s representative for six.”

  “And he’s retired now?”

  “He has been for almost seven years. My father has Alzheimer’s, Miss Barry. It’s a terrible disease,” Miguel said.

  Veronica gave him her best sympathetic look. She might not be able to help him, but she could listen and show support.

  “He used to be the smartest person I knew. And now he’s… well, I suppose it’s not so much that he isn’t smart, he just gets very confused. And that’s not the worst of it. I mean, it was bad enough when he was just wandering off and getting lost—my mother would get so panicked and I can’t blame her. I was so worried when he’d disappear and we wouldn’t know how to find him.”

  “I can imagine,” Veronica said. She wondered if he was missing again, and that was why Miguel wanted her help. It didn’t sound like that was what he was building up to, however.

  “He got pneumonia last spring,” Miguel said. “And ever since, he’s been so much weaker. He needs help eating. He has a lot of trouble walking. He needs constant care.”

  Veronica nodded. It sounded like a very hard situation.

  Miguel took a deep breath and pulled the album back over to his lap. He touched the corner of the photo and said nothing for a moment. Then he met Veronica’s gaze.

  “I’ve always loved this photo. I’m the one that took it, when I was only seven. Just look at them. They were so happy.”

  Veronica duly gazed at the photo, but didn’t know what to say.

  “The trouble was, my father worked a lot. And…” Miguel sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, and Veronica caught herself admiring his black eyelashes and the line of his arched nose. Focus, she ordered herself. He’s good-looking. Get over it.

  He opened his eyes again and gave her an apologetic look. “This isn’t easy to talk about, but you need to know the worst of it so you can decide if you want to help me.”

  Veronica raised her eyebrows.

  “Well,” Miguel said, “he had affairs.”

  Veronica widened her eyes and nodded.

  “He was very careful,” Miguel said. “You can imagine, a politician like him. But my mother knew about it. She only just told me recently.”

  “Wow,” Veronica said.

  “Yeah.” He shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing to learn your parents’ flaws.”

  Veronica thought of her own parents. Her father was an alcoholic who ended his own life, and her mother had abandoned her and then died in a car accident, facts she had only recently come to know the details about. She had to agree.

  “My mother—her name is Dolores—has taken care of my father ever since he retired. I mean, even before the Alzheimer’s started, he was depressed. He didn’t take to retirement well. So she picked up the slack. I think she hoped it would get better. He’d get used to being retired and he’d start some hobbies or something.”

  Miguel touched the tips of his fingers to the edge of the photo, and then, gently closed the book.

  “It didn’t get better,” he said. “Instead, he started getting confused, and before long the doctors were saying it was Alzheimer’s. They put him on medications, and it was up to her to make sure he took them. She’d have to make sure he kept his appointments, you know, things like that. It wasn’t so bad, I guess. She had to take over managing the bills and their bank accounts, and she used to complain a lot about it, because she never used to be the one who did that.”

  Miguel stopped talking, clamping his mouth shut. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He seemed to need a moment to muster the courage to continue.

  “Then there were days when he’d get belligerent,” he continued at last. “I think he hit her more than once—she has never admitted it to me, but I saw a bruise on her face once and another time she hurt her arm somehow and I’ve never bought the story she gave me. He’d refuse to get dressed, or he’d refuse to bathe. He’d jumble up his words and forget who I was.” Miguel sighed. “This must seem like I’m telling you way more than you ever wanted to know.”

  “No, it’s okay. Go on.”

  “Anyway, the point is, it hasn’t been easy for her, and I understand why she’s sick of it. But now she wants out. She wants a divorce, and she wants to sell the house.”

  “Ah,” Veronica said, though she still didn’t see how she fit into it.

  “She wants to sell the house so she can afford to put him in a home, Miss Barry. So she can leave him there with strangers and go off and live her own life.”

  It was clear that Miguel didn’t sympathize with his mother on this point as much as he said he did. His voice was tense and he had laced his fingers together tightly, clenching his hands together on his lap.

  “Four years ago,” Miguel said, “my father gave my mother power of attorney and he gave me his house. He wrote the documents up himself. He wrote up a deed that made me the sole owner of th
e house and the land it’s on.”

  Veronica wondered what it was like to be Miguel’s mother. Here she was, this loyal wife, who’d had to deal with her husband’s work taking most of his time, and then the affairs. She obviously was a much more forgiving wife than Veronica would have been. Maybe she’d hoped that their retirement years would be better. Hector would be at home, and he wouldn’t be around the women he cheated with… and then he got sick. And his illness led to him starting to abuse her. And if that wasn’t enough, he gave her responsibility for caring for him but her son the deed to his house. And now she was caring for an invalid around the clock, and she couldn’t even say she was living in her own home. What a life.

  “The trouble is,” Miguel continued, “Papa wanted to keep the deed. I thought he’d just put it in his safe, but it’s not there. I can’t get Papa to tell me where he hid it. I have to find the deed he drew up with my name on it, so I can stop Mama from selling the house.”

  Veronica’s face cleared. “I see. That’s where I come in.”

  “Yes,” Miguel said. “Exactly.” He let out a breath. “You see, if I can keep the house, I’ll take out a home equity loan to pay for a live-in caregiver. He wanted to live the rest of his days in his house, Miss Barry. I know he wasn’t the best husband, but he was a good dad. I was always proud of him. I’d like to give him that wish.”

  “Why won’t your mother pay for a caregiver? Can’t she use his pension?”

  “He doesn’t have one. California doesn’t give pensions to state legislators elected after 1990. My father was first elected to the State Assembly in 1992.”

  “Really! I had no idea,” Veronica said. “So then she would have to get a second mortgage on the house.”

  “And she doesn’t want to do that. She wouldn’t be able to afford it—my mother never worked. She’s not about to go out and get a job now to support my father.”

  “And you can afford it?”

  “Let me worry about that,” Miguel said, a bit sharply. Then he smiled. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve had this argument with my mother about five times in the last two weeks. She doesn’t want me to take over because she thinks it’s too much of a burden for me.”