I spend more time on the Internet and eventually find some interesting articles in a local newspaper based in Hemet, California. They date to seventeen years ago and give me a hunch as to who Martina is with and why.
CHAPTER thirty-three
What are we going to say to this Felicity del Rey if she shows up?” Riley asks.
“Oh, we aren’t going to say anything,” I reply.
“What? I’m confused.”
“If this woman does have Martina somewhere, she isn’t going to tell us that.”
“Probably not,” Riley replies.
“We have some good clues as to what the woman looks like. Nate told us that much, at least.”
I don’t tell Riley that if my hunch turns out to be correct, I’ll be able to spot her easily.
“So are we just going to hang out and watch her once she comes in here?” Riley asks.
“Something like that.” I take a sip of the Coke that I ordered.
“Vivienne,” he says. I can tell from his voice that Riley is growing increasingly frustrated with me. I seem to sometimes have that knack with people. I should probably work on it.
“I’m sorry. So here’s the deal. . . .” I stop mid-sentence because I spot who I am sure is the woman calling herself Felicity del Rey—and whose real name is Isabella Garcia. She’s short, a bit on the plump side, probably somewhere between thirty-five and forty years old.
“Don’t look now,” I say, nudging Riley. “But it’s her.”
I watch the woman look around and then gaze out the large glass windows that face the Pacific Coast Highway.
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
“Just follow my lead.”
I watch the waitress take her order. The woman is facing me, and I can tell that she seems a bit tentative and nervous. “Wave the waitress down and order something,” I instruct Riley.
The waitress comes back by our table and I order an ice cream sundae. Riley follows suit. Felicity-slash-Isabella checks her phone.
Just as the waitress returns and sets down our desserts, I see Felicity get up, put down a couple of dollars for her coffee, and leave. “Come on.”
I toss down enough money to cover the ice cream. “Let’s go,” I say.
“Hey, I can’t even stay for a bite?”
“Really. Really, Riley?”
“Sorry.”
We climb into Tristan’s Jeep. “She got into that Volkswagen over there—the black one pulling out. Follow her.”
Riley clicks his tongue. “Now your master plan is coming into focus for me.”
“Is it now? And, what is it?” I ask.
“We are going to follow this lady back to her house, where hopefully, we find Martina.”
“Bingo! And that is why you are one of my most favorite people in the entire world, Riley Reed.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you know me so well, and you are terribly intelligent.”
“Not as well as Tristan. I mean, I don’t know you as well as you and he know each other.”
I don’t respond to that right away. I finally say, “I don’t know about that. I think that Tristan is keeping something from me.” Heck, I know he is. He’s even admitted that he is.
“Oh, Vivvie, you aren’t still worried about him flirting with Lydia, are you?”
I sigh. “No, it’s not that. There’s something else he isn’t telling me. And, I do think it has to do with Lydia. Not about him being into her, though, but about her knowing some secret. I’ve seen them talking a couple of times and it looked kind of tense.”
I wonder if Riley can tell I’m fishing here, trying to find out if Tristan has possibly talked to Riley about any of this.
“What you’re probably seeing is him blowing her off, and you know how she is. She doesn’t like being blown off.”
I look out the window as the blue waters of the Pacific roll by. The ocean is calm and peaceful, unlike my nerves at this moment. I finally say the words out loud. I let it out. “Do you think that maybe Tristan has a difficult home life?”
“Don’t we all?” Riley says.
“I guess to some degree, but for him, I’m just wondering if maybe he, um, well . . . I think maybe his dad abuses him.”
Riley glances sideways at me. “I don’t know, Vivvie. That would be a big deal. I can say that when he talks to his dad on the phone, he does sound different.”
“What do you mean?” I turn down the radio.
“He sounds nervous and he always leaves the room so I don’t overhear.”
I sigh.
“You know, though, Vivvie, I don’t know how you’ll find out the truth if something that awful is happening. That’s a hard question to ask someone, even someone who is your boyfriend.”
“I know, but I want to help him if I can.”
“I think you have to let him be the one to tell you something like that,” Riley replies.
“Really? Because what if he gets hurt? Besides, I think he told Lydia at some point. So why can’t he tell me? What I do know is that his dad has done something illegal that Tristan refuses to tell me about because he’s afraid I could be hurt by knowing it.”
“You want to know what I think?”
Riley directs the car from Highway 1 to the 10 East.
“I wouldn’t be talking to you about this if I didn’t want your opinion,” I say.
“I think that you should do as Tristan asked you to do. I think you need to leave it alone and back off. I know for a fact that the guy never cared about Lydia the way he cares about you. So, if he’s asking you not to worry about it, or ask him about it, then I think that you need to listen.”
“Yeah. Maybe so.” I know that he probably has a point, but I can’t help feeling like there are answers that I need and want from Tristan. I am also really afraid of what Lydia knows and how she might use it against him.
“Hey, she’s turning right,” I say, seeing the woman’s blinker start up. We follow her car into a residential area. “Keep a little distance.”
We drive slowly down a tree-lined street. The houses are cute, cottage style, like maybe they were built in the 1950s. Their lawns are trim, and many have rose gardens in the front. It’s a little slice of serenity in the middle of the big city.
We find a place to park and get out. Riley looks at me and says, “Do you have a plan?”
“I’d like to say that I do, but yet again, I do not.”
“No?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Just going to wing it. It worked the last time, didn’t it?”
“Perfectly,” he replies. “Just perfectly.”
“Sometimes these things are better off just done on the fly, my friend.”
“You’re officially nuts. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I answer, knowing that he is right. I probably am a little bit crazy.
We see the woman we have been assuming is Felicity del Rey climb the front porch steps and go inside the house. I’ll admit that my nerves are jangling and I can pretty much feel the blood rushing through me.
Riley and I walk up to the porch. I bring my fist up and knock.
A minute later, the door swings open. There stands the woman we’ve followed here. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t buy candy bars, or magazines, or whatever it is you kids are selling.” She starts to shut the door and I place my hand on it, pushing back. “Excuse me?” she says.
“Hi. I’m Vivienne Taylor and this is Riley Reed.”
Her eyes widen just a tad. There’s some recognition there, and I spot it. She knows who we are. “Do I know you?”
I smile. “Maybe. I think you do. I at least think you’ve heard of us.”
“No. Sorry. Why should I have?”
“We’re frie
nds of Martina Lunes. She’s my roommate at Fairmont Academy.”
“Okay.”
“We know that you are Tracy Sanford’s source. Those stories you fed her caused Martina a great deal of pain, and now she’s missing—I’m guessing you have something to do with it. Why else would you have given the payout to Nate Deacon to leave those notes for Martina?”
“I don’t have anything to do with her going missing. That’s all on her parents.”
“Really?”
Riley glances at me. The poor guy is as pale as a sheet.
“Is it? Is it really all on her parents? You didn’t have any choice at all to go to Tracy Sanford and feed her a bunch of lies about the family?” I say. “You know what I think, Felicity—or, should I say, Isabella? I think that you are Erika Martín’s stalker. I think you put this whole thing together. I’m not sure why you did it. My guess is money.”
I was figuring that Isabella lived modestly. She didn’t seem to have much. I couldn’t completely understand why or how she’d given Nate a thousand bucks, but then again, maybe she saw it as a means to an end. The van she’d taken Martina in had obviously been rented because we had just followed her in her Volkswagen bug—unless she had another car or had stolen the van. Heck, she might have even stolen the grand that she paid Nate. Isabella wasn’t exactly coming off as sane, and crazy people do crazy things.
I don’t have all the answers, but I’m confident that I have some of them. And, I am positive that what I’ve learned has led me to Martina. I’m not leaving without her.
Isabella stares at me with a stunned expression. “That is not true. You don’t know anything . . . uh . . . What did you say your name is?”
“Vivienne Taylor.” I chuckle a little and shake my head.
“Miss Taylor, I suggest you and your friend here go on back to school and be a good boy and girl.”
“I’d like to do that. I really would. But, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” She starts to close the door again, and again I push back, only harder.
“I can, if you send Martina out here and she comes with us.”
Now, her eyes really widen. “What? You’re crazy.”
Riley gives me a glare that says he completely agrees with her.
“I don’t think so. See, I enjoy solving little mysteries, especially when my friends are involved. And, I’ve been delving into you.” I feel bad now that I never brought Riley up to speed on what I’d discovered last night—I guess I am a bit of a Sherlock, wanting the glory for myself.
“You would not believe what you can find out with a little ingenuity,” I say. “See, I know that you ran away from home in Hemet, California, and came to LA and got hooked on drugs. Your parents posted all sorts of flyers around your small town to bring you back—even put a notice in the paper. You were, what? Seventeen? Same age as Martina is now. I also know that you gave up a baby for adoption twenty years ago and that you eventually got sober and then became a nanny. You were Martina’s nanny when she was a baby.” I am guessing at the facts, but I can see from Isabella’s stricken face that I’m right.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispers.
“Because I believe that either Martina is here, or you know where she’s at. I believe you owe her the truth. I also know that she has two parents who adore her and who are worried sick about her. Martina is not your daughter, Isabella. You’ve created that in your head. If you’re hiding her, what you’re doing is against the law.”
“Leave. You both need to leave.”
That’s when I hear a girl’s voice come from behind a closed door down the hallway. “Is it true?”
A moment later, Martina steps out where we can see her. I’m guessing that Riley might pass out. Even I feel a little faint.
Isabella nods. “Yes.”
Martina looks at me and then Riley. She now stares at the woman who has been sheltering her and who obviously had the hopes of creating some kind of mother-daughter bond with her. Her face is full of disbelief.
“Why would you do this, Izzy? For three days you’ve been showing me photos of an infant that was supposedly me. You’ve been telling me that you’re my biological mom but you gave me to my parents to raise, so I’d have a better life. But you’ve known all along that I’m not your daughter. I trusted you. That’s why I’m here. I loved you so much as a little girl. I don’t understand why you would do this.”
Isabella looks dazed. Her eyes have dark circles underneath them.
“You tried to blow my world apart,” Martina says. “You told me things that I started to believe.” She turns to me and Riley. “Thank you guys so much for finding me. I know you probably hate me, but can I go with you?”
I pull her into a hug, and a minute later, all three of us are outside the house.
“We don’t hate you at all,” I say.
“Martina,” Isabella calls after her, “please, let me explain.”
“You’ve done enough damage,” Martina replies and keeps walking.
I sit in the backseat with Martina, who leans her head on my shoulder. Other than an occasional sob from Martina, we drive in silence back to Fairmont.
CHAPTER thirty-four
Martina sits on her bed facing me. She’s waiting for her parents to arrive. She hasn’t said a lot because I think she’s in a bit of shock. “Why do you think she did what she did? Isabella, I mean. Do you think she really thought I could be her daughter?” she asks me.
“I don’t know. But I do know that your mom is your mom. I also think that Isabella is crazy, no matter what.”
“Yeah. I think so, too. She wasn’t like that when I was a little girl. I loved her and we always had fun together. She stopped working for my family when I started middle school. My mom didn’t think I needed a nanny any longer. I just don’t understand why she would do this.”
“Can I ask you what happened the other day outside the bowling alley? Why did you go with her?”
“I guess I owe you that much,” Martina replies. “Well, I actually owe you a lot more than that. Isabella had called me the day before the bowling alley to say that she knew who was stalking my mom. She also said that she couldn’t tell me over the phone and didn’t want me to say anything to my parents until she knew the facts for sure. She said that she wanted to meet with me. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but remember, she was someone I had known since I was a baby, so I had no real reason not to trust her. Then, the other day—the same day I saw the story that claimed I was probably adopted—she called. She said that she definitely had proof of who my real mom was. She said that I could meet her, and that she would call when she had a date and time. She asked me again not to tell anyone. I wanted to say something to you, but I needed to find out on my own if any of it was true or not. Then, I went to the bowling alley with Raul. I saw her phone number come up on my cell while we were there, and Raul was off getting drinks. I took the call, and she asked where I was. I told her, and she said that she was close by and could meet me out back in a couple of minutes. I figure now that she must have followed Raul and me. I went out there, and she said that she could prove the identity of my real mom. She said that all she needed was for me to get in the van so she could show me. I got in the car. I wanted to call you. I wanted to let Raul know, but she handed me a file folder as soon as I got in, and there were pictures of her with a dark-haired baby girl in the hospital. She showed me my mom’s signature and my dad’s on some paperwork, and then she claimed to be my real mother. I was shocked, Vivvie. She said that my parents allowed her to be my nanny and that she wanted to die when they fired her when I was twelve. She said the only reason she didn’t take them to court and get me back was because she knew they loved me and could give me a rich girl’s life.”
“Did she explain to you why she was coming for you now? After so many years?”
“She
said she wanted me to know now so that when I turned eighteen, I had the option of having a relationship with her. She also said she was very disturbed by all of the events she’d read that were happening between my parents. She said that she wanted to keep me from having to deal with that kind of pain if possible.”
“I can understand that, but what I don’t get is why you would just believe all of it so easily, and why you would go with her, and on top of that, why you wouldn’t let any of us know that you were okay.”
“I don’t really know.” She wipes tears from her face. “I think I sort of snapped. It’s not easy at all to have your family’s dirty laundry aired all over the place. I didn’t know what to believe. I think there was this part of me that wanted to be normal. I wanted to feel normal. I guess I thought if I had a normal mom like her, who lived in a normal house and wasn’t some big celebrity, then maybe all my problems would go away.”
“Interesting that Isabella struck you as normal,” I say.
Martina laughs a little. “Yeah, seriously. I guess she was probably the stalker, too.”
I’m amazed to realize that my friend with celebrity parents has been so sheltered that she could be this vulnerable and trusting. “I think so. She knew too much about your family and she’s pretty twisted.”
“The thing is, through all of this, Isabella was really sweet to me, just like when I was little. For those few days I wanted to allow myself to be that normal kid.”
“But people were looking for you. We were all worried.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake, but I was so mixed up. I still am.”
I nod and try hard to grasp her point of view, but honestly, I don’t completely understand it. “Have you called Raul yet?” I ask.
“No. I need to.”
“I can go in the other room if you want me to, so you can call him.”
Dark Harmony: A Vivienne Taylor Horse Lover's Mystery (Fairmont Riding Academy Book 2) Page 16
