A Killing in the Valley

by JF Freedman

  A mud-splattered Nissan Pathfinder rounded the corner. As she watched it approach, her hand involuntarily tightened on the pistol’s grip. The Pathfinder stopped at the edge of the driveway. There was a moment while the dust cleared; then the driver’s door opened, and a young man stepped out, shading his eyes against the sun. The dog ran around him in circles, yapping at his heels.

  Juanita put the gun down and flew out the door. “Steven!” she cried out in delighted surprise. “What are you doing here?” She leaned up and gave him a dry kiss on the cheek.

  The man, tall and lean, in his early twenties, scooped her up in his arms. “Hey, Grandma,” he said. “Hi.”

  Another man, the same age as Juanita’s grandson, got out of the passenger’s side and walked over to them, grinning at the old lady’s unrestrained show of affection. Steven made introductions: “Tyler, this is my grandmother, Juanita McCoy,” he said. “This is my buddy, Tyler Woodruff,” he told Juanita.

  The other boy came around and shook Juanita’s hand. The old woman was shaking, she was so excited. “Come sit with me, boys,” she said in a voice that hadn’t sounded so high and girlish in decades. She led them to a small gazebo outside the kitchen that was canopied by trellises overgrown with red, orange, and purple bougainvillea. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  Steven McCoy was the youngest child of Juanita’s son and daughter-in-law. Her youngest grandchild, and her favorite. He had been visiting the ranch with his parents since he was barely old enough to be lifted up on a horse. A fluid, natural athlete, by the time he was seven he could ride as well as most of the cowboys Juanita and Henry hired to help out during roundup. He enjoyed life on the ranch, more than his father had.

  “We’ve been tooling around the past couple of weeks,” Steven told his grandmother. “Nevada, Idaho, Oregon. After we leave here we’re heading straight home. School starts the beginning of next week.”

  Steven was a biology major, an honors student about to start his senior year at the University of Arizona. Next year he planned on going to medical school. His future was wide open, boundless.

  “Well, I’m pleasured you stopped by,” Juanita said. “Although I wish you had given me notice, so I could have planned something.”

  “We’ve been road-tramping it, Grandma,” Steven explained, “so I didn’t know when we’d get here. I knew we’d stop by, though. You know that this is one of my favorite places on earth.”

  “How did you get in here?” Juanita asked. “The gate wasn’t unlocked, was it?”

  “It was locked,” he reassured her. “I memorized the combination when I was out here last Christmas.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, mollified. “What are your plans?”

  “We want to spend the night here.”

  “Here? In this old house?”

  “Is that a problem?” A cloud of worry crossed his face. “It might be my last chance. Sleeping with all the ghosts.”

  “No, no,” she declared. “Not at all. What about dinner?” She remembered the sage she had picked earlier. “I could barbeque, and make biscuits. Fresh corn and tomatoes from my garden.”

  “Can we do breakfast instead?” he asked. “I want to show Tyler around Santa Barbara. Go to Brophy’s for dinner. I’m hankering for seafood.”

  “Breakfast it is,” she agreed, masking her disappointment. “How early?” she asked. “I’m up before the chickens,” she said with a laugh.

  “Early’s good,” he said. “We’re going to need an early start.” He stood up. His friend Tyler followed suit. “Going to go now,” he told her. “See you mañana.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Don’t forget to lock the gate behind you,” Juanita called, as the boys walked back to their truck.

  Steven raised a nonchalant thumb in acknowledgment. They got into their Pathfinder and drove off down the road.

  3

  HIGH SCHOOL HAD BEEN back in session for less than a week, and already Maria Estrada was bored. What more could she learn that would do her any good? She wasn’t going to UCSB or city college, which some of her friends were planning to do, so it didn’t matter if her grades were any good.

  The social side would be excellent. She was looking forward to the benefits of being a senior: the parties, dances, shopping with her friends, coffee in the mall, sleeping over with her friends on the weekends, more shopping. Shopping was one of the things she did best, she set the styles for her girlfriends.

  And boys. Maria had been a boy magnet since the seventh grade, and she had never been stingy about sharing her favors. By now, though, none of the boys her age had any luster, they were too young and immature. For the past year she had turned her attention to older guys, like the Marine she had met over the summer, Dennis Montoya, who had been home on leave from Iraq. He’d had money, a plentiful supply of drugs, and he was crazy-wild. The way he explained why he acted like he did was, once you’ve looked death in the face, nothing scares you.

  He was gone now, back to Iraq, or somewhere else. She had tried to stay in touch with him, but he hadn’t answered any of her letters or e-mails.

  Classes were over for the day. Maria sat at one of the outside picnic-style tables at Chico’s, a taco stand near her school. For once, she was by herself. Her two best friends, Sonia Garcia and Jeannette Lopez, who she usually had lunch with, were trying out for the volleyball team. Maria didn’t want to be on the team—too much commitment, you had to go to practice regularly, you had to go to all the games, a million stupid rules. She had played volleyball in junior high, but she wasn’t good at it—her serve was weak, and she couldn’t jump very high. If she couldn’t do something well, she didn’t want to do it at all. Which was why she wasn’t doing any extracurricular activities this year, not even drama, which she actually did like and was good at. There were too many girls who would be trying out for the same parts she’d be trying out for. And the drama coach had a prejudice against Latina girls, the Anglo girls always got the best parts. You couldn’t prove it, but everybody knew it was the truth.

  Two guys came from the pickup window carrying baskets of food and bottles of beer. After glancing around to see if there were any vacant tables, they walked over to hers. “Mind if we sit here?” one of them asked.

  She looked up at him, shielding her eyes against the sun at their backs. He was tall, thin, ropy-muscular. Dirty-blond hair, green eyes. He was hot, she thought immediately. Handsome and casually arrogant, the way she liked her men. His friend was not as tall, but good-looking enough. They carried themselves with an easy self-assurance.

  “Okay,” she said after a pause, like she owned the table and was doing them a favor by allowing them to share it with her.

  They sat down across from her. The one who had spoken to her took a bite out of his taco and washed it down with a mouthful of beer. “Are you from around here?” he asked her, trying to strike up a conversation. He smiled—his teeth were perfectly straight.

  She nodded. What would she be doing around here otherwise?

  “I’m Tom,” the boy said. “This is Bill. And you’re…”

  “Maria,” she answered.

  Immediately, she wished she hadn’t given him her real name. Not that it mattered—they were just sitting here, sharing a table.

  “Go to the high school, Maria?” Tom asked, still smiling at her.

  She nodded again. “I’m a senior.”

  “You look old for a senior,” he told her. “I don’t mean you’re old-looking, you look kind of sophisticated for high school. I would have guessed college.”

  He was bullshitting her, but in a nice, flirty way, so that was okay. “I’m on the cusp,” she said, “I turned eighteen last week. I’m one of the older ones in the class.” She sipped some coffee—it had gone cold. “I’m going to college next year. City college.”

  “That’s smart,” he said. “Good way to get started.”

  “So, like, you’re in college?” she asked. That was pretty obvious, but
she had to keep up her end of the conversation.

  “Yep. We’re in college.” He nodded at his friend, who nodded back.

  UCSB, she thought. Unless they went to one of the schools down south, like UCLA or USC. They had that L.A. look about them. “What year?” she asked.

  “Seniors,” he answered. “Our last year until going out into the real world.”

  Hers, too. The thought suddenly depressed her. Only nine more months of mindless fun.

  The boy who was doing the talking leaned forward on his elbows. “What’re you doing the rest of the afternoon?”

  Okay, there it was, he had officially hit on her. “I don’t have nothing planned,” she said, trying to sound like she wasn’t that interested in him, but wasn’t totally disinterested, either. That she could be persuaded, if he knew how to be charming.

  He glanced around. No one else was close to their table. “Do you…” He put his thumb and forefinger to his lips and sucked in slowly.

  She smiled. “Well, yeah. If it’s good.”

  “It’s good,” he told her, his smile broadening. “Better than good. It’s outstanding.” Leaning in closer, he said in a soft voice, “Got some E, too.”

  This day was going to be okay after all, she thought with a fluttering of excitement in her chest.

  “So you want to take a drive?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she answered, not pretending to be blasé now. “I’ll meet you around the corner, okay?” She couldn’t chance anyone she knew seeing her leaving here with two strange older guys she had only met ten minutes ago. Particularly Anglos; her mother would not like that, any of it. The two of them had been at war for years.

  “Okay,” he agreed. He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Do you have a friend who could join us?”

  Maria sat back. That was a problem.

  Looking around, she spied a girl sitting alone on the other side of the patio. This girl was also Chicana, but she didn’t know her, although the girl looked vaguely familiar. “Wait here,” she told the guys.

  She got up and walked over to the other girl’s table. The girl looked up as Maria hovered over her. “Hello?” she said tentatively.

  Maria picked up on the girl’s accent. She wasn’t from California, or anywhere in the United States. Mexico, or somewhere else deeper in Central America.

  “Hi,” Maria said easily. Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down at the girl’s table. “I’m Maria Estrada,” she said, favoring this new girl with an assured smile. “I’ve seen you around. What’s your name?”

  The girl seemed flustered. “Tina,” she said. “Tina Ayala.” She hesitated. “We’re in English together.”

  Maria nodded knowingly. “I knew I knew you from somewhere. You’re new around here, right?”

  The girl named Tina nodded. “We moved to Santa Barbara this summer. From L.A.,” she added.

  “Cool,” Maria exclaimed, as that explained everything. “So, like, who do you hang out with?”

  “Nobody in particular,” Tina answered self-consciously. “I haven’t met many people yet. School’s only started a week.”

  “Yeah, it’s tough coming to a new school, especially your senior year,” Maria said sympathetically. “Maybe we could do stuff together,” she casually offered.

  The new girl almost blushed, either from embarrassment at not having any friends or chagrin at being an outsider, Maria didn’t know. Or care. She was available, that was what counted.

  “That would be…nice,” Tina said in a soft voice.

  Maria moved in for the kill. “So what’re you doing now? Do you have any plans for this afternoon?”

  Tina shook her head. “No.”

  Maria smiled at her, as if an idea had just come to her. “Hey, listen. Me and a couple friends are going to hang out for a while.” She turned and looked at the two guys who were sitting at her table. “We can get them to score some beer or tequila. They have marijuana, too,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

  Tina didn’t do drugs, and she rarely drank beer, or any alcohol. But she didn’t want to blow the opportunity to become friends with Maria Estrada before she even had a chance. Maria was one of the most popular girls in the school. She always had a posse hovering around her. Being a friend of Maria Estrada’s would certainly help her social position, which was basically nonexistent.

  She didn’t have to smoke any dope, and one beer wouldn’t be the worst thing to do in the world. She looked over at the boys. They were older, and Anglo. She had never been out with an Anglo boy; she hardly dated at all, her parents watched her like a hawk.

  She was a senior in high school, almost eighteen. This was the way American kids lived. The way she wanted to be. “Okay,” she said to Maria. “I’ll go with you.”

  The girls met the boys around the corner, so they wouldn’t be spotted by anyone they knew. They picked up a twelve-pack of Dos Equis at an AM/PM minimart and drove up Mission Ridge to Franceschi Park, at the top of the Riviera. “It’s an awesome place,” Maria promised, as she instructed them how to go. “And hardly anybody knows about it.”

  Tom drove; she sat next to him. By the time they were halfway there her hand had found a resting place halfway up his thigh. Tina was in back with the other boy. They sat further apart from each other, neither one comfortable in making the first move.

  The park was empty except for the four of them. Maria and Tom led the way down a narrow trail, the other two lagging behind.

  “You were right. This is a fantastic view,” Tom remarked, as he looked down at the entire city laid out below them. He opened a can of beer and handed it to her, then cracked one for himself.

  “It’s really pretty at night,” Maria told him. “All the city lights shining, and the harbor.”

  “I’ll bet,” he answered. It was pretty, but he hadn’t come up here for the scenery. “You wanna smoke?”

  “Well, yeah,” she answered, like he even had to ask. Wasn’t that why she was here with him, among other reasons?

  He took a pipe that was already packed from his shirt pocket. He lit it, took a hit, passed it to her. She inhaled deeply, sucking a lungful of smoke down her throat. She held it in for a few seconds, exhaled in a raspy cough, swallowed a mouthful of beer. “That’s good,” she croaked. She took the pipe from him and hit it again. She could feel the high coming on, like she was floating.

  He pulled her to him in a hard kiss. She pressed her body up against his. Through his pants, she could feel his erection. She broke the kiss off and led him around the corner of the trail. As soon as they were out of sight of the other two, she turned to him and they started grinding against each other.

  Behind them, Tina and the other boy stood together awkwardly. “Do you want a beer?” he asked her.

  His name was Billy. The way he’d said it when he first introduced himself made her think it probably wasn’t his real name, just like she didn’t think the other boy’s name was Tom. It didn’t matter—she was here to become Maria’s new friend, not to cozy up with a boy she almost certainly would never see again after today.

  Although he was nice, surprisingly. He hadn’t tried to grope her in the car, and he wasn’t pushing her now. It was hot, and she was thirsty. She could drink a beer. “Okay,” she said to his offer. “I would.”

  They sat down on a flat rock. He pulled a thin joint from his pocket, held it up. She shook her head. “Maybe later,” she told him apologetically. She felt kind of stupid about that, because everyone did it. But she wasn’t going to get high with a boy she didn’t know. “You go ahead.”

  He toked up. They drank from their cans of beer in silence for a few moments. Then he put his arm around her shoulder, drew her to him, and kissed her. For a moment she panicked, but she fought back the urge to fight him off. He was a good kisser; gentle, not rough, not pushy. She leaned into his body and kissed him back.

  Maria and Tom smoked another pipeful and drank a couple more beers apiece. She was high, and she was horny
. This boy—more a man than a boy—knew how to touch her the right way, in the right places. Normally she wasn’t into having sex out in the open, but no one else was around, except Tina and the other guy, who were into their own thing, out of sight around the corner, so she let him pull up her top and push the bra off her breasts, then put his hand between her legs under her skirt and snake a couple of fingers inside her panties, into her vagina.

  She unzipped his fly and grabbed his erection. “Put on a rubber. I don’t fuck without protection. I already had to get rid of one baby, I don’t want to go through that shit again.”

  “Fuck.” He sat up. “They’re in the car.” Clumsily, he zipped his pants up. “I’ll go get one. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She giggled. Like she was going to move an inch. “Okay, but hurry.”

  “Be right back.” He started running up the trail to the parking lot.

  Tina was having a panic attack. The kissing had been nice, slow and gentle. Even his hand on her breast, on top of her blouse, was all right. But then his hand had slipped under her blouse onto her bra, and then it was under her bra, on her bare skin. Swallowing her nervousness, she let him caress her there; it felt good, she couldn’t deny that. But when his hand slipped up her legs before she could stop him, his knee between her thighs so she couldn’t close them, that was too much.

  “Please,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t.” She squeezed her legs together as hard as she could, trying to stop his hand from getting inside the elastic around her waist. Nearby, she could hear Maria and Tom getting ready to have sex. The sound was carrying clearly in the narrow canyon. Hearing them increased her terror.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered back. He pushed his hand up harder, trying to get a finger inside the panties.

  “No,” she said more firmly. “I don’t want to.”

  The hand stopped moving.

  “I’m sorry.” She was afraid she was going to start crying. “I can’t.”