The Tustin Chronicles: A Detective Santy Mystery

by Louise Hathaway

  “All I can do is try,” Clarissa says.

  Chapter 38

  After many weeks of signing and sending forms back and forth, Ivan agrees to see her. Clarissa and Santy drive out to the prison in Calipatria. When they check in at the desk they are told that Ivan has been transferred to the Behavioral Management Unit because he got into a fight and “had a little melt down” yesterday.

  Santy thinks, I don’t even want to know.

  Clarissa says, “You mean we can’t see him? We came all this way. I have waited a month for this day.”

  She’s told that she can see him, but it will be a non-contact visit and will be behind a glass partition.

  Clarissa is relieved. She and Santy are told where they must go to see him. Santy tells her that Ivan will be escorted in handcuffs by the staff when he comes in.

  “Try not to get too upset,” he tells her.

  “How will I know it’s him? I don’t even know what he looks like,” Clarissa says.

  “He’ll be the only one in the booth across from you. You won’t have to choose.”

  After about 15 minutes, a handcuffed man with a full beard and dark hair is escorted into his side of the visiting booth. His handcuffs are removed only after he is secured inside.

  Ivan says, “Hello. You must be Clarissa. I was surprised to hear from you again. Why are you here?”

  “Mom was adamant that I come see you. I was with her when she was dying. She told me, ‘tell Ivan that it’s time’. What did she mean by that? It’s time for what?”

  Ivan squirmed in his seat. “Your mother was always the one for mysteries. She loved to make you wonder.”

  “But she insisted that I talk to you. She said it on her deathbed. What do you know that’s so important? Why are the both of you keeping secrets from me?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that if there was a secret, it might be for your own good?” Ivan says loudly. Clarissa feels the tension rising in the booth.

  “I hate all these secrets. Just tell me!”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Just try.”

  “Oh, Clarissa. What’s a sweetheart like you doing in a place like this?”

  “Are you quoting from that Dylan song?”

  “Yep. Steve and I spent many hours listening to him. Lots of times, Steve had to help me with the lyrics. Some of his songs I just didn’t get. I like Dylan a lot now. I’ve had some time to get to know all his songs.”

  “Okay. That’s nice, but you’re avoiding the issue.”

  “What issue?”

  “You know what I mean,” Clarissa practically shouts at him.

  “So, you want to know what your mother meant? Do you really want to know? I don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it. I can’t think why Christine thought it was so important to ask of me. In fact, right now I’m really pissed at her even though she is dead. She should have told you herself!”

  “Told me what?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Clarissa. You seem like a very nice girl.”

  “Tell me!”

  “It’s going to really, really upset you. It’s going to really, really upset you.” Ivan shakes his head. “You really want to know?”

  Clarissa looks like she’s about to break the glass separating them.

  He says, “Clarissa, I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but…well, the fact is that you are not Steve’s daughter. You are my daughter. Yes; you’re the child of ‘Ivan the Terrible.’ Christine was pregnant with you when I got arrested for possessing drugs and being drunk in public. Steve looked after her while I was doing time. Like your Dad told you, she did desert you after you were born. She wanted better things in life than being stuck with a baby. She wanted to go to college and see the world. I can’t believe I ever liked her. Steve and I made a pact never to tell you who she was. We also said that we’d never tell you who your real father is. I mean, who wants to be the kid of ‘the hammer murderer?’ Steve is probably up there in heaven shaking his fist at me right now. I’m positive that he gave you a better life than either your Mom or I could have given you.”

  “No way. No way.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ivan says.

  “Oh my God,” Clarissa says, her heart beating hard. They both give each a deep, long look.

  They stay looking at each other and saying nothing. Clarissa starts to cry. She just sits there without saying a word. After a while, the staff tells them that visiting hours are over. Clarissa doesn’t know if she wants to run away forever from him or stay in his life. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Clarissa. Time to go,” Santy says.

  Without saying a word, Clarissa reaches her hand up to the glass as Ivan reaches up his, too. They touch and yet they can’t touch.

  Chapter 39

  On the drive back home from the prison, Clarissa and Santy don’t speak. She softly cries and he lets her have her space. She has a hundred thoughts going round in her brain right now.

  She thinks, I don’t even know who I am anymore. My Nana is not my Nana; my cousin is not my cousin. How I am supposed to process all of this? Do they know who my real parents are and just haven’t told me? What if they didn’t know about all this and I have to tell them. Do I even want to? How would they react? Would they still love me or would they slowly become more distant towards me? Maybe I shouldn’t even be living in Nana’s house with her. I mean, what right do I have?

  And then, there’s Ivan. I’m the daughter of this monster. Could he be lying to me? What if he’s not? Do I have murderous tendencies like he does? Does he have any children besides me? Are there little hammer-murdering relatives of mine lurking around in this world? Would I even want to know my half-brothers or sisters? Would they be like me or like him? What do they look like? Do they look like me? There must have been something good about Ivan; otherwise, why would he be my Mom’s friend and lover. What attracted her to him? She must have recognized someone fun and nice to hang around with. Do I have to try to get that nice and fun person back? That guy who he used to be? He looks so scary. What made him this way? Being in prison for so long? Never getting any respect?

  I’m afraid to see or write to him again. I don’t know if I even want to pursue any of this anymore. Why didn’t I just leave well enough alone? I was a happy, carefree girl who’d just graduated from high school and had the whole world before her. Now, I’ve never been so depressed in my entire life.

  As they enter Orange County, Clarissa finally is able to speak and asks Santy, “What do I tell my Nana?” “What do I tell her about Ivan?”

  “Absolutely nothing. This is our little secret. Your family never needs to know. They are still your family, Clarissa. They always will be. Remember that. They love you and always will.”

  As they near the off ramp for 4th Street in Tustin, closer to Clarissa’s home, Santy says, “Hey, Clarissa. How about we head to the beach and walk on the pier? We could grab some fish tacos. I’ve got a little dog who could use some company. And he might just cheer you up. What do you say?”

  Clarissa answers, “’Kay.”

  ###

  Thank you for reading The Tustin Chronicles, the first in our Detective Santy Mystery Series. If you like what you’ve read, would you please take the time to rate us at the e-book store where you bought this book.

  The exciting sequel to The Tustin Chronicles, is now available at your favorite online bookstores. Read the first chapter of The Murder at the Abbey below:

  Chapter One

  Vespers. To think that it all started with wanting to see vespers at The Abbey. Al and Esther Evans have been feeling very nostalgic about their trip to Belgium ten years ago. Esther’s cousin, Hans, had taken them to a beautiful monastery outside of Antwerp where they listened to the monks sing Gregorian chants. It was one of their favorite vacation memories.

  So, on this beautiful summer day, Al and Esther are making a pilgrimage to The Abbey in Silverado Canyon. As Al is driving
up Chapman Avenue on the way to The Abbey, Esther says, “I was so surprised when Tricia told me that there was a monastery out here in the foothills. Why didn’t I know this? I’ve lived here all my life.”

  Esther has seen many changes in Orange County since the days when she had made her First Holy Communion at a Sunkist packing house in Tustin. She prides herself as being one of “Father Sammon’s kids”--one of the first wave of kids who were pupils at the newly built St. Cecelia’s School where the famous Priest and Chaplin of the Fire Department was the school principal.

  After they drive past all of the mini-malls and urgent care centers of suburbia, they notice that the landscape is getting more rural. They are ascending towards horse country in Orange Park. On the right hand side, sits the Orange County Mining Company, a restaurant that is designed to look like a relic from the old West. When Al and Esther look straight ahead, they see the ritzy Orange Hills Restaurant looking down haughtily at the whole county. It represents “old money” while the Mining Company is more for “plain folks”. Class consciousness is alive and well in “The O.C.”

  Looking out the car window on the corner of Newport and Chapman, Esther shows Al where the hamburger joint “Bob and Jean’s” used to be. She can almost see the dusty parking lot and hear its thwacking screen door. “My Dad used to take us there about once a year, and everybody always had a good time. It was a rare treat to go out to eat since Dad and Mom struggled to make ends meet. They always ordered Coors. After the waitress brought the glasses of beer to the table, Mom and Dad would shake salt into their glasses, and then spread it around the rims with their fingers, as if it was a margarita glass. They only did that at the restaurant; not at home, where they just drank it out of a bottle. Isn’t that funny?”

  “Maybe putting in the salt and mixing it around the rim made it seem more special.”

  “Yeah. Life’s little pleasures. Bob and Jean’s had a bowling/shuffle board game that kids liked to play.”

  “Didn’t your parents go to an archery range somewhere in Silverado Canyon? I remember seeing pictures of it in your Dad’s slides.”

  “I wish I knew where it was. Somewhere around here. Wherever it was, it’s long gone. This is prime real estate in Orange County right now.”

  Al says, “I’m really surprised there aren’t more housing tracts up here. Maybe the Irvine Company is slowly parceling their property out. That is, if the Irvine Company even owns this land.”

  Esther points to a yellow caution sign that has an outline of a deer on it. “You don’t see that very often in Orange County.”

  Al says, “Remember when my band played out here in 1973 at the Ancient Oak Ranch?”

  “How could I ever forget your gig at the Ancient Oak Ranch? In our minds, it was the biggest rock festival since Woodstock.”

  “It was definitely the biggest audience my band ever played in front of.”

  “I didn’t like it when those girls got up on the stage, took off their clothes, and danced while the band played. I was kind of glad when the Hell’s Angels came up to them later and took them away. But, I hoped they weren’t raped by them or anything.”

  “Remember when your cousin came up to say hi and her boyfriend completely blacked out?”

  “Yes. I’m glad he was okay. Just really loaded, I guess. Right at that moment, my cousin should have told herself, ‘Red flag. Do not marry this man’. But she did anyway.”

  “I saw a kid there carrying around a tank of laughing gas and getting high off of it. I’d never seen anything like that before.”

  “Those were some wild times, weren’t they?” Esther says.

  On their left, they pass by the road leading to Silverado Canyon. In the early 1970’s there was a coffeehouse in Silverado Canyon where the hippies liked to hang out at. Esther says, “I can’t believe I ever hitchhiked by myself up here when I was 16. I could’ve gotten killed.”

  “You were very lucky.”

  “I had a few close calls though.”

  “I’m glad we both made it in one piece after all the crazy things we did when we were teenagers.”

  Lost in thought, they both silently relive memories from their teenage years. Esther rolls down her window, and takes inhales deeply. “What’s that smell?”

  “I think it’s eucalyptus trees. The ranchers planted them as wind breaks to keep their orange groves from being damaged.”

  As they are chatting, they miss the turn-off to the abbey and have to make a u-turn. Esther catches a brief glimpse of what she calls “The Megachurch”. She calls it that because it’s the most popular church in the county and has a famous pastor who wrote an inspirational book that most Orange County homes have in their libraries. She tells her husband, “I had no idea that it was located here. Wow!! I wonder how they get along with the Abbey folks.”

  “They probably don’t like the idea of the abbey wanting to expand. The Register makes it sound like everybody in the vicinity of the abbey has a bone to pick. I don’t understand what’s so wrong about their plans to build a nunnery and grow grapes to make wine. Sounds like the kind of neighbors I’d love to have.”

  “Me, too,” Esther says. “I read that a lot of environmentalists think that if their building plans go through, it might destroy endangered frog habitat.”

  “There are people here who want to freeze time and not allow any more development. It’s just like it was in Laguna Canyon when they wanted that toll road built.”

  Esther says, “Look! There’s the sign to the abbey. Turn here,” she says, as he barely makes the turn.

  They begin a steep climb up through a tunnel of trees that seems to go on forever.

  Esther says, “I hope we’re not trespassing. Should we even be here?”

  “Well, their website says that the public is welcome.”

  The road keeps going uphill as they continue driving.

  To their left, they see a statue of St. Michael brandishing a sword.

  “Phew!” Esther says. “We are in the right place. I was beginning to wonder if we missed a turn again. It’s beautiful here. And so peaceful.”

  “Where’s the church?” Al says, as he notices several buildings and pulls into a parking lot.

  “Let’s get out and walk around.”

  “I hope we’re not parked in the wrong place.”

  “I think they’ll forgive us if we are,” Esther says, as they exit their car. “Look--the church is right over here.”

  “I was expecting something a little fancier, like the churches in Europe, I guess. The Register article said that the church was built by a French architect.”

  “The article said that the planned church was designed by one; not the current one.”

  “Oh, right. That makes sense.”

  As they are strolling the grounds, they hear a band playing Tom Petty’s “She Was An American Girl.” Esther laughs, “I wasn’t expecting to hear rock music up here. The band is good, isn’t it?”

  “Where are they playing at?”

  As Al asks, a Norbertine father, dressed in a white gown, comes over to them and says, “I couldn’t help overhearing you say that you didn’t know where the music is coming from. It’s coming from Kline’s Corner.”

  “Wow! The sound really travels.”

  “Kline’s Corner has their hospitality mission, and we have ours.”

  Esther tells him, “That’s a tolerant way of looking at it.”

  “Well, there are times when we have had to go down there and tell them to turn down the music. They’re usually nice about it. We try to keep good relations with them. Once a year, we even have a ‘Blessing of the Motorcycles’ Day’.”

  “No kidding?” Al says.

  “My name is Father John Patrick, by the way,” the priest says as he shakes their hands. “What brings you here today?”

  “We came to hear vespers,” Esther says.

  The priest says, “I’m so sorry to tell you that we won’t be having them today. Normally they are a
t 6:00, but there’s a special meeting tonight with some neighbors and businesses about the expansion of the abbey.”

  He can tell that Esther is really disappointed and says, “Please come back again. I wish I could spend more time taking you on a tour. Take a look around and spend some time in the church, if you’d like to pray.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Esther and Al say goodbye to John Patrick as he heads off towards some buildings on the property. Al says, “Look at all of the swallow’s nests. They must be living here instead of San Juan Capistrano.”

  Esther says, “Yeah, I read that the swallows haven’t been coming back to Capistrano like they once did.”

  After they’ve spent some time lighting a candle and praying in the chapel, they walk the grounds again, not wanting to go away from this sanctuary quite yet.

  “I’m going to bring my camera next time we come here,” Al says.

  “It really is beautiful.”

  They see a clearing up ahead. Esther says, “Let’s go over there. The view is amazing.”

  “I still can’t believe how undeveloped it is around here. You’d think there’d be housing tracts here. It’s like being in another county.”

  “Or even another state.”

  As they walk down a path toward the look-out, Esther says, “Someone’s beaten us to it.” There is a monk in white sitting at a bench, facing the distant hillside.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t disturb him. He might be praying.”

  “Let’s just go down for a quick peek of the amazing view.”

  As they near the bench, they see that his white robe looks stained. At first, they think it might be communion wine, but as they get closer, they become alarmed.

  “Oh my God!” Al says as they near the priest. “I think somebody stabbed him! Call 911!! Oh my God!!”

  ###