by A. J. Carton
“He volunteered,” Curt cried.
“No. He would not have volunteered if you had let him marry me,” Maria stated, shaking her head. “Instead, you threatened to disown him.” She continued speaking, seemingly to herself. “He begged me to marry him anyway. After all, by then I was eighteen. But I, thinking myself noble, refused to marry without his father’s blessing. I was a fool. He enlisted the next day.”
Still, Maria waited to answer the crucial question. The tension in the air got so thick, Emma wanted to scream.
“Then there were the months of waiting,” Maria continued. “Worrying. Blaming myself. Finally, after Cory’s letters stopped, I got the news. Not from his family. From a member of his platoon. Cory was killed in an ambush, the letter said. One night, he’d poured his heart out in a foxhole about the girl back home. The one he couldn’t marry. Most likely, the letter said, I had not heard about his death. The army wouldn’t have known to write me. So sad to be the bearer of such bad news.”
For a moment, Maria sat lost in thought. Almost as though none of them was there. Then she roused herself, shook away whatever ghost it was that haunted her. And raised her head to stare Curt Randall in the eye.
“But you don’t really care about my pain, do you Mr. Randall? All you ever cared about was yourself. You never even cared about Cory. About what he wanted. Who he really was.”
The cruelty of the challenge startled Emma. She looked at Curt, bracing herself against his fury. To her surprise, the old man cowered in his chair. Like a hound who’d been kicked.
“Now,” Maria continued, collecting herself. “About my son. He was born three years after Cory died. I have a daughter, too, born two years later; but of course, you don’t care about her. So,” she laughed harshly. “No worries, Mr. Randall. I was a good Catholic girl. There is no brown half-breed to lay claims on your estate if you ever die.”
Emma glanced from Curt to Maria and back again. The old man’s eyes were swimming. Tears big as marbles coursed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” was all he said trying to wipe the tears away with his hands. “I wanted it. I wanted a grandchild. I wanted it too much.” He added, pathetically, “Are you absolutely sure?”
At last, it seemed, Maria Hidalgo was disarmed. Her eyes welled up. She stood, walked around her desk, and stared down at the old man. Her sad eyes winced in pain. “Of course I’m sure. Don’t you think there were times I wished I’d carried his child. Then, at least, there’d have been something left of him,” she said simply.
Curt hunched forward now, eating the air in what looked like labored gulps, bracing his distended torso with his forearms pressed on his knees. “Tell me,” he finally said. “If you wouldn’t mind. Tell me about yourself. He loved you. Now you are all that’s left.”
At first, Maria seemed at a loss for words. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“How you got here,” Curt said, gesturing around the room.
Maria still stood towering over him in front of her desk. After a few seconds she replied. “When I learned of Cory’s death,” she began, “I was already in school. At first, I wanted to drop out. I blamed myself, you see. Then I realized that the only way I could,” she hesitated, “honor him - honor all he stood for, honor all he felt for me – was to go on. To succeed. So I worked even harder. A year later I met a young mathematics professor, Doug Muller. He was a wonderful man. He died last year,” her voice caught as she spoke. “I loved him. And I wanted to be his wife, to erase all the guilt and sadness I felt about Cory. We had kids right away, even though I was in school. Eventually, I was happy again. Doug got me through.”
She pointed to one of the photographs on the credenza behind the desk. “First, I had Xavier, then Paz. It was having Paz that helped me realize something. Love isn’t like money. When you use it, it doesn’t disappear. Instead, the more you use it, the more it grows. Till you have so much love,” her voice caught again in her throat, “you think your heart will burst.”
“Once I realized that,” Maria continued. “Once I realized that there’s plenty of love to go around, I knew I didn’t have to erase Cory from my heart. That I could go on loving him, and love Doug and my children. That realization changed my life.”
Maria suddenly stopped talking. She turned and faced her desk, searching it. Finally, her eyes rested on a carved Chinese jade pen holder.
“Ah,” she said picking something up. “Here it is.” She showed it to Curt. “Do you recognize this?”
Emma let out a gasp.
She looked at Piers. His jaw dropped too.
“Of course I do,” Curt smiled. “That was Cory’s knife. The one he used to cut onions. My father gave it to him years ago when Cory came down here to work in the fields. I had one like it. Mine was a little bigger. The elk horn on mine has an extra notch.” He shook his head. “I always wondered what happened to Cory’s knife. He treated it like his prized possession.”
“Cory gave it to me,” Maria answered. “Before he left for Viet Nam. When he handed it to me, he said, ‘Never forget who you are, Maria. Never cut your roots. They give you life.’ I’ve always kept it on my desk to remember. To remember who I am. Who I’ve always been. So you see, I have not changed despite,” she gestured around the room at the photos and the awards, “all this.”
Curt stood up. The old man and the professor stared at each other for a few seconds. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve taken enough of your time.”
They awkwardly shook hands.
Curt was about to leave the room, when he stopped. He turned to Maria again and said. “One more thing, could you tell me about your children?”
Maria smiled. This time she was clearly touched. “My son is a doctor. He works in a clinic in the valley. My daughter is a social worker with the Rural Legal Assistance Fund.”
Curt smiled and turned to Piers. “I hope they’re not the ones trying to sue me.”
Then the three of them left.
They were driving back to the airport in their limousine when Curt brought up the knife. “I almost asked her for it,” he sighed. “Seeing as mine is lost.”
Emma looked at Piers. The minute she saw the elk horn knife, she thought of the murder weapon. It was exactly like the one Chief Tompkins’ wife described.
From the look on Piers’ face, Emma suspected Piers recognized the elk horn handled knife too. But since Maureen Tompkins had sworn her to secrecy, she decided to play dumb.
“What happened to your elk horn knife?” she asked Curt. “How did it get lost?”
Curt glanced at Piers, sitting across from him in the limo. Then he glanced at the police officer.
“That elk horned knife sure must be important. Danged if the police haven’t asked me that question a hundred times,” he said. “Like I told them, I lost it. Haven’t seen it in weeks.”
“Where did you keep it?” Emma asked. “Maybe remembering where you kept it will remind you of where it went.”
Curt swatted his hand at her impatiently. “Nah. I’ve wracked my brain. I kept it on my desk in my study. By the photograph of my dad sitting on the front porch of the ranch. That knife had been there for years. But it’s gone. We’ve looked all over for it.” He glanced at his housekeeper. “Haven’t we, Teresita?”
She rolled her eyes and nodded. “I’ve looked everywhere, Senor.”
“Do you remember the last time you saw it?” Emma ask.
“You’re wasting your time,” the old man barked. “The police asked me that, too.”
The old man settled back in his seat. “After all these years,” he muttered. “I’ve always wondered what happened to Cory’s knife. Then, out of the blue, there it is.”
He had closed his eyes, as if he wanted to sleep. But all of a sudden, his eyes fluttered open. He stared around, blankly, as though searching his mind.
Suddenly he laughed. “You know what? That Chinese pen holder. The one Maria had on her desk. Danged if it didn’t just remind me of something.”
“What?” Emma asked.
“The last time I saw the knife,” Curt replied. “It was a few days before the murder. When Cheng Bo brought over that new report.”
“The one that said there was arsenic in the water?” Piers asked. “I couldn’t figure out why Cheng Bo bothered to hand deliver it. He’d already mailed me a copy of the report.”
“Said he wanted to drop it by in person,” Curt answered. “I invited him into my study for a drink. Seemed like a personable guy. And tall. Almost my height. Not short like they usually are.”
Emma winced.
“See, that’s the last time I saw the knife,” Curt added. “It was sitting on my desk when he handed me the report. I remember it well now. He picked it up and admired it.”
A few minutes later, Piers had told the limo driver to turn the car around.
“What’s the name of that laborer Yolanda Gomez said was paid off?” he asked Emma.
“Louis Cardenas,” Emma replied.
“Lets go talk to him,” Piers replied.
Chapter 25: Monday Afternoon – No Way Out
An hour later, Emma had helped the limo driver retrace her steps from the Motel 6 outside Coachella to Louis Cardenas’ shed.
When the limo pulled to a stop and they got out of the car, the same wall of heat sucked the air out of Emma’s lungs like it had two days before.
“Where are we?” Curt asked wheezily.
“On your property,” Emma explained.
When they approached, the shed Louis Cardenas called home looked deserted. They went inside. The metal shell had heated up to well over one hundred degrees. Emma swore you could fry an egg on the floor. Of course, the shed was empty except for a filthy mattress, a duffle bag spilling out old clothes, and a table with an empty beer can.
“Who lives there? No one should be in there,” Curt said. He was sweating and looked dazed from the effort and the heat. “I wouldn’t let one of my dogs live in a place like this.”
No one answered. They exited the shed and Piers led them towards the old barracks.
“I remember these,” Curt commented as he approached one of the long, low buildings. “I think I lived here one summer,” he added. Then looking through a broken glass window he shook his head. “Can’t be. We had bathrooms and outdoor showers. This place is too run down for anyone to live in it.”
Nonetheless, a few seconds later, a man ambled out of one of the barracks kicking at the dirt with his boots.
“You seen Louis Cardenas?” Piers called to him.
“Down the road at the cantina.” The man motioned with his thumb. “Who’s asking?”
“His boss,” Piers called over his shoulder as they got into the car.
When they reached the cantina, Piers told the housekeeper to stay in the car with their driver – and to keep the engine running. Then he motioned Curt and Emma to follow him, telling the police officer to stand watch by the door.
Once inside, Emma quickly identified Louis Cardenas. He was sitting alone at the bar drinking a beer. Piers and Curt approached him. Emma held back, but close enough so she could hear.
Piers did not beat around the bush.
“Louis,” he said. “My name’s Piers Larkin and this is my client Curt Randall, your boss. The defendant in the class action lawsuit you dropped out of a while ago. I’d like to talk to you about that.”
Emma watched Louis’s eyes get wide and scared. Then he scowled. “I don’t have to talk to you,” he said, pushing by Piers.
“I think you do,” Piers said.
Louis started to run for the door, but at that moment, the police officer stepped sideways blocking the exit.
Louis stopped in his tracks.
Piers approached him again. Emma marveled that he kept his voice very calm. “Talk to me, Louis,” he said. “I know someone paid you to drop out of the suit. Paid you something to make it worthwhile.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Louis shouted.
“That’s right,” Piers repeated, “you didn’t kill him. But you did poison the water tank on my client’s ranch. The same person paid you to do that too. Tell me who it was.”
Emma realized with a shiver that Piers was shooting the moon, risking everything on the same hunch she had.
“Tell me who paid you,” Piers repeated, “and I promise my client won’t prosecute you for poisoning that tank. “
The room suddenly grew very still.
When Louis Cardenas did not answer, Piers tried again.
“I can make this easy for you if you cooperate,” he said. “Or you can make it hard on yourself. Who paid you to poison Curt Randall’s water tank?”
Louis glanced again at the police officer blocking the door. Then he stared back at Piers. “Bobo,” he finally said. “The Chinese. He promised to pay me good to slip something in the old man’s water tank.” He gestured with his chin towards Curt. “But Gomez saw me. Followed me up the path and figured out what I’d done. Then he tried to blackmail me. I told Bobo. The dirty Chinese rat blamed me. Refused to pay me what he’d promised.” He glared defiantly at Piers. “But I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill Gomez.” He pointed to Curt. “That man did.”
“Are you really not going to press charges?” Emma asked after they’d left Cardenas under the charge of the local Riverside County police department and were sitting in the limo headed back towards the airport.
Piers shook his head. “Not if he continues to cooperate.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Emma asked.
Piers nodded. “We need to find Cheng.”
That’s when Emma thought of something.
She dialed Maria Hidalgo’s number.
“Maria,” she said when the woman picked up the phone. “Is there any way you could mail Cory’s elk horn knife to me? Overnight? I just want to borrow it.”
“No,” Maria replied. “I’ve had enough. Enough dredging up the past. It took me years, but I’m finally done with it. Done with blaming myself. Curt will have to do the same. Without my help.”
“Please,” Emma pleaded, hoping to persuade Maria before she hung up. “There’s a killer out there. He’s already murdered one Mexican worker. He has to be stopped. We only need the knife for a couple of days. Then we’ll return it. Please do it. For yourself, not Curt.”
Maria took a long time to answer. “You need it to catch the killer?” she repeated uncertainly. Then, after a long pause, she finally said, “OK”.
“Just put it in a well padded envelope, then send it here,” Emma said.
She gave him Piers’ address.
“Thanks.” Emma hung up the phone.
Chapter 26: Tuesday Morning – Bo Shambles
The package arrived at Piers’ office at 9:45. Emma was already there. Then Piers called Cheng Bo.
“You’re on your way to the airport?” Piers said, grimacing at Emma over the phone. “What time’s your flight?”
Emma’ heart sank. This was going to be harder than they thought.
“Look,” Piers said. “I’m not saying this will change your mind, but as you know, my client has a noose around his neck. Just between you and me, I’m not so sure he’s going to beat this rap. They have him on the murder weapon. They found it in his barn. With his fingerprints on it.”
Piers chuckled into the phone. “Right now, he’s up to his ears in legal fees. My legal fees, Bo. If you get my drift.” He cleared his throat. “The point is, we’ve got him over a barrel. He needs money fast. I’ve convinced him to offer you a price on the plum ranch that, frankly, I’d be surprised if you could refuse. All cash. That’s the deal.”
Piers paused for Cheng Bo’s reply.
“Sure. Just come out of curiosity. If you are interested in buying at the price we’re offering, we can work out the details later. After you return to China.”
Apparently Cheng Bo agreed.
“We’ll meet at the plum ranch in an hour,” Piers said. “See you there.”
&nb
sp; When Emma and Piers arrived at the plum ranch, Curt’s housekeeper showed them into the study. Curt sat behind a large oak desk in a wood paneled room. It was furnished in what Emma surmised was the original Stickley style sofa, coffee table, and chairs purchased by his father many years before.
Piers handed Curt the package. A large envelope labeled University of California at Riverside
Curt opened it, tore off the wrapping and removed the elk horn handled knife. He set it on his desk on a green leather Victorian blotter.
Then Piers made a quick call on his cell.
“We’re here. Everything’s set,” Emma heard him say.
They stared at each other in silence. Everyone knew what they had to do.
A few minutes later the housekeeper ushered Cheng Bo into the room. The tall handsome man was neatly dressed for travel in Polo jeans, a striped silk polo shirt, and a chocolate brown leather bomber jacket.
He nodded at everyone, cocking his head briefly at Emma, no doubt wondering what she was doing there.
“My assistant,” Piers explained. But Emma noted Cheng Bo’s eyes squint with suspicion.
Curt spoke next. “I’m sorry to drag you out here on such short notice,” he said. “But I wanted to be present when my attorney, here, presented my offer. He’s been pressuring me to conclude this sale.” He glared ominously at Piers. “He says you’re offering cash.”
With that, Piers outlined the terms of the highly favorable sale agreement he’d drawn up the night before.
“As I said on the phone,” he concluded, offering Cheng Bo the agreement to read, “we’d love to wrap this up before you go. I’ve included a generous escape clause.”
Piers gave Bo a minute to read through the agreement. Then he directed his eyes to Curt’s desk, pointing to the penholder. “If you could just sign…”
Cheng Bo looked at the desk. His eyes fell on the elk horn knife and he did a double take.
Then Curt picked up the knife and offered it to Cheng Bo.
