by Dianne Emley
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
They had dinner at a little place nearby. Thomas had suggested going to Santa Monica with the implication that they’d go to her place afterward, but she gently and firmly nixed the idea.
“I’m curious to see how you live,” he said.
She was also curious to see how she was living after Paula had been in residence for an entire day. She promised an evening chez elle in the near future.
“A home-cooked meal?” he asked hopefully.
“Well…The best home-ordered meal in town. Besides, I want to see this bachelor pad of yours.”
She liked Thomas and everything she’d seen so far. She was ready to see more. This was their second official evening date, though they’d talked on the phone a lot and had twice met for a quick lunch. Thomas’s campaign schedule hadn’t allowed for anything more. She was glad that circumstances had forced them to take things slowly and Thomas had expressed the same idea to her. She wasn’t eager to rush headfirst into a romantic entanglement. She’d made mistakes in the past. With Thomas, she found herself being more circumspect than usual and wasn’t sure why.
She had fantasized about having sex with him. A lot, if the truth be known. After all, he was a definite turn-on. He was everything she wanted: handsome, sensual, charming, educated, accomplished, ambitious, kind, caring. But something told her to hold back. Maybe tonight she’d feel more at ease. Maybe tonight they’d get to know each other a little bit better.
They went to his place in separate cars.
He lived on a hillside facing the city in the tiny upscale section of the Fourteenth District. His house was built almost at a right angle with the hill and was supported by two stilts—a fragile structure built on even more fragile land. Such houses were popular in the hilly areas of Los Angeles even though they occasionally slid downhill after the earth had been weakened by floods or quakes. While they lasted, the view was spectacular.
Dinner had been quiet and noncontroversial with a litany of small talk about this and that. Iris contributed to the flow as much as he did, wanting to pretend that the whole big DeLacey issue didn’t hang over them like a dark cloud. If only it could be just them and the whole rest of the world would go away. If only they didn’t have all the DeLaceys and Thornes and Gaytans clinging to them like so many fleas. If only they could be who they were but different. Then everything would be perfect.
They sat on a couch facing the large picture windows across the rear of the house overlooking the city. He offered her a cup of coffee and she accepted.
While he was in the kitchen, she roamed around. What she saw confirmed her opinion of him. There was a variety of books and magazines. This was a well-read man. An office off the living room displayed framed diplomas and awards of all types. This was an ambitious man. There was an abundance of framed photographs of family and others, famous and anonymous. Although the decor revealed the hand of an interior decorator, there were small items that made the house homey. Mundane things that had been carried home and displayed on a shelf, each with their own little story. A tiny carved wood house. A smooth stone. A seedpod. This was a sentimental man. She liked it all. Then why was that little voice nagging her, telling her that something was amiss?
“Relax,” she told herself. “Let whatever happens happen.”
He returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with cups and saucers. There was also a small plate of Oreo cookies.
Her eyes must have betrayed her.
“You like Oreos?” he asked.
“They’re my favorites.”
“Really? Mine too.”
She giggled nervously. “This is just too cute, isn’t it?”
He kissed her. He just set the tray down and kissed her. They had kissed before, but nothing like this. He grabbed her around the small of the back and she leaned into his arms, her back arching until her feet barely touched the ground. Lights flashed behind her closed eyes. She felt weightless. She opened her eyes and looked at his, which were closed, his long lashes forming a dark fringe.
He opened his eyes and met hers. They stopped kissing but remained with their lips barely touching, their mouths open, breathing each other’s air. He caressed her neck, chin, and ears. She recovered her feet. He took her hand and they wordlessly walked to the couch and sat holding hands, brushing knees, gazing at each other, looking at everything that was unique and on the way to becoming precious. They sat that way for a long time.
Then she said it. She didn’t know why. It had been on her mind the whole night and cognition at the present time seemed to have yielded to instinct.
“I have the will.”
“I know.”
“What does it mean?” she said, now sorry that she had ended their interlude.
“I don’t know.” He got up and walked to the picture window and kneaded his forehead with his fingertips. “I don’t like thinking about what it might mean.”
“Alvarez knows about it, you know.”
He looked alarmed. “No, I didn’t know. How?”
“The two guys who told Junior about it, Angus and Bobby, told me that Alvarez offered them two hundred thousand dollars for it.”
He grimaced. “I’m glad it’s in your hands. What are you going to do with it?”
“Keep it for now. I didn’t want it to come out during the election.”
He looked at her warmly. “You do care about me.”
“I do. But as soon as the election’s over, I’m going to have the title to Las Mariposas investigated. I want Dolly’s land returned to her.”
“Doesn’t matter. She left it to my father when she died.”
“She told me in her phone message that she didn’t remember making a will. If your father forged your grandfather’s will, what would stop him from forging your mother’s? If she died intestate, you and your siblings are entitled to part of her estate.”
He shot a glance at her purse. “Where’s this will you bought?”
“Not here.”
“I want to see it. It’s probably a fake.”
“I don’t think so, Thomas.”
“How do you know? You wouldn’t have any basis…”
She fished the ring from her skirt pocket. “Because of this.”
He examined it, then asked coolly, “How did you get this?”
She couldn’t lie to him but she couldn’t tell him the truth either. “I’d rather not say.”
“You were the woman with Paula when she broke into my father’s house. Those guys thought it was you.”
“I shouldn’t have done that. I just had to see if there was any basis to what your mother told me in her phone message.”
“I’m not notifying the police. I don’t need my girlfriend arrested for breaking and entering.”
“Bad for the campaign?” Iris suggested.
“Honey, I’m glad that someone cares about my mother as much as you do.” He put the ring on the coffee table, then scooted close to her. The rough fibers of his gabardine suit pants rubbed against her skin. She noticed a single wild strand of gray hair at his temple.
She said, “Gabriel always wore that ring even though Isabella had died years before. I remember asking my mother why he still wore a wedding ring. It was missing from Gabriel’s body when he was found in the toolshed. Your father’s such a pack rat, he probably couldn’t bear to bury a perfectly good ring. In any event, it indicates he tampered with the crime scene. What else did he tamper with?”
“Where’s Paula?” he asked.
She frowned.
“That was why you didn’t want me to go to your place.”
She looked at him self-consciously. She was a terrible liar, especially when it involved someone she cared about.
“She’s bad news, Iris. Stay away from her. She burned those two guys’ house down. My father says she’s capable of anything.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m not
so sure my welfare is your only concern.”
He took her hand between both of his. “Sweetheart, we both know that you and I have something special. But it’s not going to go anywhere if you won’t trust me.”
“Trust isn’t something that happens on demand, especially for me.”
“But you trust Paula and she’s the last person you should trust.”
“I’m helping Paula.”
“So help me!” He squeezed her hand tighter.
“I am helping you. You’re one of the reasons I bought the will.”
“It belongs to the family. Please return it to me.”
He was mashing her hand. She tried to free herself. He became aware of what he was doing, loosened his grip, and moved to pull her hand to his lips.
She pulled her hand away from him. “The family. Now I know why Dolly called someone outside the family.”
“Iris, you’re dealing with mentally unstable people. It should be clear to you that both my mother and Paula—”
“You and your father keep playing that crazy card. It’s not only getting old, but I’m finding it offensive.” She stood and walked to the middle of the room. “Not to mention unconvincing. Dolly had enough wits to call me, to hide that will.”
She regarded him skeptically. “Why aren’t you more upset about the will and the ring? It implicates your father in your grandfather’s murder and gives him a reason to keep your mother quiet. And what about Junior and his fit today? You took it in stride. Why was he concerned that I might think his mother’s death was his fault?”
A look of profound sadness crossed his face. “Let my mother rest in peace. She killed herself. She’d tried before. Junior feels guilty about her suicide because he’d watched over her for so many years.”
“He threw a box at me!” She pointed as if the box were in the room.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to sort it out. The whole thing was all bound to come tumbling down anyway.” He stared across the room. “And dragging everything with it. Everything I’ve worked for. It’s unfair.” He smiled sadly. “But as my father would say, who said life was fair?” He stood and started gathering the cups and saucers.
Iris chewed her lip. “Thomas, please just tell me one thing. Did your father kill Gabriel? If not, who did and why?”
Dark circles had appeared under his eyes. “Humberto de la Garza beat my grandfather to death with a pickax in a failed robbery attempt. That’s the only explanation I know.” He continued stacking the dishes on a tray. “I know that when the will and that ring are made public, my father will be formally accused of murdering my grandfather to get his land. My father is an old and a difficult man, but he’s not a murderer. You know what the really sad part is?” He gave her a piercing look. “Those cops killed Humberto and they got away with it.”
She picked at a ragged edge of a fingernail, then tore it between her teeth. She folded her arms across her chest to force herself to stop fidgeting.
He picked up the ring from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Take it. It’s part of your evidence to bring down the DeLaceys. I don’t know why you hate us so much. Is it still a boss-employee thing left over from your parents?”
“I don’t want to bring down the DeLaceys. I want to find out the truth.”
“What will it bring you? The whole truth will never come out. My family’s reputation will be destroyed but those cops will go scot-free even though they murdered a man with their bare hands.”
She didn’t move to take the ring. “Give it back to your father.”
He grasped it in his fist. “Why don’t you trust me, Iris?” His eyes searched hers. “Have I ever done anything to hurt you?”
She couldn’t answer. It wasn’t something she could put into words.
“I guess your father’s leaving really affected you.”
“I suppose so,” she admitted.
“Now I’m paying the price. I’m sorry, but I can’t be involved with someone who doesn’t trust me.”
“If that’s the way you feel…” She went to the door. “Look, this is who I am. It’s not all pretty and it’s not all perfect. If you can’t give me the time I need to feel close to you, then maybe we shouldn’t see each other.” She put her hand on the doorknob.
“Iris, wait.”
She looked at him hopefully.
“Did you see Humberto being beaten? That’s what your mother told my father.”
“She told him?” Iris fumed.
“Would you be willing to make a statement?”
“If Gabriel Gaytan’s murder case is reopened, of course.”
“No. I mean at the debate.”
“I don’t want to be part of that mudslinging.”
“Iris, you already are. It started when you bought that will.”
She didn’t respond.
He took a step toward her. “If you come out about the beating, we’ll finally be able to put this whole thing behind us. We can build something together.”
“If you push the police-beating angle, the fact that Humberto was framed is going to be clear. There’s bound to be a thorough investigation that may reveal the identity of the true murderer. Are you prepared for that?”
His voice grew stern. “Iris, if you won’t help me, at least don’t stand in my way. Give me the will.”
“No,” she said with finality. She opened the door and started to walk out. Just before she left, she turned and delivered the final blow. “I just want you to know that you had an excellent chance of getting lucky tonight and you blew it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Iris went into the lunchroom at McKinney Alitzer for another mug of coffee. She was toying with buying a second six-pack of Oreos when Kyle came in.
“Good morning.” He flipped through the office copy of the L.A. Times, haphazardly pulling apart the sections. He freed the sports section—as was his routine—and held it in front of his face as he left the room.
A headline in the Metro section caught Iris’s eye. AMBITION AND SENSE OF COMMUNITY DRIVE GAYTAN DELACEY. The article was accompanied by a photo of Thomas, looking handsome and dynamic, standing on a shabby street corner.
She folded the section and took it back to her office. She picked up the phone to call him. It would be reasonable to call him about having seen the article. She made herself set the receiver back in its cradle.
What was there to say? He had accused her of not trusting him. He was right.
“Another relationship bites the dust,” she said aloud.
She started going through her mail. Work was a sure way to distract herself. She told herself she would just work harder until she felt better. But it didn’t happen: she didn’t feel any better. The phone rang. It was an outside call, so she answered formally. “Iris Thorne.”
“Hi, it’s John.”
“Hi! How are you?”
He seemed surprised by her enthusiasm. “I’m good.”
She was sad, susceptible to latching onto anyone vaguely resembling a friend.
“I talked to my friend over at the Northeast Division about the Gabriel Gaytan murder.”
“Right.” She’d forgotten she’d asked him for help. “What did you find out?”
“He said Ron Cole had a reputation for losing his cool. Alvarez was basically a good guy, but he and Cole were as thick as mud. When Humberto de la Garza died, everyone suspected Cole. There was an investigation, but there weren’t any witnesses to contradict Cole and Alvarez’s story. Since no one came forward to see that de la Garza’s interests were served, the investigation was closed.”
“Did he say anything about de la Garza being framed for Gaytan’s murder?”
“The police reports said it looked as if the crime scene had been tampered with. There was a statement from Dolores DeLacey saying she saw de la Garza running from the toolshed. It was stiff and short. The detective who interviewed her made a note that Mrs. DeLacey was unresponsive and sobbing to the point that they couldn’t ge
t anything more from her.”
She thanked him and hung up. She decided to send him a card to express her appreciation more formally. She wanted to thank him for more than just his help.
“He never bugged me about trust,” she said aloud.
In her mail she found a small white envelope of good paper addressed to her in neat handwriting. It was an invitation to the fund-raiser that Gil Alvarez had told her about. The event was being held at Lunar, a hilltop restaurant in Northeast L.A. known less for its food than for the spectacular view from its outside garden terrace. It was a favorite wedding reception site. Even though this was going to be no ordinary party, it might lift her spirits. She started to have second thoughts about any interaction with Alvarez but shrugged them off. If he hadn’t recognized her by now, he never would. He was too busy flirting with her and too full of himself to put two and two together. She’d just steer clear of him and hang around the fringes.
Iris called her condo. Paula answered the phone sleepily but abrasively. “Stop calling, asshole.”
“What?”
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Want to be my date at a party tonight?”
“What time is it?”
“About seven this evening.”
“No, now.”
“It’s nine fifteen.”
“Nine fifteen? You didn’t get home until two. When do you sleep?”
“I don’t. It keeps me psychotic. Gil Alvarez is having a fund-raiser.”
“Sounds like some free drinks.”
“I thought you’d think so. I’ll pick you up around three to go shopping for a dress.”
“A dress?”
“The doo-wah’s black tie. Who was calling?”
“I don’t know. They’d just call and hang up. No heavy breathing, no nothing. If it’s that stupid Angus, I swear to God I’ll tear his throat out.”
“Just do it in the living room. The floor there has to be replaced anyway. I’ll see you at three. I’m in a mood to do some serious damage at the mall.”
It was a chilly evening but Iris refused to cover up her new Donna Karan. It was hot pink and tight and backless and short and she didn’t give a damn. Let ‘em think the worst.
