by Dianne Emley
“That’s when you left,” Iris said, pressing her lips into a thin line.
“That’s when I left. I couldn’t stay. I don’t know how to explain it to you. After Humberto died and Bill got his hands on Las Mariposas, the walls just seemed to close in. I almost told the cops, but I after I saw what Bill was capable of, I started to worry about you girls and Rose. So I left. I guess leaving wasn’t the best thing to do. Wasn’t the honorable thing to do, but it was what I did.”
He looked at Iris and Lily in turn. “I thought about you girls every day. If I could undo the past, I would.”
Lily reached over to hug his shoulders. Iris followed.
“I wonder if we’ll ever find out the whole truth about why Junior killed Gabe,” Iris said.
“What happens to you now, Dad?” Lily asked.
“It’s time for me to accept responsibility for my role in covering up Gabe’s murder. The police already told me they want to talk to me.”
“While you were in surgery, I called a friend of mine who practices criminal law,” Iris said. “You’ve got options available. No need to worry about it right now. Just try and get better.”
“Did Junior kill Angus?” Lily asked.
“The police should know something soon,” Iris responded. “Everything points to Junior. Supposedly Angus came to my condo to find Paula. When Junior showed up, maybe to get the will, he panicked and shot him.”
“I’m glad you weren’t there,” Les said.
Iris patted his hand, “Thanks for helping me out.”
He smiled at her. “Don’t mention it.”
“Stop the sibling rivalry crap and tell me what you’re talking about,” Thomas said to Paula.
“Guess the old fart didn’t go for little boys. Unless he kicked before you got old enough.”
Thomas looked at her evenly. “Are you saying that Grandpa molested you?”
“Molest.” Paula savored the sound. “That word always seemed too polite to describe what went on in that toolshed.”
“My God.” Thomas ran his hand through his hair. “When?”
Paula twisted a strand of her long, dark brown hair. “Started when I was about eleven. Ended when the bastard died.” Her eyes teared.
Thomas reached to touch her. “Paula, I’m sorry. I never…”
Paula shrugged. “Well, now you know.”
“Did Mom know what was going on?”
“I never told her. I figured she’d tell Dad and somehow it would end up being my fault. But I think she knew. When it began was when she started to lose her grip big time. At first, I thought Mom killed Gabriel. Then I decided she didn’t have the guts to do something like that. But she knew Junior killed Gabriel and she managed to find the guts to protect him. Why didn’t she do anything to keep that filthy old fool away from me?” Her voice was plaintive.
“But none of this explains why Junior killed Grandpa,” Thomas said.
“You ever see a cat squatting while it’s taking a crap?”
Both Paula and Thomas gaped at their father.
“You’re awake,” Thomas said. “How do you feel?”
DeLacey turned his head on the pillow to look at them. “You see the cat grunting and straining.” He screwed up his face and made his voice thin to demonstrate. “That’s what you two remind me of. You’re focused so hard on one thing, you’re ignoring everything else.”
“Like what?” Paula asked.
DeLacey pointed at the television. It was broadcasting clips from the debate. “Is that me? I’ll be damned! I always knew I’d be on TV someday. I used to always say that, remember? I always said I’d be on TV.” He glanced around. “Where’s Junior?”
Thomas answered. “They’re still looking for him.”
The door opened and a police officer stuck his head in. “Mrs. Molina, we have to go downtown now.”
“Can’t you let me be for five minutes? My father is dying.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Paula,” DeLacey retorted.
Paula stood and pointed at her father. “Aren’t we going to get any answers from you? Or are you just going to die and leave us with this mess?”
“Why are you so eager to have me dead and buried?” DeLacey asked. “Think you’re going to get your hands on Las Mariposas?”
“Why did Junior kill Gabriel?” Paula demanded.
He feebly raised his hand from the bed and pointed his index finger. “Now each of you kids is different. Paula was the headstrong and stubborn one.”
“I’m right here, old man,” Paula said. “You’re talking like I’m not even here.”
“I’m not finished. Thomas was the smart and ambitious one. Junior wasn’t the brightest and wasn’t glued together too well but he had a good heart.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Paula cursed. “You don’t know why Junior did it, is that it?”
“Wait!” Thomas rose from his chair and pointed at the television.
Paula covered her mouth with her hands.
DeLacey inhaled sharply.
It was a live broadcast of a fire burning wildly across a hillside. While a brush fire burning out of control was not an uncommon news story in California, it was unusual for February. But the weather had been dry and windy, the sort of weather that tugged at an arsonist’s heartstrings.
A helicopter-mounted camera flew over the scene. Yellow flames marched across the land, leaving a trail of blackened flora and white-hot embers. The helicopter camera showed the citrus grove and the workers’ house, which had already been consumed. Two heavily dressed fire fighters came out of the ruined house carrying what appeared to be Junior’s blackened body between them.
DeLacey slowly let out the long breath he had been holding. His eyes were still dully focused on the television screen.
“Old man?” Paula said, nudging him. “Dad?”
Bill DeLacey was dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Iris returned to the office after grabbing a quick sandwich by herself. She pondered whether having no one to eat lunch with was one of the prices she was paying for climbing the corporate ladder. She figured she’d have to join the Edward Club and cultivate new friends. She decided to ask Garland Hughes to nominate her for membership.
She rode in the elevator with a nicely suited businessman who was glancing at a daily newspaper as they ascended.
Thomas’s picture was on the front page. The headline said: GAYTAN DELACEY SQUEAKS TO VICTORY. Another headline on the same page trumpeted: ALVAREZ AND COLE DENY EXCESSIVE FORCE IN OLD ARREST—Inquiry to be Reopened. Yet a third announced: SUICIDE CAUSE OF JUNIOR DELACEY’S DEATH—New Councilmember’s Brother Torched Historic Ranch Then Shot Self.
The businessman saw Iris reading the paper. He folded it to look at the front page. “Is this beyond belief? This Alvarez almost won the City Council seat.” He guffawed. “He was arrested twice for drunk driving, in a city vehicle, mind you. His wife’s accused him of beating her and now it’s come out that he and his old partner on the police force kicked this poor slob to death.” He flicked his hand at the newspaper. “And he gets forty-eight percent of the vote. What’s this world coming to?”
“Go figure.”
“And this DeLacey’s not much better. Did you see how he pulled that woman in front of him to protect himself from being shot?”
“Amazing, wasn’t it?”
Just before the elevator reached the twelfth floor, Iris hurriedly took a brush from her handbag and swatted her hair with it. She took a second to freshen her lipstick. The doors opened.
There were several reporters waiting. Camera lights went on and microphones were shoved in her face.
“No comment,” she said, smiling pleasantly. After all, she was on TV.
She rapped on one of the suite’s heavy glass doors, which were now kept locked to keep the reporters out. The receptionist let her in. The day before, she had returned from lunch to find two reporters had snuck unobserved into her private office and were going thr
ough her trash.
She walked across the lobby’s thick carpet and turned left to enter the sales department. Previously, she would have furtively glanced around to see which of her peers had worked through lunch, to see who was on top of their game, who was working harder, who was more driven than she was. Now, she surveyed the department to make sure all of her flock were at their desks, hard at work improving her bottom line.
She nodded at Kyle Tucker, who winked and grinned crookedly at her. She noted that Warren Gray’s cubicle was still empty. She raised her eyebrows at Sean Bliss, who did not look at her legs or chest but just smiled at a point beyond her left shoulder. She smiled tensely at Amber Ambrose, who gave a small, sheepish smile back. She was startled when Warren Gray approached her from behind as he returned to his cubicle from the lunchroom.
“Afternoon, Iris,” he said cheerfully. “Got a hot lead on a big new client.”
“Terrific,” she said as she unlocked her door, which she now kept locked at all times. As she put her purse away in the filing cabinet, she peered through her window at Herbert Dexter’s office in the opposite corner, where she saw Louise busily packing boxes. One reason for the bonhomie on the part of her employees occurred to her—Dexter’s empty office was up for grabs.
She let the filing cabinet drawer slam closed. I expect some major ass-kissing before I assign that corner office to someone.
She took a second to look out her western-facing window, which gave her a wide view across Los Angeles. The post-earthquake sky was still crystal clear and painfully blue. On the horizon, a thin sliver of the ocean glinted. Beyond that, easily missed by the untrained eye, was a pale silhouette of Santa Catalina Island.
A sharp rapping on the metal door frame roused her.
“Nice lunch?” Louise asked. She carried several manila file folders and a green steno pad from which she began reading and checking off items as she reviewed them, looking through half glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“Garland Hughes’s weekly managers’ conference call is at nine o’clock. Herb would like you to participate.” She placed one of the manila folders on Iris’s desk. “Here are your airline tickets, itinerary, agenda, and background materials that you need to read before you leave for your management training class in New York the week after next. The class starts promptly at eight on Monday morning, so you depart L.A. on Sunday. Sorry about ruining your weekend.” She tossed another folder on her desk. “These are financial reports that Herb would like to review with you tomorrow morning.” A third thick folder landed on the stack. “These are employee salary evaluations that Herb wants to review with you by the end of today. The fourth file hit the pile.
“Per your request, I sent flowers to the funeral home, two sprays, one for William DeLacey and one for William DeLacey Jr. I had the cards signed, ‘Condolences from Iris Thorne, Rose Thorne, and Lily Rossi.’ I charged them to the credit card number you gave me.” She glanced at Iris. “Do they expect a crowd at the funerals today?”
“Hopefully not. The family tried to keep the location quiet, but these media people are amazingly resourceful.”
“Your fifteen minutes of fame should be about up.”
“I hope so.” Iris picked up one of the heavy folders from her desk. “Guess I better get to work. Does wonders for keeping your mind off things.” She gazed out the window again. “My mother used to always tell me, don’t wish too hard for what you want, Iris Ann—”
“Because you just might get it,” Louise said.
“I could never understand why someone wouldn’t want to get what they wanted.”
Louise glanced at her steno pad one last time. “Oh. Thomas Gaytan DeLacey called. He wanted to thank you for your card. No need to call him back because he said he was looking forward to seeing you this afternoon.”
“He must need a bodyguard. If things don’t work out here, I might have a new profession.”
When Louise left, Iris pulled out her desk chair. There was a red rose lying across the seat on top of an envelope from which she pulled a card. The cover said “Congratulations” and was illustrated with balloons rising into the air. Iris opened it and read the handwritten note:
Congratulations on your promotion, Iris. I couldn’t be happier for you. I apologize for behaving the way I did. I had a long talk with myself and realized I was jealous and acting unprofessionally. I hope we can continue to be friends. Amber
Iris picked up the telephone and punched in three numbers. “Thank you for your note, Amber,” she said distantly. “That was very thoughtful.”
“I meant everything I wrote,” Amber gushed.
“I know, and I appreciate it. I’m going to need everyone’s support and good wishes. Thanks again.” Iris hung up. She twirled the rose in her hand. “Too little, too late, amiga.”
Louise buzzed her. “I have Garland Hughes on the line.”
“Now that’s a call I’ll take!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Iris drove the Triumph past the chain-link fence around Las Mariposas.
The citrus grove looked as if it had been drenched in acid. The remaining fruit had been reduced to unlucky eight balls. The ground was thick with gray ash.
The Wall of Gaytan still stood, undamaged, its surface marked with soot blown onto it by the powerful flames. The citrus trees’ evergreen foliage had once shrouded the toolshed and small workers’ house, but now the structures’ blackened skeletons were painfully exposed. Any remaining walls leaned precariously, their windows popped by the force of the heat.
Iris drove up the road that spiraled around the hill. A light breeze blew, kicking up soot and ash and coating the car with a fine powder. She rolled up the windows and continued up the curbless road, which grew increasingly narrow as she ascended.
At the crest of the hill, she drove through the remains of the eucalyptus grove. The fire had whipped through the base of the trees, leaving the towering tips untouched. Several cats roamed, looking lost.
The old adobe ranch house fared slightly better. A black residue of flames was visible around the arched doorway and small square windows. Corners of the roof had been eaten away. The detached wood garage was in ruins.
A white Dodge Dart was parked in front of the garage. Next to it was a rented moving van.
As Iris parked the Triumph, Paula came out of the ranch house’s front door pushing a wheelbarrow that was piled high.
Iris waved the leather work gloves she’d brought. “How’s it going?”
“Exhausted.”
Iris peeked in the van. “You’ve already got some furniture loaded.”
“We rented a storage garage not far from here. Thomas sent a couple of guys over yesterday to help. I’m just taking the antiques and a few other things, like my mother’s sewing machine. The old adobe part in the front did okay, but the back got burned up pretty good. What didn’t get burned got water damaged. I wanted to get as much done as I could before I have to go to court for that little incident at the debate.”
“Does your attorney think you’ll go to jail?”
“Nah. Because of the personal issues and stress and the strings Thomas can pull downtown, I’ll probably just get probation.”
“At the funeral, Thomas told me your father hadn’t left a will.”
“Believe it or not. All the wills he forged and he didn’t write one for himself. Guess he figured he wasn’t going to die. Must have come as a real surprise to him.”
“How long are you going to stay with Thomas?”
Paula shrugged. “The lovey-dovey brother-sister act is already wearing thin. Angus’s friend Bobby called me. Wanted to know if him and me could work something out. Share a place or let him live here or something. No way. I’m done with that lifestyle. Turning over a new leaf. What’s up with you?”
“The Homeowners Association finally decided to go forward with the repairs. I’m going to patch up my condo and put it on the market. Probably lose my shirt, but I don’t want to li
ve there anymore. I rented an apartment downtown in one of the Bunker Hill buildings. The commute’s short. It’ll do until I get things straightened out. I’ve got plenty of room. You’re welcome to bunk with me.”
“Thanks. I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do.”
“Gonna stay around?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What are you and Thomas going to do with Las Mariposas?”
“We’re going to bulldoze everything except the old adobe. I’m hoping it can be restored. Other than that, I don’t know. Thomas was hot to sell it, but I think I’ve made him feel guilty enough to drop the idea. Real estate developers have been in my face nonstop. I called the cops on one guy. He was going on about some promise Thomas made during his campaign. I said, ‘Buddy, I ain’t got nothing to do with that.’“
“At least you’ve got some cash. Should last you awhile.”
Paula raised her eyebrows. “I just paid out sixty thousand dollars in back property taxes.”
Iris whistled. “Thomas pay part?”
“Are you kidding? He’s hocked to the hilt because of the campaign.”
“You gave them cash? Weren’t they suspicious?”
“Said I found it hidden in a safe. Told them the old man didn’t trust bankers. Everyone knew he was a lunatic so they bought it.” Paula rubbed the back of her neck. “The way I’ve been shelling out dough for this and for that I’ll be back to zero before I know it.”
“If you need money, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
Iris sniffed the air in Paula’s direction.
Paula frowned at her. “What?”
“What’s that smell?”
Paula sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Sure, it’s…” Iris sniffed again. “It’s the stench of respectability.”
“Shaddup.” Paula loosened and replaced one of the bobby pins holding her thick hair in a bun at the back of her head. “Guess I could always pitch a tent here. After all, the property belongs to me and Thomas. I don’t think the ghosts would mind.”
