I scanned the card table. People En Espanol, Us Weekly, and old issues of the National Enquirer were stacked next to supermarket flyers, store catalogs, and bills from a department store and a phone company. No notes scribbled in haste. No phone book. Next stop, the kitchenette. A sticky mess of dried coffee cup rings, plastic utensils, and cookie crumbs covered the counter. Coffee mugs crowded on the dish rack next to the sink. Empty Chicken Shack containers were heaped on top of a full trash can. A loaf of bread and a bag of Oreo cookies topped the refrigerator. I rummaged through the lone drawer filled with sugar, ketchup, and hot sauce packets then moved back to the main room.
First stop, the dresser top, to see if she left a note or a paper between the jewelry, makeup, and bottles of perfume. So much for plain sight. I had no idea why I was looking for a note, but I gently rifled through the clothing in the drawers. In the back of the bottom drawer I found a purple velveteen bag with a gold drawstring pull. I reached inside and repressed a gag. I couldn’t go that far. No way Teresa would hide a clue in her vibrator bag. I winced and looked anyway. No papers, though I left behind a fragment of my dignity when I closed the bag.
I was ignoring the obvious—when people get home from work, they change their clothes. What was Teresa wearing yesterday? I closed my eyes, visualizing her storming through the parking lot toward Buzz Cut in a . . . black blazer.
I unfolded the closet doors to a clutter of shoe boxes, clothes, and a basket full of laundry. Dresses, blouses, jeans, and skirts on wire hangers jammed the wooden pole. The black jacket stuck out from the middle of the cluster. I dug into its pocket and found my business card with Bailey’s phone number on the back. Beneath Bailey’s number, Teresa had scribbled something barely legible. 6h vivev caw51no.
Couldn’t be a phone number. Too odd for a local address. I went to the window, opened the blind, and read again in the sunlight. As I squinted to let her scribbling blur, the numbers morphed into letters: bh vivev casino, or maybe bh river casino.
Beverly Hills River Casino? There wasn’t a river or a casino in Beverly Hills. I got out my smartphone and searched the Internet for “river casino,” “Beverly Hills casino,” and “b.h. casino.” The results came up blank for metropolitan Los Angeles. I stared at her writing again and saw the n. Cansino. Raymon Cansino. Again. The letter writer who called himself Paco’s friend and whose secretary called Lucia on Monday. But what was bh river? I wouldn’t find out standing in her apartment. I tucked the note back into her jacket pocket, closed the closet door, locked up both apartments, and went downstairs.
I didn’t see Nick outside. Lucia and Robin were in deep conversation at the rear of the botanica. Robin hooted with laughter, and Lucia’s merry response delighted me. It was the first time I’d seen her truly joyful in a week.
“What happened to Nick?” I said.
“He went out to do an errand,” Robin said. “He said he’d be right back. Lucia is showing me how she uses herbs and candles to create spells. Do you know almost every herb has an orisha—like a god or goddess—connected to it? It’s amazing how much she knows about casting spells, Liz. Fascinating. She offered to create a love spell for me.”
“A pretty girl like Robin should take a lover to make her laugh.” Lucia patted the side of Robin’s face. “Too much sadness behind those eyes.”
“What do you think, Liz?” Robin said.
“I’m all for you taking a lover, but I thought you swore off spells.”
“From amateurs. Lucia is an expert.” Robin turned to her new friend. “Would you do a weak little spell maybe? Something innocent for starters?”
“Real passion is not weak or little,” Lucia said.
“Be easy on her, Lucia. Her last innocent spell landed her in jail,” I said.
“And brought Nick back into your life,” Robin said. “It wasn’t a complete disaster.”
“Aha. Destiny. I know just what Robin needs.” Lucia pulled a white phallic-shaped candle off the shelf behind her. “Burn this to attract a new lover.” She presented the erect wax sculpture to Robin.
“Oh, I, no, uh, not.” Robin recoiled backward.
Embarrassed and utterly self-conscious, I shut my eyes to avoid the sight of Lucia’s veined hand around the wax male organ. Didn’t work. “Maybe something a little more subtle?”
“But this is the best tool for finding a lover.” Lucia pumped the candle with emphasis.
I smothered a laugh.
Robin turned scarlet. “A little too much, too fast. I was thinking a dinner date, not all-night sex.”
“So you want romance, not passion. For that I use a ‘Come To Me’ candle. I’ll fix one up for you.” Lucia put the white candle back on the shelf and moved down the aisle to a row of hurricane candles in tall glass jars. She selected one filled with pink wax and gathered a collection of packets and tiny amber vials from a shelf beneath the counter.
Lucia began to anoint the eight-inch, seven-day candle with oil and herbs, explaining the process as she worked.
“Pink is for new love, sweet love, innocent and cherished love. Light the wick and allow it to burn through the veil between the material world and the other realm. The flame opens a path to the gods waiting to grant your petition. Always watch the candle as you work. A steady flame and clean glass means your spell will be successful and your wish granted. A flickering flame or smoky glass will tell you if the time is not right for your petition. And if the flame hisses at you, a spirit is trying to get a message to you.”
Robin rubbed her arms, nervously. “What if Josh doesn’t want me to date yet?”
“Josh always, always wanted you to be happy,” I said. “We all do. You don’t need a candle flame to tell you that.”
She put a hand to her heart and took a deep breath. “I’m ready. Tell me what to do, Lucia.”
“Before your evening bath, drink a cup of chamomile tea with honey to honor Oshun, the patron of love and sensuality. Bathe and let your body dry naturally, no towels,” Lucia said. “Stand naked at your altar and light the candle with open intention. Burn a stick of sandalwood incense to grant your wish. Meditate on the candle and allow your heart to fill with love while you breathe in and out. Extinguish the flame with a plate on top of the glass cylinder. Never blow out a candle. Start the ritual tonight while the oils hold the strongest potency. Soon your lover will come, and you will get your heart’s desire.”
Lucia dripped rose-hip oil on her palm and rubbed her hands together. “Rose hip heals the aching heart and empowers helpful spirits. I anoint the candle from top to bottom for positive attraction.” She guided her oiled palms down the sides of the glass. Her skill and self-assurance made her spell crafting appear believable, a bit of magic to create hope. “Whose name will I etch into the wax to attract?”
“There is no one,” Robin said.
“Then we let fate decide.” Lucia tied a pink ribbon around the candle, wrapped the whole package in foil, and gave it to Robin. “This will bring you lasting love.”
Robin slipped the candle into her shoulder bag like a treasured totem. “Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
“Paco and I are romantics. The candle is my gift to you. The orishas guide your spell. Make whatever offering you want to them.” Lucia sat on her stool.
“I want to give you something.” Robin pulled bills from her wallet and tucked them into Lucia’s pocket. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
“You don’t have to. I already see the fire between you and your new lover in your eyes,” Lucia said. “I wish Paco were here. He loved when I joined hearts together.”
“Nick is writing an article about Botanica Rojas and Lucia’s talents for the Sunday edition of the papers,” I said to Robin.
Lucia smiled. “I told Victor about the article last night before you came. Paco will be so proud.” She read my doubt and flapped her hand at me. “I know my husband is dead, but his spirit is here. He will be proud of the article.”
“He’ll always
be with you,” Robin said. “Believe me, I know.”
The front door opened. Nick came in, jaw set, and stopped at the entrance. He crooked his finger at me. “Can I talk to you outside?” He left the door slamming behind him.
Lucia and Robin raised their eyebrows. I shrugged, clueless, and followed him out to the sidewalk.
Nick paced from the door to the curb and back to me, and then cocked his head in the direction of Alvarado Street. “I just was at Oscar’s botanica. Remember him?”
I nodded slightly.
“He asked why I didn’t bring back the babes I sent to spy on him earlier. The blonde and the brunette. Sound familiar?”
Chapter Twenty-three
Nick glared at me on the sidewalk in front of Botanica Rojas’s boarded window while afternoon traffic sped past. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Honestly Nick, it was no big deal,” I said. “I only went inside Oscar’s botanica to get Robin. She wandered in there while I was talking to Ynez Briano.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous Oscar Estevez is? I told you I’d talk to him. What were you thinking?”
“Right now I’m thinking you’re overreacting. I didn’t say more than two words to him. Calm down. It was innocent. I found Robin and left. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But I did hear him—”
“I’m sorry is a cheap excuse for an ignor . . .” He pressed his lips together. “For a bad move. You could have . . . You’re in the crosshairs of a man who shouldn’t even know who you are.”
“He already knows who I am. He saw me with you the other day. Sorry is all I have to offer. But in the two minutes I was there, I heard him bragging about moving his shop to Lucia’s building. Do you think Oscar had one of the Realtors contact Paco?”
“Oscar doesn’t have that kind of money. And even if Paco was willing to sell, he wouldn’t sell to Oscar,” Nick said. “They hated each other.”
“Did you ask Oscar if he knew anything about Paco’s shooting? Did he give you any information?” I said.
“Aside from his lewd comments about you and Robin? Not yet.” He spun on his heels, and I followed him inside.
I rolled my eyes as a warning to Robin and Lucia at the back counter. Nick stopped short in mid-aisle, turned, and began to say something to me when the front door opened behind us.
Cruz entered, glanced at the scowl on Nick’s face, and frowned. “Is Lucia all right?”
Nick and I snapped in unison, “Yes.”
“Lucia spent all afternoon in the shop?” Cruz said.
“I came down with her after lunch. She wanted to clean up,” he said.
“She shouldn’t be working. She didn’t sleep well last night.” Cruz hastened to the back counter and turned off the lamp. “Time for your afternoon medication, Lucia. Let’s go upstairs.”
“I want to stay down here and visit. Stop telling me what to do. I’ll go up when I feel like it.” Lucia turned the lamp back on. “Don’t be rude to my friends.”
Robin gravitated down the aisle toward me. I stood with her, stuck between the bickering women in the back and my fuming boyfriend by the front door.
“Everything cool with Nick?” Robin whispered.
“Oscar told Nick that he saw us. I’ll explain later,” I said.
“I think I should leave.” Robin dug through her purse and produced her keys. She called down the aisle, “Lucia, it was lovely to meet you. Thank you so much for the spell. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Come visit me again. Happiness is your destiny. Your new love is near,” Lucia said.
“A mild flirtation would be enough, but thank you.” Robin stopped in front of Nick, looking up with an expectant smile. “I’ll see you again tomorrow night. You and Liz are picking me up at six for the fund-raiser?”
“That’s the plan. But don’t leave here yet. Give me a minute to tell Lucia I’ll be back later, and then Liz and I will follow you into the Valley.”
After he walked away Robin pulled me aside. “Okay, he is acting very bizarre. It’s broad daylight. I don’t need an escort home.”
“I know. Just play along for a few blocks then you can ditch us,” I said.
* * *
Nick and I followed Robin’s car up Alvarado Street to the freeway. We argued in silence. He kept his left fist to his mouth and steered with other hand. I folded my arms and stared out the window. As soon as we hit the on-ramp, Robin crossed into the fast lane and lost us.
“I saw a house,” I said.
No comment.
“A bungalow in Studio City,” I said. “A real mess on the outside, and we couldn’t get inside, but the location is perfect. Close to you, and close to my office. Dilly is setting up an appointment so I can take a tour.”
“Good for you.” His eyes never left the road ahead.
Ugh.
“Will you look at it with me?”
“Why do you need me to be there? It’s your house.”
We sped past the concrete embankments bordering both sides of the freeway through the Cahuenga Pass. Concrete—good place to pound my head. Be patient. Let him work through his anger.
“I want you to see the house because your opinion is important to me. I wouldn’t make a big move like this without talking it through with you.”
“Whatever you want.”
That did it. “Okay. I get it. We’re fighting. I don’t know what we’re fighting about, so catch me up. Are you still angry about Robin and me going into Oscar’s shop, or is this about me not moving in with you?”
“Live wherever you want,” he said.
Well, hello Nick’s warts. Nice to finally meet you.
I opted for playful. “And you’ll be my boyfriend, and let me keep my drawer at your house?”
“Maybe.” His lips almost twitched into a smile. He turned away so I couldn’t see him.
“Do you want to stop for coffee and talk about it?” I said.
“I can’t. I’m picking up some clothes and going back to Lucia’s. Bailey hasn’t called me back about the patrol, and I can’t let those two women spend the night alone in that building.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“I don’t care. A chair. I’m worried for Lucia. And on top of it, I’m worried about you. People like Oscar don’t trust outsiders poking into their business.”
I held up a hand. “Stop. You don’t have to protect Lucia or me. I won’t take any risks, I promise. And as you said, Bailey can get increased patrol around the botanica for a while. You, Carmen, and I should have a serious discussion with Lucia about her immediate living arrangements. Though I hope with all my heart she can stay where she is, her safety comes first. Did you talk to Father Nuncio?”
“He was on retreat this weekend,” Nick said. “I made an appointment to meet with him tomorrow at eleven thirty.”
“Excellent. My last session is over at ten. I can meet you in the clinic parking lot at eleven.”
“Try not to wander into gang haunts before I get there.”
“Try to avoid flying fists tonight,” I said.
Nick parked in front of my town house and walked me to my front door. We touched foreheads, smiling, in a gentle truce. Before he left, he turned and said, “I’ll look at the house with you.”
* * *
I made a peanut butter sandwich and took it upstairs to my office, determined to unravel Teresa’s cryptic scribble. Erzulie jumped on my desk and watched me turn on my computer and enter a search for C&C Properties. The company site header showed the C&C logo above the skyline of downtown Los Angeles with a row of tabs beneath titled Services, Properties, Professionals, and Contact. I clicked on Professionals and scrolled through the alphabetical staff listing. I found a photo of Raymon Cansino posed against a white background in a dark suit and red tie, staring intently at the camera with a self-assured, have-I-got-a-property-for-you grin. With another click I landed on his profile page.
The opening paragraph touted Cansino as one of the
“most respected commercial real estate specialists in Downtown and East Los Angeles, with the foresight and knowledge to assist his clients in all aspects of commercial property transfer and management.” Blah, blah, blah. Told me nothing.
The bio went on to describe Cansino as one of the top producers at C&C every year since 1996, including 2009, the year the market crashed.
Cansino’s biography failed to show me much about the man. No prior job history, no personal background, college affiliations, or professional organizations. His client list was long, but because he was with the company since at least 1996, I assumed it would be. Cansino was a vice president. I checked the other Realtors at the firm and six of the eight were VPs or Associate VPs.
I made a thorough read of his section for clues to bh or river and came up blank. My last stop was the Contact section. C&C had offices in the San Fernando and San Gabriel Valleys, and offices downtown, in the South Bay, in Beverly Hills, and in Boyle Heights. Bingo. I noted the Beverly Hills and Boyle Heights phone numbers and went back to Cansino’s page. The number for the office in Boyle Heights—the mostly Latino neighborhood east of downtown—matched the contact number for Cansino. Then I sat back, wondering what made a Boyle Heights Realtor so interested in Paco’s two-story building in Westlake. I assumed Realtors were territorial. Maybe Cansino had a buyer.
Despite several searches, I found no references to river on the C&C site. I closed the tab and searched for Boyle Heights on Wikipedia. The Los Angeles River borders the western side of Boyle Heights but the river flows from the San Fernando Valley all the way down to Long Beach—not a defining clue.
But as I scanned through, I noticed two MTA Gold Line subway stations opened in Boyle Heights in the past decade, giving Cansino firsthand knowledge of the effect of Metro expansion on property values. I did a final Internet search for “Raymon Cansino” and the results directed me back to the C&C site.
I had one more resource, closer to home, and more thorough than the Internet. My brother knew current Los Angeles scuttlebutt as well as Mom knew designer clothes and Nick knew religion. Dave inherited talent from both of our parents. He had Mom’s love of gossip and Dad’s detective expertise. I dialed his number and he picked up. From the TV in the background I could hear a crowd cheering, sneakers squeaking on wood, and a whistle shrieking.
Bruja Brouhaha Page 17
