by Sally John
Nathan said, “His idea wasn’t sanctioned by the station. He planned to sell it elsewhere. Erik insisted the guy be fired. His opinion carried a lot of weight. The guy lost his job.”
Lexi twisted the napkin still on her lap. “Tall? Armani-suit type? Dumbo elephant ears?”
Nathan nodded once.
Rosie reached over and touched Lexi’s shoulder, squeezing gently, never taking her eyes off Nathan. “Mr. Warner, have you been in contact with this man since he was fired?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Nathan Warner knew not only Erik but the man in the bar too? The man who’d set Erik up? Who’d sent him on his merry way to find Felicia and Brett, armed with drugs and a toy gun? And he’d talked to that man yesterday?
Lexi was through the arched doorway as her chair clattered against the floor tiles.
Fifty-Seven
Bobby picked up the chair that fell when Lexi ejected herself from it.
Rosie chewed on the inside of her lip. There had been no time to warn Lexi. The pieces of the puzzle hadn’t come together until thirty minutes earlier. As Papi was serving the empanadas, she and Bobby were learning that Warner had worked at Erik’s TV station.
Knowing she couldn’t have warned Lexi didn’t help, though. The sight of her friend discomposing was enough to make Rosie cry.
“Delgado?” Bobby crooked his thumb toward the door, his way of asking if one of them ought to go after Lexi.
Rosie gave her head a slight shake. Lexi would have to take care of Lexi.
Bobby sat back down and Rosie narrowed her eyes at Warner. He appeared to be the nice guy Lexi had described—an open face, dressed for comfort, an easygoing manner. A likeable person.
She wanted to toss him in a holding tank with an assortment of repeat offenders.
He said, “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“Are you really doing an article about heroes?”
“I am now. I made it up. Then I met her and decided it’s a good idea.”
She huffed a noise of disgust.
“Mr. Warner.” Bobby picked up his notepad. “What’s this guy’s name?”
“Reid Fletcher.”
“Why don’t you just start from the beginning and tell us what’s going on?”
“He and I hung out together now and then. I was working toward going freelance with my writing, he was trying to break into radio or TV as a newscaster. After he lost his job, he had a hard time finding another one. He’s at a small radio station up in Orange County, still in sales. He’s pretty bitter about Erik. So much so that he vowed he would get vengeance.”
Rosie clicked her pen in triple time. Lexi’s story about the other guy was taking on substance.
Warner continued. “He came down one Friday night. I met him at a bar downtown.”
Bobby said, “Date? Name of the place?”
Warner filled in details. Same date, same place in question.
“Beaumont walks in, pretty well lit already, doesn’t recognize me. Reid acts like he just won the lottery. He grins and says, ‘Payback time.’ They get to conversing. I watched for a while, but I couldn’t stomach much and left.”
“What did you hear?”
“He egged Beaumont on, talking trash about his girlfriend. What a lowlife, hitting a guy while he’s down. Next morning I read in the paper some cop shot . . .” He studied Rosie’s face; his eyes grew wide. “You shot him.”
Rosie ignored the comment. “What’s the connection between you, Fletcher, and Lexi?”
He rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I noticed her that night, sort of hanging back, clearly with Beaumont, though. Clearly not in a date way. She was too wholesome and down-to-earth looking. I always got along with Erik, but he can be a real prig. When it comes to women, wholesome and down-to-earth are not on his radar.”
Rosie held back a smile and caught sight of Bobby’s smirk at her. Sheesh. Nothing got by him.
“Reid called me a few days later and admitted he might have pushed Beaumont too far, embellishing the gossip like he did about Matthews and the ballplayer.”
“Did he say anything specific about the interchange with Beaumont, anything beyond a reference to gossip?”
“No. The guy’s a magpie. He could talk his mother into disowning his brother.”
Rosie didn’t think Nathan Warner was lying. He appeared fairly wholesome and down-to-earth himself. Besides that, newspapers had reported the toy gun in Erik’s hand, though not the drugs in his system. Apparently Warner had not overheard either being discussed between the other men at the bar. Apparently neither had Fletcher mentioned them to him in subsequent conversations.
“But,” Warner went on, “he felt guilty about upsetting Beaumont. And he wondered if I’d seen the mousy chick with Erik.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “I told him there were a lot of mousey chicks present. He described Lexi to a tee and said he had learned she was Erik’s sister. He said that after what happened, she might cause him grief. I pointed out that he wasn’t responsible for Erik’s choices. I mean, it wasn’t like he drove the guy to Matthews’ house and put a gun in his hand. What was the big deal?”
Rosie willed herself not to glance at Bobby. Not knowing yet how Erik got to Felicia’s, they’d discussed that very possibility. His car had been found parked downtown. Taxi records had not revealed a trip that night between the bar and her place. A bus ride did not fit the scenario. It was too far for him to walk in such a short amount of time. Erik himself couldn’t remember a thing.
Bobby said, “What’d Fletcher say to your point about him not being responsible?”
“He just said to trust him.” Warner stopped talking.
Rosie clenched her hands into fists, not sure she could speak coherently.
“Mr. Warner, why did you trust him?”
He blinked a few times, as if he’d been elsewhere in his mind and needed to refocus on the surroundings. “He’s my little brother.”
Rosie bit the inside of her lip again, visions of Nathan Warner behind bars dancing in her head.
Fifty-Eight
Claire switched on the coffeemaker and settled into the chair she’d come to think of as her own in the hospital waiting area.
Max was in Tuyen’s room. They’d hoped to have her at home by now, but although she was much stronger, the doctor did not want to release her just yet.
Max spent more time with her than Claire and Indio did combined. It was a marvel to behold her husband. His demeanor softened by the day. His heart was so evident she easily imagined a lush garden sprouting in his chest.
He’d laughed when she told him that. He said he preferred images of a sunny tennis court full of trophies engraved with his name.
She heard a buzz in her handbag. “Whoops.” Technology, she thought wryly and rummaged for her cell phone. She’d grown used to the quiet at the hacienda. No traffic, no cellular signal, no people. Anymore it was an effort to remember to turn on the mobile phone when she drove down into the city. The mental note to turn it off while in the hospital most often escaped her.
She was the only one in the room, so she answered. “Hello?”
“Claire. This is Rosie Delgado.”
“Hi!”
“I only have a moment. I wanted to alert you that Lexi is pretty upset.”
Claire’s stomach twisted.
“I thought you should know. Did she tell you about the reporter she met?”
“Yes. Nathan somebody?”
“Right. Evidently he’s not exactly who she thought he was. We were talking here at my dad’s restaurant when it all came to a head. She left on the verge of tears about twenty minutes ago.”
“Why were you and Lexi—”
“I can’t say just yet.”
She recognized the all-business tone in Rosie’s calm alto.
“Claire, I know Lexi has some emotional problems. I’m guessing she has an eating disorder.
I just wanted you to be aware that she’s going to have a rough go of it tonight.” Her voice hushed. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
A curious sense of relief flooded through Claire. Someone understood her daughter. Someone who resembled a guardian angel assigned to her family.
“Oh, Rosie! You don’t intrude in the least. Thank you for your concern. I’ll check on her.”
“Okay. How is Tuyen?”
“Still here in the hospital, but she’s improving wonderfully.”
“Glad to hear that. I have to go. Take care.”
“You too.”
Claire sat still, phone in her hand. The coffeemaker chugged through its final stages. The aroma smelled like Indio’s best.
Claire smiled briefly and whispered, “God is good.”
She shut her eyes and horrible images came of her baby being sick. By now her imagination had them down pretty good, very distinct and detailed.
As far as she knew, Lexi did not drink alcohol. At the moment, that was a major positive. Her body might be deteriorating at warp speed compared to the average young woman’s, but things would not be compounded by her passing out and choking to death on . . .
Claire sat up straighter and dialed Lexi’s cell number. No answer. She punched in the apartment number. No answer, not even the machine. When her daughter painted, she sometimes turned off everything.
Would she be painting now though? From Rosie’s description, Claire thought not.
“Claire?”
She looked up as Max strode across the room.
He sat in the chair catty-corner from hers. “I’m upset about Lexi. I just can’t get her off my mind. It’s a literal heaviness inside my chest.”
She stared at him.
He hung his head, combing his fingers through his hair. The stubble on his chin was thick. Although he’d spent most of last night at home, he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning before heading back to the hospital. “It’s this business with Tuyen. I can’t help but see Lexi in her. Neither of them really had a father growing up.”
He raised his eyes to her. “Do you think it’s too late? The forgiveness thing, when I confessed to her—that was a whole different entity. This is about the here and now. I want to—I don’t know. Step alongside her? Somehow clue her in that I care? How do you and my mom do it? Phone calls, notes, cards, little gifts. A listening ear.” His smile was sad. “Homemade chocolate-chip cookies. What’s wrong?”
She wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Everything’s right except for what Rosie just told me.” After recounting their conversation, she said, “I think Lexi is either at home or heading to the hacienda.”
“And I think I should be the one to check in on her.”
“I agree.” Claire nodded. “Which one first? We’re halfway in between.”
“Danny’s backpacking who knows where. Let’s call Mom and Jenna. If they haven’t heard from her, I’ll go to her apartment.”
A moment passed in silent, palpable fear. Claire shoved aside the thought of the evening’s mist and the curvy road up to Santa Reina.
“Claire, what would she do?”
“Cope with the pain.” She winced. “She probably stopped at the market and loaded up on comfort food and videos. She’ll turn off her phones and be watching a movie.”
“And eating.” He reached across the space between them and grasped her hand. “She’s not so much like Tuyen she would . . . ?”
A cry of anguish tore at her lungs, its cut so deep there was no breath left to give it voice.
“Dear God.” Max prayed with his eyes on her, his grip tight around her hand. “Protect Lexi. Give me words of life and love. Give her a heart to receive them.”
“A . . .” Claire gulped for air and gave his hand one final squeeze. “Amen.”
Fifty-Nine
After reining in her emotions and calling Claire, Rosie returned to the table with a large pitcher of water and three glasses.
As she poured, Bobby said, “Everything under control?”
“Yep. All set to hear exactly why it is this guy tricked Lexi into meeting him.” She clunked a glass down in front of Nathan Warner. Water sloshed over its sides.
Bobby gave her one of his looks, then turned to a red-faced Warner. “Let me recap. You said Reid Fletcher is your half-brother. You have the same mom. And that’s why you agreed to try to learn what Lexi knew about Fletcher’s run-in with Erik.”
“Right. Blood is thicker than water, no matter how flaky a relative is. He’s younger. It was always my job to sort of look after him. It’s carried over into adulthood.”
Rosie sat. “Did he ever talk your mom into disowning you?”
“What?”
“You said it earlier, that he’s such a magpie he could do that.”
His complexion went from red to mottled crimson. “Officer, I don’t think that’s relevant to this conversation.”
She leaned back in her chair. Maybe the guy had a bit of backbone after all, telling her to mind her own business. At least he was polite about it.
Bobby scratched his nose, almost hiding a smile from her but not quite. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Warner, I know we’ve already been through this, but one more time, please. You made up a story about wanting to interview Lexi in order to meet her. Then what?”
“We were interrupted that day at the coffee shop when she got a phone call. Reid hassled me to try again. He gets going on something and doesn’t let go.”
A bulldog and a magpie. More repulsive by the minute. Rosie kept her thoughts to herself.
“I told him yesterday that I was seeing her tonight, that I’d call him tomorrow. I met Lexi here. You two showed up. End of story.”
Rosie said, “Didn’t his behavior strike you as a little bizarre?”
“Not any more than usual. He’s always been on the anxious side. Sometimes he gets overdone and misses work. I try to help him if I can.”
“By bringing an innocent woman into this cockamamy bunk?”
Warner glanced down at the table and then met her eyes again. “The truth is—oh, never mind. I’ll sound crazier than Reid and I know he’s an A-1 goofball. Can I leave? Actually I think I will leave. If you’re not arresting me.” He pushed back his chair.
“Finish your sentence.” Rosie softened her voice. “Please? Believe me, we hear nuttier things than you can imagine.”
He worked his mouth around, as if weighing the consequences. “The truth is Lexi intrigued me from the get-go. When I saw her, I didn’t see a mousy chick. I saw this paragon. This anachronism. Women her age in this city do not look like her. There was a vulnerability about her, but a mystique too. If I hadn’t left that night, I would have talked to her. After we met at the coffee shop, man, I couldn’t wait to see her again.”
Rosie smiled. “Love at first sight isn’t all that crazy, Mr. Warner.”
He shrugged and stood. “Excuse me.”
“Wait.” Bobby rose and blocked his path. “How crazy is your brother? Crazy enough to hurt Erik? Crazy enough to harm Lexi?”
“N-no. No way. He’s never been violent. What is going on? What is it you think Reid did? I told you. He lives up in Orange County. He’s got a decent job. Yeah, he holds a grudge and he got a kick out of tormenting Erik, but now he feels bad about that and hopes Lexi doesn’t spread negative talk about him.”
“Does he know where Lexi lives?”
“What is going on?”
Bobby was in his face. “Does he know where Lexi lives?”
Nathan Warner clamped his jaw shut.
Shaken by Bobby’s fierce tone, Rosie got up. “Nathan, she’s my friend.”
He gazed at her, pain evident in his eyes. “Yes, Reid knows where she lives. Where she works. Where she buys her paints. He wanted me to be sure I could find her.”
Racing behind Bobby, Rosie opened her cell phone, pulled up Lexi’s number, and hit Send. It rang and rang and rang as they hurried through the kitchen and out the back door,
then climbed into the squad car.
It rang and rang and rang as Bobby rammed the car through the wet, narrow streets of Old Town, up the freeway ramp, and smack-dab into five lanes of stopped traffic.
Sixty
Lexi swirled the paintbrush through a can of black enamel paint, thickly coating the hog-hair bristles.
Black: total absence of light. In all her years of painting she had never used unadulterated black. It was a personal quirk. To her there was no such thing as black in a painting that was meant to reflect the world. Not even during her phase of subjects on the verge of extinction had she used black.
She didn’t even own a tube of it in an oil. She had to buy enamel in a can from the paint department at the discount store where she’d stopped for other essentials like cookies, cheese curls, ice cream, and two mindless comedy DVDs.
Now she turned toward the easel, the brush in hand full of paint on the verge of dripping. As was her habit, she stepped back to study the sixteen-by-twenty-inch canvas.
Gigi the giraffe gazed at her.
Lexi squinted and saw the graceful curves of the long slender neck, the play of light on her patterned coat.
The eyes drew her in, the sweep of lashes caught in half-blink.
Lexi did not often attempt such realistic delineations, but Gigi was different. Her eyes became the focal point, refusing to be merely hinted at in a blur of tones, light, and shade.
They stared back at Lexi now, reminders of the day she had photographed Gigi from the back of the truck. That day when she had begun to feel it was time for a fresh start.
A fresh start that had crashed all around her a short while ago when Nathan revealed his true colors.
Lexi stepped to the canvas and pressed the blackened brush into the lower left-hand corner, the best place to begin an arcing sixteen-by- twenty inch X.
Gigi’s eyes luminesced. Light caught light and they shone.
And then Lexi Beaumont fell apart.
