“Good thing you’re coming home soon, then, huh?”
“I guess,” she said.
“Um . . . want to talk about the funeral?”
“No.” That was the last thing Cici wanted to do. Going, experiencing it would be hard enough.
“Oh. Okay. Well, we have a problem.”
“Yes, I do.” Cici emphasized the I in the sentence.
“Come on, Cee. I mean, I know you’re sad. That today is hard.”
“Do you?” she asked, her voice wooden.
“No,” he said. “I have no idea.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Cici replied.
How was she supposed to be focused on a six-month trek into the deep, high mountains when she had to bury her closest family member and best friend?
“Look, I don’t know what to say to you about your sister. I don’t know how to make you feel better right now.”
“Being here, with me, would have helped immensely.”
“Fine. I should be there. I’m not. You’re pissed.”
“No, actually. I’m deeply hurt that your meeting was more important than my sister’s death.”
Lyndon was quiet for a long moment. “I screwed up.”
Cici didn’t reply. There was nothing to say.
Finally, Lyndon sighed. “Not that you asked, but the meeting didn’t go well. I should have postponed it.”
Cici had asked him to when she asked him to fly out. He’d chosen to keep the meeting and then bugged her about the files she’d compiled about the forests and tribes in the area—her secondary area of study throughout her university career that lay outside all the years of studying Greek, Latin, Hebrew and other ancient texts that gave her a deeper knowledge of the biblical time frame and stories.
Lyndon pressed on. “I didn’t have all the information on the native tribes that you put together. I guess I missed a folder or something.”
He paused again. But Cici remained quiet. Lyndon sighed. “That’s what Mr. Chambers was most interested in. I told him that was your area of expertise.”
Cici pressed her thumbs to her closed eyes. They ached from lack of sleep and too many tears.
“I have to deal with some of my sister’s stuff. I don’t . . . I can’t say when I’ll be back.”
“He’s willing to set up another meeting on Wednesday. Just . . . think about it, okay? This would be a huge coup. For both of us.”
The sharp bite of tension crawled up to rest in her shoulders. The headache she couldn’t quite shake rippled stronger.
“I have to go,” she murmured.
“Tell me what time to pick you up at the airport,” Lyndon said in a hurried voice.
Cici pressed “End” and dropped the phone onto the bed next to her.
She didn’t want to go back to Boston. She didn’t want to go to her sister’s funeral. She looked at the black dress she’d pulled from her sister’s closet yesterday while Sam was at the police station—Sam had offered to stay in Aci’s room so Cici wouldn’t have to.
Just another small kindness to add to the Sam scorecard.
Sam knocked on her door. She opened it.
“Rough conversation?” Sam asked.
Cici pulled the towel from her hair, scrunching the ends a bit to get out as much excess water as possible. “Yeah. And then some. Lyndon just doesn’t understand what Aci’s death means.”
Sam settled against the doorframe. His long legs were encased in jeans just as ratty as hers and he wore a UNM T-shirt that had seen better days. His dark hair was getting long, almost long enough to pull back. Today, he’d tucked it under a ball cap.
He narrowed his eyes and then clapped his hands. The sound caused Cici to jump.
“Let’s go.”
“What. Where?”
“Up Baldy. We’re going for a hike.”
Cici opened her mouth to argue, to protest, but as she looked around the guest room and her phone, which showed the six missed calls from her father, she nodded.
“I’ll have to borrow Aci’s hiking boots,” Cici said.
“A step ahead of you,” Sam bent down and pulled something from the wall next to him.
Cici smiled as she took the thick-soled leather high tops from Sam. “I’ll be ready in five.”
“Don’t forget the sunscreen. I’ll grab you a cap.”
* * *
Cici paused to rest as they crested the top of Big Tesuque trail, her chest heaving and sweat forming at her hairline. She pulled a large stainless steel water bottle from the backpack she’d snagged from Anna Carmen’s utility room and drank deep, then she poured some into the portable doggie bowl she’d found near Gidget’s leash.
The dog slurped up all the water before flopping down, tongue lolling.
The new aspen leaves fluttered acid green in the wind, the entire valley whirring with the soft wave sound of the aspen grove coming to life.
“Thanks for bringing me up here,” Cici said, turning back to face Sam. “I’d forgotten how pretty it is.”
Sam rocked back on his heels, hands shoved into the pockets of his hiking pants. “Getting out of here seemed like a good idea at the time,” Sam said. He stepped forward until he and Cici were shoulder to shoulder. “But Santa Fe can dig in deep to your soul.”
Cici bumped him with her shoulder. “You saying you miss it? Like, enough to give up your job in Denver?”
Sam remained silent for a long moment. “I love my job. I’m putting the worst dregs of society behind bars where they belong. I want to keep doing that.”
“Why do I sense a but?” Cici asked.
“Anna Carmen was my best friend,” Sam said. His voice was quiet and full of pain. Cici’s eyes immediately filled. The grief slammed into her so hard she struggled to breathe.
“Yeah, I get that,” Cici murmured.
Sam stared out at the majesty of the foothills, bits of the Rockies not yet reaching the towering peaks of Colorado.
“I can’t let her killer get away with it.”
“You think that’s going to happen?” Cici asked, shock rippling through the sorrow.
Sam turned toward her, his gunmetal eyes too dark and filled with shadows. “They’ve got nothing, Cee. Not one goddamn scrap of evidence to follow.”
“Let me guess,” Cici said, her tone acerbic. “Random act of violence.”
Sam dipped his head either in defeat or acknowledgment. “I just . . . I can’t let this go.”
6
Cici
When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions! —Shakespeare
When Sam struggled to maintain his composure, when he looked as if he planned to agree that he would indeed give up his own dreams for her now-deceased sister, Cici gripped his forearm.
“I can’t let you give up your job in Denver, Sam. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”
Sam squinted into the distance. “Maybe. I don’t know. Anna Carmen’s death . . . I was at the station and the detective shut me out. Word is he’s sitting on the file.”
Cici swallowed hard. She wanted the killer brought to justice. Cici needed her sister’s death resolved. That was the only way she’d be able to gain closure.
“But . . . you’ve worked so hard for your position. We’re so proud of your accomplishments.”
Sam’s lips curved up again. “Means a lot, coming from you.” He looked back out over the valley below them. “I haven’t made a decision. I have my reasons for shaking this place loose, same as you do. But I will be in touch with SFPD. And if I think I can bring Anna Carmen justice, I will.”
Cici settled herself on a nearby boulder, the sudden exhaustion too much for her body to withstand.
“I don’t know how to live without her,” Cici said. Just being able to say that to someone who understood helped ease the horrific weight Cici had been carrying.
Sam walked over and set his hip on the edge of the rock. “You two were scary sometimes with how well you could communicate when you w
anted to.”
Cici gurgled out a laugh. “Remember that Halloween when we got Rebecca Caldwell to dump red Kool-Aid all over you?”
Sam chuckled. “Not something I’ll forget. But my favorite of your pranks was when you took Anna Carmen’s place bowling. God, she was terrible.”
Cici grinned. “I can’t believe you thought she actually won a round.”
“I was shocked.” Sam nudged her. “You always were more competitive than her.”
“Yeah,” Cici said as she blew out a breath. “For what good that’s done me.” She glanced around. “We should head back. I need to get cleaned up for the funeral.”
Sam fell into step beside her as they headed back down the well-worn trail, Gidget between them. Cici breathed in the clean, fresh mountain air. Boston didn’t smell this good. She actually couldn’t remember the last time she hiked. Moving through Boston was more a battle of survival, but this . . . this had been relaxing. Just what Cici needed to get through the rest of the day.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we do this again?” Cici asked. “Hike, I mean.”
“I’ll always be a phone call away, Cee. If you want to hike, I’m game. If you just need to talk, I’ll be there for that, too.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “It might have to be by phone for a bit. I was in the middle of an important ongoing investigation.”
“They need you,” Cici said.
Sam nodded.
“When do you leave? To go back.”
Sam hesitated. “After the service.”
They walked in silence. Cici’s hand found the warm, thick fur of Gidget’s neck.
One more bend and another few hundred yards of trail, and they’d be back at Sam’s SUV, heading down into the city toward Anna Carmen’s house to prepare for the late-afternoon service. Cici stopped and turned, wrapping her arms tight around his waist.
“Thank you.”
He patted her back in soft, careful strokes. “Any time. I mean that, Cee. Call me. Any time.”
* * *
Cici stood flanked by her father, who was looking well-fed and dapper in an expensive custom-tailored suit, and Sam, who’d opted for a pair of slacks and a pin-striped button down. The room was light-filled, airy even.
Cici glanced around in appreciation. Anna Carmen would approve of this space, especially the stained-glass window behind the podium. She’d always adored Tiffany lamps and stained glass, enjoying watching the colors shift across her palms.
Hundreds of white and pink flowers covered the room—some in tall arrangements in vases while others were in baskets. The lectern’s bow was a large, pink chiffon. A bit frillier than Cici would have chosen, but Anna Carmen did love pink.
Evan marched in, his stride stiff and his jaw clenched. Without a word or even a look in their direction, Evan took his seat in the front. He bowed his head and pressed both his thumbs against his forehead.
A tidal wave of Anna Carmen’s current and former students and their families flooded through the doors. Cici spent the next twenty or thirty minutes shaking hands and murmuring soft thank-yous to the line.
Finally, Cici took her place in the front row next to Evan. He tensed. Cici leaned in closer. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to connect with you before today.”
Evan turned to face her. From his haggard face, his eyes glinted cool and angry. “That was intentional.”
Cici settled back, nonplussed. Sam sat next to her other side, a ploy to keep Cici’s father as far from Cici as possible. She turned, smiling a little in thanks. Sam dipped his head.
A few minutes into the service, Evan rose, his body still stiff as he walked toward the podium. He spoke for a few minutes, his voice clipped and without emotion.
Cici crushed the tissue in her hand when some of Anna Carmen’s students rose to speak into the microphone. She openly wept at the kind words each spoke of her sister. At the same time, Evan’s posture grew more rigid.
After over two hours of eulogies, Anna Carmen’s remains were buried in a small plot near their mother. Cici had insisted on handling the headstone, and neither her father nor Evan gave her any flak. Many of the students and their families drifted toward their cars, but Cici, Sam, and Evan headed over to the green-topped tent set up around Anna Carmen’s tombstone.
Cici had collected a large armful of peonies and freesia, which she laid into the hard Santa Fe clay above her sister’s ashes. Stepping back, she nearly slammed into Evan.
“Sorry,” she began.
“Not sorry enough,” Evan bit out.
“What the hell, man?” Sam asked, pushing his way between Evan and Cici.
Evan smoothed the front of his expensive wool-blend suit. He smoothed back his perfectly gelled hair. Cici managed to stifle the need to curl her lip. Evan always looked so . . . lawyerly. Slick and polished. Like her father. She simply couldn’t understand what her sister saw in this man.
“I did my duty here. But that doesn’t mean I have to pretend Anna was the perfect little princess you’ve made her out to be.”
Cici’s back bowed and her face turned away—almost as if Evan’s words were a physical blow.
“What did you say?” she managed to push past her cold, stiff lips as she faced him again.
“Your sister lied. She was practically whoring—”
Sam grasped Cici’s arm in a gentle grip that also kept her a half-step behind his bigger frame. “I don’t know what’s gotten in to you, but that wasn’t called for. Not here and definitely not now.”
Evan glared at Sam for a long moment. “If you two were so close how come you didn’t warn me?”
“Of what, exactly?” Sam said through clenched teeth.
“How can you say that, Evan?” Cici asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Your father’s coming over.” Evan yanked at his sleeves. He leaned in to murmur in Cici’s ear, “You lied to me. You all did. And I’d really prefer to have nothing more to do with any of the Gurule family.”
With those parting words, Evan turned on the heel of his expensive black leather shoe and stormed toward his car.
7
Cici
So wise so young, they say, do never live long. —Shakespeare
Evan’s anger weighed on Cici throughout the evening, as she dined with her father at his favorite eatery, The Compound. If they had to come up this street—the famous Canyon Road—located near the neighborhood where she grew up, Cici would have preferred The Teahouse or El Farol, but her father hadn’t given her the option.
So, here she sat, stiff and uncomfortable in the understated luxury of the dining room, as her father droned on about his newest client.
“I have to get back,” Cici said, the need to leave Santa Fe and Evan’s vitriol and her father’s cloying, elite smugness overwhelming her.
“Because of your beau and that large trip you’ve planned? To where is it? Brazil?”
“We’re planning to help the indigenous populations of Peru. I want to study the health of the forests in the area since the native peoples there use the wood, animals, and eco-system to maintain their way of life.”
Her father leaned back, his eyes glazing over. He lifted his glass of expensive whiskey and sipped, not even bothering to respond.
“Because some of the grants we hoped to get have been stalled in committee, we had to find private backing. Lyndon said that some of our potential investors are considering pulling out. That would devastate our ability to fully fund—”
In a gesture that surprised her, Frank Gurule leaned forward and clasped Cici’s hand. “I’ll take care of everything here. I know it’s overwhelming, Cecilia. Losing your twin . . .” Her father glanced away. “I had a brother. Two years older than me. He died young.”
Cici gulped. “I didn’t know that.”
Frank dropped his gaze. “It’s hard to talk about, even forty years later. I miss him,” Frank muttered.
Cici laid her other hand on
top of his, feeling for the first time in years a connection.
“Frank! I thought that was you.” A tall, well-dressed man walked toward them. “And who is this lovely young thing?”
Cici gritted her teeth but managed to bare them in some semblance of a smile.
“My daughter, Cecilia.”
“Oh, don’t you have two?”
Frank and Cici both froze. After a long, awkward moment, Cici rose, excusing herself to the bathroom where she trembled at the sink as she tried to catch her breath. This is what her life would be from now on—answering the painful and offhand question from those unaware of Aci’s murder. The awkwardness and embarrassment for the poor, unaware soul who’d asked, trying to be polite.
Maybe she should take her father up on his offer, strangely kind though it had been. Maybe . . . maybe going back to Boston would lessen the pain being here in Santa Fe seemed to increase.
When she reentered the room, her father and the man were in deep discussion. Cici paused, hovering and hesitating, before she walked over and kissed her father’s cheek.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Cici said. When he made as if to rise, Cici rested her hand on his shoulder. “Stay. Enjoy the evening. I’m too tired to be good company.”
The next morning was another long line of people coming over, but this time, it was mostly Cici’s friends. She was happy to see many of them, especially when they tugged her out of the house and to one of her favorite restaurants, Vinaigrette. Sitting on the patio, eating a large salad and sipping iced tea, Cici remembered how much she enjoyed Santa Fe. The girls had booked an afternoon at Ten Thousand Waves in one of the private heated pools, and Cici enjoyed the time relaxing in the water and catching up on the local gossip.
“I have to figure out what to do with Gidget,” Cici murmured.
“I can have my friend’s daughter come over,” Carina said. “Do you remember Jaycee?”
Cici nodded. “I think so. Cute, bubbly blond girl.”
“That’s the one,” Carina said.
Identical Death Page 3
