She looked at me with outrage burning in her big brown eyes, looked at the leash wrapped securely around the bicycle rack, and began to gag.
“Give me a break,” I said. “I've had a bad week. I have enough drama of my own to deal with. You can be the drama queen next week, okay? I promise.”
She lay down on her side and wheezed loudly. The slack in the leash pooled onto the sidewalk.
G-Ma laughed. “Would you look at that? I believe that dog's playing possum.”
“She's playing Meryl Streep on her deathbed,” I said. “She passed possum a long time ago.”
I asked the girl at the front desk if she'd look out every once in a while, and make sure my dog was okay. She wrinkled her brow and looked at Stump. “Is it okay? It's lying in the sidewalk. It looks like it's gasping for air.”
I scooted over away from the door where Stump couldn’t see me. “Now what's she doing?”
The girl drew her head back. “She's up now. Her tail's wagging.”
I nodded. “She'll be fine.” I asked if I could see Tony.
The girl checked a computer at the desk. “He was bonded out this morning. He's probably –” She turned and looked at the clock behind her. “You might be able to catch him at the back door. Go back out this way and around to the west side. That's where they're let out, but you'll have to hurry, because they started letting them go ten minutes ago.”
“G-Ma, will you grab Stump and meet me around there? I don't want to miss him.”
G-Ma protested but I pretended I didn't hear her. Now that the time had come, I was nervous about seeing Tony and realized I could dawdle and have the perfect excuse for not having to talk to him, but I hurried anyway, maybe just so I'd be able to pretend I was really disappointed when I missed him.
I didn't miss him. Mrs. Solis was walking with him toward her car when I rounded the corner.
I recognized him immediately, even though he'd changed. He was bigger now, not fat, but solid, stocky. A man. He'd been a boy when we were married. His face was broader, harder. His d eyes pierced mine when he saw me.
I wondered if he'd recognize me, but I didn't have to once our eyes met. As usual, I couldn't read much of what was going on behind his dark gaze, but he definitely recognized me.
He stopped at the front of the car and waited as I hurried up to him.
Now that I was here, I had no idea what to say to him. “Hi,” I said. I swallowed. “How are you?” Salem, your word for today is ‘inane.’
He nodded, not pointing out that he was under suspicion of murder.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “Stupid question. I'm just…are you okay?”
“What do you think?” Mrs. Solis said, gesturing wildly. “He's been arrested for murder. Maybe for you that's a normal everyday thing, but not for my family.”
I wasn't going to let her divert me from the mission at hand. I'd come to see if there was anything I could do for Tony, and I was going to at least try.
“I heard that. I came to see if I could help you somehow.”
“How are you going to help him? Oh, I know. You're a lawyer now,” she said with a sneer. “You're going to defend him in court and keep him out of prison. You went to law school and now you're here to save the day.”
I took a deep breath. “I'm not a lawyer, of course. But –”
“Oh, I know, you’re a detective. You’re going to find the real killer and exonerate my son to make up for all the trouble you’ve caused in your miserable life.”
“I – I’d just like to help –”
“We don't need your help. We need to find Lucinda’s real murderer because the police department is obviously not going to do it.” She glared at the cop standing in the doorway. The cop didn’t respond. “Come on, Tony. We need to go.”
I looked at Tony. “I don't really know what I can do, but I wanted you to know…” What?
“Thank you, Salem,” he said softly. He looked tired and worried, but still his eyes held kindness for me.
I heard a scuffing noise behind me and looked back, prepared to see G-Ma dragging Stump on her leash. Instead I saw a reporter and a cameraman, coming straight at Tony.
“Mr. Solis, did you kill Lucinda Cruz?”
“Of course he didn't!” Mrs. Solis snapped. “He's being persecuted by the police, targeted, racially profiled. He's innocent and they're railroading an innocent man while a killer walks freely through our streets!” She waved a hand in the air and tossed her head back.
“Who do you believe is guilty of the murder of Lucinda Cruz?” the reporter asked.
“Do I look like a detective to you?” Mrs. Solis snapped. “It's not my job to solve mysteries, that's the detective's job.” She took two furious steps toward the reporter, who took three steps back just as quickly.
“But I suppose that's what I'll have to become, or else the police department will send an innocent man to prison for the rest of his life. That's the situation we live in. Innocent men go to prison, and killers walk free!”
“Mom,” Tony said. “Let's go.”
Mrs. Solis nodded sharply and jabbed her keys at the camera. “We're going, but the people in this city should know what kind of justice system we have. If my son can go to jail for murder, no one is safe!”
“You're Tony Solis's mother?” the reporter said. They say there's no such thing as a stupid question.
“Of course I'm his mother,” Mrs. Solis snapped as she lowered herself into her seat.
“And who are you?” The reporter whirled on me so quickly I didn't have time to think.
“I'm his ex-wife,” I blurted.
“His ex-wife? And do you believe he murdered Lucinda Cruz?”
Oh geez. The camera was pointed at me and I felt majorly uncomfortable. “No, no. Not at all.” I shook my head at the last second, as if that would add credibility. As if Tony's freedom depended on my performance.
The cameraman shifted. “Hey, aren't you the girl who found the dead body?”
Uh-oh. I froze.
“You are, right? The girl who found the body? And you're his ex-wife?”
“Uhhh,” I said.
Mrs. Solis pulled her car back, then circled back so the passenger side was closest to me. Tony rolled down his window. “She had nothing to do with it,” he said. “And she's not my ex-wife.”
“How do you know she had nothing to do with the murder?” the reporter asked. “Do you know who did it?”
“I'm not your ex-wife?” I asked, stunned.
Tony shook his head. “I never had the marriage annulled. We’re still married.” The window slid silently up and the car pulled away.
Chapter Five
G-Ma, thank God, rounded the corner just then, holding Stump on stiff arms as far from her as she could manage. Stump flopped like a twenty-five pound catfish.
“I have to take care of my dog,” I said. It was a poor excuse for a reprieve, but since it looked to be all that was forthcoming, I latched onto it. I grabbed Stump and feigned great concern for her. “You're okay, girl,” I crooned as I scurried back to G-Ma’s car. “It's okay. Don't be scared of the big bad camera.”
Of course, now she was perfectly fine. G-Ma hurried to keep up with me. “What was that girl asking you? Was that the girl from Channel Eleven? She's too skinny. She doesn't look so skinny on TV. She needs to eat something. Probably got that disease that makes you too skinny.”
Frankly I've always subscribed to the theory that you can't be too skinny, but I was too busy freaking completely out about Tony to respond. Still married? How was that even possible? I'd gotten the divorce papers years ago.
I climbed in and tucked Stump on my lap. I shot a quick glance back the way we'd come, but the reporter must have decided I wasn't worth chasing down. Thank you, God.
“So did you get to talk to him? I missed everything. That dumb dog went running out into the street and I barely caught her before she got squashed by a cop car. What did he say? Did he do it? What was his mamma
saying? She looks older than me, don't you think? She’s probably twenty years younger, but she looks older. It's all that gray hair.”
Mrs. Solis had probably a dozen strands of gray hair mixed in with the black. G-Ma dyed her hair a solid red that made it look like a Kansas City Chief’s football helmet, but there wasn't a strand of gray in it. That was important to her. She thought it made her look young. Whatever gets you through the night, I guess.
Still married? Ugh.
“What happens if you're married in the Catholic Church and you get divorced?”
“You don't get divorced in the Catholic church. No such thing.”
“But I got divorce papers!” It was enough to make me wish I still cussed.
“Not from the church.”
“No, from somebody official.”
“Catholics don't divorce.”
“But that's crazy.”
“Well, Catholics aren't always the most logical people.”
Unlike the Baptists in my family who never actually went to church, Catholics aren’t logical?
I leaned back and closed my eyes. I couldn't get Tony's face out of my mind.
God, I started to pray., for Tony, for guidance, for hope, but all I could think to say was, God, really?
I tried to imagine Tony doing anything to hurt anyone, but it was just not possible. I knew that under the right circumstances, people are capable of almost anything. I knew that it had been a long time since I'd been around Tony, and it was possible he'd changed. But…no. He couldn't have killed anyone.
Please help him, I silently prayed. Please do something to help him.
How are you going to help him? By finding the real killer? Mrs. Solis had said. Mocking, as if nothing could be more ridiculous.
I wish I could. I wish I could find the real killer and give Tony his freedom back.
As if. I couldn't even figure out how I was going to get to work in the morning.
“Did I tell you I'm going to open the restaurant back up?” G-Ma asked.
Oh no. G-Ma owned a seedy motel on the Clovis highway that catered to anyone who'd ruined their credit so much they couldn't get a room in even the scariest real apartments. The side of the building advertised Daily-Weekly-Shower rates. Bless her heart, I think G-Ma really believed that people rented a room by the hour because they needed to take a shower.
When she had inherited the place from her third and last husband, it had had a coffee shop that provided maybe half of the motel's income. A bad bout of food poisoning had put them out of business. She'd tried to reopen it as another coffee shop, an Italian place (I had told her she needed more than canned spaghetti and red checked table clothes for that to work), a burger place, and a donut shop. I had gained fifteen of my extra forty during the donut phase.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Heaven forbid if I seemed unsupportive, but I was of the opinion that G-Ma had all she could handle with the motel. “Remember how much work that was?”
“I remember, and that's why I'm not the one who's going to do it. Mario is.”
“Mario? Seriously?” Okay, I was getting a little excited now. Mario had a booming and only slightly illegal business making tamales at home and selling them to local businesses. He went around all morning carrying an insulated case over his shoulder, moving in and out of offices and through warehouses with lightning speed. He always came to the grooming shop on Thursday morning and, sad as my life was at the moment, it was one of the highlights of my week.
“He's going to quit the delivery?”
“Not exactly. The stupid health department said he couldn't cook out of his kitchen at home anymore. He has to get a professional kitchen.”
“Can't they just inspect his home kitchen? You know it's probably cleaner than a lot of restaurants.”
“I know it. But they said it was against the law and they couldn't keep looking the other way.”
“They couldn't keep looking the other way while they had a mouthful of his tamales.”
“So he's going to just cook there but keep up his route?”
“He's planning to open the dining room, too. He's going to hire his nieces to work there and another nephew to help him with deliveries. He said he figures he could easily double his delivery if he had more help.”
“I didn't know he was even looking for someone to help him.” I loved my job, but let's face it – getting to eat the Mario’s leftovers would be a pretty awesome fringe benefit.
Stump's little feet were digging into my thighs, and I shifted her on my lap. I remembered that I wouldn't be able to take her with me if I worked for Mario. So I supposed I would stay at Bow Wow Barbers.
“Do you need to go anywhere else before I take you home?”
I did a mental inventory of my cabinet: half a box of dry spaghetti., no sauce, a can of green beans, four or five slices of bread and a quarter of a jar of peanut butter.
Then I did a mental inventory of my checking account. Next to zero dollars and zero cents, with the promise of impending arterial bleeding in the cash department, thanks to a busted block, whatever the heck that was.
“Just take me home,” I said. I could eat the peanut butter and bread, and cook the spaghetti to eat plain if I had to. I didn't have the energy to lie to myself and say I was going to eat the green beans.
Although I asked God one more time for a miracle, the stupid car was still sitting in my driveway when we got home.
I opened the door, and Stump shoved all twenty-five pounds of her weight into my thighs as she launched herself, barking, up onto the front deck.
A brown cardboard box sat beside the front door.
“What's that?” I asked. As if G-Ma would know.
“It's not yours?”
I shook my head and got out.
“Wait! What if it's a bomb?”
“Why would there be a bomb on my front deck?” But I stopped.
“Maybe people hate you since they think you killed that woman.”
“But I didn't touch her!”
“I know that, but you saw that news story.”
Stupid Trisha! “Stump, get back!” Of course, Stump didn't listen to a thing I said unless it contained the words “treat” or “eat” or “go” in the sentence. “Stump!”
Stump jumped up on the box and tilted it over. G-Ma and I both screamed.
Nothing exploded. Stump didn't get blown through the air. Instead, a ham rolled out of the box and onto the deck.
G-Ma clutched at my shirt. “What is it? Do you hear ticking?” She comes from the era when bombs actually ticked. I'm not sure but I think they beep now – the age of technology.
“It's a ham,” I said. I climbed the steps and rescued the ham before Stump pounced on it. I leaned over the box and saw four or five boxes of different kinds of food, potatoes and RiceARoni, canned tomatoes, and more green beans – okay, okay, so I'd eat the green beans – and a loaf of bread. There was also a box of cereal, a box of dry milk, and a package of Jerky Treats for Stump.
I pulled out a white piece of paper. I didn't know if you'd have a way to get to the grocery store so I brought a few things by. Call me if you need a ride anywhere. Les
“People are giving you food?” G-Ma frowned. “You shouldn't let people give you food.”
“I wasn't here to stop him.”
“Still, you need to give that back. You're not some out-of-work welfare case.”
I unlocked the door and carried the box in on my hip while I tried to decide whether or not I should argue with that one. I was still trying to decide when I put the box on the table and one of the boxes inside tipped over.
“Are those chocolate covered cherries?” G-Ma reached into the box and pulled them out. “Wow. That was really nice of him to bring you chocolate covered cherries.”
Although she was right, I'm not a big fan of the chocolate covered cherry. I much prefer chocolate covered chocolate. I couldn't help but notice how quickly her tone changed when she saw something she
liked.
I shrugged and took the box back from her. “Yes, it was nice, but you're right, I probably shouldn't be taking food from them.”
“Well…” She looked at the box. “Sometimes it is hard to swallow your pride, but you know, God doesn't like pride.”
“That's true, but shouldn't we try to be self-sufficient?”
“Of course, of course, but like you said, it wasn't like you asked for your car to break down.” She reached a hand out for the box of chocolate and then drew it back.
“No, I didn't, and I could really use these groceries. I don't have much, and I hate to keep asking you to drive me all over town.” And there was a big box of Little Debbie Star Crunches in there. I could live on Little Debbie Star Crunches.
“I’d be happy to drive you anywhere, but you're right, you can't keep asking me to do that.” She didn't elaborate on why not, exactly.
“Besides, he went to all this trouble and it would be rude to refuse it.” Which one of us was going to rip into the chocolate first?
“Ungracious.”
“Ungrateful. I know you can take care of yourself just fine, but sometimes it helps people if you let him help you, you know what I mean? It's better to give than receive, I've always said, so in a way you're really helping them. Can't give if there's nobody to receive, right?”
She gave up the effort and reached for the cherries. I waited till she was ready to rip through the cellophane wrapping before I stopped her. “G-Ma, are you sure? I'd hate to be accepting charity.”
“Salem.” She tucked the box under her arm and took my hand between her two. “I'm sure. You need to do this. For Wes.”
“Les.”
“Les. Exactly. He needs for you to accept this.”
I nodded, echoing her solemnity. “You're right.” No way was I going to tell her this wasn't the first time Les had brought me a box of food. The first time I had gone through the whole routine of trying to refuse his help, but G-Ma – despite her self-serving motivation – was right. Les liked to give. It was his gift.
Me, I hadn't discovered yet what my gift is. I'd like to give, if I wasn't always so busy just trying to keep my own head above water. I'd like to have a huge chunk of money to give away, but since I couldn't even pay my own bills, giving didn't seem to be in the works for me at the moment.
The Middle Finger of Fate (A Trailer Park Princess Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 8
