Clarets of Fire

by Christine E. Blum

“I don’t need no hospital,” Marisol growled, causing the attendant to jump back from the fearsome noise and the creature that made it.

  “Don’t worry, she won’t hurt you,” I assured him. “Your tetanus shots are up to date, right?”

  “Ha, ha, ha, you funny, Halsey.”

  That last scary squeal from Marisol sealed the deal, and I lost the valet to another car and patient. The valet and I made eye contact, and he hung his head down hoping for absolution.

  “I don’t know how long I’m going to be, so can you park it on the top level?”

  He nodded. This was the kind of help that he was comfortable with. Clearly, he’d never held a job as lion tamer with the circus.

  When Marisol took one look at the commotion in the room, she tried to get up and walk out.

  “You sit and stay,” I commanded her in a strong but pleasant voice just like Jack had taught me. Sure enough Marisol calmed down.

  “Goood girl!”

  “Shut up, Halsey.”

  “Hi, Marisol, tell me what hurts the most,” said a voice approaching behind me.

  Seeing Tom made me feel instantly better. Apart from knowing that he’d become a great doctor, Marisol was a cougar in her own crazy way and she always behaved better around nice-looking younger men.

  “Hi, Tom, thanks for finding us. Marisol said that she was walking and tripped, but I suspect that she hasn’t told me the entire story.”

  “On my death bed you call me a liar, Halsey?”

  People stopped what they were doing and stared at the crazy old lady in the gardening clogs.

  “We’re tight on rooms and equipment at the moment, but let me take you back, get your vitals, and do some preliminaries. Aimee talked to your daughter, Martha, and she’s on her way to be with you.”

  “I feel better already, thank you, Doctor.”

  I watched him wheel Marisol through the double doors that separated the waiting area from the emergency treatment rooms. I had to admit to myself that it stung a bit that once she saw Tom and heard that her daughter was on her way, I just vanished into thin air as far as Marisol was concerned.

  But that was our relationship; we shared a tough love. I stood where they’d left me for a moment, watching as spouses, significant others, and relatives poured into the room to be with their loved ones. I figured that I’d wait until Marisol’s daughter arrived and then take off. When it came right down to it I wasn’t family, and I couldn’t make any medical decisions on Marisol’s behalf. I spotted one empty seat in the far back corner of the waiting area.

  I called and let Sally and Peggy know what was going on and promised to keep them informed as soon as I heard anything from Tom.

  About five feet from me and suspended from the ceiling was one of about a half dozen TVs tuned to a local Los Angeles news station. I gave it my focus hoping that it would numb my mind a bit.

  They were showing the exterior of a wonderful and majestic church in south Los Angeles, the kind of architecture I’m used to seeing in Europe but rarely, if ever, in California. The closed caption feed crawled along the bottom of the screen so that I could read what I was looking at.

  St. Vincent de Paul Catholic Church is a designated historical-cultural monument on West Adams Boulevard not far from USC. The church, designed by architect Albert C. Martin and funded by local oilman Edward J. Doheny, was built in the early 1920s. At that time the West Adams district was one of the wealthiest areas of the city.

  The video moved now to closer shots of the façade.

  Done in the Spanish Baroque style of elaborate sculptural and architectural ornament, it is remarkable in its extreme, striking, decorative florid detail.

  The camera then entered the church to reveal one of the most spectacular golden interiors and altars that I’d ever seen. I was at once mesmerized and overwhelmed with a sense of great emptiness.

  It was clear that no matter how close I was to Marisol . . . I was not family. In times of trouble I had to take a backseat to her immediate family. I had to accept those rules, and the hurt reminded me of just how much I really do love her.

  That got me thinking about Peggy, another friend on Rose Avenue whom I consider family. She is so clever and full of energy, and the thought never crossed my mind that with her advanced age came advanced illnesses. If Sally is correct, and I have no reason to doubt her expertise, even a positive diagnosis for cancer would be slow to manifest itself. But the lid to the pot had been opened and I was now much more aware of her mortality.

  And my bestie, Sally, while a true-blue friend, has a husband to take care of, in addition to her valuable work with the youth at her church. My family—my wonderful parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins—were all four glasses of wine, a meal, a snack, and one inflight movie away.

  Thank God for Jack, although technically we weren’t family yet because we weren’t married. And the wedding seemed so far away.

  I turned my attention back to the video, which was showcasing some of the intricate details of the church’s apse.

  The mental inventory of my life had made me exhausted, which sent me into slumber land.

  My reverie was interrupted by a visit from Tom. “Hi again. I wanted to give you an update on Marisol. She’s banged up pretty badly, and there is some fluid on her knee. But it is the blow to the head that we’re most concerned about. The neurologist has ordered a cranial CT scan and we may follow up with an MRI. We’re in the process of admitting her. Her daughter Martha is with her. Marisol did admit that her fall was ‘maybe more like being hit by a car,’ she wanted me to let you know, but she refuses to talk to the police.”

  “I knew it. I bet that she was back snooping around the burned-down strip mall. Tom, do you think that she’s going to be okay?”

  “She’s responding well to stimuli, but she has some cognitive irregularities, shall we say. The tests will tell us if there are any signs of dementia.”

  “How well do you know her, Tom?”

  “Hardly at all, just from chatting for a few minutes at parties and barbecues.”

  “Then I’ll let you in on a secret. Marisol was born with ‘cognitive irregularities,’ and they may just put her in the genius category.”

  I thanked Tom and he promised to call with any news. There was nothing more that I could do, so I headed out the back of St. John’s hospital.

  The parking area had calmed down somewhat. I’d witnessed the last of the bus accident victims go in for treatment, so there was no longer a frantic arrival of concerned people. The same valet that was on duty before brought my car up and held the door for me.

  “Thanks, how much is it?” I rescued my wallet from my purse. I’d been there for over two hours, so I searched for twenties.

  “No charge; you were here for an emergency,” he said.

  I had seen other people paying when I arrived and again just now.

  “You’re a good man,” I said to him, and he bowed his head.

  Before I pulled out of the circular drive, I grabbed my phone and speed-dialed Jack.

  “Honey? How soon can you meet me? I have something important that I want to ask you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A couple of days later, we convened for Wine Club at Peggy’s house. I tried not to look at my phone all morning, dreading seeing a text from her canceling the event, which would definitely mean that she’d gotten her test results and it wasn’t good news.

  I hadn’t been told about any theme to this gathering, and I didn’t want to bring something that called out “special occasion,” in case it wasn’t, so I made some understated pumpkin hummus and brought along pita chips and apple slices. And crumbled bacon.

  When I arrived, a little early, Sally was the sole guest so far. Peggy was in her kitchen, and the place smelled of maple, pie, and cinnamon. A good sign I thought. It was confirmed when I noticed that Sally was laying out champagne glasses on the coffee table. I gave her a questioning look, and she gave me a thumbs up and then pantomimed
locking her lips. I gave her an understanding nod.

  “Halsey! Welcome to my fall Wine Club feast.” Peggy gave me a warm smile. “Oh, and I heard from my doctor and the tests revealed nothing serious. I just have to make some lifestyle changes . . . starting tomorrow!”

  I grabbed her in a tight embrace. The two-day throbbing headache that I’d been dealing with released a little tension off my brain. “But come tomorrow, missy, I’ll be all over your butt. And after Wine Club today I’m going through your freezer, pantry, and anywhere else you could be hiding processed sugar and trans-fat.”

  “Oh joy. Sally, should I fly in the kids and all my grandbabies for the event?”

  “Hi! I brought little hazelnut galettes filled with chocolate and pear frozen yogurt. I’ll put them in the freezer until we’re ready, Peggy.” Aimee marched in grinning, in her element after creating new recipes.

  “I thought that we’d start with a little Piper Heidsieck Cuvée Brut to waken up the old taste buds and then move on to a couple special reds that I coaxed out of my wine merchant for a great price.”

  “Sounds dreamy, Peggy,” Sally said, passing around the filled flutes.

  Try saying “filled flutes” three times fast after you’ve consumed a few.

  “We’ve got a lot of business to cover today besides imbibing, and I am going to run this meeting in the hopes of keeping us on track and productive. Otherwise it’s my house and I’ll kick out the lot of you and keep this wonderful spread all to myself.”

  “The day of reckoning is tomorrow, Peggy.”

  “Thanks for reminding me, Sally. First and foremost, we know that Marisol is home from the hospital and recuperating, but how’s she doing, Halsey, and what was the final diagnosis?”

  I quickly finished the strawberry that I’d been luxuriously dipping into my champagne.

  “As you would expect, knowing Marisol like you all do, she’s been a model patient and a joy to take care of and be around.”

  Sally raised one hand, held her thumb under her other four fingers, and dragged it out from her nose as far as her arm would reach. Her whistle sound effect let us know that she was pantomiming a cartoon Pinocchio telling a lie.

  “Okay, not really,” I continued. “The good news is that she’ll be fine, the Marisol definition of fine. The neurologist didn’t detect any real signs of dementia, but he also couldn’t understand the way her mind works. I suggested that he go to Stonehenge for the answer.”

  “Thank goodness . . . Tom told me how worried he was when he first examined her.”

  “He was great, Aimee, and as soon as he took charge she started to behave herself. The bigger concern, perhaps, is that through lots of coercion and bribes I got her to admit that she was walking around the back of the burned strip mall when she fell. She claims that she was watching a car drive through the alley, trying to see its occupants, when she tripped over a concrete parking space stop.”

  “Ouch, no wonder she was so banged up. Did she at least get a peek at the driver?”

  “Unfortunately not, Peggy. And she really didn’t have much of a description of the car, but she insisted that ‘if she saw it again she’d recognize it.’”

  “I’ll stop in to check on her this evening and see if she remembers anything more,” Sally said.

  “Does anyone have an update on the Provident building owners or on your commercial real estate client, Halsey?” Aimee sat up proud, taking ownership for our surprise visit to the corporate office in Downey as well she should.

  “This will blow the lids off your collective noggins.” Peggy stood up. “I talked to my friend who is helping with identifying the owners of the cars that were parked in that office building, and he said so far most could be tracked to people that legitimately work there. But there was a section of the video where the sun played tricks on displaying the license plate numbers. He happened to have someone in the field nearby and asked her to check out the garage, find those models and makes of cars, and take down the tags.”

  “Wow, Peggy, talk about the long arm of the law. I hope you’re going to tell us that they now have the names of these shady real estate owners.”

  “I wish, Halsey, but this might be just as interesting. The field agent decided to take a stroll past the Provident Commerce Group offices on the off chance that she would run into one of the owners. Sure enough the double doors were open, but when she stepped inside all she saw were maintenance and construction workers. Those guys had moved out practically overnight and taken any evidence that they’d been there with them.”

  “That makes me madder than cut snakes!” Sally spat, and then emptied her champagne glass.

  “Sounds like it’s time to uncork the Coppola Diamond claret.”

  That did the trick, and we were now getting very excited for our night in Malibu. We discussed the other open issues in the case with not much in answers.

  Q: How can Rico and Isabella afford to buy another pizza oven prior to receiving the insurance payment?

  A: Maybe they could borrow against the payment? Or they got an advance?

  Q: What is Liza Gilhooly’s connection to all this and why was she lying to us?

  A: Peggy suspects that she is a street fighter by nature and stands to get some money out of the fire whether it is from something she did or something she knows.

  Q: Where is Brandon and what role did he play in all this? Why lie about being a surfer and what is his connection to Andrew?

  A: Could it be as simple as trying to meet girls?

  As the sun set at an increasingly earlier time each day as we were coming to the end of October, we Wine Club girls had done a good job of polishing off the refreshments and delightful appetizers. Now more than a few eyelids were starting to droop.

  “Madam chairman,” I directed at Peggy, “have we sufficiently covered the items on your agenda for today’s meeting?”

  “I am satisfied, save for one more topic.”

  Several women groaned, but Peggy continued unfazed.

  “In less than a week, we’ll all be at Penelope and Malcolm’s first fall harvest and, if I counted correctly, we’ll be a party of nine, since Penelope opened up the sleepover to husbands and significant others. Charlie’s flying up so that’s two; Aimee, you’d said that Tom made sure that he wasn’t on call, so four; Sally and Joe, and Halsey, Jack, and Bardot.”

  “Maybe my cousin Jimmy as well but he has to let me know,” Sally informed the group.

  “So that’s a lot of people descending on them all at once.”

  “Right Peggy, we need to make things as easy as possible plus celebrate their amazing achievement of growing their first crop.”

  “Oh my, what do we get the couple that’s just become vintners?” Aimee literally scratched her head.

  “I’ll call Penelope in the morning and find out the sleeping arrangements and if it would be easiest for us to bring our own bed linens and towels.”

  “Perfect, Sally.” Peggy started a list.

  “And I can take care of dessert. I’ll do some fall pies and maybe candied apples and cheese.”

  “Please don’t talk about food right now, Aimee.” This time I really am committed to never eating again.

  “And I’ll take care of getting us a supply of the things that you never realize you need until you don’t have them: flashlights, gloves, cases of water, those throwaway ponchos for the forecasted rain.”

  “Geez, Peggy, we’re going to a sleepover in Malibu not a tour in Mogadishu.” She gave me a look that let me know that I’m bordering on insubordination. “And I’ll do some research and find the perfect wine-warming gift for them.”

  Peggy was satisfied and we came together for a final Wine Club cheer. I was the last to leave, and when I reached the door Peggy handed me the baggie with the orange piece of evidence.

  “Wiped clean, Halsey. My guys got nothing from it.”

  * * *

  When my eyes opened from sleep it was still dark outside. That did
n’t stop my brain from kicking into gear and start reviewing the mall fire again.

  Aimee had told me that Rico and Isabella were going to be using the kitchen on Thursday night to complete their final prep before the big harvest and suggested that I pop by if I wanted to get information about their finances and plans.

  I got up early to get in a walk and then a swim with Bardot before it got too hot. The forecast called for powerful Santa Ana winds this afternoon, and that always meant trouble. It is said that the name comes from a Native American word for wind, which Spanish missionaries, detecting an evil presence, translated as “Santanás” or what we call today the “Devil Winds.”

  When I’d first heard this I thought that it was some kind of Californian myth, but then I experienced three days of Santa Anas and knew of what they spoke. Upon waking you are deceived by seeing the cloudless blue sky that this is to be another day in paradise. Then you notice that during the night someone practiced using sandpaper on your lips and had you chew on dry Grape Nuts cereal. You get up ready for a fight and decide to take a telemarketing call just for practice. Then you curse everyone who has ever said with a smile, “But it’s a dry heat.”

  There’s an eerie stillness in the atmosphere and a positive ion-driven ebullition in your hair. Then the fires start, little scattered pockets that encounter each other in travel and join forces ultimately turning the sky into a blanket of orange and gray. It looks like a giant Hermes shopping bag has landed above the city. This is followed by migraines and fatigue that are only exacerbated by alcohol. This is why God invented books, and air-conditioning, and beds to enjoy them in.

  I made the call about halfway through our walk that our time in public was over for today. My plan was for a quick dip and a long nap before heading out to Aimee’s yogurt shop. Bardot had no arguments with the itinerary.

  As we rounded the corner, Bardot picked up her pace and wagged her tail with excitement. I guessed that she was looking forward to leaving the outside swirl of positive ions as well. This day was going to turn out just fine.