by Meera Lester
Sugar’s ear-piercing yips alarmed the women, who cowered even after Abby had welcomed them into her home.
“Please don’t worry about my dog. She won’t bite. She knows Paola, but not you, and she is curious, that’s all.” Making a sweeping gesture with her hand toward the dining room table, Abby said, “Have a seat. I’ll make us some tea.” She filled three mugs from the spigot that delivered instant hot water from the unit she’d installed under the sink, inside the cabinet. “Have you already taken your toddlers trick-or-treating?”
“No,” said Luna. “Maybe next year. They’re still too young.”
Abby took a tray from the lower cabinet where she kept her baking sheets and put the three mugs she’d filled on it. After taking down the honey jar and fishing out spoons from the silverware caddy, she placed those items on the tray and carried it to the dining room table. Then she reached for a large tin of handpicked organic herbal teas imported from a British tea shop and placed the tin on the table, next to the tray. “Help yourself,” she said. “Tell me about Paola. Any change?”
Luna said, “Not that we can tell.”
Pushing back into her chair, Eva quietly uttered in Spanish, “Es un gran problema.”
With a drawn expression, Luna looked at Abby and said, “Yes, big problem. We’ve come to you because we need your help.”
Abby’s thoughts flew to Paola. She knew the neurosurgeons had put Paola in a medically induced coma. From what she knew from working on the force with victims in the past, an acute injury to the head through blunt force trauma could result in a subdural hematoma, or bleeding under the skull. To prevent increased intracranial pressure caused by swelling and bleeding, doctors would drill burr holes or surgically remove a temporary flap of bone and then later reattach the bone piece they’d removed. The bone-flap procedure gave the Varela family hope that Paola would recover, but to what degree, no one could say.
“Problem with what? What’s going on?” Abby asked.
Eva blurted out in Spanish, “Emilio va a ser arrestado por la policía.” Tears swam in her eyes.
“Emilio? Sorry . . . what?” Abby frowned, even though she felt relieved that the problem didn’t concern Paola.
“I’ll explain,” said Luna, whose command of English exceeded Eva’s.
Abby glanced over at Eva. Her eyes now shimmered with tears. The reserved young woman wiped a palm across her cheek to brush away a tear rolling down and dug in her oversize shoulder bag until she had tugged out a tissue.
Facing Abby, Luna said in a quavering voice, “The police are going to arrest Emilio.”
“Why?” asked Abby, trying not to react, despite her anxiety. Her body tensed.
“Porque el ha sido interrogado dos veces,” said Eva, using the tissue to blot her tears.
Abby waited for the translation.
“Already, the police have taken him away twice to ask questions,” Luna said.
Eva tried to muffle her sniffles, prompting Luna to place a consoling palm on Eva’s knee and speak in a tender, sisterly tone. “Mi hermana, tranquila.” Turning back to Abby, Luna said, “Like Eva, our mother cries and prays the rosary, while our father paces on his canes and asks if we should get a lawyer. Your police have taken away our peace. Our parents must return soon to Argentina, but they fear losing Paola and now Emilio, too.”
Abby drew in a sharp breath and let it go. “I’m sorry that the actions of the LFPD are causing worry for your family.” Her words reflected the heaviness of her heart. “It’s possible they just need to clarify inconsistencies in Emilio’s previous statements. Innocent people have nothing to fear when they tell the truth.”
“But Emilio . . . he has told the truth. Our brother would never make our sister Paola a widow.”
Abby wound an errant clump of reddish-gold hair around her finger and then tucked it back into the elastic band restraining her messy, lopsided bun. How lucky Emilio was to have such loyal and trusting sisters and parents who believed in him. But they needed her help. But to do what?
Sniffing again, Eva said in a husky tone, “Pero la policía lo ha estado siguiendo.”
Luna studied the packet of tea she had chosen. It contained green tea, rose petals, and pomegranate.
“What’s Eva saying?” Abby shifted her position on her hard 1929 Duncan Phyfe chair, the cushion of which needed replacing.
“The police are following him,” said a stone-faced Luna.
“Why?” Abby asked. When Luna didn’t answer, Abby said, “Well, there has to be a logical explanation.” She pushed the tin of assorted teas toward Eva and got up to fetch a loaf of pumpkin-walnut bread. Tailing a person of interest or a suspect was an age-old tactic. The ploy sometimes resulted in turning up the heat on a suspect. The guy gets stressed. Makes mistakes. Talks too much. Or visits people or places that can yield further information with relevance to the case.
“Did Emilio tell you this?” asked Abby, carrying napkins and slices of pumpkin-walnut bread to the table.
“Yes,” said Luna.
“And the person following him is a cop?”
Luna nodded. “He recognized the officer from the station.”
Abby selected a packet of hibiscus tea with an infusion of apple, raspberry, and black currant. After tearing open the packet, she pulled out the tea bag and dunked it repeatedly in her mug of boiling water. Which Las Flores cop, she wondered, had been tailing Emilio? The police department was small and perpetually understaffed. But then again, what did it matter? She needed to assuage the women’s fear. But how? She could echo their father’s advice and tell them to get a lawyer for Emilio. Or recommend he take a polygraph. The former was his legal right and would stop the police from talking with him without his counsel present. The latter could help the cops eliminate him as a suspect and end the family’s misery. However, if the examiner found any of Emilio’s answers to be deceptive, it would bring intense scrutiny upon him.
Luna drilled Abby with her enormous eyes. “Emilio insists he’s done no wrong. He’s mad that the police have focused on him, while the real killer goes free. Maybe you could find out if there are other suspects the police could investigate. And you could talk to Emilio. He might tell you things he refuses to tell our family.” Luna reached for Eva’s hand. Both sisters stared at Abby, united in their request for help.
Abby considered the irony. She was going to be looking into this case, anyway. Now the Varela sisters had given her a new impetus. Still, she fretted in a tense silence over the words He might tell you things he refuses to tell our family. What things? And were these “things” known to Chief Bob Allen? Was that why he wanted to keep close tabs on Emilio and was willing to pay for surveillance? The chief was the same man who’d insisted his officers pay their own uniform dry cleaning bills to save the department money. Alternatively, perhaps sweating out Emilio was Lieutenant Sinclair’s idea. Regardless, Emilio was under a cloud of suspicion. And in a small town like Las Flores, the gossip mill would soon get wind of this development.
“Has Emilio taken a lie-detector test?” asked Abby. She gestured toward the pumpkin-walnut bread, which neither woman had yet touched.
“No.” Luna looked at Eva as if for confirmation that their brother hadn’t confided something different to Eva. Luna shrugged. “Do you think he should?” Luna asked.
“Well, it couldn’t hurt,” Abby said. She thought about how to explain the benefit and also the risk. Tearing off a corner of a bread slice, she said, “Passing the polygraph means the police can eliminate him as a suspect. But he must not be deceptive in any way. Do you understand? Things could get worse for him if he lies.” Abby ate the small piece of bread and then sipped a little of her tea to wash it down.
Eva released Luna’s hand to dab the corners of her eyes with the tissue. Tucking the tissue back into her purse, Eva eased out of her chair. She stood and adjusted her purse straps over her shoulder. Luna stood, as well. Sugar bounded toward them, yipping.
When Abby ros
e and called the dog’s name, Sugar made eye contact with her. In a firm but upbeat voice, Abby said, “Quiet.” Sugar maintained quiet, but not for long. Abby knew it was something they’d have to keep working on—she was far from the perfect doggy parent. Still, Sugar had not barked for several seconds. It was a start. She gave Sugar a stinky liver treat from the fridge as a reward.
Addressing the sisters, Abby said, “Sorry about that. Sugar gets alarmed at sudden movement, even by me. This whole murder business has me on edge. I’m sure it does you, too.”
Luna nodded and followed her sister to the door. Before walking out, she turned and faced Abby. “Please promise me that you’ll talk to Emilio. Before it’s too late.”
Abby hesitated. “I suppose. If you think it will help. But, Luna . . . ,” said Abby, placing her hand on Luna’s arm. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Luna shrugged. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Speak to my brother.”
Abby slipped into her cop mode. “I have to be clear about one thing, Luna. We’re friends because we all love Paola. That said, you don’t know me very well, and I don’t know you—not truly. Nor Eva or Emilio, for that matter. What I’m trying to say is that your brother already feels antagonized by the cops. He might view me as another outsider trying to interfere in what must feel to him like a terrible nightmare. If you can tell me anything that would help me, now is the time.”
“I understand,” said Luna. “Eva and I believe Emilio is protecting someone. But we have no proof. It’s just intuition. Please, Abby, find out what he is hiding for the sake of our parents and Paola. At times, Emilio can be his own worst enemy.”
Abby managed a weak smile. Luna had become a tenacious little bulldog who felt honor bound to protect her family. She was not going to give up. “Okay,” said Abby. She opened the door, and Eva walked out onto the porch. Luna held back. She threw her arms around Abby, whispering, “Thank you, mi hermana.” And then she hurried off into the night with her sister.
Mi hermana—my sister. To Abby, it had sounded warm and genuine, not contrived. And it had been wrapped in the sweetness of human touch. Abby had needed Luna’s hug. It had been an emotionally trying day. And now she would make a star on her incident poster, next to Emilio’s name, along with a note to find out whom he might be protecting. Before she went to bed, she tapped a text to the woman listed in her phone contacts as the heir to the property behind her farmette. Do you know Henry Brady? He’s intending to park his RV on your land. Does he have your permission to do that?
The terse reply came quickly. Yes and yes. Old school chum.
Great. Realizing she had no control over the situation, Abby resigned herself to it.
* * *
Long after the Varela sisters had left, Abby curled up under a comforter, her body snuggled in warmth. But her mind was as restless as a blustery storm. For a long while, she listened to the sounds outside her window—the clanging of chimes in the wind, the patter of a raccoon’s paws as the forager sniffed out dried figs that had fallen on her roof, and the mournful bawling of a calf separated from its mother on neighbor Lucas Crawford’s ranch. Even farther away, the whistle of a distant train, which grew so faint that at last she could no longer hear it. From the day she’d bought the farmette, she had relished the solitude of evenings here, where she lived close to nature. But since the murder, the familiar sounds of the night also brought a measure of anxiety. She now lived on the edge of something she didn’t understand, at the mercy of a new kind of vulnerability.
Lying in the dark, Abby thought of Jake, his chiseled features marred by a bullet. Though she’d never spoken of it to anyone, Jake had always reminded her of someone else—Ian Weir, a man she’d met during her twenties. With his dark curls and appealing facial structure, Ian possessed a philosopher’s tongue and a poet’s soul. She had noticed him during the wedding of a college friend and had been immediately smitten. For the next year, they’d been each other’s best friend. And then, when he’d popped the question, she’d said yes. But their union wasn’t meant to be. Ian had debilitating headaches, which doctors diagnosed as a rare, aggressive form of cancer. When he passed away, he took with him the best part of Abby—the ability to love with wild abandon. It had made her cautious and reluctant to open her heart to a man that way again.
Seeing Jake that first time had been like seeing a ghost returned from the grave. It had been a shock. She’d stolen glances at Jake all evening, unable to get past the physical similarity between him and Ian. The niggling attraction had filled her with guilt. The discomfort had become so great that Abby had avoided all contact with Jake, even as she enjoyed the blossoming of her friendship with Paola.
The end of Ian’s life came after there had already been much brokenness in Abby’s. Three times her mother had married. Two of those marriages had ended in divorce, and one had been in trouble when her mother died of a heart attack. Abby became a motherless child whose father had left for parts unknown. Her maternal grandparents took in Abby and her younger brother and raised them. Years later, over winter break, her brother was killed. And then Ian passed away. The losses in her life had been tremendous, exerting a profound emotional wounding that Abby feared would never heal. Now, as she reflected on those losses and on Jake and Paola’s tragedy, her spirits plunged into an abyss of sadness and heartache. A mournful cry rose from deep inside her and found its way out and into the down filling of her comforter.
After she’d exhausted her tears, Abby sank into an inner landscape devoid of light or comfort. The weight of her bedcovers felt as heavy as grief. She eased her foot out into the cold air of the bedroom. Just as quickly, the chill sent her foot back under. She curled into the fetal position. With sleep elusive, her thoughts drifted again, seizing upon the image of the knit cap on the head of Jake’s killer, the earlier encounter with the RV owner, and the unexpected visit from the worried Varela sisters. Sleep. I need it to think straight. As she lay alone in the dark, Abby’s only comfort was the snoring four-footed mound of fur next to her right hip and the gun in the bedside-table drawer. Sleep, if it came at all, likely would not be restful.
* * *
A hen’s repeated loud cackles woke Abby. Already the sun’s rays splayed across her bed and along the wall. She rolled over and faced the clock. Half past ten. Alarmed at the lateness, she heaved back the covers, sat up, and lumbered toward the shower. After drying off, she slid her arms and head into a cream-colored turtleneck. Next, she shimmied into a freshly washed pair of boot-cut jeans and shrugged on a mulberry-hued flannel shirt. After pulling on thick socks and stepping into her work boots, she assessed her image in the mirror. She liked what she saw except for her wild mane. After carefully plaiting her hair and securing it with an elastic band, she again evaluated her appearance. She looked like the lady farmer she was—not a plainclothes detective, investigator, or cop. Abby calculated that her nonthreatening appearance—especially if she opted for the clean-scrubbed look and lip gloss instead of makeup—would serve her well for questioning Emilio.
Dashing into the kitchen to reheat the coffee in the pot, which had already clicked off, Abby realized she had moved a little too fast, because Sugar went into a frenzied yipping session. Taking a slower approach, Abby poured dry food into the dog dish and set out fresh water. She retrieved her cup of coffee from the beeping microwave. While Sugar ate, Abby slipped out through the patio slider to unlatch the gate to the chicken run.
At the fence, her gaze flew to the property behind the chain links. No Henry. No RV. Hallelujah! She almost felt like doing a little jig. With the dog fed and the chickens out, Abby turned her attention to the apiary and the bees. In late fall and winter, a colony could die off, with the only sign being no activity, as was often the case on frigid and wet days. But today sunlight had warmed the hive entrances, and there was plenty of visible bee traffic. A small measure of contentment spread over her as she sipped her coffee and surveyed her surroundings.
Her farmette t
rees had lost their leaves. The grapevines needed cutting back, and the vegetable garden required composting and a final tilling before being left to rest. Her land was morphing into a winter landscape, making clear which outdoor projects still awaited completion. There were many. When she’d bought the place, she hadn’t realized that it likely would take years to transform the land and rebuild the house into a modest dream home. Still, if she could no longer do police work because of the multiple surgeries on her shooting-hand thumb, which hadn’t properly stabilized it, she would happily choose the farm life over the daily grind of a desk job. She took a swallow of her coffee and tossed the rest toward the base of an apple tree.
Back in the kitchen, Abby decided to set up a meeting time with Emilio. She located her cell phone on the charger and dialed the winery. But as soon as she’d dialed the number, her intuition told her to click off the call. An unannounced face-to-face would be better. If he was lying about anything, she’d see the signs.
Herb Tea for a Restful Sleep
Use herbs such as chamomile, hops, lady’s slipper, lemon balm, passionflower, peppermint leaves, skullcap, Saint-John’s-wort, and valerian root to create soothing teas and infusions when you want to banish anxiety, soothe frazzled nerves, and induce sleep.
Here’s a simple four-part mixture for a good night’s sleep. Combine the following herbs in equal parts: lemon balm, lady’s slipper, skullcap, and valerian. Thoroughly mix together the herbs. Place one ounce of herbs in two cups of boiling water in a pot and steep for 20 minutes. Strain and enjoy.
*Note: Check with your doctor if you haven’t used herbs before. While herbs have been used safely for thousands of years, some should not be used during pregnancy, and some can cause an allergic reaction, which should be treated as a medical emergency.
