One Last Look

by Linda Lael Miller

  “We were only gone for an hour,” Dave said.

  Sonterra looked up at Judy Holliday’s body. A muscle bunched in his cheek. “I guess that was long enough,” he replied. He took me by the arm, about to hustle me outside. I heard sirens, and figured reinforcements had arrived.

  “What about Suzie and Micki?” I asked, digging in my heels.

  “No sign of ’em,” Rathburn said, giving me the once-over. He obviously didn’t approve of my presence, and I didn’t give a damn what he thought.

  I glanced desperately at Sonterra.

  “I’m taking you home,” he said, and pulled me out onto the porch.

  I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders. “You’ve got work to do,” I answered, sounding a lot calmer than I felt. “Are the keys still in the SUV?”

  Sonterra nodded grimly, and his eyes were slightly narrowed, as though he suspected a trick. The truth was, I’d seen more than enough, and I knew I’d only get in the way if I stayed.

  “We’ll be at the house,” I told him, and headed for the car.

  The coroner’s van was just pulling up at the curb, along with two state patrol cars, as I climbed behind the wheel.

  “What’s going on?” Emma asked from the backseat.

  No point in hedging; she’d find out soon enough. “There’s been a murder,” I said as we passed Deputy Jesse, just finishing up his vomit fest.

  When we got home, I had one of my own.

  Esperanza paused beside my chair at the kitchen table the next morning, to touch the back of one hand to my forehead. Sonterra had been gone all night, busy at the crime scene, and there had been no reports. Emma was upstairs in her new bedroom, sound asleep. Later in the day, I planned to drive her to Dry Creek High School in the borrowed Lexus and make sure she was properly registered and situated.

  “You not feel good, Mrs. Clare?” Esperanza asked with concern. The “Mrs.” came out sounding like “Meesus,” and I didn’t bother to correct her with an explanation of my status as a live-in girlfriend, not a wife.

  She’d arrived at eight-forty-five, crossing herself at the threshold and entering the house with an air of determined bravery. Already wearing an apron, she’d immediately switched the countertop TV from CNN to a Spanish soap opera, and from my viewpoint, one made about as much sense as the other.

  “I’m fine,” I lied, in belated answer to Esperanza’s inquiry. Actually, I felt as though someone had scraped my insides out with a scythe. Judy Holliday’s body hung in my mind. She couldn’t have been dead long when I saw her, but she’d already been bloated.

  “Was terrible thing, that doctor was murdered,” Esperanza said, and crossed herself again, murmuring a rapid and unintelligible prayer. “She was kind to us. Take care of Maria, when she have fever.” Her eyes were haunted, but then, suddenly, she brightened. “I make you green tea. Is good for all troubles.”

  I figured I was safe nodding, because I knew there wasn’t any green tea in the house. I hate that stuff, but I enjoyed being fussed over just a little. “Thank you.”

  Esperanza opened the first cupboard, beginning the futile search, just as Emma came down the back stairs, still in her pajamas, and trailed by both dogs.

  I introduced her to Esperanza, and Emma joined in the cupboard opening.

  “Isn’t there anything to eat in this place?” my niece fussed. “God, it’s Scottsdale all over again!”

  I smiled, albeit wanly. “Esperanza will go to the grocery store later,” I said. I would have liked to hibernate, but I had to get my niece into school and put away some of the stuff in the back of Sonterra’s car. Life goes on. Ready or not, here it comes. “In the meantime, stop carrying on like Old Mother Hubbard and make do.”

  Emma sighed expansively and got out the peanut butter. The jar was as hollow as my insides; I’d been hitting the banana sandwiches pretty hard ever since I got home from the hospital. Building up my strength.

  “Maybe I could qualify for the breakfast program at school,” Emma said. “On the basis of, my aunt never buys food.”

  “Poor child,” I lamented. “I think the trust fund might get in your way.”

  Emma rolled her eyes, found a butter knife, and finished off the dregs of the peanut butter. “Maybe you could home-school me,” she said very casually.

  “Maybe pigs really do fly,” I countered.

  Esperanza came across the last of the plain tea and settled for that.

  Emma tossed the denuded peanut butter jar into the trash and went on scrounging. Starvation averted: saved by breakfast bars.

  “Has Tony been home?” she asked, plunking two of them into the toaster oven and breaking off pieces of a third for the dogs. They’d already had kibbles, but they were doing a good job of looking pathetic.

  “No,” I answered, and even though I knew, intellectually at least, that Sonterra was under no obligation to keep me updated, I still felt a twinge of annoyance. Judy Holliday was dead. Micki and Suzie were missing. If Lombard had killed Holliday, and he was the most likely suspect, they must have seen the murder. He’d surely abducted Micki and her little girl, maybe even murdered them, too.

  The teapot shrilled, startling me out of my black musings.

  The only number I had for Micki was the one at her trailer. I’d called several times, last night and this morning, and gotten no answer. Esperanza set a cup of tea down at my elbow as I reached for the phone and tried again, getting the same dismal results.

  It was only as I disconnected that my tired, distracted brain kicked in. Loretta had told me that Esperanza lived at the Hidy Tidy Trailer Park. So did Micki—and so had Bobby Ray Lombard.

  Rocket science.

  Lombard was the prime suspect. Esperanza might be willing to talk to me, fill in some pertinent details.

  “Esperanza,” I said, leaning to push back the chair beside mine, “sit down.”

  She looked alarmed. Glanced nervously at the TV, where two lovers embraced, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes and murmuring en Español.

  “No problemo,” I said to reassure her.

  She smiled weakly and sat. Her fingers made rosary motions, even though they were empty, and her gaze strayed to the basement door and bounced off instantly.

  I laid my hand on hers. “This isn’t about your work,” I said, as Emma meandered back upstairs with her breakfast bars, presumably to dress for school. Because of last night’s traumatic events, I’d given her permission to go in late. “Were the police at your trailer park last night or this morning? Did they talk to you?”

  Esperanza swallowed, nodded. “Sí,” she said. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Last night, they come. They look for Micki and the niña. They ask, do I see them? I tell them no. Today there is yellow tape around their trailer.” The housekeeper paused and covered her face with both hands for a moment. Her thin shoulders trembled as she met my gaze again. “The niña, Suzie, she play with my Maria. I stop at church today, before I come here. I speak to Father Morales. I pray and light a candle.”

  I squeezed her hands. “You didn’t see Micki or Suzie at all?”

  Esperanza sniffled. “I see them Saturday morning. The doctor, she bring them in her car. They go inside, and come out with suitcase and two garbage bags. Micki wave to me, then they get in car and drive away.” She paused and did the crossing routine again, glancing toward the stairs and dropping her voice to a whisper. “I not tell police this. Maria, she see Suzie. In the night, standing beside her bed. Suzie say Maria, she can have Suzie’s bike.”

  My logical brain immediately categorized this as a child’s nightmare, and the subconscious desire for a bicycle, nothing more. The chill trickling down my spine must have come from some other part of my psyche—most likely the sector that had seen the other Clare in Loretta’s guest suite at the ranch.

  With a shiver, I reached for my tea and took a careful sip. “Maria must have been dreaming,” I said. But I was remembering another occasion, a year before, when I’d glimpsed my late sister,
Tracy, in the same guest room at the Matthews ranch. Whether I’d seen her ghost, or simply projected the image, I didn’t know, but it wasn’t the sort of experience one takes lightly.

  I watched the inner debate play out in Esperanza’s dark eyes. Agree-and-leave-it-alone versus tell-the—

  truth. I knew by the pallor washing out her face that she’d chosen the latter, and at considerable cost. Esperanza probably needed her job desperately, and she had no way of knowing whether or not I would fire her if she said something too weird.

  “Was not dream. Maria, she see grandmother last spring, in same way. Grandmother say good-bye and kiss her forehead. Two week later, we get letter from Juarez. Grandmother die, same night Maria see her.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Usually, I have an answer for everything.

  Esperanza stood up. Smoothed her apron. “I do beds now.”

  I nodded woodenly.

  Half an hour later, decently dressed and with my mind tracking marginally better than before, I dropped Esperanza off in front of the supermarket. She didn’t have a car, and I knew she’d walked to work. I gave her cash and a long list, and took Emma to Dry Creek High School. After making the necessary arrangements, I told my niece to have a good day and backtracked to pick up the maid.

  Esperanza was seated stoically on a bench in front of the store, surrounded by bulging grocery bags. I was impressed that she’d completed the task so quickly; she’d confessed, shyly, that reading English was a challenge for her.

  I pulled up nearby and together we loaded everything into the trunk of the Lexus. Then Esperanza hurried back inside to reclaim the ice cream and other frozen items the manager had stashed in one of the freezers, at her request.

  When we got back to Cemetery Lane, Sonterra was prowling around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. His hair was wet from a recent shower, and he was barefoot, with only a pair of time-softened sweatpants to keep him decent. The strain of a long night’s work showed in his face.

  He looked startled when he spotted Esperanza coming in behind me, but he recovered quickly. Recognition flickered in his eyes before he shifted his attention to me.

  “There’s nothing to eat,” he said. Complain, complain, complain. From the way he and Emma acted, anybody would have thought I was solely responsible for keeping the refrigerator stocked. My question was, if they expected that, why were they always so wary of anything I cooked?

  Esperanza and I set our bulging grocery bags on the counter and went back for more. Sonterra came out to help.

  “I make eggs,” Esperanza volunteered, when all the loot was inside. It seemed to me that ever since Sonterra appeared, she’d been trying to make herself smaller. That she might have disappeared entirely if it had been possible.

  I wondered why, but only in passing. No doubt Esperanza, like many immigrants, legal or otherwise, was wary of anyone with a badge.

  Meanwhile, Sonterra stood around looking glum. He was definitely half-a-sandwich low.

  I touched his bare shoulder. “Bad night?” It was rhetorical, of course, something to kick-start the conversation. Finding a dead body hanging from a chandelier meets anybody’s criterion for a substandard universal performance.

  “The worst,” he said, watching thoughtfully as Esperanza set milk and eggs on the counter, along with mushrooms, onions, and cheese, then put the ice cream into the freezer.

  “I take it you didn’t find Lombard,” I pressed, but I stepped lightly.

  Esperanza pretended not to listen, now busily peeling and chopping onions. She already had a skillet warming on the stove, and it smelled cozily of melting butter.

  “He might as well have slipped into an alternate reality,” Sonterra replied. He looked up at me. “No sign of Micki and her little girl, either. Her ex-husband’s all over this. He came as soon as he heard, got in the way a lot, and refused to leave, so Dave let him spend the night in one of the cells. He said he wanted to be there if we got a call about Suzie.”

  I felt a stab of sympathy for Dan Post. He must have been frantic. “Esperanza said they left the trailer park Saturday morning with a suitcase and a couple of garbage bags. You didn’t find any of their stuff at Dr. Holliday’s?”

  Sonterra shook his head, still pensive, still watching Esperanza as she worked.

  “Of course you talked to Danielle Bickerhelm,” I said.

  Sonterra gave me a look. “Gosh, no,” he answered, with an edge to his tone. “She’s Lombard’s stepsister and has a history of posting bail every time he gets in trouble with the law. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  I went to the cupboard, got out a mug, and poured him some lukewarm coffee. Some people drink warm milk when they need to chill out. Sonterra responded the same way to strong doses of caffeine, probably because he’d been a cop for so long. “No point in getting sarcastic,” I said mildly.

  “Then why is it always your first line of defense?” Sonterra retorted.

  If he hadn’t been under extreme stress, I might have poured the coffee over his head. “I’m only trying to cover the bases.”

  He made an almost-inaudible snorting sound as he accepted the coffee. He thanked me, though grudgingly, and took a sip.

  Meanwhile, my mind was clipping away on its own little hamster wheel. Sonterra hadn’t slept the night before, which meant he’d probably crash for a couple of hours. I could slip away while he snoozed, mosey on over to the Hidy Tidy, and take a look around Micki’s trailer. See if I could find something he and the deputies had missed.

  Okay, so I wasn’t officially an investigator for the prosecutor’s office. Call me an eager beaver. I was too worried about Micki and Suzie to wait until I had county credentials—Sonterra had checked the place out, but, being a man, he might have missed something a woman would catch.

  In Scottsdale, there might have been uniforms watching the place twenty-four/seven, but this was Dry Creek, and Sonterra had only two deputies, neither of whom were any great shakes at surveillance. One of them would be off duty, and the other, most likely, manning the station.

  I would just duck under the crime-scene tape Esperanza had mentioned, satisfy my professional curiosity, and be gone again before anybody noticed.

  Except, maybe, the other Hidy Tidy inmates.

  I suddenly realized that Sonterra was watching me suspiciously. “What are you up to?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “That’ll be the day,” he shot back.

  “I was merely thinking that you look like you might fall over at any moment. You need a nap, Chief.” Not the whole truth, but part of it. Sometimes, that has to do.

  He sighed and thrust a hand through his shower-damp hair. Looked away, then back. “While you do what?”

  I managed a shrug. “Plan my interview with Eli Robeson?”

  I didn’t expect him to bite, but he did. He must have been more tired than I thought. “Okay,” he said.

  Esperanza dished up the omelet and set it in front of him, along with a knife, fork, and cloth napkin. Since I usually went with paper towels, he probably thought she was putting on the Ritz.

  I had been hovering like a hummingbird. Now, for the sake of keeping Sonterra lulled into a false state of masculine complacency, I sat down next to him and watched fondly as he ate.

  He put down his fork and stared at me as if to say, What?

  I reminded myself that it never paid to underestimate Sonterra’s powers of perception. They were well honed, since he’d spent his adult life dealing with every possible variety of sleazeball. I drummed up an innocent expression, stopping just short of batting my eyelashes. “Don’t be cranky,” I said.

  He glanced at Esperanza, who was running water at the sink, and lowered his voice to a breathy growl. “Why do I get the idea you’re plotting something, Counselor?”

  I tried to look stunned, even affronted, but with subtlety. Back at Nipples, I played some poker, and I learned to bluff. “Like what?”

 
He waggled his fork at me. “Like messing around with my case,” he said.

  Esperanza shut off the water, put the skillet in to soak, and zipped across the kitchen toward the back stairs. “I get back to work,” she blurted, and vanished.

  “What’s she doing here?” Sonterra asked, as soon as she was out of earshot.

  I blessed Esperanza, in absentia, for creating just the diversion I needed. “I told you I hired a housekeeper.”

  Sonterra glowered. “And it’s a coincidence that she lives directly across the street from Micki’s trailer?”

  That I could say, unequivocally. It was a coincidence, because I’d met and hired Esperanza on Friday afternoon, well before Doc Holliday was strung up. I said as much.

  Not surprisingly, this did nothing to improve Sonterra’s pissy mood.

  “I don’t like it,” he said.

  “Right now,” I answered sweetly, “you wouldn’t like anything.”

  An evil grin crooked one corner of his mouth. “Not so, Counselor,” he said. “There’s one thing I would like a lot. How does a nap sound?”

  I blushed. “We’re not alone,” I reminded him.

  “We’ll be quiet,” he whispered back.

  “Maybe you will,” I argued, “but I have a history of making noise.” Now that Emma was back from Scottsdale for the duration, I’d have to curtail the climactic verbiage, but it didn’t serve my purpose to clarify the matter at that point.

  He sighed. He was going to let me have this round. I resisted a motherly urge to test his forehead for fever.

  Twelve

  I magine my surprise when I finally located the Hidy Tidy Trailer Park—after driving fruitlessly around town in Loretta’s car for half an hour—running almost exactly parallel to Sonterra’s place, on the other side of the cemetery. I’d have sworn they’d moved it since my last teenage foray to Dry Creek.

  Micki’s single-wide was easy to spot. It was the one with yellow plastic tape strung around it, from bush to wall to teetering rural mailbox. As far as I knew, no crime had been committed there, but the place was clearly off-limits to civilians. There were no uniforms on duty, I’d been right about that, though the locals were out in force, walking dogs, puttering in yards, watching with squinty eyes as the Lexus cruised by.