He put the saltshaker down and turned to her. He had so much of Catherine in him. Those pale eyelashes, soft and innocent as a newborn calf’s. That slight flip of the nose.
“The media is making it look like it’s us against them, and that’s just not true,” said Todd. “Catherine loved the immigrant community. She had immigrant friends. My family’s restaurant, the Magnolia Inn, has been employing immigrants for years. They’re good, hardworking people and we treat them well. We rely on them to run the Inn. Without them, we’d have to shut down.”
Adele had no doubt that was true. All the restaurants in the area were staffed primarily by Latinos, no matter what the cuisine.
“I don’t know if that’s so much the media’s fault,” said Adele. “I think it’s more the work of Mike Carp. He’s using your sister’s death to further his political career.”
“I’m worried my sister’s wake and vigil tonight are going to turn ugly,” said Todd. “That that’s all people are going to remember. Not Catherine. Not our family’s good reputation. Just . . . this hate.”
Adele poured the coffee into two big mugs. She put one in front of Todd and sat down at the table with him.
“I understand your concerns,” she said. “And I can assure you that no one in the immigrant community is angry at your family. Everyone I talk to feels terrible about what you’re going through. There is no hate. Mostly, there is fear. We live in scary times for immigrants already. Your sister’s murder upped that exponentially.”
“I wish I could do something to make things better,” said Todd, “so people remember Catherine, not the way she died.”
“You could say publicly what you’re saying to me now,” Adele suggested. “Tell the world that Mike Carp and this ‘Catherine’s Law’ he’s yammering on about aren’t the way to go. You’re her brother. People would put a lot of stock in your words.”
Todd stared at the coffee mug cradled between his long fingers. “I’d like to, Adele. Really I would. But you see, my family is involved in that Crystal Springs Golf Resort deal with Carp’s company. If all the permits go through, it would tie the Magnolia Inn to the new resort. My family’s pinned their financial hopes on that project. They can’t take a public position against him. We could lose everything. You don’t cross Mike Carp.”
“Yes,” said Adele. “I’ve heard he likes to nurse a grudge.”
“I want to do something to help. But given our connection to Mike Carp, donating to La Casa is out.”
“There are other organizations in the county that help immigrants—”
“Yeah, but I’d like to help in a way that makes me feel like I’ve done something real. Something just for Catherine, you know?” He stared at his hands. “Something that won’t get back to my folks. Maybe there’s an individual I can help. Someone being hurt by all this.”
“There is—and you can’t,” said Adele.
“Yeah? Who?”
“The kid brother of the man who allegedly murdered your sister.”
Todd put down his mug and pushed back from the table. “I don’t want to help the brother of that scum.”
“I totally understand why you would feel that way,” said Adele. “But Wil Martinez really is an innocent in all of this. He’s a college student who wants to be a doctor. He’s the one who turned his brother in. Arranged for his surrender. And then watched him die. And now he’s sitting in jail and about to lose everything.”
“If he’s innocent, why don’t the police release him?”
“Short answer? They charged him for initially lying to the police about his brother’s whereabouts,” said Adele. “If he was an American citizen, at worst, they’d release him on a low bail until they sorted out the evidence. But because he has only temporary legal status, I believe the judge is going to set the bail very high.”
“Is it . . . something I can contribute to?” asked Todd. “If he’s really as innocent as you say he is, I don’t think my sister would want him sitting in jail on account of her.”
Adele was touched that this young man, in the depths of his sorrow, would have so much concern for someone else—especially someone he should hate. “That’s a very generous offer, Todd. But I suspect it will be in the hundreds of thousands.”
“Why so high if he’s innocent?”
“To keep him there,” said Adele. “Unfortunately, the longer he stays inside, the more he loses on the outside. His college classes. His job. His rented room. All his possessions.”
“Can’t his family help him?”
“His mother was deported three years ago. She’s dying of cancer in Guatemala. Apparently, he has no one else.”
“We’ve had a few busboys like that,” said Todd. “They’ve gotten caught up with immigration and we’ve given some of our other staff time off to help pack up their things so it doesn’t all get plundered.”
“That’s very generous of your family,” said Adele. It pained her to think that the Archers had been so decent to their immigrant employees, only to have their daughter victimized this way.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Todd. “How about I pay this young man’s rent for the next month? That would give him a chance to make some arrangements to move his things.”
“You’d . . . do that?” asked Adele. “Pay the rent of the brother of the man who murdered your sister?”
“He lost his only sibling, just like I lost mine,” said Todd. “You said he was innocent. And we’re both hurting. His rent can’t be more than about five hundred. I can swing it.”
“Oh, Todd.” Adele felt something warm and fizzy in her chest. For the first time since Catherine walked out of La Casa, the world didn’t feel like a dark and threatening place. There was goodness. Maybe it just took a little while to find. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Write down his address,” he told her. “I’ll make sure I visit his landlord in the next couple of days.” He rose. “This stays between us—you understand? You can’t tell anybody. My folks would have a fit if they knew.”
* * *
When they’d finished their coffee, Adele walked Todd out to his car. She gave him a hug.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve restored my faith in humanity.”
“Mine too,” he said. “Let’s keep in touch. I think we both need moral support right now.”
Adele’s mailbox was at the foot of the driveway. She opened it while Todd walked around to the driver’s side of his car. She found the usual stack of bills, along with a postcard from her sister, Grace, who was on vacation with her latest boyfriend. The postcard showed a tropical beach at a Caribbean resort. Adele suspected it cost more than her monthly mortgage. Grace earned the big bucks. An MBA. A high-tech banking career. That was how she kept the demons of their childhood at bay. That hadn’t worked for Adele. Which was too bad, because she really could have used the big bucks right now.
Adele noticed something else stuffed at the back of her mailbox. A plain white sheet of typing paper folded in two. Along the top was an offensive caricature of a Mexican in a sombrero, with a red circle and slash mark through it. Beneath, someone had typed: Keep your people out of our vigil. They’ve done enough damage!
Adele’s hands shook. She scanned the street. Her sweet little neighborhood where whites, blacks, Latinos, and Pakistanis lived peacefully together. Somebody had walked up to her house, with hate in their heart, and had put this poisoned letter in her mailbox.
Todd must have read something in Adele’s face. He leaned across the roof of his BMW.
“Everything okay?”
Adele walked over and showed him the letter. He read it and then pushed it away like it had the power to bite him.
“This is disgusting. This is exactly what I don’t want at the vigil tonight. I hope you call the police about this.” His voice held all the confidence of a young man who was used to viewing the police as an extension of his own will. Adele wished she could feel that same sense of assurance. As soon as Todd Arche
r pulled out of her driveway, Adele went inside and dialed the Lake Holly PD. She asked to speak to Detective Greco.
“How much police presence are you planning to have at Catherine’s vigil tonight?” she asked him.
“Sanchez is on restricted duty,” said Greco. “Two guys are on vacation. Everybody else is on, a lot of ’em collecting overtime. Why?”
Adele told Greco about the threatening note. “Someone is showing up at my house—my house—with this garbage. I resigned and I’m still a target.”
“I’ll swing by and check it out when I get a chance,” said Greco. “Believe me, we’re not any happier about this situation than you are. You see that riot at the college earlier today? It’s all over the local news.”
Adele was trying to avoid the news as much as possible. All the top stories seemed to be about Catherine and Benitez and that damned anti-immigrant legislation that Carp was trying to ram down everyone’s throats.
“Our new county executive gave a speech,” said Greco. “Vega got hit in the head with a bottle.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s probably got one hell of a headache. But then his new boss is giving us all one.”
“Who’s his new boss?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Adele heard the glee in Greco’s voice. “I’ll take a front-row seat when he does. Hell, HBO’s got nothing compared to the two of you.”
“Wait a minute. You’re not saying . . . Jimmy’s not working for Mike Carp, is he?”
“Round one.” Greco chuckled. He sounded like a car that just lost its muffler. “Let me know who’s standing when it’s over.”
Chapter 21
As soon as Adele hung up from Greco, she dialed Vega’s cell. He didn’t pick up. She left a message, telling him she’d heard about the bottle incident and asking him to stop by her house as soon as he got off work. She couldn’t hide the frostiness in her tone. It matched the winter chill in her heart.
I stood by you when you shot an unarmed immigrant. I put my whole career on the line for you. And on the day I’m forced to resign, you take a job with the man who wants to destroy everything I’ve worked to build?
Adele pushed her frustration to the side when Sophia got off the school bus. She concentrated on emptying her daughter’s backpack and washing her lunchbox. She praised the A that Sophia got on a spelling test. Then she assembled a plate of apples and Oreos for the child while she listened to a long story about a fight between Madison and Emma that Sophia had refereed with marginal success.
Inside, Adele felt a slow, simmering fury. By the time Vega’s pickup appeared in the driveway, she could barely contain her sense of betrayal. Even his large bouquet of wilted peach roses, which he’d probably bought on special at the gas station, didn’t change anything. Or the black thread of stitches at his hairline. She took the roses from his hand with a muffled thanks and kissed him stiffly.
“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened today at La Casa. I know you’re upset.”
“You think that’s what I’m upset about?”
“Isn’t it?”
Sophia poked her head around the doorway of the kitchen where she was doing homework. Vega quickly changed the subject.
“Hey there, sport. How’s it going?”
“Our snow-woman’s still in the backyard,” said the child. “She’s looking a little melty.”
“We’ll build another the next time it snows,” Vega promised. He shot his best wide-eyed, former–altar-boy look at Adele. “If that’s okay with your mom.”
Adele didn’t answer. She kept her eyes on the cabinet, where she fetched a vase for the roses. He was doing just what Peter used to do—playing good cop to Adele’s bad. And why was that? Why did she always come off as the unreasonable one?
“We need to talk,” she said as evenly as she could. Then she turned and smiled at Sophia. “Lucero, ”—her nickname of “bright star” for Sophia—“why don’t you go print out your science homework on my computer upstairs?”
“Okay.” Sophia bounced a knowing look from her mother to Vega. If Vega’s eyes were any wider with innocence, he’d be a golden retriever. As soon as the child went upstairs, Adele lit into him.
“I put my whole career on the line for you when you needed me after that shooting,” she hissed. “And you do this? Take a job—a promotion—to work with a man who stands for everything I despise?”
“Promotion?” Vega touched his chest like he’d been shot. “You think being a freakin’ taxi service is a promotion? This is a punishment detail, Adele. I got it because I tried to help you. I tried to do what you asked of me. I should’ve let the Lake Holly PD take Benitez down, like they wanted. We’d have both been better off.”
“You’re blaming me? For the fact that the Lake Holly Police shot a man in the throes of surrendering?”
“He wasn’t surrendering—”
“Well, I say he was. The Latino community says he was. Only people like Mike Carp think that the police can gun down people with impunity!”
“Aw, for chrissakes!” Vega threw up his hands. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You blame me for Benitez’s death. For the fact that you had to resign from La Casa over it.”
“I blame you for agreeing to work for such a despicable man—”
“A, I was ordered to work for him. B, he was duly elected by a majority of the voters of this county. And C, he was a lot more concerned about my getting hit in the head by a bottle than you seem to be!”
“That’s not true or fair.”
“Well, it sure seems like that to me!”
The doorbell rang. Adele walked into the foyer to open it. Vega hung back in the kitchen, trying to get his temper under control.
Louis Greco stood on the porch, rocking on the balls of his feet. Adele was sure he’d heard their raised voices. Old Victorians aren’t exactly soundproof.
“Want me to come back? Or should I remove all the sharp objects from the house first?”
Adele flushed. Vega walked into the foyer. He didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. They were both embarrassed.
“What are you doing here?” asked Vega.
Greco stepped inside. “Adele didn’t tell you? She got a letter in her mailbox this afternoon, telling her to keep Latinos away from tonight’s vigil.”
“Where’s the letter?” Vega bounced a look between Greco and Adele.
“Upstairs. I’ll get it,” said Adele. “And both of you, please keep your voices down. I don’t want Sophia spooked.”
* * *
Greco raised an eyebrow at Vega after Adele went upstairs. “Is this over you working for Carp? Or us shooting Benitez?”
“Both,” said Vega. “She blames me for everything.”
“Well, I blame you for Benitez too, so we’re in agreement there. Got paperwork up the yin-yang since the shooting. Sanchez is a basket case—I don’t have to tell you how he’s taking it. I’m his replacement on the investigation. Everybody’s working round-the-clock. Not to mention that it created a lot more bad blood that we didn’t need in town.”
“Any hate-crime incidents?” asked Vega.
Greco ticked them off on his sausagelike fingers. “Besides the phone threats to La Casa? The letter in your girlfriend’s mailbox? The graffiti sprayed on a Dumpster at the food pantry? The fistfights at the high school—”
“Okay, okay. I get your point,” said Vega. “Everybody’s at each other’s throats.”
Greco tilted his head in the direction of Adele as she walked back down the stairs. “Even you two can’t come together. How do you expect the town to?”
Adele showed Vega and Greco the letter. Vega was relieved to see it didn’t threaten harm, only warned her to keep the Latino community away from tonight’s vigil. Greco snapped a picture of it on his cell phone, then put the sheet into a clean manila envelope to take back to the station. Vega was sure that Adele thought Greco was going to send it on to the crime lab and run every kind of DN
A and forensic test known to man on it. Vega knew the truth. Hate letters are rarely more than that. Greco would keep it as evidence if something escalated. Otherwise, it would just sit in a file, gathering dust.
“Sophia has gymnastics in half an hour,” Adele said to both men. Vega got the hint. If they were going to resolve their problems, it wasn’t going to be this evening. Besides, he had to be at the vigil later. He hadn’t even told her. Why make matters worse?
Vega kissed Adele on the cheek and walked out with Greco. Greco’s unmarked was parked behind Vega’s truck. Vega beeped open the doors of his pickup and went to climb in. Greco just stood there rattling the big envelope with the threatening letter inside. Vega looked at him.
“What?”
“You can’t share this,” said Greco. “Not with anyone.” He looked across Adele’s tiny front lawn, still mostly covered with snow, although the snow was beginning to melt and turn gritty in places. On the other side of the white picket fence was Max Zimmerman’s house. And beyond that, the Morrisons. Greco squinted as if he half expected Adele’s neighbors to jump out of the bushes at any moment.
“Got the autopsy back on Catherine about an hour ago.”
“And?”
“She died from a blow to the back of her head. Dr. Gupta said the blow was consistent with hitting something with an edge on it. Like a tree stump or a rock. It caused a skull injury and bleeding on the brain. Our guys are trying to find the exact stump now, but between the snow and the heavy brush, it’s not easy.”
“Sounds like her killing might have been accidental,” said Vega. “Maybe someone shoved her backward or she tripped and fell when she was trying to escape the rape.”
“Except even the rape is questionable,” said Greco. “There was no presence of Rolando Benitez’s hair, skin, or semen on her. No bruising either. At this point, the most we can call it is attempted rape. There’s nothing to indicate any sexual activity—never mind assault—in the last twenty-four hours before her death.”
A Place in the Wind Page 16
