Cole woke late. Dressed in jeans, a Chicago Blues Festival T-shirt and a Cubs baseball cap, he made his way to the street and walked to the McDonalds on the corner. Two Egg McMuffins later, coffee in hand, he walked back to his car in the Palmwood lot. Cole pulled the address for Allen Christopher from his pocket. To his embarrassment, he realized he had no clue where the location was. He went to the motel office and got a city map from the desk clerk. He followed the map toward 1438 Peppertree Lane.
As he drove north, he was amazed at the landscape. Where peach trees and grapevines had once lined the road, now were rows and rows of houses. New building was apparent all over the city, but nowhere as dramatic as in the north end. In the few short miles he had driven, the houses he saw had taken over a dozen family-owned farms. He thought of the kids he had known and rode the school bus with, farm kids who always got on the bus wearing the newest styles. They always had the coolest bikes and wore the coolest shoes. In high school, they proudly wore the royal blue corduroy FFA jackets and took Ag classes. It was assumed they would inherit the farms, grow the peaches, and tend the vineyards. Now the farms were gone. Cole wondered what kind of family history the owners of the earth-toned two-story Tudors and fake ‘40s retro homes presented to the world.
He stopped at the corner of Tulare and Emmett Roads and marveled at the small shopping center that filled the northeast corner. A small market, video store, take-and-bake pizza, dry cleaner, and a Mexican restaurant sat on the land where his friend Steve had once lived with his aunt and uncle. Old Leo would be spinning in his grave to see what became of his prized orchard of Rio Oso Gem peaches.
Cole thought back to summers in high school and evenings spent with the Padullas. Uncle Leo would bring fresh peaches from the orchard. He grew an experimental variety that were developed at the University of California at Davis. Designed to be frozen, they were sweet, fleshy fruit with, as Cole remembered, an exaggerated peach taste. The thing he would never forget, though, was the size. Aunt Rosa once ran to the copper-toned refrigerator, took out a cantaloupe, and laid it on the table next to a peach. They were the same size. Every night during peach season, the family would gather after dinner and cut a giant peach in half, peel it, and put a single scoop of vanilla ice cream in the cavernous hole left by the pit. Cole’s mouth actually watered at the memory.
He also recalled how Rosa was always reading a book when he’d come in. Cole’s strongest image of Rosa was the day they came in as she was reading The Godfather. He could see the slightly bent Italian lady, arms waving, dentures slipping, spit flying, telling how the Mafia in Sicily had threatened her father’s brother and somebody-or-other, and that’s why they had come to America. “La Cosa Nostra, La Cosa Nostra,” she repeated over and over throughout the story. She was absolutely convinced that the story of the Corleone family was a thinly disguised account of a real Mafia family in New York that was still looking for her descendants who had escaped Sicily by the grace of Saint Teresa.
A truck’s air horn blasted Cole out of his reverie. The light changed and with it his memories. No longer in the quiet countryside of his youth, the unforgiving traffic reminded him of that. Jolted back to the present, Cole floored the accelerator, shot into the intersection, and made the left turn toward Vintage Glenn Estates.
The one constant in the landscape was irrigation canals. Every mile or so, there was a small bridge over a concrete river. As a kid, Cole and everyone he knew swam in them. Now, they looked very small and dirty, and would be the last places he would take a cool dip on a 100-plus summer day.
The reality of where he was going and what he was about to do began to form a knot in Cole’s stomach. His first thoughts about meeting Allen Christopher were violent and colored in blood. Cole knew that was not the path he would take, but playing through scenes of bludgeoning Christopher with various objects helped vent his anger. He tried a litany of curses and profane names in his mental role-playing that helped hone the edge of his hatred for what this man had done to Ellie. What he would actually say and do were as much a mystery to Cole as the reason he was driving “out in the country” to see him.
Ahead on the left, Cole spotted a tall stone fence that curved into what the sign called “Vintage Glenn Estates, The Place to Be Who You Really Are.” This place would be who Allen Christopher really was, because it wasn’t the house he shared with Ellie. When they were first married, Ellie told Cole they had bought a single-story Victorian house built in the ‘20s. It was on a tree-lined street in the old part of town, across from a large park. Ellie described the things she had done with it, the way she had decorated. She was so proud, that she always had a Charles Dickens Christmas party during the holidays. She had confided to Cole that, as bad as her marriage was, she still took great pride in her home and her lovely things. Cole was sure she didn’t know that Christopher had sold the house.
Cole drove through the stone gates of Vintage Glenn Estates and found Peppertree Lane with no trouble; 1438 was in the middle of the block. The garage door was up, and the interior was nearly void of the stuff that usually crowds out all but the smallest car. The landscaping was obviously new; there were lines in the sod where it hadn’t grown together. Cole pulled up across the street.
A young man in a pair of baggy shorts and a faded blue T-shirt was coming out of the garage. An early ‘80s BMW was parked in front of the house behind a fairly new Mustang. In the driveway was a new Mercedes Benz. A young couple with a stroller passed Cole on the sidewalk and gave him a less-than-neighborly glare. He waved and smiled.
A door on the rear wall of the garage was open, giving Cole a straight shot into the backyard. As he watched, a young woman in sweatpants and a tank top walked by the door several times with a shovel. The young man who Cole took for Chad pushed a wheelbarrow full of peat moss behind the young woman who must have been his sister Ann. Then, there he was, Allen Christopher, carrying a sapling tree in a five-gallon pot.
Cole got out of the car and crossed the street. He had never seen such an empty, sterile garage in his life. The walls were taped and textured, but not painted. A small stack of paint cans, probably for touch up, sat in the corner. A recycling bin was on the wall opposite the water heater, and a snowboard and two pairs of skis were hung on the right wall. On the wall next to the rear door was a white plastic sign that said “Mercedes Benz Parking Only.” The floor was swept clean, the broom leaning strangely out of place next to a door that led into the house. Cole walked into the backyard.
“When’d you move in?” Cole said, trying to sound friendly.
“We’re not buying anything!” Christopher called across the yard.
“Not selling anything.” Cole’s tone cooled.
Christopher set down the tree he was carrying and removed his leather garden gloves. The children gave Cole a blank, disinterested glance and went back to spreading peat in the planter. As he crossed the yard, Christopher shoved the gloves into the back pocket of his cargo shorts. Allen Christopher was not what Cole had envisioned. He was taller than Cole, thinner, and had more hair.
All his life, Cole had found too-neat people very suspect. Maybe it was a vanity thing— theirs, not his. Cole always felt haircuts were a nuisance, something that you did a couple weeks after it was absolutely necessary. Allen Christopher, in Cole’s eyes, was coiffured. He had a George Hamilton tan and the look of the guys at the gym who watched themselves in the mirrored walls as they jogged on the treadmill. Christopher approached, pushing his sunglasses back on the top of his head, holding back thick, probably dyed, hair. (Yet another pet peeve of Cole’s. Men just didn’t do that.) Even without his resentment of Christopher’s treatment of Ellie, Cole wasn’t going to like this guy.
“What do you want?” Christopher asked coldly.
“That’s not very friendly.”
“I don’t like strangers in my backyard.”
“Not very neighborly, either,” Cole said, trying to appear friendly.
“Are you my neighbor?
” Christopher’s confidence seemed momentarily stalled.
“No, but I might have been. If I had been, I would have been very disappointed in my reception. My name is Cole Sage, I’m an—”
“Cole Sage? I know who you are,” Christopher cut him off. “Same question. What do you want?”
Cole considered the overwhelming urge to punch Christopher in the nose. He flashed back on all the things he had said when he had role-played this scene in his head. Then he thought of Ellie and resisted both.
“I saw Ellie yesterday.”
“So?”
“You know, I thought I was just going to pay you a friendly visit. Try to sort a few things out.”
“We’re not friends. You mean nothing to me. Neither do the mythical romantic adventures I’ve been forced to endure hearing for years.”
Cole took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ellie and I are old friends. She seemed in some distress and called me for some assistance,” Cole said, trying to remain calm. “I simply wanted to see—”
“Ellen is none of your concern. She is my wife. She is terminally ill and is being taken care of. Whatever she told you is no business of yours, and I would thank you to stay away from her.” Christopher’s voice was now just below a shout.
“Like you’ve done?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw Chad approaching on his left. He had none of his father’s concern about appearance. His thin wispy hair came almost to his shoulders and needed to be washed. From his temples to his chin ran the raw, over-pinched signs of untreated acne. Chad wore a sweaty faded T-shirt with the words “Island of LESBOS—Every Man’s Dream” across the chest. Cole thought he looked sweatier than his activity could have produced. As Chad got closer, Cole recognized the acrid stench of a methamphetamine user.
“This guy givin’ you trouble, Dad?” Chad said, trying to stand with a threatening posture.
“So, you must be Chad.”
“That’s right. Who are you?”
“He’s no one,” Christopher barked. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Yeah, leave,” Chad echoed.
“How long you been a tweaker, kid?”
“You think you’re so smart. What makes you think I use meth?”
Allen Christopher looked from his son to the stranger in his backyard but didn’t speak.
“Well let’s see. Your skin looks like hamburger, your gums are swollen, you’re skin and bones, you smell like a chemical plant, and you’re sweating like it’s a hundred degrees out here. Should we look for tracks, tin foil and lighter, or bags of pills?”
“Chad, what is he talking about?”
“Rehab.”
“Shut up. Who are you, anyway?” Chad shouted.
Across the lawn came Ann. She must have taken after her mother. She was neither tall nor slim like her father. Ann was no more than five-two and about 50 pounds overweight. Her tank top was too small, and the top of her sweat pants was rolled down, exposing a flabby belly like the white underside of a fish. She had small breasts, and her stomach protruded beyond them. Unlike her brother, she had clear, smooth skin and a nice color. Her eyes were light brown, almost golden. When she reached them, she planted her feet, and folded her arms across her chest, where they seemed to rest on her belly.
“What’s going on?” Ann said, nervously uncrossing arms and pushing her hair behind her ears with both hands.
“Hello, Ann. My name is Cole Sage, and I’m talking to your father about your mother and her condition.”
“My mother’s dead!”
“He’s referring to Ellen.” Christopher still seemed stunned from Cole’s exchange with Chad.
“She’s not my mother!” Ann said angrily.
“Ellie is an old friend of mine, Ann.”
“I want you off my property. Now!” Christopher shouted.
Cole reached up and took Christopher by the collar. He twisted the shirt around his hand until he was sure he had Christopher’s attention. Christopher grabbed Cole’s wrist but then released it when he looked into Cole’s eyes.
Chad immediately dropped to his knees and sat cross-legged on the grass. He had a noticeable twitch in his right cheek.
“Are you going to behave and listen to what I have to say?”
“Just don’t hurt my children.”
Cole laughed. “It’s your ass I’m about to kick, but nice sentiment anyway.”
Christopher nodded. Cole released his shirt.
“I came here,” Cole began, “because a dear friend of mine said she was in trouble. How she ever got tangled up with you three, I will never understand. She wanted my help, and now I see why. I will help her any way I can. First, I want to know where Erin is.”
“I don’t know.” Christopher spoke first.
“Not good enough.”
“Who cares about that stuck-up little bitch?” Ann snarled.
“I do and her mother does. Do you know where she is?”
“Hell, I hope,” Ann sneered.
Chad chuckled. “Good one.”
“How about you, zit face? You know where she is?”
Chad started to get up until he saw the look Cole was giving him. Then he twisted, pulled at the grass and re-crossed his legs. “I don’t care where she is.”
“I don’t even know her, but somehow I think she is very lucky.” Cole shook his head in disgust. “You had Ellie sign a power of attorney when she got sick. She wants it back,” Cole said looking straight into Christopher’s eyes. “She’s going to seek legal counsel to help straighten out her affairs,” Cole bluffed.
“And you think I’ll hand it to you?”
“Could save you a lot of money and trouble.”
“She has nothing.”
“California law says she owns half of the proceeds from the house you sold. So, I guess that means this one, too.”
“Without my support, they would’ve put her in County Hospital. She’d be a
welfare case.”
“And you would let that happen?”
“I have my family to look out for.”
“She’s no longer part of your family?” Cole said in amazement.
“She chose to go to the nursing home. She—”
Cole suddenly whipped the back of his hand across Christopher’s face with all his strength. “Next time you lie to me, it will be my fist. Your treatment of Ellie is, is—” Cole couldn’t think of a strong-enough comparison. “She gets sick, you dump her in a home. Hell is too good for you.”
“Not that I owe you an explanation,” Christopher began, “but I work hard for my money. It is my money and I will spend it how, and on whom, I choose. Ellen made her choice. I took her in. I gave her a home, and her spoiled brat, too. She’s not even my kid. With everything I’d done for her, she chose Erin over me and my children. After that, I had no desire for her, no need for her. Frankly, what happens to her now is not my concern. I’ve let her stay on my insurance and haven’t divorced her, just out of pity. If she wants to play the ingrate, I’ll cut her off without a cent. Do you have any idea what it costs to care for her?”
“And Erin’s inheritance? How do you justify that? It’s from her grandparents, and as you so plainly admit, no relations of yours. You need to give up power of attorney. You are on dangerous ground here.”
“This is none of your business.”
“I’ve made it my business. Hear me and hear me well: I am not a sick woman confined to a wheelchair. I have little in life that matters to me more than those I love and who need my help. If you do anything to harm Ellie or make her life unpleasant, you will answer to me. God help you if you put me in that position. Am I clear?”
“Are you threatening me?” Christopher glared.
“I am promising you.”
“You heard that. You’re my witnesses.” Christopher turned toward his children, who sat gazing up at him.
“A dope addict and a neurotic, overweight, nail-biting daddy’s girl? They’ll
look great in court.” Cole almost laughed.
“Get out of here! Now!” Christopher screamed.
Chad started to get up. Cole shot him a look, and he sat back down again. Ann was crying and biting her nails. Blood was running down the side of her palm from chewing too deep on her little finger.
“I’m going. I’ll find Erin. You will give me power of attorney. You had better not go near Ellie. You abandoned her, and you’re going to pay for that.”
Cole started to leave, then stopped and turned back to face Christopher. “I can almost understand a self-centered pretty boy like you turning his back on a sick wife, I really can. God knows what you have turned these two into. But if you are any kind of a man at all, you’ll get that kid into rehab. And look at her, look at her hands, her weight. They both need help. Don’t you see that? Or are you going to dump them, too?” Cole threw his hands up in a gesture of total exasperation, turned and walked away.
“He can’t talk to you like that, Dad. I’m going to kick his ass!” Chad jumped to his feet and started toward Cole.
Christopher blocked Chad’s movement with an arm across his son’s chest, stopping him with little resistance. “Oh, for God’s sake, Chad,” Christopher said in a dismissive sigh, “you’re not going to do anything.”
Cole got in the car and sat looking out the window. Had he been wrong about Ellie? How could she have chosen to be in the lives of those people? The adrenaline that had been pumping so furiously was starting to subside. He felt a bit shaky as he turned the engine over.
“What a bunch!” Cole said aloud as he pulled away from the curb.
The meeting with Christopher had gone badly. He didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms, but it was worse than he imagined. There were issues far deeper than he thought. Christopher clearly resented whatever Ellie had told him about Cole. The daughter was a basket case and the boy was in a dangerous spiral. Christopher had rationalized what would be considered in any divorce proceeding as improper handling of community assets. It was, in his eyes, the natural course of things.
Cole realized he had no legal grounds to pursue Christopher or insist that he relinquish power of attorney. He probably had broken a couple of laws in the last few minutes, not the least of which was assault. He didn’t understand the dynamic of their relationship. Ellie still held some regard, misguided as it was, for Christopher’s keeping their marriage contract in her absence. Christopher, on the other hand, saw himself free to do as he pleased. This attitude, Cole was sure, started long before Ellie’s illness.
There wasn’t much else he could do today, so he decided to have a look around. In a town this size, Cole was sure gossip would be plentiful, and there would be much to learn about Allen Christopher.
SEVEN
Diamonds and Cole: Cole Sage Mystery #1 Page 10
