Dead Man's Rules (26 page)

Actually she wanted to view the courtroom where Marco had been convicted. She might shoot an on-camera stand up there, holding up the typed, yellowing sheet so the camera could zoom in on the word,
FARCE!
Maybe if she asked Bradley in that setting, she could get him to talk about arresting Marco or his trial, particularly the shouted threat. He might know if Marco had an attorney and provide his name.

Her mother returned with his drink and Cere excused herself to fill her own plate and find a place to sit. Freeda perched on the edge of a lounge chair, entertaining her cousins Pat and Normie with tales of nightlife in Hollywood. She didn’t feel like joining them. Spotting her Aunt Millie, she approached and held out her plate.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“Please do.” Millie shifted her wide hips and waved a rib at the bench. She was Cere’s favorite aunt. Honest and fun loving, the plump woman thrived on gossip and food.

“What do you think of Bradley?” Millie leaned toward her, sharp eyes focused on the pair.

“I’m pleased to see her dating, and he seems to like her.”

Millie seemed to sense her wariness and waved a chubby hand. “Bradley’s okay, but he likes to run everything. I tried to set her up with Tony Gennaro. He’s been so lonely since his wife died and he had a crush on Lottie in high school. Course lots of boys did. Lottie was very popular.”

“So I’ve heard.” Cere struggled with a rib, wiping greasy fingers on a napkin.

Millie cleared her throat as she leaned closer, speaking in a low voice. “Speaking of the old days, I hope something I heard was wrong.”

A warning bell went off in Cere’s head. She had a good idea what was coming. “What?”

“You’re not really doing a story on Marco Gonzales.”

Drawing a quick breath, she cast a glance in her mother’s direction. Lottie was laughing at something Bradley was saying and could not overhear them. And it wasn’t like she raised the subject. Instead of answering, she posed a question. “Did you know Marco?”

Her aunt’s round face grew pink. “What does your mother say about this?”

“She thinks it’s a terrible idea.”

Millie’s nod was curt, silver curls dancing on top of her head. “Course she would. It’s bad enough we have a new murder.”

“Could they be related?”

“Heavens no! Course if Marco was still alive, he’d be the first person I’d suspect. Now you forget all this talk about death and murder.”

“Mom, murder is all anyone is talking about these days.” Pat playfully tapped his mother’s shoulder and slid in across from them. “Great guacamole, Cere.”

“Thanks. It’s an old family recipe from my dad. Did Freeda give you an earful?”

“She’s quite a pistol. I don’t know how the two of you survive. Makes our little town sound so boring. What do you hear about the murder? We don’t get much gossip at the bank.”

“Pat, don’t!”

“Mom, this town needs a good mystery,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Hasn’t had one in years.”

“Since Marco Gonzales?” Cere asked.

He tapped his mouth as though yawning. “B-o-ring. That was no mystery.”

“Remember when we were kids, and went to the Palladium?”

“I remember we got scared as hell. Scattered like jack rabbits. I haven’t been out there in years. I hear kids vandalized the place.”

“They vandalized her car out there the other night.” Millie waved a rib at the table.

“What were you doing?” Pat asked. “Looking for ghosts again?”

“I’m thinking of doing a story on Marco for
Scope.”

Pat drew back, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Wow, going national? Some newspaper just did a story and I didn’t see anything new. You think a national audience cares about some suicide in a tiny town?”

Millie nodded an “I told you so” at Cere.

“Did you go to his trial?” she replied, focusing on her aunt.

Millie’s rapid blinks indicated her surprise at the question, but her next response was a forced laugh. “Oh, heavens, no! We were more interested in flirting with boys at the lake than sitting in a hot courtroom in the middle of summer.”

“Did you think Marco committed suicide?”

“Of course not.” Then as though realizing the alternative, she shook her head. “But you never know. He was always crazy. Probably wanted to make a statement. Didn’t know it would kill him.” Her voice had grown mocking and a thick hand patted Cere on the arm. “I’m sorry. He was so… so full of himself in those last days.”

At that moment the back gate swung open, and Rafe stepped into the yard, preceded by Ginny. While she’d been hoping he would come, Cere’s stomach still jumped. All her senses went on alert as a smile spread across her lips. Even though she had not seen him for two days, he had been constantly on her mind along with those final moments at his house. Had he meant to kiss her? Should she have pushed it?

He didn’t see her, moving into the crowd, nodding at guests, a wide grin on his dark face. His white polo shirt emphasized wide shoulders, and tight faded jeans outlined long, hard thighs. His thick black hair ruffled in the evening breeze.

Ginny bounced beside him, shiny black hair tied in pigtails held in place by thin yellow ribbons that matched her shorts set. She made a beeline for Roxie, who was tied to a tree in the corner.

Cere self-consciously stroked her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Suddenly she wondered if her sundress was too revealing. Perhaps she should put on a jacket, even if the evening was warm. Rafe stopped to talk to her Uncle Dick and several other men. He didn’t seem to notice Cere, and disappointment flooded her.

Ginny had seen her and ran over. “May I untie Roxie and play with her?”

“I think Mom wants to keep her tied up so she doesn’t jump on everyone.”

“I could hold onto her leash.”

“Why don’t I get you something to eat, and then you can play with Roxie inside later.”

“Can I go eat by her?” Ginny countered. “She looks lonely.”

“Yes, you may.” Cere excused herself and led Ginny to the food tables. As she filled a plate to Ginny’s order, she caught the spicy clean scent of Rafe’s shaving lotion.

“For some reason, I didn’t think of you as the maternal type,” he murmured close behind her ear.

Giddy sensations filled her at his nearness. “I know a hungry girl when I see one.”

“Cere says I can eat with Roxie and then play in the house.”

Rafe made no protest, and as soon as Cere handed Ginny the filled plate, the little girl carried it toward Roxie.

“I have a feeling she’s hungry but she still may feed some to the dog,” Rafe said, heaping ribs onto a plate.

Lottie appeared, ever the efficient hostess. She threw an arm around her daughter. “Is Cere taking care of you? Be sure to try the guacamole. She made it herself.”

Rafe gave her another appreciative look that set her insides twitching. “Domestic too? Maybe I underestimated you.”

Knowing her warm cheeks were growing pink, she retorted, “I’m a damn good reporter too. Wait until you see that Marco story.”

Before he could reply, her mother gripped her arm in a tight hold. “Don’t you start.”

“I’m behaving.” Cere held up her hands.

“See that you do, missy. No one wants to talk about that.”

“No one wants to talk about what?” Her Uncle Dick had joined them. A wavy crop of snowy hair made him appear older than his sixty years. Ever impeccable in a polo shirt and Dockers, Dick Winslow looked every inch the bank president.

Despite her mother’s hovering presence, Cere spied an opening. “We were talking about Marco Gonzales. I’m thinking of doing a story on him.”

Dick glanced at his sister, who had visibly stiffened. “So I hear. That newspaper article was bad enough. Stirring it all up again is stupid.”

Cere felt a rush of irritation, but she wasn’t going to argue. She was more surprised that so many people knew what she was doing.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” Lottie said. “Excuse me, I better circulate.”

Given her mother’s backhanded blessing, Cere turned toward her uncle. “You knew Marco, didn’t you?”

Dick’s pale blue eyes grew surprisingly cold. He seemed to consider the question for a minute, but unlike Norm, who had gotten so upset, he answered. “We all grew up together. Went to school together, well, sometimes he went. He was a bad apple. I was glad he went to jail even if he didn’t commit those crimes. It got him out of our lives.”

“You don’t think he committed the original burglaries?” Marco’s cousins claimed he was falsely imprisoned. Did others believe it too?

Her uncle’s face turned stiff, disintegrating the weathered lines along his lean cheeks. His hard voice was chilling, despite the warm breeze. “Whatever happened to that guy, he had coming.”

“Did you go to the trial?” she asked.

“Why would I be interested? We weren’t even in town. We went up to the lake right after he was arrested as I recall.” He leaned toward her and spoke in the quiet voice of a bank president explaining why he must turn down a loan. “Do us all a favor, Cere. Let it go. There is nothing to be gained by stirring up trouble.”

Cere twisted around toward him, not at all ready to let go now that someone was finally talking to her. “I understand that Uncle John’s hardware store was one of the buildings that burned.”

His eyes turned to blue-gray granite and his voice was just as hard. “Lots of buildings burned and lots of money was stolen.”

“And everyone is convinced he did it?”

“Who else? Everything bad happened while he was around, and it stopped when he died. Your mom says you’re a smart girl. Put it together.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cere’s cheeks burned but she clamped her mouth shut to keep from swearing at her uncle as he turned and marched away. She couldn’t cause a scene at her mother’s party—especially not over Marco.

Whispering a curse, she glanced around to see if anyone had heard their exchange. Rafe had disappeared at some point. Now he was engaged in a laughing conversation with a portly, balding man and a taller man with a salt and pepper beard and flowing silver hair.

Feeling deserted, Cere searched for company. Freeda stood in a corner playing darts with Pat. Lottie and Bradley sat among a group at the edge of the house while Millie was now holding court over several women. Her Uncle Norm stood alone nibbling on a rib and watching the scene.

His smile as she approached was somewhat of a surprise. “Good party. How ya doin’ tonight? I’ve been meaning to apologize to you for my behavior the other night.”

“I’m fine.” Still smarting over his brother’s angry words she couldn’t help but jump right back into the topic. “Why did you get so upset?”

His smile lessened. “It’s just a ridiculous idea is all.”

“My mom knows.”

His pale face clouded over. “And?”

“She doesn’t like it.”

“Of course not. Did Naldo put you up to this?”

The comment shocked her. “Naldo? I never talked to him. Would he have talked to me?”

“He didn’t take kindly to strangers but loved to gossip when he drank. See, Naldo always said Marco was innocent. Wouldn’t surprise me if he got that reporter to do the newspaper story.”

Cere drew a quick breath. Could that be a reason for Naldo’s murder? Because he talked after years of silence? How much had he known about Marco’s death?

“I hear he had songs and letters from Marco in that box they found,” Norm continued.

A shaft of anger pierced through Cere. “Who told you that?”

Rafe had not let her see what was in the box and sidestepped her questions about it. Why didn’t he want her to know the contents related to Marco?

“BJ. But you should drop the Marco talk. You’ll only rile people up.”

Cere caught Rafe’s eye. He smiled at her and waved a chip laden with guacamole, but she didn’t smile back. She excused herself and stomped over to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me what was in that box?” she demanded. “I understand it held papers and letters from Marco!”

His eyes grew hard as pieces of coal as he looked down at her. “Says who?”

“BJ told my uncle. Why didn’t you tell me? Doesn’t that show a connection?”

Rafe faced her, grim and unapologetic. “I knew how you would take that information, and here you are. The letters just happened to be in the box. There were other mementos in it too, clippings about his son, letters from his son.”

“Put it together, Rafe. Naldo was the only one who believed in Marco. He took him in, kept his letters. What if he knew something...”

Rafe held up his hand. “Leave the investigation to the professionals. Excuse me, I need to check on Ginny.”

For the second time in minutes she muttered a curse, but what she wanted was to take off her stiletto and fling it at him as he walked toward the house. She was growing more convinced that the only violent deaths in Rio Rojo in thirty-four years were related. She could feel it and her instincts were seldom wrong.

“I’m giving you one final chance to make a play for the sexy sheriff and then I’m going after him myself.” Freeda’s arm came around her rigid shoulders and beer sloshed on her arm. From the way Freeda wobbled she’d imbibed too much.

Cere scrutinized the immediate area, fearing someone might overhear them. “Lower your voice.”

“Did you meet his uncle and folks? The uncle’s kinda cute, hippie looking. I thought he mighta met my dad, but he says he never did.”

“Cere, I want you to meet someone.”

She pivoted at the sound of her mother’s voice. Lottie stood with the man Rafe had been talking to and a short, stout woman. She would have been pretty except for an overabundance of black eyeliner that made her resemble a pudgy raccoon. Cere recognized her—the woman at the Matador who said Marco burned down the newspaper office.

“I’d like to introduce you to Rafe’s mom and dad.”

Rafe was nowhere to be seen. Why hadn’t
he
brought over his parents to introduce them earlier, before their tiff?

She held out her hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Tafoya, it’s so nice to meet you. I really enjoy your granddaughter. She’s a sweet girl.”