Dead Man's Rules (28 page)

Before she could answer, Mrs. Peabody came out of the records office and approached the counter. She carried several sheets of paper that she handed to Cere. “I found the list you wanted, Ms. Medina. I’m not sure if it will be helpful. That whole block was demolished. When it was rebuilt, none of the original owners moved back. They either rebuilt elsewhere or went out of business.”

Cere sighed. “I see. But the list will have the original owners, right?”

“Of course. Most still live in town.”

“Can you put me—”

“I’m sure Mrs. Peabody can’t reveal personal information,” Rafe interrupted, knowing where she was heading. “You’ll have to play intrepid reporter and get info from a phone book.”

Mrs. Peabody’s face grew pinched. He didn’t know if she was pleased he’d kept her from having to refuse the request or if she might have provided the personal information. The woman was normally protective of privacy, given her position in the records office, but the spotlight of a national television show might have tempted her to let down her guard.

“You know, dear, nobody really suffered as a result of those fires,” she said. “The businesses that rebuilt were in bigger, nicer places. That block was very old. In fact, the fire might even have helped make our town what it is today. Some people, like your Uncle John, left town and got much better jobs. I hear he has a big hardware facility down in Albuquerque.”

Cere’s lips twitched in irritation, but she smiled and thanked Mrs. Peabody as she stuffed the pages into her bag. She turned to Rafe, her smile widening. “May I see the courtroom?”

He nodded and led her up the stairs to the second floor. The door was open so she could have gone in on her own.

“May I take pictures?” She produced a small metallic pink digital camera from her bag.

“It’s public property. Be my guest.”

She stepped inside, looked around and frowned at the small interior. Only the heavy wooden judge’s bench remained from the previous century. It had been updated a few years earlier with new cushioned chairs for jury members and all the old wood paneling had been pulled out and replaced with white painted walls and modern art.

She snapped several shots before swinging toward him. “I have a feeling this is different than back then.”

Rafe had seen her face fill with disappointment at Mrs. Peabody’s statements about the fire’s aftermath, and he nodded, hoping to totally dash her hopes. “Newly renovated. Just like Mrs. P. said. We’re a better city because of all that happened.”

She sighed and dumped the camera into her bag in a motion of disgust. “I was afraid of that. I need to figure out some good visuals for this story. Nothing seems to hold up.”

Rafe leaned back against the railing of the jury box, folding his arms across his chest. “Give it up, Cere.”

A small furrow appeared on her forehead and the corner of her lips twitched. She plucked at her lower lip again. “I may have to. I can’t get an answer out of my boss about doing another blog and everything I try hits a dead end. I’d hoped someone would talk. Frank gave me an old scrapbook and newspaper clippings, but there wasn’t anything useful there that Riggins didn’t have. I went to the library this morning to look for old stories about Marco’s trial, but no archives exist from the old newspaper. I don’t know where Riggins got that quote about Marco swearing vengeance on the town. Maybe Mr. Foster? I’m not sure how much he’ll tell me and court records for juvies are sealed so I can’t even find out who his attorney was.”

Rafe knew better than to crow in triumph. That would make her more determined. He opted for a change in subject. “You made quite an impression on my folks last night. All good.”

The furrow smoothed out as the corner of her lips turned up. The sight sent a buzz of awareness through him. Suddenly he was conscious of the way the skirt clung to her tiny waist, and the rounded lines of tanned cleavage visible at the neck. Bright eyes met his.

“They’re nice. You have your mother’s eyelashes,” she teased, winking at him.

Warmth spread in his lower regions. She was so lovely when she smiled like that. Tempting. He lowered his gaze. “My sisters curled them once.”

She laughed, a soft pleasant sound that tickled his stomach. “Ginny will thank you for them in a few years.”

“Probably.”

“What happened to your friend?” she asked.

“My friend?”

“The woman you spent most of the evening with?”

Her voice sounded snappish, and it set his heart thudding. “Are you jealous, Medina?”

“You wish.”

Despite feeling pleased at her reaction, he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. “Susan’s a nice lady. I’ve known her since high school. That’s the thing about this town. Everyone knows everyone.”

“That’s what your mother said. Most people knew Marco.”

Back to Marco. “But that doesn’t mean they want to talk about him.”

A corner of one lip crooked up in annoyance. “If only I could find the person who left a message on my car the first day I was here.”

Surprise pricked him like a barb, and he jerked toward her. “What? You never told me about that.”

Her expressive eyes challenged his. “Just like you never tell me things. One day we should be totally honest.”

Before he could respond, she glanced down at her wrist where she wore a slim gold watch. Naturally it carried a designer logo. The watch she’d lost was probably expensive too. If Naldo’s thief-killer had found it, he might have taken it to sell.

“Oops, I have to go. I promised Mom and Freeda I’d meet them at the sandwich shop for a quick bite and then we’re going over to the auto shop.”

He couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice. “You’re not going to question Len about Marco again.”

She laughed, and the tension began to dissolve like a drifting cloud. “We have to get another tire fixed, plus Mom wants him to look at her old Honda so Freeda has her own set of wheels. You think I’m driven. Freeda’s much worse. She is now convinced her father is somewhere nearby so she wants to go hunting for him.”

“Must be a trait that runs in your father’s family. Your mom is so…well, calm.”

“You think so? She was the one who got us trapped in the canyon the other day. Hey, did you know Diaz is working up there?”

“Huh?” Rafe’s senses went on instant alert. He hadn’t seen Diaz in days and even if the background check had come back clean, in his mind the man remained a suspect.

“We saw him up the canyon on the other side of the Palladium on horseback. He said he was working. For whom would he be working?”

“I’m not sure. I think that’s the old Hollister place, but it’s all Tres Padres land now. I’ll check and call you later if I find out anything.” He gave her a wave and turned toward his office. Diaz working nearby? He wanted to find out if the lanky Texan was still around.

****

“What are you doing this afternoon, Mom?” Cere asked as they watched Freeda drive away in a fifteen-year-old Honda. Freeda claimed she wanted to go for a short drive to see how the car handled but they knew better than to believe her.

Lottie tapped her lip, forehead creased in concern. “Maybe you should have gone with her. I’m not sure about that car. You know she won’t turn around until she gets to wherever she and Daphne were.”

“She’ll call if it breaks down. Maybe we should go shopping in Taos. It would serve her right if it does break down and we’re not here. You look like you’re dressed for some leisure time.” Perhaps during a drive with nothing to do but talk, her mother might loosen up about the mystery of Marco.

Lottie jammed her hands into the pockets of her turquoise jogging suit. Despite the casual attire, her blonde hair was neatly coiffed, make-up in place. “I’m supposed to bowl this afternoon, but I may skip it. Team Gennaro can do without me for a week. I don’t know if I’m up to a trip to Taos though. Why don’t we go home and you can sit in the sun while I do some gardening. You need to relax. You girls did a lot of hard work last night.”

Thinking of Tony and his wistful glances, Cere grinned. Was her mother clueless about his interest? He had offered to help cater the party and bring over a crew to clean up afterward. Lottie settled for letting him provide dessert.

“You should go bowling, Mom. You owe it to Mr. Gennaro. That tiramisu and those cannolis were wonderful. Don’t worry about me. I’ll go home and relax in the sun.”

She dropped a hand to Cere’s arm and squeezed it. “Good idea. It’s time you took it easy.”

Cere was only partially sincere about relaxing. Mainly she wanted time alone. With her mother and Freeda occupied she had time to study the list of burned businesses that was stuffed in her bag. Was Mrs. Peabody right? Had no one suffered as a result of the fires? That would eliminate payback for the fires as a motive for killing Marco. Why would anyone want Marco dead? To stop the fires? That was rather extreme. What could Naldo have possibly known that might have resulted in his death? If he had known the truth about Marco’s death, why keep quiet all those years? And why speak out now?

Her phone beeped. Freeda must be stranded already. Her pulse quickened when she saw Alan’s name on the display instead.

“Hey, boss, did you get the pictures? I was thinking of doing a blog—”

“Not on that Paladin place.” He mispronounced the name—probably on purpose. “That idea is crap. You’re not a crime reporter, Cere. I pay you to work the Hollywood beat.”

“You’re not paying me at all, remember?”

“Yeah, and I won’t be, if you don’t do what I tell you. Stop sending me stuff. You’re on vacation. Act like it. Go to Taos and do a blog on galleries. I might pay for that.”

A sudden spark ran through Cere. “Really? I could get off suspension?”

His laugh came through the phone as a bark. “Maybe. Listen, hon, I had dinner with a couple of network guys last night. I get the feeling they’re unhappy with Gail. Her work has suffered since you left.”

“I kept telling you she was stealing my stuff.”

“I think they’re discovering it wasn’t just Audrey’s pictures making the stories work.”

“What are you saying… I could…” Her breathing had grown quick and shallow and she wasn’t even moving. She’d stopped, fearing a loss of the phone signal.

“Don’t get your hopes up, babe, but Audrey’s been talking you up.”

Her heart rate accelerated as a jolt of pleasure surged through her. Thanks, Audrey! She’d owe her camerawoman a bottle of champagne if this came through. “Do you want me back tomorrow?”

“Stay there. Look around. You’re good at coming up with story ideas. Find something to blog about, you know, some Hollywood aspect.”

Cere felt like she was exploding with glee and her insides felt like a bubbly cauldron of joy. A sudden thought hit her. “How about Tres Padres?”

“Trays what?”

“Tres. As in Three Padres. Don’t ask me what it means, but the other day I heard about this new luxury spa they’re building nearby. It’s supposed to be aimed at attracting a Hollywood clientele. How about that? No one’s done anything yet. We could get the first look.”

“Yeah, sure, great! Get some pictures and work up a blog. Make me proud, babe.”

Chapter Thirty

Cere felt like dancing on air all the way home. She tried calling Freeda but got no answer and left a message asking her to call. She knew better than to say they might be heading home. Her goofy cousin definitely would take off for parts unknown.

Wow, she could get back to work! Or move up to the network! She set up her laptop on the dining room table and plugged into her mother’s internet connection. The words “Tres Padres and New Mexico” went into the search engine, but turned up “no results.” She tried “Rio Rojo, New Mexico” and got only the map listing and the newspaper website.

Perhaps she should call Stella or Willie Tafoya. A check of Tres Padres on the newspaper’s search box again came up empty. Hadn’t the men at the Matador joked about the place? Hadn’t Bradley Foster mentioned it? A quick call to his office failed. He was out.

She tapped the side of the computer in disgust. Now what? She twisted in her chair and spied the leather book inside the laptop case. She would have to return it to Frank before she left. She picked it up and opened it, peering at the picture of Marco. His smudged eyes stared accusingly as though he knew she might abandon her search for the truth about his death. Poor Marco. Would he haunt her again when she returned to Los Angeles?

She shoved the book away from her. “Leave me alone!”

The book slid sideways falling from the table to the ground. As it did, several sheets flew out. Damn, she’d unglued the pages. She reached for it and found the sheets hadn’t been pasted in. They were separate musical sheets that were tucked into the book. The yellowed pages were filled in with penciled musical notes above smudged words that were almost unreadable.

“Damn ghost,” she muttered, standing. She wasn’t going to strain her eyes. She was going to forget Marco and spend the afternoon getting a tan and reading through the brochures Freeda had picked up. Perhaps one of them was about Tres Padres.

If she couldn’t find any information, she’d head for Taos in the morning to look for stories. After donning a bikini, she grabbed a towel and a tube of sun screen. Stopping in the dining room to pick up the brochures she glanced again at the scrapbook. A blast of air from the air conditioner vent ruffled the pages as though Marco called out not to be forgotten.

With a sigh, she touched the clippings and the sheets of songs. Maybe a quick read? Her mother kept glasses all over the house. They could keep her from suffering eye strain from the smudged words. Oh, hell, why not?

The afternoon sun warmed her skin as Cere stretched out on a chaise. Butterflies flew lazily, teasing her hair. From overhead came the cry of a turtle dove. In the distance the steady buzz of a lawn mower churned out the pleasant scent of newly cut grass. She applied sun screen, sat back and began reading the yellowed pages. Had Marco written these lines?

All we want is justice, freedom, the right to love

Built of skin and bone by our Lord above.