Dead Man's Rules (34 page)

No wonder he had been so secretive from the beginning. Her thoughts raced. “What about when he got out of jail? Was that when he saw your mother?”

Rafe’s dark face could have been chiseled out of one of the nearby rock faces of the mesas. He wasn’t going to reply. But he didn’t need to. His silence provided confirmation.

“This is why you didn’t want me looking into the story, isn’t it? You knew your mother’s name might come up.”

His head jerked toward her and his dark eyes were like drills boring into her. “What about you? Your mother
is
involved, and you’re still trying to uncover secrets. When I found out about Mom, I stopped feeding Riggins information. If I had known from the beginning, I wouldn’t have talked to him, period. I regret hurting her.”

“So she dated him. What’s the big deal?”

“That’s the way you see it, isn’t it? This is a game to you, with rules made by a dead man. Your damn ghost. What if it was your mother’s rejection that led him to suicide? What if someone killed him out of jealousy over her? Are you going to report that? How far are you willing to go, how many people are you willing to hurt just to get this story?”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Turmoil dogged Cere as she drove home. Rafe’s words echoed in her head. What should she do? Tell all of Marco’s story, including the part about her mother? For years she had chased people suffering from horrible grief to get their stories. How much pain had she caused over the years? The thought brought a shudder.

But Rafe didn’t understand that more than the story drove her. Thoughts of her ghostly companion filtered through her mind. She understood now why the vision had come specifically to her. Had her mother betrayed Marco? Had he been murdered because of his connection to her?

A blur of white to her right jerked her back to reality. She’d been driving too slowly and a white van zipped by her. Her heart skipped a beat as she caught sight of the driver—Len Gonzales from the garage. Was that the van from the previous night? Why would Len want to run her over? Why would Marco’s family want the truth hidden?

She had never understood that relationship. The family disowned Marco when he came back. But he had tried to help the town, hadn’t he? Wouldn’t the Gonzales family want that story told? Unless they feared he was behind the last string of burglaries and the buildings that burned. Did they fear she would uncover the truth?

****

Cere found her mother sipping iced tea on the shady portion of the patio when she arrived home. A soft breeze rustled leaves overhead and the yard smelled of marigolds and geraniums. She poured a glass from a pitcher on the table and sat down. “How’s your day going?”

A smile tugged at Lottie’s lips. Fine laugh lines crinkled around her eyes and mouth. “Quiet. Where have you been all afternoon? Freeda called from Taos. She’s staying over a couple more days. She said she’s working on ideas for you. What’s that about?”

“I might do a blog on Taos. Mom, what if I give up on the Marco story?”

Lottie’s tongue flicked over her lips as her smile widened. “I’d be pleased. I don’t know why you’re interested in the first place.”

Sitting back, Cere held up her hand. “I didn’t say I’m giving up. But if I do, will you tell me about him?”

A look of confusion crossed Lottie’s face. New rivers of wrinkles appeared on her tanned cheeks. “Why would you want to know if you’re giving up?”

“It’s become…well…a personal issue.”

Her mother stiffened and when she placed her glass on the table Cere noted her hand shook slightly. “I see.”

Perhaps honesty was the best argument. “I went through your yearbooks today. I saw pictures of you and Marco dancing together. I saw his letters.”

Lottie’s face blanched despite her tan. “Those letters were private.”

“I didn’t read them. But I know he wrote to you, that he was involved with you.”

“He was involved with a lot of girls,” Lottie interjected with a wave of her hand. “He was cute and he got around.”

“But he wrote songs to you.”

Her mother grew very still, refusing to meet her glance, eyes fastened to her half-finished glass of tea. “It was a teenage crush. My dad, my brothers worried he was obsessed with me. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

A question pricked her curiosity, but Cere didn’t ask it. She went in another direction. “Someone said your brothers beat him.”

“Several times. He was stubborn and wouldn’t stop calling. Dad was ready to have the phone taken out.” Her voice cracked and she took a quick sip of tea.

Cere couldn’t wait any longer; she had to know the truth. “Mom, tell me. Did you care about him?”

Her eyes misted with tears and she swallowed hard before replying. “I was young. Silly.”

Sensing more to the explanation, Cere waited patiently.

Slowly Lottie smiled, voice vibrating with energy when she finally spoke. “He was so exciting, full of life. Fun. Very special.”

“You did care.”

“Not enough.” Her eyes glazed over and she clasped her hands as though they were cold.

“Why won’t you let this go? What difference does it make? Your father was the right man for me. He was everything Marco should have been, everything he couldn’t be with me.”

“What does that mean? He wrote those songs to you. It sounds to me like he could have been a talented songwriter.”

Lottie wiped her dry cheek as though expecting tears. Turning away, she pulled on sunglasses that had been sitting on the table. “Marco could have been anything he wanted. Songwriter, poet, politician, he could have done so much. But the young fool put all his energy into chasing me. Look how well he did once he got over that foolishness. He came out of jail ready to make a difference.”

“Yes, maybe, but I get the feeling his heart was broken.”

Her voice turned icy. “Don’t try to make me feel guilty, Cere. I’ve always felt guilty about him. I will until the day I die.” Her hands began to shake, and Cere realized she was on the verge of crying.

“Mom, what is it? Do you think you’re responsible for his death?”

“No, he was over me when he came back. I hadn’t answered his letters. I had never seen the songs.”

“Why didn’t you read the letters?” She recalled the forlorn boxes of unopened letters in the basement.

Lottie’s thin shoulders sagged. “I never knew about them. Rosalie… kept them.”

“Who’s Rosalie? His sister?”

“Stella’s sister, my best friend.” She pressed her lips together as a tear rolled out from under her sunglasses. “I never realized she…she was in love with him. She wanted him that whole time he chased me. It was silly. I sent him one letter and told him to send any replies to his sister or Rosalie because I couldn’t receive them at home. I never heard from him so I thought he hated me. Apparently he wrote those letters and songs but I didn’t find out until the day he died. Rosalie admitted that she and his sister conspired to keep them from me. Linda never approved of me any more than my family liked him. Anyway, Rosalie gave me the letters she received. I never saw the ones that went to Linda. Poor Marco. He didn’t understand why I never answered… But I didn’t know… I never opened them after he died.” Her breath caught and she gulped back tears.

“But you kept them all these years?”

“I put them into my keepsake trunk and forgot them. I guess Mom put my belongings into that same trunk. Dick gave it to me when I moved back.”

“Was that what you were looking for last night?”

Nodding, she coughed slightly before reaching over to pick up her glass and take a gulp of tea. “I wanted to throw them out. I don’t know why I kept them. I guess I thought one day I might be brave enough to read them. Marco was such a romantic fool. A sweet, silly idiot. Everyone said he was mean and angry.” She paused to take another drink, draining her glass.

“That wasn’t Marco. Just the opposite. He put on that tough exterior so people wouldn’t know the truth. Sometimes he even believed the show he put on. But I always knew he was sweet. We used to sit up there at the lake…and he’d play his guitar and sing to me.”

Cere bolted upright. “Was that why you were trying to drive up there?”

“I wanted to see how much it had changed. See if it was as magical as I remember. But it’s probably gone and so is he. All we have are those letters…” Her voice trailed off.

“He was very special to you.” She caught hold of her mother’s hand. Its coldness surprised her and she squeezed it.

“Yes. But not enough.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This all happened so long ago, Cere. It doesn’t matter now.”

She wanted to agree, but there was still Naldo. What if Marco’s death and his were related? She pressed on, squeezing her mother’s hand again. “I read some of Marco’s letters to his sister. He sounded as though he came out of prison ready to make a difference. Do you think he committed suicide?”

“Honestly, I don’t like to think of the alternative—that someone killed him and has gone unpunished for years.”

“Do you have any ideas who might have done it?”

A sudden stillness seemed to take possession of Lottie. Above them, rustling leaves made the only sound. She looked as drained as her empty glass. She blinked and stared at Cere, as though surprised to see her. Pulling her hand free, Lottie wiped her damp cheek.

“Let’s forget this,” she said, getting to her feet. “Why don’t we go out for dinner? I’ll see if Bradley will join us. We can go to Gennaro’s. Why don’t we invite Rafe too?”

Her heart skipped at the thought of inviting Rafe to dinner. Given what her mother had told her, perhaps she should give up the story. And she would enjoy telling him that in person.

“I’m sorry for all this trouble,” she said, putting her hand on her mother’s arm as they walked down the hall.

Lottie attempted a smile. “It’s okay. You had no way of knowing. I should have told you.”

A thump on the porch startled them both, but Lottie smiled. “It’s the paper.” She opened the door and brought in the
Rio Rojo News
. Cere tried not to act eager, but she looked over her mother’s shoulder as she unfolded it.

“My gosh.” Cere pointed to a small headline on the front page about the drug store closing. “He gave me a byline.” A thrill rushed through her at the sight of her name in print.

Lottie gasped. “You wrote a story for the paper?”

“I helped out. Where do you think I was last night? I didn’t know he was going to give me a byline.” A giggle escaped her. She had appeared on TV screens all across the country, but seeing her name in type was special, even if it was only seen by three thousand people.

“Maybe you’ve found a new career. Now that you’re giving up on the Marco story, you can find other things to write.”

“Maybe.”

But even as she spoke, a pair of dark eyes burned into her brain.
Would he let her go?

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Dinner with Cere should be no big deal. Still, as Rafe fumbled with his silk tie, he studied his reflection in the mirror. As sheriff, he seldom dressed up, so why was he putting on his best blue suit for a date with her? Was it even a date? They would be dining with her mother and Mayor Foster. Rafe didn’t normally socialize with him, but he wasn’t about to refuse. After the angry way they parted, he’d been surprised by her call and pleased she forgave him for being so blunt.

He gave his tie one final tug as his mother stepped into the room. Her nut brown face wore a bright smile.

“You look good, son. That girl is going to be impressed.”

He grimaced at the mirror. “I’m not trying to impress. It’s just a friendly dinner.”

“I’ve never seen you so dressed up. Even when I set you up with nice girls.” She brushed his arm and his back with a lint roller. “It’s good you’re going out. You’ve seemed a lot livelier since she came to town.”

His fingers caught her pudgy cheek in an affectionate squeeze. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Mama. In a week, she’ll go back to LA. Then life can get back to normal.”

“Sure,
Mijo.
She told me she likes taking care of Ginny. I thought you said she wasn’t the motherly type.”

“She isn’t. Too involved in her career. Not at all like Carmen.”

“No one is going to be like Carmen.” She leaned toward him with her most fierce look of disapproval. “You need to remember that. Going out with a woman is not going to ruin memories of Carmen. That part of your life is finished. You need to move on. The past is gone and the future is waiting.”

Over the years he had grown used to her simple lectures. Ever since his return, she and her family had been lining him up with women. He had never been interested, even if Ginny needed a new mother. His daughter liked Cere, but he doubted he could marry someone so career obsessed.

Leaning down, Rafe kissed his mother’s graying hair. “You’re an angel to look after Ginny on such short notice.”

“Since when does taking care of my grandchild make me special? I should be taking her more often. Stay out as late as you want. Ginny will be fine with me all night.”

“I’m not staying out all night.”

Her short fingers gave his tie a quick tug and tapped his chest. “Have fun. I saw the way you looked at her the other night. I’m not so old I can’t remember what it was like to be young and in love.”

“That isn’t what’s happening. She’s using me to get her damn story.”

“That’s what you think.”

“That’s what I know.” Even if Cere made his body come alive, he couldn’t forget she only wanted a story—a story that could hurt people he loved.

****

Cere was aware of everything about Rafe as he helped her with her chair. The sight of him in a dark blue suit was a surprise. Suddenly she wondered if her own cream colored sleeveless sheath was too simple. She had bought it because its slim lines hugged her figure in just the right places. The scooped neck had an open strip crisscrossed with X’s showing just a hint of cleavage. The light color nicely accentuated her newly acquired tan.

Tony helped her mother with her chair and Cere bit back a smile. Why didn’t her mother notice his attentiveness? Why didn’t he find a way to demonstrate his interest? He seemed as stiff and formal as the restaurant with its crisp linen table cloths and candles at every table. But he looked as fresh in his black suit as the carnations in small bud vases. The burgundy carpets and dark wooden paneling made the room gloomy but in an elegant manner that whispered romance. Why couldn’t he personally express that?