Dead Man's Rules (7 page)

“This is private property,” he grated. “You have no business here.”

She stepped forward, wishing she had a business card to offer. “I’m Cere, Lottie Medina’s daughter. I’m a reporter with
Scope
TV newsmagazine.”

“We’re looking for Marco Gonzales,” Freeda said behind her. “His ghost wants Cere to help him.”

Cere whipped around. “Freeda!” Leave it to her cousin to be so open about their search.

“Hi, I’m Freeda Ferguson.”

The dark glasses swiveled from one to the other and his thin lips turned up in a crooked, but sinister smile.

“You girls don’t get out of here, you’re gonna find more than Marco.” His voice lowered to a ghastly whisper. “Don’t you know he’s dead? He comes back every year on August 17
th
, the night he died, looking for girls who don’t have the sense to realize he was a killer. Lots of bodies buried up there. He killed ’em.” He jerked his head toward the hills behind the building.

Cere’s heart thumped in a quick rhythm, as though she’d just completed a mile long run. She jumped as Freeda caught her arm.

“Uh... we should get going.” For once Freeda’s voice sounded unsure.

“Who are you?” The man was spooky, but Cere wasn’t going to let him think he frightened her, despite that whiskey rough voice.

He shifted, allowing her to catch sight of a crow bar on the stairs. “I’ve been called the ghost of Marco Gonzales.”

A sudden gust of wind whipped around the side of the building, and a violent shiver surged through her. For a minute she was in her dream with the outstretched hand and the searing eyes pleading for help.

She whirled toward Freeda and as they had when they were children, they turned and ran back to the car. Driving quickly with no regard for bumps or flying rocks, Cere guided the car away from the building, checking the rearview mirror to make certain he wasn’t following. Neither said a word until she had turned onto the highway.

“Who the hell was that?” she asked, glancing over at Freeda.

“I don’t know, but I’m glad I peed before we saw him. He scared the hell out of me.” Freeda shivered and reached over to turn down the air conditioning.

“He wanted to scare us with that talk about the ghost and bodies in the hills.” She chewed on a nail, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and then forced herself to place both hands firmly on the wheel. She and her cousin shared that habit of chewing their nails, but she refused to destroy a brand new manicure.

“Maybe this Marco story isn’t a good idea.”

Cere waved her hand. “I’m not going to let some weirdo scare me. But let’s not tell Mom about this Marco thing for now. Let her think I’m here to visit while I nose around.”

“I’m not going to argue. I’m sorry I brought the whole thing up.”

Cere looked into the rearview mirror one last time. She could still see the man’s sinister smile.

“I’m the ghost of Marco Gonzales.”

The heck with that. If Marco was responsible for buried bodies, it would only make the story more interesting.

Chapter Seven

Rafe leaned forward in his normal booth at the
Matador
while his daughter Ginny hopped away to the play area in back. They had breakfast at the restaurant most days, and he had just put in his order. Normally he’d lean back and enjoy that first cup of coffee, but today a restless energy filled him. From the moment Lottie Medina gleefully told him about her daughter’s imminent arrival he’d been on edge. He hadn’t mentioned the drunken midnight call. Hopefully Cere was coming to see her mother and the Marco reference was a joke.

He looked up as the bell over the door tinkled. Cere would have been recognizable even if her mother wasn’t beside her, their arms linked. She had big city woman stamped on her like a mailing label. Sunglasses on her head, a tote bag with a designer logo, and sparkling gems in her ears that were probably diamonds. Her auburn hair was swept back from her face, and the color of her manicured nails was matched on painted toenails. He prided himself on the ability to instantly size up people and he knew her type immediately—spoiled, demanding, used to being the center of attention.

Sleek as a well-groomed cat, Cere glided across the room. Her bright yellow cotton shorts outlined a narrow waistline. Not skin and bones like so many LA women, she exuded health and vitality. The shorts and an avocado-colored, sleeveless shell clung to her curves, which were womanly and nicely rounded in all the right places. She was of medium height and her caramel legs were muscular, not that long, skinny look so many West Coast men favored. The beaded sandals were impractical—strappy models with heels that could probably take out an eye.

What he didn’t expect was the burst of energy that emanated from her flashing eyes. They seemed to burst like fireworks as she studied the open room. Her wide engaging smile displayed small white teeth.

A third woman joined them. She was taller than Cere with thick black hair pulled away from her face in a ponytail. She wore a cotton shirt over a tank top, cargo shorts and black hiking boots. All three women giggled like school girls as they settled into a nearby booth. Lottie sat on one side, the younger women across from her. Their voices rang out over the country music that blared from speakers overhead.

Had she noticed him? No, it was foolish to think she’d glance in his direction. He pulled his gaze away as Naldo shuffled by with a broom, sweeping up a child’s wayward Cheerios.

“Que tal, Viejo.”

Naldo nodded and Rafe gestured him to sit down. He hadn’t talked to the old man since their midnight chat.

“Digame about Diaz,”
he said as Naldo slid into the booth.

Naldo shrugged, his wrinkled face scrunching. “Don’t really know him.”

“You said you did.”

“He used to live here. Long time ago. Before you was born. Left town, maybe forty years ago.” His neatly clipped fingernails tapped on the table top and his eyes watched them, avoiding Rafe.

“Is he still around?”

“Nah, gone back to Texas, I think.”

“Did he tell you I caught him nosing around the Palladium?”

Naldo’s head jerked up, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his dark skin. Fear glistened in the old man’s dark eyes for the quick second that they rested on Rafe before he lowered them back to the table. “Don’t matter. He’s gone.”

“Do you know why he was out there?”

“Gonna buy the place, he said.” Naldo smiled a broken-toothed grin and pushed himself to his feet. “Here comes Josie with your breakfast.”

Rafe watched him shuffle away as a fresh bout of skepticism filled him. Naldo’s behavior might set off alarms, except the old man liked sending up false smokescreens. It was why so many rumors abounded about him. Only a visit to his house and a bottle of Jack Daniels might loosen his tongue.

A plate of sausage and biscuits arrived with a very welcome distraction—Ginny. Rafe helped her into the booth as Josie Morales put down her pancakes. When he re-settled, he positioned himself to look away from Lottie and her distracting daughter.

****

Clapping her hands like a little girl, Lottie smiled at Cere and Freeda. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you girls came.”

“I can’t get over how healthy you look,
Tia.
Your tan is better and I love your hair.”

Lottie tugged at whitish blonde curls. “Millie does it. It pays to have a sister-in-law who is a stylist. We’re letting it go as close to natural as possible.”

Cere smoothed her silk top and stifled a yawn. They had stayed up talking until three in the morning, but her mother expected them to be at this diner by eight. Freeda was right about the surprising changes. Like the short, blunt fingernails. “I can’t get over the fact you stopped manicuring your nails.”

“It doesn’t make sense when I’m working in the garden every day. That’s what accounts for the tan too.”

“Gardening every day? What would Dad think?”

A faraway look crept into her blue eyes. “He’d be happy. He knew how much I wanted a garden. That damn swimming pool took up our whole backyard.”

“Seems to me you loved that damn swimming pool. We couldn’t get you out of it in the summer.”

“That was my old life. Now I have a garden.”

“And rabbits,” Freeda chirped. She’d immediately fallen in love with four cages of rabbits in Lottie’s backyard. “My dad always wanted to raise bunnies.”

Cere turned her attention from their discussion long enough to glance around the café. From the moment they walked in, she knew she wouldn’t get her customary breakfast of nonfat yogurt and fresh fruit. The scent of fried onions and bacon hung thick in the air. Velvet paintings, colorful serapes and sombreros hung on the back paneled walls. Carved wooden booths ringed the front half of the restaurant below a line of windows. A counter with round black seats formed a giant U at the center while circular tables filled the rest of the space. A door to one side was marked “Restrooms.” A mix of families in vacation garb and men wearing western shirts or work clothes jammed nearly every booth and filled most of the spots at the counter.

“Coffee?” A chunky young waitress deposited plastic menus on the burgundy Formica table top and gestured with a glass coffee pot at the porcelain cups on the table. She examined Cere with the rapt attention a fan might give a movie star.

All three nodded as Lottie waved across the table. “Josie, this is my niece, Freeda, and my daughter, Cere.”

Cere summoned one of her friendliest on-camera smiles. “Josie, it’s so nice to meet you.” She’d learned that it paid to make friends with waitresses in small town restaurants. They knew all the gossip. Josie might be a good starting point for information.

“I watch you all the time,” she gushed as she poured coffee, hazel eyes shining beneath thick coats of black eyeliner and mascara. “I never miss your stories. I’ll get water while you study the menu.”

Cere frowned at the menu—no fresh fruit, no yogurt. Lots of artery clogging fried or smothered choices. She closed it and glanced across the table, studying the changes in her mother. The lines that once grooved her cheeks and the circles under her eyes were gone. Even her clothes were different. As a high school social studies teacher, she favored skirts and sweaters or pants suits. Casual clothes consisted of pressed capris and crisp cotton shirts. Today she wore jeans and a bright peasant blouse.

Freeda slammed down her menu. “I’m having the breakfast burrito. What do you think,
Tia
?”

“Get it smothered. Frank makes the best green chili in town. That’s what I’m getting.”

“I may have oatmeal and a banana.”

“Cere, we’re on vacation. Let’s live a little.” Freeda jabbed her with an elbow.

“Don’t embarrass me by being a city snob, sweetie. This is real food. Homemade.”

“Which means fattening. I may be on vacation, but I can’t afford to gain weight.”

“
Tia
Lottie hasn’t gained. This place must agree with you.”

“Oh, hell yes!”

Freeda barked out a laugh. “You’re cussing? What would
Tio
Del say?”

“He’s been gone for three years. I can say whatever I damn well please.” As soon as the words came out, she shook her head. “That’s wrong. The truth is I miss him horribly. Back home, reminders of him were everywhere. Even going to my favorite restaurant reminded me we’d never go there again. He wanted me to move on with my life so here I am.”

Cere reached over and clasped her mother’s hand. They had gone through this before the move. She missed having her mother nearby, but her own long hours and irregular work schedule prevented them from getting together much.

“You’re happy, Mom? This place can’t have much to offer in the way of culture or the arts...”

Her blue eyes sparkled with energy. “I volunteer at the local historical museum and since I went to school with the head librarian, she lets me consult on programs. Many of my old school friends are still here so I have an active social life. Your Aunt Millie wouldn’t let me get bored. We’ve known each other since grammar school so this has been like coming home.”

Josie returned with red plastic glasses of iced water. Cere started to ask for bottled water, but one glance at her frowning mother silenced her.

“We’re all having the breakfast burritos, smothered,” Freeda announced before Cere could speak.

Lottie waggled a finger at Cere as Josie walked away. “Sweetie, a pound or two won’t hurt you.”

So much for healthy eating. Luckily she’d inherited her mother’s slender frame instead of her father’s bulk. Still it might be nice to have a few more of the Medina curves, like Freeda.

“So what’s on the agenda today, Mom? Are there any galleries? Shopping places?”

Her mother tapped her hair. “Well, it’s my day to get my monthly touch up. Do you want to come with me and see Millie? Maybe get your hair done or a manicure?”

Freeda tugged at her unruly curls and burst into laughter. “No one will touch this mess, and I guarantee Cere won’t let some small town stylist cut into her two hundred dollar hairdo.”

She considered kicking her cousin under the table, but her mother’s smile was understanding.

“It looks beautiful on television, sweetie. Maybe you girls can wander around and get acquainted with my world. We’ll do something this afternoon and tonight we’ve been invited to dinner. There are some friends I’d like you to meet. Well, one friend…” She lowered her gaze to the table, her face glowing pink under her tan.

Freeda lurched upright. “A friend? Like a guy?
Tia
, you got a fella?”

Cere’s insides did a wild flip flop and she fought to keep her voice from sounding accusatory. “I noticed you’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

“Tia
!”

Her mother put her fingers to her lips. “I’m not wearing my rings because I was worried I’d lose them when I do my gardening.”