Granny Apples 05 - Ghost in the Guacamole (13 page)

“I
HAD
decided to walk away,” Emma explained, “but when we saw Steve Bullock giving cash to Carlos, we got concerned about Rikki's safety. We think Carlos also mentioned T.J. Mendoza during the exchange. That's the CFO at Roble and Rikki's boyfriend. Unfortunately, we couldn't make out what he said about him, so there's also concern that T.J. might be involved, too.” Seeing her margarita glass empty, Emma picked up her water glass and took a drink. “I'm just very concerned about Rikki. If she gets hurt and I could have stopped it, I'd never forgive myself.”

“And you want to get to the bottom of how Felix died, don't you?” Jeremiah asked with amusement. “That's really the scratch you need to itch—both you and Granny.”

“Of course,” Granny snapped. “If there's a murderer out there, he needs to be caught.”

Jeremiah looked again over at Bullock's booth. “And you think Steve Bullock had something to do with it?”

Emma shrugged. “I really have no idea. I just find it odd that he's cozying up to Felix's daughter and paying off one of Roble's waiters while going after Roble Foods. Lucy is adamant that the company be sold to Fiesta Time.”

“He could be romancing it out from under her?” suggested Phil.

Jeremiah stretched his neck, setting off a series of pops. Then he leaned forward, looking from Phil to Emma. “Over the years,” he began in a very low voice, “several of Fiesta Time's smaller competitors have quietly disappeared or been hit with tragedies that have caused them to bail. In most cases, Fiesta Time picked up their business.”

Emma's eyebrows rose. “So they've done this before?”

“There's never been any proof of wrongdoing,” Jeremiah answered, “just suspicion. Bullock's uncle is Ramon Santiago. It started when he took over the company about ten to twelve years ago when his brother Miguel died suddenly.”

Granny had disappeared and now popped up again. “I don't think Lucy and that Steve are boyfriend and girlfriend,” she reported.

“No?” asked Emma.

The ghost shook her head. “They're friendly but not that kind of friendly. And they're talking business, not a word about mushy stuff.”

“What are they talking about, Granny?” asked Jeremiah.

“Like I said,” Granny answered, “business. Steve did say something about it will all be over soon.” She paused and scratched her head. “I think he said something about the right family being in charge once and for all.” The ghost jerked her head in confirmation. “Yeah, that's it. That's exactly what he said. And something about them making a great team.”

“Oh yeah,” said Jeremiah with a glance at Granny, “I could really see the advantages of having a ghost around.”

Granny beamed. “Play your cards right, hot shot, and it could happen.”

“Don't encourage her,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes.

After Emma brought Phil up to speed, he said, “Lucy is telling her family that she wants to take time off to paint and find herself. This almost sounds like she's going to remain working for the company.” He looked at each of the other people at the table, including in the direction he thought Granny was hovering. “You don't think she's stealing her own family's company out from under their noses, do you?”

“Do you know of any beef she might have with them?” asked Jeremiah.

“Lucy and Rikki don't seem to get along very well,” Emma said. “T.J. Mendoza is an old college friend of Lucy's who is CFO of Roble Foods. He's currently dating Rikki. Maybe Lucy is jealous of that. He also mentioned to me that Lucy can be ruthless in the pursuit of what she wants.”

“But ruthless enough to kill her own father, or at least to cause his death?” asked Phil.

“I've seen it happen,” noted Jeremiah.

“I've gotten the feeling,” Emma told them, “from being around both Lucy and Rikki that there's bad blood between Fiesta Time and Roble. So why would Lucy throw in with her family's enemy unless she was out to hurt her family?” She squeezed her eyes shut to force the information through her brain. When she opened them, she added, “Why would she want to do that? Unless, of course, she's in love with Steve.”

“I'm telling ya,” Granny said with conviction, “those two aren't kissy face with each other. Friends maybe, but not romantic friends.”

Emma's phone vibrated. She glanced at it.

“Is that Gino again?” asked Jeremiah.

“No,” said Emma with disbelief as she read the text. “It's from my mother.”

“Everything okay?” asked Phil with concern.

She showed it to him.
At Roble. Come quick!!!

“Roble?” asked Phil with surprise. “What in the world are your parents doing there?”

“Who knows?” Emma pushed her plate away and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let's pay the bill and get out of here.”

While Phil flagged down Brenda Ann for the check, Emma said to Granny, “Try to find Mother, Granny. See what's going on.”

“Got it,” said the ghost and disappeared.

Emma looked at Jeremiah. “Sorry, Jeremiah, but my parents just asked us to meet them at Roble. It sounds urgent.” She dug a business card out of her purse. “Please e-mail me your contact information, so we can talk more about this.”

“No need,” he said, pulling out a card of his own and handing it to Emma. “You folks go. I'll take care of the check.” When Phil started to protest, he cut him off, “I said to go.”

As Emma and Phil scooted out of the booth, Lucy Ricardo spotted them. “Hey, what are you doing here?” she called to Emma. “Are you spying on me?” With surprising agility, she slipped out of her own booth and grabbed Emma's arm just before she left the bar. “I asked you a question, you fraud.”

Emma yanked her arm from Lucy's clutches. “We were here having lunch with a friend, if it's any of your business,” she snapped. “Now we have to go.”

Lucy made a grab for Emma again, but before she could connect, Phil got between the two women. “Back off,” he said to Lucy, his voice low but menacing.

Lucy was about to say something when Jeremiah quickly joined them. “Look,” he said and pointed at the TV. On the television set above the bar a breaking news report had replaced the soccer game. The sound was off but a banner below a live picture of police cars and milling people read:
Shooting on Olvera Street
.

Emma ran from the restaurant with Phil fast on her heels. Behind them was Jeremiah. After tucking Emma into her vehicle with Phil behind the wheel, he said to them, “I'll meet you there.”

F
EAR
and anxiety coursed through Emma's veins, replacing her blood with a high-voltage current. Alhambra was less than ten miles from downtown Los Angeles and Olvera Street, but with the weekday traffic on the 10 Freeway, it seemed like hundreds of miles in bad weather. On the way, Emma kept up contact with her mother. They were fine, Elizabeth's texts confirmed. The police were taking statements and contact information from all of the customers at Roble for questioning later. They were still waiting their turn. Her mother didn't know who had been shot, only that it was a man. They didn't see it happen.

Phil circled the area around Olvera Street and the Plaza trying to find parking. The police had blocked off the section of Main Street that fed into the parking lot they'd used the day before. Other street closures, including a section of Cesar Chavez, only made the usual traffic snarl ghastlier.

“Get out here,” Phil said to Emma. “I'll find parking somewhere and meet up with you.”

She didn't argue and had her seat belt off and the door of the Lexus open before he'd come to a full stop. Once on the street, Emma looked around to get her bearings. She was on Los Angeles Street, close to the Chinese American Museum she and Phil had visited just twenty-four hours earlier. She turned around, spotted the Plaza, and took off at a run. Olvera Street, she knew, was just on the other side of it.

The entrance to the small touristy street was packed with lookie-loos, barely restrained by the temporary barricades set up by the police. There was no gnashing of teeth or hysteria but rather the low rumble of people asking what was going on followed by people passing along information, true or not—the hum of a shocked and angry hive of bees. Roble was down the other end, closer to Cesar Chavez, but Emma knew it would be impossible to slip in that way since most of the police cars were congregated there. Even though her parents assured her they were fine, it didn't stem her urge to reach them as soon as possible.

“They're okay, Emma.” Emma turned to see Granny begin to materialize next to her. “I told Elizabeth that you and Phil were on your way.” The ghost looked concerned, but not upset. “She and Paul are shaken up a bit but doing good.” Granny looked around. “Where's Phil?”

“Thanks for the update, Granny,” Emma said with relief. “Phil's trying to find parking. He'll catch up. Jeremiah's on his way, too.” She kept her voice low but didn't take her usual precaution. At the moment she didn't care if anyone overheard her talking to thin air.

“Jeremiah just arrived on a motorcycle,” Granny told her. “He's talking to some cop friends of his.”

“I'm going to try to work my way down there somehow.” Emma paused, then asked, “Who was shot?”

The ghost shrugged. “I don't know, but I don't think it was fatal, because when I got here, an ambulance was racing off with its siren blaring. The dead don't need sirens.”

“Only one victim?”

“Looks that way,” answered Granny.

“Rikki? Did you see her?”

Granny nodded. “Last I saw, she was up in her office surrounded by police. She was sobbing and in shock. Felix was with her but didn't say anything to me. Hector and Lupe, you know, the chef, were in Hector's office with other police. They were also very upset. The waiters and cooks are being kept together in the kitchen while the cops do their thing. Customers are being kept in the main dining room. Some are slowly being let go.”

“Could Felix tell you anything?” Emma danced from foot to foot with anxiety. “Like maybe what happened? Who was shot? Who did the shooting? Anything?”

Granny shook her head. “Like I said, he wasn't talking so I don't know what he saw, if anything. And I couldn't tell from what I saw what happened except that someone was shot.” She watched Emma's body twitch with worry. “Calm down,” the ghost told her. “You look like a child who needs the outhouse.”

“Go back and stay with Mother and Dad,” Emma told her. “Tell Mother I'll be there soon.”

“How are you gonna get past this?” asked Granny, indicating the barriers.

“I'll think of something,” Emma said. The ghost gave her a thumbs-up and disappeared.

Emma scanned the barriers and the police officers keeping watch. Civilians on the other side of the blockade looked like merchants who owned businesses or worked on the street. They were gathered here and there. Some kept to themselves, straightening their wares or sweeping their already clean steps. It was busywork done by people with foreheads furrowed with worry about lost business and possible bad press for the street in general. Emma, with her blond hair and blue eyes, knew passing for one of them would almost be impossible.

She worked her way through the sweating, milling crowd until she reached the end of the street entrance where it met the wall of the first solid building. She watched the handful of officers as they paced and chatted with people, or clustered together in pairs. She squinted against the sun to see better. She'd left her sunglasses in the SUV and was now missing them. One of the merchants came out of his store with cold drinks for the police to provide relief against the heat. He was passing them out and the officers were gladly taking them. Now was the time for Emma to make a move. Slipping by the edge of one barrier, she moved evenly, not too fast or too slow, so as not to attract attention. She forced her body to relax, to adopt the air that she belonged there and it was just an ordinary day.

“Hey, where do you think you're going?” a male voice shouted at her. It was one of the patrol cops. He was young and clean shaven, with the wide shoulders of a gym rat. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. Under his arms dark sweat rings soiled his short-sleeved blue uniform. He moved toward her, transferring his half-empty bottle of Jarritos soda from his right hand to his left, freeing his gun hand just in case.

Lying didn't come easy to Emma, but this was an emergency. Taking control of her jumpy nerves, she looked at the officer and said, “I was at Roble having lunch and left my car keys.”

“Roble is off limits. There's been an incident,” the cop told her as he came a few steps closer. He had a ruddy complexion and hair somewhere between red and brown on the color spectrum.

“I know,” she told him, looking sad and tragic, which was something she didn't have to fake. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of a hand. The run from Los Angeles Street had trashed any freshness she had left. “I was there when the shooting happened. The police took my information and let me go but I left my keys on my table. I really need to get home.”

He took off his sunglasses and studied her a long moment, taking in her canvas slip-on shoes, capris, and cheerful summer blouse. He even eyed her purse, which was small and slung cross-body. Without his shades, Emma saw the beginning of lines around his eyes. He wasn't as young as she first thought and might not be as gullible as a rookie. Now she was glad she looked like a summer visitor. “Okay,” he said with some reluctance. “But make it quick and come right back. If anyone stops you, tell them Hanover said it was okay.” He put his sunglasses back on and took a long drink from his soda, dismissing her.

She scurried down the street. The customers were gone. The mariachi music was silent. Uncertainty hung over the usually buoyant street like a low-hanging storm cloud. When she got to Restaurante Roble, another uniformed cop stopped her. “You can't be here, ma'am,” said the officer standing at the entrance to the patio, where the hostess podium had stood just a couple days before. The podium was near the entrance, moved out of the way. His name tag identified him simply as
Adams
. He wasn't wearing sunglasses and this one did look young to Emma. She did a quick double take, thinking he didn't even look old enough to be out of high school.

“Over here, Emma,” Granny shouted from the closed door to the restaurant. “They're just inside the door.”

“I left my car keys on the table,” Emma said to Adams. “Officer Hanover said I could come back to get them.” For emphasis, she pointed in the direction from which she'd come.

“Do you remember which table?” he asked her.

“Yes, I do. It was just inside the doorway, to the right.”

For a minute Emma thought he might go look for the keys himself, but instead he waved her past him. “Be quick about it.”

She crossed though the patio and yanked open the big double door. Just inside, where Granny said they'd be, she saw her parents. They were talking to another officer, a young Asian woman dressed in an LAPD uniform with shorts—a cop from the bicycle unit. At a nearby table, a male officer with light brown hair and also wearing shorts was taking down information from two men in business suits. “She's getting their phone number and stuff like that,” explained Granny.

Emma threw her arms around her mother, interrupting the exchange of information. Then she squeezed her father's neck. “What in the world were you two doing here?” she asked, releasing herself from Paul. Relieved to see them, now her tone was accusatory, like a parent to naughty children.

“After you raved about the food here, we decided to try it for ourselves,” Paul Miller explained. Elizabeth remained silent, looking down at her hands. Emma knew immediately that her father wasn't giving her the whole story, but she let it slide since the officer was watching.

“How did you get in here?” the officer asked Emma. Her name tag said
Rush.
In her hand was a pen poised over a small notebook.

Without answering the question directly, Emma said truthfully, “My mother texted me to come. On the way I heard about the shooting.”

“She's with me, Officer,” said a familiar voice. They all turned to see Jeremiah standing with a middle-aged Latino, who wore a suit with a badge fastened at his belt line. Jeremiah introduced him as Detective Aaron Espinoza.

“How's it coming, Officer Rush?” the detective asked the bike cop.

“Just finished,” she reported. “There's one more set of customers over there to interview, then we're done with those.” She indicated the other side of the restaurant.

For the first time, Emma noticed the state of the restaurant. Some tables were set for new customers but most contained remnants of meals in various stages. Some had plates that looked untouched; others held dirty dishes and glassware of meals in progress or finished. On her parents' table was a basket of chips with salsa and fresh utensils. It looked like they had just arrived.

“Good,” Espinoza said to the officer. “Why don't you get their information, then go? The other officers can finish up with the staff.” Officer Rush started to leave when Detective Espinoza tacked on, “And thanks for your help, both you and your partner.” Officer Rush nodded to him and went off to do her job.

“The bike cops were the first on the scene,” Detective Espinoza explained to Jeremiah. “They were having lunch right across the way at a taco stand when the call about the shooting came through.” He turned to Emma. “I understand you have some information that could have a bearing on this case.”

Emma looked from Espinoza to Jeremiah, unsure of where she stood or how much Jeremiah had told the detective.

“Did he snitch on us?” asked an indignant Granny. Hearing her words, Jeremiah looked straight at the ghost, who was next to Emma, and explained to everyone, “Aaron is my old partner. The one I had right before I retired. He works homicide now and needs to know what you know.” He moved close to Emma and whispered, “I told him what you shared with me at the restaurant about the handoff with the waiter and the animosity about the sale.” Their eyes locked and Emma knew without hearing it that Jeremiah had left out the part about Felix and Granny. “T.J. Mendoza was shot,” he added, his words quick and unembellished. “Upstairs in Rikki Ricardo's office.”

Emma gasped and plopped herself down in the chair Officer Rush had vacated. “Is he . . .”

“No,” answered Jeremiah, instinctively knowing her question. “He's at the hospital, but he's in bad shape.” He looked around. “Where's Phil?” Without waiting for an answer, Jeremiah moved over a few steps, closer to the detective. “He's the one who took the photos.”

“He dropped me off while he searched for parking,” Emma answered. She pulled out her phone and called Phil. “Where are you? T.J. Mendoza has been shot and the police want to talk to us.” She listened, then said to Jeremiah. “Phil is at the barricade near the Plaza.”

“What's this guy's name again?” Detective Espinoza asked.

“Phil Bowers,” Paul Miller answered. He was still sitting at the table, holding Elizabeth's hand to comfort her. “Bald guy in his fifties with a mustache.”

Espinoza opened the door and called to the young cop standing guard outside. He gave him instructions. Adams set off down Olvera Street to fetch Phil while Emma told Phil by phone to look for the officer. With the phone still to her ear, Emma made eye contact with Granny and whispered to the ghost, hoping Espinoza didn't hear, “Stick with Felix. Find out everything you can.”