Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bagels & Salsa

Austin, Texas, 2012

I sleep most of the flight home from New York. As my plane taxis toward the gate in Austin, I stare out the window at twinkling lights, thinking of Ben. I can imagine the sounds of Bob Dylan and Van Morrison blasting from his van’s Bose speakers on the long drive home to Arizona. What would life be like if I’d gone to Tucson with him instead of returning to Eduardo in Austin? A ridiculous fantasy. No way would I do something so insane. Ben Franklin Jones. Still hot as an erupting volcano.

Eduardo is waiting for me in baggage claim. He’s shaved off his mustache and looks younger, almost boyish. He places a light peck on my lips. The tender, comfortable smooch of a couple married twenty-five years. A contrast to a couple of teens in front of us sharing the hot kiss of newly found love. What would it be like to kiss Ben? I must stop this line of thinking.

Eduardo grabs my roll-on. “I missed you.”

I squeeze his free hand. “I’ve just been gone a few days.”

There’s comfortable banter between us as we walk to the parking lot. Ed tells me there was an announcement in the
Austin American Statesman
this morning about Darlene’s promotion to V.P. He opens the Acura trunk and throws my bag inside. As we speed down Ben White Boulevard, the chitchat ends. After twenty minutes of silence, Ed clears his throat. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I feel my face puff like a blowfish and sit back in my seat. The words keep tripping on my tongue and nothing comes out. “I have a migraine right now. I promise we’ll talk when we get home.”

“I’m not waiting any longer than tonight,” he says. Eduardo is a patient man. He turns on the radio and we spend the next half hour listening to
NPR
before pulling into the driveway of our lakefront house.

My dog Willow runs in circles at the sight of me. She shadows me to the deck where I plop down on my favorite lounge chair. A banana-shaped moon shimmers over the water.

Eduardo arrives with a glass of Mondavi Cabernet, hands it to me. “Are you hungry? I can make tacos.”

“Are there any bagels in the freezer?”

He slides open the door to the house. “Toasted with cream cheese?”

“Sounds good.”

He returns with the bagel, chips and salsa for himself. “So how was the funeral?”

“Very sad.”

Again silence. A mosquito prickles my arm. I slap it silly, then drag my chair closer to Eduardo’s. Where do I start? “Here’s the deal. I spent my first year of college in Connecticut, then transferred to New Mexico with Katie.”

He rubs his neck. “And that’s why the private detective paid us a visit? Are you running for office perhaps?”

“That’s cute.”

He stands and swats a fly on his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me that before you left for New York?”

I swallow. “There’s more.” I tell him about Joey’s disappearance.

“That involves you in some way?”

Small hairs rise on the back of my neck. Once again I contemplate spilling my guts. Yet I fear losing my husband if he finds out the truth. Better to stay quiet. On the other hand, Eduardo and I have never had secrets. Well, except for this.

The sound of door chimes interrupts my response. Ed offers to see who is there. I retreat to my bedroom and press the intercom button. A female voice speaks to Ed in Spanish. He invites her upstairs to our main living area and offers her coffee. How strange is this?

“Laila, there’s a woman here who wants to talk to you,” he shouts.

I check myself out in the mirror, splash cold water on my face, and run a comb through my tangled hair before walking to the kitchen where they’re seated. I’m surprised to find a striking Hispanic woman with long black hair and a body like Salma Hayek at the table. She speaks in Spanish to my husband, as he places a cup of espresso in front of her.

Neither of them notice me. Their voices are hushed. She brushes my husband’s hand with her finger. “
Mi mamá no va a creer como guapo seas todavía, despues de tantos años.
”

Three years of rusty high school Spanish tells me she said something about her mother not believing how handsome my husband still is. I go behind her chair and tap her shoulder. “Does your mother know Eduardo?”

She snakes her body around to face me. “You must be Laila.”

I extend my hand. “And you are?”

“Juanita Sanchez.” She shakes my hand, then gazes at my husband.

“Funny coincidence,” Eduardo says. “Juanita’s mother and mine grew up together.”

She glows. “When Eduardo graduated from high school, I was still a child. I used to have a girlhood crush on him. Silly, no?”

“A riot,” I say.

“You do remember my mother’s friend, Virgie?” Ed says.

I recall an overweight woman decked out in turquoise jewelry speaking Spanish to my mother-in-law in her kitchen. “Yes, vaguely.” I turn to Juanita. “So what are you doing here in Austin?”

“That’s the coincidence. I came here to see
you
.” She passes me her card.

Juanita Sanchez, Private Investigator

Juanita Bonita Detective Agency

409 San Mateo Blvd, NE, Albuquerque, New Mexico

www.Juanitabonitadetective.com
(505) 789-9876

“Clever company name,” I say.

“
Sí,
it stands out in the Yellow Pages.”

I glare at my husband. “This certainly is a coincidence.”

Eduardo smiles, revealing his one dimple. “Juanita is the detective who paid a visit while you were in New York.”

“Funny you didn’t mention that you two knew each other when we spoke on the phone.”

“You didn’t ask,” he says with a stupid grin.

I rotate my eyes. “Cute.”

Juanita interrupts our banter. “I have a few questions for you about the disappearance of Joey Costello.”

Beads of sweat form above my lip. “Who hired you?”

“My client prefers to remain anonymous,” she says.

“Why should I talk to you?”

“Because I have enough evidence to reopen Joey’s missing-person case. And I have friends at the
FBI
. Better to talk to me than get them involved.”

I consider my options. Is there a statute of limitations on a missing person’s case? If only I knew what Chris told her.

Juanita takes out a stiff black notebook from her briefcase. Who doesn’t use a laptop or iPad these days? Perhaps she’s all volume and no content. A few pecans short of a fruitcake? Wishful thinking on my part.

“I believe you and your friends know what happened to Joey when he disappeared the night before the Kent State shootings,” she says with conviction.

“Believe what you like,” I say.

“Chris said that he and Denise were
your
friends, not his.”

Ben warned me about this. “I have no comment.”

“Did you make a cross-country trip to New Mexico the day after the Kent State shootings? The day after Joey disappeared?” So much for underestimating Juanita Bonita. She’s done her homework.

“I went to school at
UNM
in Albuquerque. I’m sure you already know that.”

She glances at Eduardo, then down at her notebook. A tendril of black hair falls in her face, which she sweeps back. “So you have no idea what happened to Joey?”

“No.”

Eduardo interrupts. “Can I get you more coffee, Juanita? Some food perhaps?”


Juanita smiles at him. One of her bottom teeth is chipped. Not that I’m looking for defects. “
No, gracias
.” She circles back to me. “Exactly what is your relationship with Ben Franklin Jones?”

I let out my breath. “You’re grasping at straws.” She knows way more than I ever imagined. “Perhaps you should leave.”

Ed looks at me. “That’s rude, Laila.”

My eyes burn. “Have you been listening to what’s going on here?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m trying to figure that out,” Ed says defiantly.

Juanita slams her notebook shut. “
Está bien.
I’ll say
buenos noches
for now.
Marca mis palabras
.”

What’s with the Spanish?

Eduardo offers to escort her downstairs.

“No, let me,” I say. Willow follows us to a baby-blue Ford Mustang convertible. I assume she lucked out with a great rental, but then notice the yellow Land of Enchantment plates. “Nice wheels. Long drive from Albuquerque though.”

“I don’t like airplanes much.”

“Neither does Ed.”

She laughs. “Must be a Sabinal thing.” Sabinal is the small ranching town where they both grew up. “We’re happy to stay put on our ranches. Our ancestors have lived there for over three hundred years.”

“Ed likes travel, just not flying. We went to Italy and Greece for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary last year.”

“I’m sure Eduardo did you a big favor. Our
familias
have little interest in Europe.”

She strikes a nerve. While Ed enjoyed himself, he flew white-knuckled the whole thirteen hours despite a horse-dose of Xanax. It may be hard to get him on a plane again.

“Eduardo has no idea how wild you were back in the day, does he?”

“You don’t know me or my husband.”

“This much I know about Eduardo. He would not approve.”

“I assume Denise hired you initially. But who’s paying you now that she’s dead?”

She opens the driver’s door of the Mustang. “If I were you
, Señora,
I’d tell me the truth of what happened that night. Your
amigos viejos
will betray you.”

She’s struck another nerve. No way can I trust Chris. Or Ben for that matter.

After Juanita peels off, Eduardo and I barely speak. I can’t believe he doesn’t comprehend that Juanita Bonita is out to destroy me. On the other hand, how can I blame him when I’ve omitted so much. I empty the dishwasher, then rattle around the kitchen wiping countertops, polishing the stovetop, scrubbing the sink for the third time.

Eduardo works on his laptop redoing estimates for a remodel job for one of the rental properties.

Time to make peace. I open the refrigerator and yell, “Wanna beer?”

He turns up behind me. “When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I thought your girlfriend had filled you in on everything.”

“Knock it off, Laila. You’re using her to avoid telling me what the hell happened.”

“Do you realize she’s trying to ruin me?”

“If I knew what you did, I might be more sympathetic.”

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“What else haven’t you told me these last twenty-five years?”

“Ef you.” I feel like a hypocrite. A part of me wants to break the pact and share everything that happened. My marriage is at stake. Maybe worse.

Ed retreats to our bedroom and slams the door behind him.

I pour a glass of Chardonnay and head to the deck with Willow trailing behind. Hundreds of stars scintillate above. Willow jumps on the lounge chair and nuzzles next to me. A pungent smell of barbeque from the neighbor’s gas grill sifts through the air. I’ve worked so hard to make my life turn out like this. Eduardo, the boys, this amazing lake house we designed and built together. A few more years at
LBJ
and I can retire and look forward to grandchildren and travel. Will my dark past ruin my marriage and future happiness?

I head to the bathroom where I undress, then tiptoe into the bedroom and slip under the covers.

Eduardo stirs and turns toward me. “You still mad?”

“Who says I was mad?”

“You generally don’t cuss unless you’re really pissed at me, no?”

“How come you didn’t offer
me
any food?” I ask.

He touches my cheek. “So you were jealous?”

I push his hand away. “No way.”

“Admit it. This is a first,” he says.

“Okay, maybe, a tiny bit. But you weren’t on my side. That’s a first.”

“I am on your side,” he says. “But I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened.”

I choose my words carefully. “This guy Joey was my roommate Denise’s boyfriend.”

“The one whose funeral you just went to in New York?”

“Yes. He disappeared the day before Kent State. Some people thought he may have gone out to Ohio and got caught up in that. He was very political.”

“Juanita said you took off cross-country after Kent State.”

Once again I pause before speaking. Nothing I say is a lie although there are some omissions. “Katie and I had already applied to
UNM
. When the Kent State massacre happened, Bridgeport closed along with a lot of other universities. We decided to head out to New Mexico early.”

“And Denise?”

“She stayed behind.”

“Why does Juanita think you’re mixed up in this guy Joey’s disappearance?”

“Denise’s suicide has brought the whole thing up again. Joey’s mother was at the funeral.”

“My God, Laila. You didn’t mention she committed suicide.”

Oops.
“It, er, was too painful for me to talk about.”

He sits up in bed. “Damn it, Laila. What else have you omitted?”

“Nothing. That’s it. I drove cross-country with Katie to go to
UNM
.”