Unlock the Truth

Chapter Nine

On Sunday morning, Dena sat alone in the kitchen and spooned up cereal and non-fat milk. After last night’s make-out at the lake, she couldn’t wait to see how Zeke would handle things today.

She wasn’t going home. On that subject, she was clear.

She had a cup of fresh brewed coffee in one hand and unfolded The Desert Sun newspaper with the other. She took a swallow of coffee, then put the mug down like it bit her. Liquid sloshed onto the table, and she dabbed at it with a paper napkin, her heart pounding. There was an article about Susie in the paper. She scanned it again. No mention of Zeke. That was good.

She froze at the next article. It was about the young man in custody for the rape of a college student. She knew the story. Manny’s friend. He was Caucasian, which surprised her after Manny’s accusation that Latinos were blamed for everything that went wrong in the valley.

“Hey,” Zeke said. “Chowing down, huh?”

Dena grasped her coffee mug before she spilled it again. “You startled me—”

“Sorry.”

He stood across from her in rumpled sweats and a creased white t-shirt, wearing socks and no shoes, and a wide grin. Being shoeless was probably why she hadn’t heard him sneak up on her. She stared him up and down.

“Did you sleep in those clothes?” she asked, and frowned.

He laughed. “No, I don’t wear clothes to bed.”

She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. Way too much information, but her thoughts went back there for one more glimpse…dirty little thoughts.

“Coffee’s fresh,” she said, and almost added “and so are you,” but this was the happiest he’d been since she’d arrived. She wasn’t about to change that.

“It’s Sunday,” Zeke said. “I always have pancakes. It’s Irma’s day off, and the only chance I get to play in the kitchen. Are you interested?”

She chewed another mouthful of cereal. “Sure. What kind?”

“Blueberry.”

“Yum…my favorite.”

She eyed him with amusement as he pulled out a mixing bowl and ingredients. Who’d have figured Zeke Cabrera would know his way around the kitchen? She stacked the advertising supplements for the local stores and mega-markets into a tidy pile. She’d go through those next, not that she needed to buy anything, but it was always fun to browse.

“There’s an article in the paper, about Manny’s friend.”

“Oh, he told you?” Zeke asked, but he didn’t look up.

“Yes, yesterday. I have to admit, I expected the guy to be a Latino male. I thought Manny ran with a gang.” She rustled the newspaper, shook her head. She sounded racist, and that made her squirm. She’d never thought of herself that way.

“It’s not a gang,” Zeke muttered. “Just a bunch of college friends—”

“I know. I was just repeating something Irma said.” Dena tapped at the paper with one finger. “There’s a small article on Susie. Nothing mentioned about you.”

He kept his back to her. She watched his shoulders stiffen. He added ingredients to the mixing bowl and then picked up a whisk.

“Where the heck is the horoscope in this paper?” Dena asked.

“Classifieds,” Zeke said, and turned to face her. “Why? What do you think yours will say?”

Dena gave a casual shrug. “Maybe ‘you’ll be run out of town by a guy named Rocky.’”

He shot her a quick look, shook his head, and laughed.

She turned to the classified section and found the astrological forecasts.

“Here we go: Some are lucky at finding love today; others will renew or strengthen a commitment. Job recognition is a distinct possibility.”

“What sign are you?” he asked, stirring the blueberries gently into the batter. He flicked a tiny amount of water onto the greased griddle and it sizzled.

“Libra. You?”

“Leo. Read mine.” He dropped spoons of batter onto the griddle.

“Leo? Okay, here it is: It’s a strong day for business affairs, and responsible types will see profits and advances. Be happy to put in the time and success will be yours.” She glanced up. “Oh, that’s fabulous. You’re going to love what I have to say on the art fair.”

Zeke turned around and gave her a skeptical look. “You made that up. Let me see.” He reached across the table and made a grab for the paper.

Dena pulled the paper away and grinned. “I did not—”

“I’ll bet you did.” He waved the spoon around, and dripped batter onto the floor and splattered tiny drops onto the table. Two landed on her forearm. He put the spoon down and made another grab for the paper.

“It’s all about work with you, isn’t it?” he asked.

Dena shook her head. “Nope, you’ve got that wrong—”

“Well, you’re as determined as hell. And look at how you’ve organized the damn coupons.”

“Yeah, I know. Can’t seem to help that.” She straightened a couple of coupon piles, slowly licked the drops of batter off her arm, and looked into his green-hazel eyes with a smile. “Determined…but not about work…I want to stay here.”

Her smile froze when she saw his frown, and she pressed her lips tight. She’d said too much. Would he still turn her away?

Zeke managed to grab the paper, but his eyes lingered on her damp arm for a few seconds. He read the horoscope aloud, and then raised his head. “You’re right. That’s what it says.”

“Pancakes need to be flipped.”

He gave a quick shake of his head and hurried to the stove. She fanned herself with her napkin. She hadn’t meant to lick the batter in a suggestive way, but hey, if it stoked his fire.

A short while later he slid a plate with a three stack toward her, and pulled up a seat opposite hers. He offered butter and maple syrup. Maybe he hadn’t heard what she’d said about staying, because he hadn’t reacted, other than that frown. But he frowned easily.

She cut into the pancakes and took a bite. “Mmmm, Zeke, these are fabulous,” she said, around a mouthful. “The blueberries are huge, and tart, and just the way I like them.”

The man made her crazy. She was even talking with her mouth full. She closed her eyes for a moment and savored the taste.

“So, I guess you’re staying for the morning?” he asked.

She opened her eyes just as he shoved a giant mound of food into his mouth and chewed.

Dena nodded and took another bite. So, he had heard her comment and now made it clear that she couldn’t stay any longer. Darn. She’d find a way. They ate in companionable silence and within minutes they both sat back with happy sighs.

“What should we do first?” Zeke asked, and poured another mug of coffee. “Can I top yours up?”

“Thanks.” Dena slid her mug toward him. “First on the agenda is we go to Posada del Gato Negro and examine the art work.” She smiled. “I love saying that. Love that name.”

Zeke swallowed hard a couple of times, and she saw his Adams apple bob up and down. He picked up his coffee mug and drained it. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

He stood and began to clear dishes.

What had her horoscope said about finding love? Hah. Not likely. She could feel him slip further and further away with every second, as if the ghosts from his past had resurfaced. He must hate that casita. Did it have ghosts?

“Thanks for breakfast. Shall I meet you back here in twenty minutes?” she asked, and stood.

He spun around, his eyes wide. “Ah—”

“It will be best to get an early start.”

“Make it thirty minutes,” he said, and rubbed at the bristles on his jaw line. “I need to take a shower and stuff.”

****

“I love the place.” Dena smiled so wide she thought her face might split. She clapped her hands together like a kid in a candy shop. “I really, really, love it.”

Zeke stood rigidly just inside the front door of his mother’s studio, like he expected her ghost to leap out and attack him. The place was dusty. His mother had died here, and she guessed he’d just locked the door and walked away.

“Sorry, it’s a bit untidy,” he said, and ventured one step closer to the living room.

“Nothing a little elbow grease can’t fix. Why do you keep everything locked up at the estate?”

He looked perplexed.

“The gates at the entry to Three C’s, the gates at the front courtyard.” She waved her arms around. “The side gates to the hacienda, the padlock on the gate to this casita?”

She walked over to the small bistro table with the four black iron-backed chairs, pulled one out, and sat. “You know the whole place is so…well, locked up so tight.”

Zeke scratched at his head and blinked hard at her questions. He looked baffled, as if he’d never noticed.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I guess it was a security thing my mother did, after my father died. It’s always been done this way, and—”

“Maybe it’s time to change,” Dena said softly, and assessed the tiny kitchen space where a black wrought-iron cat took up most of one wall. She understood why Zeke’s mother spent more time here than in the big house. It was comfortable, cozy.

Zeke entered the living area, picked up a magazine, shook it, and then leafed through it. Dena walked over to the bedroom and stood in the doorway.

She’d died here. Isabella Cabrera. She’d spent her last days in this room, in that bed.

Sadness washed over her, but she shook it off. It was all good. Everyone had to die somewhere. She walked inside, smoothed the duvet cover, and wondered if she would have liked the woman, if they would have become friends.

“Might as well test that, too,” Zeke said dryly, coming up behind her. He nodded toward the double bed.

Dena knew she’d been acting like a kid in awe of everything but wondered why Zeke would allow her to sit on the bed. She sat gingerly on the side of it, and bounced once. “It’s nice.”

She got up and checked the bathroom. There were perfume bottles, candles, potpourri and bath salts. It was feminine, romantic. “How pretty,” she called over her shoulder. “This is definitely a woman’s place.”

Back in the small L-shaped living area she drank in the ambience again, and ignored the dust. The four dark pink armchairs faced in toward a large wooden coffee table. The walls were soft yellow. Dark wood beams crossed the ceiling. The sun shone through the honey-colored plantation shutters and cast a warm glow over the room. Most of the furniture had a touch of black wrought iron, yet it wasn’t as severe or masculine a style as in the main house.

“Where are the paintings?” she asked.

Zeke pointed toward small boxes lined up alongside the wall. Disappointment crept in. They were such small boxes, and she’d hoped for large canvases.

“The bigger ones are in the bedroom closet. Those boxes,” he said, and waved a hand toward them again. “They hold the smaller paintings. Some of them are sets, or suites, or whatever she called them.”

Dena only half-heard him as she hurried back into the bedroom, opened the closet, and let out a huge sigh. “Oh, perfect. Fantastic.”

There had to be at least thirty paintings, some framed, some not. There were no clothes or personal belongings of Isabella’s. She pulled out one canvas, propped it on the bed against the pillows, and took a few steps backward, admiring the work from every angle.

“Mom sure had talent,” Zeke said from the doorway.

“She did. This is amazing.” Dena waved toward the painting of what she assumed was the Santa Rosa Mountains. “Did all of her art have a local flavor?”

“Far as I know.”

“Zeke,” she said softly. “Your mother wouldn’t be against selling the paintings for charity, would she?”

“No.” He pulled a couple of canvases out, and a flash of pride washed across his face and softened his features. “I’ll display these in the living room, prop them up on the chairs—”

“The reason is—” Dena said, and a burst of pleasure from his appreciative gaze at his mother’s work filled her chest. She picked up two paintings, and followed him. “I wouldn’t want to violate her artistic belief.”

“Mom always had a canvas or two on display in a local restaurant,” he said, and arranged several pieces of work on the chairs. “She loved to make a sale.”

“Good.” Dena grinned, and then clasped her hands together. “That was what I wanted to hear.”

He watched her for a moment, his gaze hot and sultry. She felt a quiver of pleasure shoot through her insides. She wished he’d walk over and kiss her again, like he had last night. He seemed to appraise her as much as his mother’s paintings.

“You look good in here,” he said after a few moments. “It definitely is a woman’s place.”

“Yes. I can sense your mother’s love for it—”

“Mom would want me to clear the family name,” Zeke said, and picked up a smaller canvas. “She’d approve of your plan. You know, she married Dad young—barely nineteen and new to this country—but she was more Cabrera than my father, if that was possible.”

That had been quite a speech for Zeke. He’d warmed up to her, and now he offered insights into his life and his family. She wouldn’t push. In fact she’d decided earlier to temper some of her own comments. Be less spontaneous and inquisitive.

She’d be sensitive to Zeke’s needs, and let him set the pace. At least she planned on doing that, if she got to stay. And she needed to stay because she felt the beginning of something opening up, an offering of information in Carli’s and Susie’s murders. It was from an intuitive level, and she had no idea where the energy came from, either from Zeke, the casita, or her new found sense of self.

Half an hour later Dena knew at least ten of the paintings needed new frames, and some had never been framed. She pulled out the last two and gasped.

“Zeke, did you see this one?”

He crossed the room and peered over her shoulder.

“It’s José,” he said, as stunned as she was. He took the two by three foot canvas, propped it on the bed, and stepped back. Dena reached over, rubbed his upper arm. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat. “Mom must have done this in her last year. I can tell by his age. She captured him well.” He stroked the picture, as if stroking José’s nose.

“Was it meant as a gift for you?” Dena asked.

“She never said—”

“Sometimes mothers don’t say, they just do things, and leave clues.” She smiled up at him. “Did your mother have someone who framed her paintings?”

“Maybe Rocky, he’s handy with stuff like that—”

“I’m going to have this one framed for you.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I’d like that. There’s one of those Express framing places up near Point Happy.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t really want anyone to see what we’ve got, not yet. We’ll need to inventory all of these, title them—”

“There are long folding tables somewhere. Irma should know where they are. I’ll call her. She’ll be home from church soon.”

“Good.” Dena smiled at Zeke’s excitement. This was going to be so good for him. “We’ll have to frame many of the pictures and then assess their value. We’ll find a place to hold the art fair. Do the advertising, and—”

Zeke laughed and caught her hand. “I love your enthusiasm,” he said, then stilled and stared into her eyes. “Thank you, Dena.”

They were so close they could have kissed. She wanted him to kiss her, but he didn’t. So much for horoscopes; maybe the finding love thing was about the casita. She loved it. She hesitated, but her inner voice nudged at her to proceed. She might never solve the mystery surrounding Carli’s death, but she had to try.

“Um, Zeke, I’m wondering about something else.”

“Go ahead, ask.”

“If Rocky doesn’t approve of me living at the big house, I could clean up the casita for you and stay in here. It would save me money. We could work on the project together.”

His shoulders stiffened. “Mom spent her last days here.”

“I know, but that doesn’t bother me. I like the place. I feel a certain comfort,” she said, and softened her voice. “I can sense your mother. It would help me…so I can get in touch with her energy and best present her work, and—”

“Mom was kind of private.” He pushed at the edge of a painting with his boot and stared at the propped canvases. “I don’t…don’t feel anything…any connection.”

He waved his arms around at the room, and his face flushed with tension. “She’d become almost reclusive by the time I went to college. Every time I came home, the gap between us widened.”

Dena held her breath and her position, hearing the hurt and anger in his voice. She let her breath out through barely parted lips. This was good. Was he finally fighting for his rightful place? She sensed he hadn’t spoken with anyone about his mother. He frowned even deeper, and then turned to look at the paintings again. “I hardly knew her. She had this place, her art, that’s all she lived for. She hardly ever slept in the hacienda—”

“So when you came home, you lived there alone?” she asked, and sat on the armrest of one of the chairs.

“Yeah, but I never stayed for long. It’s not much different to how things are now—”

“The hacienda is kind of big, and empty.”

He shrugged. “Manny stays over.” He gave a short laugh that ended in a derisive snort. “My best buddy is an eighteen-year-old who runs with a wild crowd.”

Dena smiled. “I like Manny.”

“He’s a good kid. I try to help him in that big brother way.” Zeke shrugged again. “You can’t lecture to kids, it turns them away, makes them defensive. I’ve been trying to tell Irma that but she just grabs him and cuffs him when he misbehaves.”

She loved that he was opening up, and she felt the bonds of trust build between them. Guilt, over not having told him Carli was her sister, still bothered her. But one thing at a time, first she had to get him to let her stay for a while. Then she’d tell him.

“I walked in on an argument yesterday,” she said.

Zeke raised an eyebrow. “About going back to college?”

“Yep.”

“He doesn’t like being restricted, hates to sit in one spot for long. He needs a job with a high interest level, where he can use his people skills, and—”

“I offered him a job,” Dena said. “I told him if you let me stay, I’d hire him. He’s psyched about it. So is Irma.”

Zeke raised both of his eyebrows. “You move fast.”

“I do.”

“I used to be like that, but now—” He picked up a small painting and stared at it, then put it down. “Manny’s smart. We play a game of chess together. Or ride in the evening. But listen, if he works for you, I’m paying his salary. Deal?”

“You don’t have to. Besides, I thought it would seem more like a real job if I did.” She shrugged. “Coming from you it might—”

“Seem like a handout, I understand.” Zeke smiled. “So, you pay him, but I’ll pay you. He’s going to go places once he gets himself figured out.”

“You like him, trust him, right?”

Surprise registered. “Absolutely.”

“Good. I saw the photograph of his friend. The one accused of rape.” Her voice cracked with emotion. Tears threatened and she blinked hard. “I didn’t read the entire article, couldn’t—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He eased her up off the arm of the chair and pulled her close, pressed her head against his chest while he rubbed a hand up and down her back.

Dena felt like nestling closer, but maintained restraint. Being able to inhale his scent, feel the protection from his arms, was enough for now.

“Manny’s not bad like that. But he is loyal to his friends. That’s what scares me,” Zeke murmured into her hair. “I’d love to get him set up with something solid before I go back to L.A.”

“Okay. We’ll figure out payment later.”

Dena moved away a couple of steps and gazed out the window. Hearing Zeke talk of abandoning this place made her heart twinge. She couldn’t imagine him not being here, not tending to this farm. Her eyes roamed over the pool, the stables, and beyond to the pastures that spread toward the citrus groves that almost touched the mountains. There was a richness of culture, both Latino and Native American, that she longed to explore. How could Zeke not feel that, not like his heritage? Cabrera’s had farmed this land for three generations. She turned slowly, and looked up into his face. “So, what do you think? Can I live in the casita?”

“Sure.” He smiled down at her. “That should appease Rocky. Let’s get back to the hacienda and make a few calls. The phone down here has been turned off. I’ll call tomorrow for a reconnect.”

“Good,” she said, and strode along beside him. “In the meantime I have my cell phone. I forgot my charger, but it should last a day or two.”

“Then it’s a done deal.” Zeke grinned.

“I’ll clean the place today, and tomorrow we’ll start work. Do you have Manny’s phone number?”

“What do you need him for?”

Dena smiled. “I want to tell him he’s hired.”