Dead Man's Rules (22 page)

She shook her head, dismay turning her features more gray. “Nick’s dead. He was wounded in Vietnam and never recovered. Now there’s just me and his boy, Robby.”

“But you’ve heard what they say about Marco, right? Do you think he killed himself?”

The woman leaned forward on her cane, wizened face growing set, voice low and filled with disdain. “He didn’t kill himself. Naldo knew it. I think Naldo knew who did it.”

“Do you think that’s why Naldo’s dead?” Cere asked, nearly choking.

The elderly neighbor snorted. “His killin’ had nothing to do with Marco. They wanted that money. I told Naldo over and over not to keep cash around. And them gold coins he used to brag about…” The white head shook from side to side.

“Everyone knew about the money, right?”

A grizzled finger shot up. “Wait, I gotta go. I hear my story coming on.” With surprising speed, she turned and hobbled to the house.

Cere’s glance zeroed in on the brick garage. Finally! A way to tie the old death to the new murder. Looking around to make certain no one else saw her, she dug out her camera and shot video of the garage, the hole-covered lawn and the little house.

****

A relationship between Marco and Naldo! Cere couldn’t get the thought out of her head as she showered and changed into silk shorts and a matching top. She also couldn’t forget that Rafe withheld the information. With time remaining before she had to meet her mother for lunch, Cere drove back to the Gonzales garage, a faded red brick building that hugged a street corner at the edge of town. Its signs had been painted over the logo of a gasoline company now out of business. Several older model cars huddled on the cement pad in front. Open hoods yawned on two of them. The upper half of a portly body disappeared into the engine area of one while the young mechanic who had given her the keys to her car earlier twisted a wrench under the other open hood. Inside, Cere found Len working on a car engine that rested on a counter. He didn’t look particularly surprised to see her.

“May I ask you a few questions?” she asked.

Len shoved back a faded baseball cap on his head. “The rental company paid for the tire.”

“I know, but I have a couple of questions for you.”

He leaned against the counter and wiped the grease from his hands with a grimy rag, giving her his full attention. “Yeah?”

“Rafe told me someone sliced my tire.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m trying to figure out who did it. Do you suppose it might have something to do with my questions about Marco?”

Surprise widened his dark eyes and he stopped wiping his hands. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I was asking questions at the Matador the other day. I think someone followed me when I went to the Palladium last night. Even you indicated I could be asking for trouble.”

One side of his face scrunched up in a scowl. “I’m sorry for that. I was trying to scare you.”

She summoned her most forgiving tone. “Scaring the city girl, huh? But I’m serious about whether someone might not want me asking about Marco.”

He relaxed visibly, leaning back against the counter. “I can’t see anyone following you because of it. Marco got a bum deal for sure, but no one cares about it anymore. I don’t talk about it, ’cause it ain’t worth discussing. Can’t change things.”

“Did you know him well?” He seemed young to know much about Marco personally, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I was four when he died, but his songs are good. One of my cousins was talking about trying to get them published.”

“Really? I might be able to help with that. What’s your cousin’s name? I’ll call him.” She wasn’t certain what she could do, but her offer might open some doors.

“Gus. He’s working up at the Hollister Ranch so you can’t reach him. You got a card or something? I’ll have him call you.”

She pulled a card out of her purse and added her mother’s phone number. He took it and shoved it into greasy jeans. She could feel his curious eyes on her as she slid into her car and drove away. Finally, she felt like things were moving along!

****

Even the menu at the Matador with its wilted salads was no obstacle to Cere this time around. Now that she knew Frank, the owner/cook, was related to Marco, she was determined to talk to him again.

Against its background of Western music, the restaurant buzzed with voices when she entered. The same handful of men she’d met before sat at the counter, and several nodded at her. One even smiled. The waitress, Josie, handed her a menu and told her to grab any booth.

She glanced around. Her mother wasn’t there yet, and she debated whether to sit at the counter, but she saw Ginny alone at a table in the corner, a coloring book and crayons around her. She spotted Cere and smiled, waving small fingers.

Cere walked past the counter. “Hi, Ginny, why don’t you join me? Mom’s going to be here in a few minutes.”

The girl nodded, straight black hair falling across her face. Someone had made an effort to comb her hair and put in barrettes again, but again the part was crooked and one barrette clung to a thin strand of hair. The orange jeans were new, but her matching striped T-shirt bore a ketchup stain on the front. A pang of sympathy tugged at Cere as she thought of the small girl losing her mother in a shootout. Ginny’s little hand found hers and together they walked to an open booth.

She settled the girl next to her. “How are you today, Ginny?”

“Okay,” she murmured, head down. Orange polish dotted her nails. Had Rafe done that? Cere smiled at the thought. She tried to think of what to say to the girl.

“Did you see the rabbits this morning?”

Ginny’s head jerked up, long lashes fluttering. “I helped feed them.”

“Which is your favorite?”

“All of them. Mrs. Lottie said I could name them.” She waved and Cere turned to see her mother coming through the door.

Lottie swung into the booth as the waitress approached with plastic glasses of water. She put them on the table and glared at the girl. “Ginny, you’re supposed to be coloring, not bothering the customers.”

“I asked her to join us.” Cere said. “We’re becoming good friends.”

Ginny nodded enthusiastically.

“I always wished Mom had bunnies back when I was growing up,” Cere said, smoothing Ginny’s hair.

Josie still stood over them, shifting her weight back and forth impatiently. “Do you know what you want?”

“Is the
chili relleno
on special today?” Lottie asked.

“Of course.”

“We’ll split an order along with a big salad.”

“A salad?” Cere asked when Josie left with their order.

“I’ve invited Millie and your Uncle Norm and Bradley over for dinner.”

Ginny shifted to her knees and Cere couldn’t help herself. She reached over and smoothed the girl’s hair back from her face, removing the drooping barrette.

Her mother pulled a brush from her purse and held it out. “Why don’t you fix her hair? I’m sure Ginny would like that.”

Taking the brush, Cere glanced around. The table was no place for this, but lunch had not arrived, and she had a feeling ceremony was not observed in Rio Rojo. Fixing someone else’s hair was not Cere’s forte, but she brushed through the silky strands, straightening the part. Ginny sat obediently as though she was used to it. At the end, Cere finished by re-fastening both barrettes.

Lottie winked at Cere with a knowing look as she took the brush back. “I knew you had a few maternal instincts.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“How’s the coloring today?” Lottie asked, turning attention back to Ginny.

The little girl smiled. “I have a new picture for you.”

“I’d like to see it,” Lottie said.

With childish agility Ginny slid off her perch and skipped across the restaurant. She returned with a sketch pad and crayons. She climbed into the booth on Lottie’s side.

“It’s not done. I couldn’t decide on colors for the flowers.”

With the two occupied, Cere excused herself and crossed to a glass case near the front counter. It held trinkets and souvenirs, but they weren’t of interest to her. She pretended to be looking at them before turning to Jerry Orozco who was digging into a plate of green chili.

“Hi, have you heard anything new on old Naldo’s killing?”

“Nah,” he said, jerking a thumb to his left. “But me and Sam keep chasing kids away from his yard.”

“I was by there this morning and saw all the damage. Have either of you come up with any new theories on who might have done the killing?” She looked from Jerry to the round-faced Sam who sat next to him.

“You investigatin’?” Sam asked. “We saw your article. Pretty good.”

“Thank you. I want to do another one. I met his next door neighbor today. She said her grandson found the body.”

“Mz Padilla,” Jerry said with a nod, sopping up green chili with a tortilla. “Robby found him on the floor. What did she tell you?”

“Not much. I’m going to talk to him later.”

Frank came out of the kitchen, wearing a tight gray T-shirt that strained against his huge middle and was covered by a dingy apron. A white sliver of a cap sliced across the top of his thinning salt and pepper hair.

“Hello, Mr. Gonzales,” she said with a nod, hoping he’d read the blog too. “I hear your
chili rellenos
are great. That’s what my mom and I just ordered.”

His hazel eyes were wary as they examined her. There was no hint of the welcome the others had given her. He nodded and turned away to put a steaming plate of enchiladas in front of another man at the counter.

“I’d like to talk to you,” she said, leaning toward him as he neared her.

“Uh huh.” Despite the cool tone, he slowed.

“I hear you’re Marco Gonzales’ cousin?”

“So?”

“I know you don’t like answering questions, but I hear he was a talented songwriter, that he tried to do good things for the town. I hear he wouldn’t commit suicide.”

His lips tightened, but for once he didn’t walk away. “He was railroaded,” he said in a low voice. “Town leaders didn’t like his music, his ideas and blamed a bunch of robberies on him. Just like the first time. They convicted him anyway. The town would’ve deserved it if he burned down buildings, but he didn’t.”

A bell sounded and he waved his hand. “Look, I don’t have time to talk.” He stomped back to the kitchen.

Sam put a couple of bills on the counter and headed for the door, while Jerry looked more interested in his lunch. Across the restaurant, Lottie was viewing Ginny’s latest creations.

Frank’s comments had stirred her interest. Cere stepped behind the counter and followed him into the kitchen. “I understand you’re busy right now. May I set up a time to talk to you?”

The kitchen was hot and smelled of fried onions and chili. Her stomach growled, but she didn’t look to see if their order was up. Josie stood in a corner chopping vegetables for salads.

Frank didn’t look angry that she’d followed him. He gestured toward the back of the kitchen with his chin. “Listen, you want to know Marco, go look at his writing. There are a couple of clippings in the office on the bulletin board. Check the top drawer of the desk. There’s a book with some of his stuff.”

“You keep it handy?” Cere asked. After the reluctance to talk about Marco, the offer to view his work was refreshing.

“A reporter had it. His assistant just sent it back.”

“May I borrow it?” Cere held her breath, but she had to ask, knowing she might never get another chance.

He studied her for a minute and then flicked his hand. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Following his directions, she walked into a musty office. A beaten up metal desk sat along one wall, heaped with piles of folders and packets of receipts. Above it, several newspaper clippings lined a bulletin board pitted with age.

One held a picture of Marco. Despite the rumpled, yellowing paper, his face stood out. He wore a beret, his handsome features proud and regal, His dark eyes seemed to leap from the picture, fiery and alive. Another clipping showed him standing at a podium, one arm held high in a dramatic pose. She recognized it. This was the picture Riggins had used. Perhaps she could get a copy.

“Marco Gonzales urges calm at an outdoor rally,”
read the headline. She skimmed the story.

Marco Gonzales preached a message of law and order as he addressed a crowd of more than 500 Chicanos on Saturday. He told the throng that instead of shows of civil disobedience they should strive to work with law enforcement to help find perpetrators of the latest round of fires and burglaries in downtown Rio Rojo.

“Why give in to violence?” he asked. “I’ve seen what it can do to people and it doesn’t help. It won’t make you feel better. You’re law abiding citizens. You believe in truth and justice. Don’t let the lawless or The Man drive you in that direction.”

Most of the message followed that tone. But hadn’t he just come out of jail after making a pledge for revenge? Was his peaceful message aimed at everyone else while he waged a secret battle against the city?

She took down the clippings and opened the top drawer of the desk. A worn brown leather book rested on top. She opened it, recognizing one of the clippings pasted onto a yellowed page. Had this scrapbook belonged to Marco? Who had made it? Subsequent pages held pasted up pieces of typewritten copy. A shiver of excitement surged through her. She placed the clippings inside the book and before returning to the table, she carried it out to the car and stashed it in her trunk. She would just as soon not tell anyone what she had. Maybe she could convince Alan to let her do another blog in a couple of days.

Back inside, the lunch was tasty, but she kept thinking of her trunk. A ghost seemed to fill her ears, whispering to her to look through that scrapbook.

As they rose to leave, Cere turned to Ginny. “Why don’t you spend the afternoon with us?” The girl would keep Lottie busy and give Cere time to go through the scrapbook.

While her mother took Ginny and Roxie for a walk, Cere opened the scrapbook. Would she find any answers here? She was almost halfway through when her mother’s phone rang. Cere didn’t answer. Better to let it go to voice mail. She could hear if someone left a message that was an emergency—like Freeda.