Dead Man's Rules (30 page)

Would Rafe notice? Why did she care what he thought anyway? Was this a real date? Or just a payback for babysitting? Besides, she didn’t have time for frivolity. She had more serious things on her mind.

Ginny settled onto the bench beside him. His big fingers began fixing her bows, which were falling again.

“Did you behave?” he asked.

Ginny’s young face was solemn as she nodded. “I fed the bunnies and Roxie, and Cere fixed me a peanut butter sandwich and an apple.”

Cere shrugged at his questioning look. “After you called to say not to bring her until seven, I decided she needed to eat.”

“Can I go play?” Ginny asked.

“Sure. Grandma’s coming to get you in a few minutes.”

Ginny slid off the bench and hopped over to the play area in the back of the restaurant. Cere glanced around, surprised at the thinning crowd.

“Is it always this quiet? I’d have thought this place really got going once the sun went down.”

“People eat early. It’s busiest at five. I’m sorry I’m late. That happens…”

“You’re talking to a journalist, Tafoya.” She leaned across the table, speaking in a low voice so no one could hear. “Anything I need to know? Like about Diaz?”

He grunted and leaned forward too, clasping his hands together. “There’s something there, but I can’t pin it down. He’s not working at Tres Padres. They’re contracting out their project to a Santa Fe company. I called them, but he’s not on their work rolls. It looks like that parcel of land may be privately owned through some deal that I haven’t been able to track down. All I know is the owner is from Dallas, and that’s where he’s from so maybe he works for them.”

Before Cere could reply, Frank brought out an order for a customer and waved toward their booth.

“Hey, Rafe, Cere, be with you in a minute.”

“Take your time,” Rafe called back. “Just get Ginny a little cheeseburger to go.”

“Actually I’m not very hungry,” Cere admitted. The thought of food, even one of Frank’s delicious bowls of chili, didn’t appeal to her.

He seemed to sense her unease. “Something wrong?”

Cere tugged at her lip, not certain how to tell him what had happened.

“Did you find something in the songs?”

In reply she removed an envelope from her bag and poured the contents on the table. The broken crystal of her watch and its insides made a tinny sound as they rolled across the surface.

“You found it?” Surprise turned to anger. “You didn’t take Ginny to the Palladium and then instruct her to tell me that story about the rabbits.”

Cere licked her lips and swallowed hard, trying to get some saliva into her dry mouth. “It came in the mail.” She turned over the envelope and pointed at her name and address.

“You’re thinking whoever locked you in the room sent it?”

“It had to be. How else would they know it was mine?” Cere pulled out the note that accompanied the watch and handed it to him.

Rafe read it over, handsome face tense and concerned. “Damn, this is getting crazy.”

“It’s worse,” she admitted.

“Huh?” A frown furrowed his brow, and Rafe glanced quickly around the room, as though afraid their words would be overheard.

The time had come to be totally honest. “I told you about the message warning me not to look into the Marco case? The other day someone called the house and left another—that if I keep asking about Marco, I could end up like Naldo.”

Trouble brewed in his dark eyes as he slid the contents back into the envelope. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about that call as soon as it happened? Or this? Maybe you should give up on the story.”

“I knew that’s what you’d say. That’s why I kept quiet. Don’t you think this is further proof the deaths are related? Maybe that’s why they’re trying to stop me.”

“Whoever sent this watch wants you to stop investigating. It could be the person who hid the box, but we don’t know that. Nor do we know it’s the same person who warned you off Marco or who shot Naldo. I can’t deal in supposition, Cere. I need facts.”

“Why would two people do the same thing? Leave messages like that? I’ve been thinking. Maybe the money in that box was the stolen cash, Marco’s treasure.”

“You’re not thinking of putting that theory into your story, are you?” His disgusted tone left no question of what he thought.

“I’m just trying to come up with different ideas.” Cere pressed her hands together, trying to shake off the feeling of unease she’d had ever since receiving the envelope.

Frank came out of the back and approached the table, carrying plastic glasses of water and two menus. “Got the cheeseburger going. Do you need menus?”

“I’m just going to have green chili,” Cere said, despite her lack of hunger.

“I’ll have the
carne asada
,” Rafe said, “and can you bring us a big manila envelope if you have one?”

Frank looked from one to the other. “Envelope? Yeah, sure, I got some in the back.”

When he was gone, Cere leaned forward again. “So you recognize that it’s evidence.”

“I’m being thorough but I’m not going to get involved in a wild goose chase trying to link Marco to Naldo’s death. I don’t think they’re related.” His dark eyes shot arrows at her across the table, face becoming set, a nerve pulsing along his jawline.

Frank returned with a large manila envelope and handed it to Rafe. Once Frank turned back toward the counter, Rafe used a napkin to lift the other enveloped by a corner. He slid it into the larger mailer and sealed it.

“It may be a long shot, but I’ll send it to the crime lab in Santa Fe. We found the watch band in the same room as the box so it stands to reason the watch was there too. Has anyone else touched this envelope? Your mom? Freeda?”

“No. Think about it, Rafe, if they aren’t related, you could have two killers in Rio Rojo. No one wants to think that violence happens here. It’s why everyone is so eager to say Marco committed suicide. But Naldo’s death shows bad things do happen.”

Rafe looked away, hands clenched on the table. “You don’t know what it’s like to fear you can’t keep the people around you safe. I’m supposed to keep order. That’s my job. To look out for people.”

Her fingers slid over his fists. “You’re doing your job, but you can’t make the world perfect. Even here.”

His dark eyes flashed on her angrily as he jerked away. “You do your stories and never worry about people getting hurt. You don’t realize there are real people behind those stories.”

His anger stunned her. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“Do you ever think about it? When you chased that actor kid, did you consider you might be hurting him? That you were invading his privacy when you interrupted what should have been a happy, private moment of homecoming?”

“You’re changing the subject. What about Naldo? Are you ignoring the truth so you can pretend this is a safe town?”

He flinched as though she had delivered a major blow.

“You can’t save the world, Rafe, any more than you could save your wife. You do your job and keep order as best as possible.”

He grunted, shaking his head. “You’ll never understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand why you won’t help me. Even just a little.”

Behind him, the door opened with a jingle of the bell and he turned as his mother entered and walked toward them. Rafe’s face softened in a look of relief and he rose to kiss her cheek when she got to the table.

“Thanks for coming to get Ginny, Mom. Frank’s fixing her a burger.”

Stella placed long burgundy nails on the edge of the table and smiled as her dark eyes swept from one to the other. “You two have a nice dinner. What do you think of his new look, Cere?
Muy guapo
, no?”

Cere grinned back and put her thumb and forefinger together in a gesture of approval while Rafe’s face grew red.

“I’ll go get Ginny for you.”

Once Stella and Ginny were gone, Frank brought out their meals. The spicy fragrance of chili and the smoky scent of grilled meat drifted up in a pleasing aroma, but Cere wasn’t hungry. Rafe dug into his meat, chewing slowly, but she only pushed the pork and chili around. Finally she tapped her spoon on the bowl.

“There’s something else I need to tell you.”

He put down his fork, a look of resignation on his face. “I was hoping that break finished that discussion.”

“Last night after the party, while I was cleaning up I swear I saw a boot print outside the yard. The same one from the hill by the Palladium.” She grew cold just saying the words.

“Is it still there? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“It was gone this morning. That was why I haven’t said anything, but think about it, the person who was shooting at us could have been at our party. Or peeking in from outside the gate. I thought I saw Diaz’s car parked down the block.”

“Cere…”

“Okay, okay,” she said holding up her hands. “I know, I’m accusing him again, but to be honest, I don’t know or remember half the people at the party, but one of them may be the person sending these notes. Think about that person in your safe little town.”

He stiffened and his jaw tightened but he didn’t answer. Fire rose in his dark eyes and for an instant she feared an angry reaction. Instead when he finally spoke, his words came out in a low monotone.

“Okay. Marco’s sister was probably the person closest to him, besides Naldo. Her son has the letters he sent her. He let me read a couple, but they were so private, I couldn’t keep reading, and I sure as hell wasn’t giving them to Riggins. Gus might show them to you if I call him.” His black eyes swiveled around to catch hers, pulling her in until she felt like she was drowning.

She dropped her gaze, her body warm. “I’ve called him, but Len told me he’s working up at a ranch. I’ve left several messages, but he’s never returned my calls.”

“I’ll call him and ask him to answer your questions.”

“Thanks.” She reached over and touched his hand, and he turned his hand up and caught her fingers, giving them a slight squeeze. Her heart began to thud as he smiled and winked.

“Maybe you deserve a little help. You did take care of Ginny for me. Who knows when I’ll need another favor.”

Sparks of fire ignited on her skin from her hairline to her toes. The fingers he still held were on fire. “Remember that, Sheriff.”

“But can we change the subject? Isn’t there anything else we can talk about?”

Her heart was thudding and she held onto his hand, squeezing it. She felt a smile splash across her face, like the sun bursting through a cloud. Another idea hit her, a safer one. “I keep hearing about Tres Padres. Is there anything you know about it? You said they’re-building.”

“No ghosts out there,” he said.

She slapped his hand away playfully. “I might want to do a blog.”

“There’s not much to know. You should talk to Uncle Willie. He’s written stories for the newspaper. Why are you smiling like the cat that just ate the canary?”

Cere couldn’t admit it was because of a lead on Tres Padres. Or maybe it was because he had finally agreed to help her. Hell, actually she just suddenly felt giddy.

He wagged a finger at her, but in a playful way. “Don’t take my help on those letters the wrong way. I still don’t want that story blown up into a tabloid expose. If I think you’re heading that way, I’ll come after you worse than whoever sent that watch.”

The words sounded like a threat and she started to fire back at him, but a slow smile drew his lips up, and she felt herself melting inside as his eyes grew warm.

“You don’t want me to come after you, Medina,” he said, in a low voice that made her tingle all over. “Because I always get what I want too.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

A tense, skinny man of about twenty stood outside when Cere answered a sharp rap on the door. With a thin, almost pretty face and long sweeping lashes, he reminded her of waiters in Los Angeles who wanted to become actors.

“Hi, I’m Gus.” He extended an elegant, fine-boned hand. “Rafe said you wanted to see these?” He offered a worn thick manila envelope held together with a rubber band.

“Thanks, I’m Cere. I could have come by your house. Would you like to come in?”

“I’m on my way to work.” He wore the orange-red uniform of a discount house.

A twinge of disappointment touched her. Cere had been pleased to see the packet, but she wanted to talk to Gus about his uncle. “I thought you worked up at a ranch?”

“Part time. Mr. Diaz lets me work there when I’m available.”

The name grabbed her, and she stiffened. “Diego Diaz? He’s in charge?”

He lifted a thin shoulder. “I guess.”

“How long has he been working there? He doesn’t seem to know many people in town.”

“Most of the Hollister Ranch people don’t come into Rio Rojo. The main road from the ranch goes west into Casitas.”

“May I call you later? If I have questions?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know much about the songs. I just found them.” His head dropped, a long lock of hair falling over his eyes. “See, my mom died a coupla months ago. I found these songs and letters when I was cleanin’ out her house.”

Anticipation buzzed in Cere’s head. What if these new letters held the key to Marco’s death? “Thank you so much for bringing them over. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

The instant the door closed she carried the envelope to the dining room table. Luckily she had the house all to herself. Her mother was getting her hair done and Freeda remained in Taos.

She tore open the package and dumped out two packets of envelopes. All were old, the ink faded with age. The envelopes were standard, and the stationery was the cheap lined variety that came in a tablet. The letters to his sister were poignant, and tears filled Cere’s eyes as she read through them. They were written when he first went away to jail. The uneven scribbling portrayed a teenager unskilled in proper grammar or spelling.

I miss you all more then I knew I could—I wish I could bring it all back and do the things they want me to do. Don’t ever go to jail. It’s a sad empty place.