Hidden Heritage (18 page)

Keith was out on a call when I got home. His note said Angie had gone with him. I would have total privacy. I stared at the phone trying to pinpoint why this was going to be so extremely hard for me. I picked up the receiver, punched in the numbers and said the words that I hated to admit were true.

“Elizabeth. I need your help.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Elizabeth swooped into Western Kansas like a Valkyrie, took one look at Angie, and freaked.

“I want to know how she got into such a sorry state.”

It was a statement, not a question. More of an accusation really, that somehow this was my fault.

“Well,” I said carefully, knowing I was picking my way through a minefield, “as you know, psychological abuse can be very subtle and can take many forms. I think Steve has been undermining Angie's self-esteem for a very long time.”

I did not feel right telling Elizabeth the number of miscarriages her sister had suffered. That was Angie's to tell.

“Thank you for calling me, Lottie.” Her words were stiff. Forced.

“You're welcome.” I said, knowing her “thank you” came even harder than my “I need help.” I grabbed a steaming kettle off the stove, poured the water through a diffuser of Elizabeth's latest herbal tea, and waited for it to steep. “Angie needs someone who deals with this kind of problem professionally. Who better than her sister?”

We sat at the kitchen table and looked through the patio doors. Angie lay motionless in one of the recliners. Her face blended perfectly with the faded white resin.

Elizabeth stared at her limp form. “She's not well,” She slammed the palm of her hand on the table. “I don't mean psychologically. I mean physically. She needs to start there first. We've got to get her healthy again.” She leaped out of her chair, went to a spot out of Angie's line of sight and scrutinized her sister. “She looks anemic. Like she's lost blood.” She whirled around to face me. “Has she had another miscarriage?”

Of course,
I thought.
How could I have missed it?
The pallor, the depression, Steve's coldness to his defective wife. The latest miscarriage was recent.

“Nevermind,” Elizabeth said. “She wouldn't tell that kind of thing to you.”

I held my tongue.

She slid back the patio door and went outside and knelt in front of Angie, then took her hands and began talking to her.

Angie lay stone-still for a moment, then burst into tears. Shamed, she held her hands in front of her face. Elizabeth hauled Angie to her feet and hugged her fiercely. She led her inside the house and guided her up the stairs.

She came back down and marched to the phone. She called Dr. Golbert's office. She brushed aside the gatekeeper's attempts to make an appointment in a couple of weeks and insisted that she be put through to Dr. Golbert himself.

“Elizabeth Fiene here. Angie needs to be seen today if possible. Tomorrow at the latest. Please talk to your secretary and get it arranged.”

By the time she hung up the phone, it was.

The next morning Elizabeth practically force-fed Angie eggs and orange juice, leveraged her into the cheery little yellow Volkswagen and sped off to town. They were back at ten o'clock. She ordered Angie upstairs to rest, adding they would begin her graduated exercise routine tomorrow.

Elizabeth's bright blond hair crackled with energy. Dressed in khaki shorts, Birkenstocks, and an intense chartreuse sleeveless top that rivaled the sun's glare, she looked ready to meet any challenge the day might hold. But there was a look in her eyes that said otherwise. Angie's depression had awaked her “suicide's daughter” free-floating anxiety.

“I suppose this godforsaken town's idea of mental health counseling still consists of ‘pull yourself together and work a little harder.'” She folded her arms across her chest.

“Actually, yes. There's no professional help available out here. I don't know how much training the Catholic priest has had.”

“That's not a good idea anyway. Not for Angie.”

“There are other ministers.”

“Is there a women's clinic? Support group?”

“Nope. Just AA and Weight Watchers. Craft groups. That sort of thing.”

“Okay. Tell me about the other ministers.”

I saved Father Talesbury for last. “He's a real piece of work. Hardly the one to comfort or sympathize.” I told her all about this rogue priest's project of rescuing child soldiers.

“Him first. I'll go interview him.”

My mouth must have dropped open. “But why?”

“To see if he needs help. Angie needs a job. Helping children.”

“But she's in no shape to help with kids.”

I would have had more luck thwarting a hurricane.

“She'll be in shape in a couple of weeks. Dr. Golbert gave her an iron injection. And some high-powered vitamins to boost her energy. As to the counseling, it will have to wait.”

I didn't have to go to the office until afternoon. Outside, the air shimmered off the flagstone path. It simply would not rain. Our windbreak looked like it was headed for autumn, with the cedar needles looking brownish. They fell off at a touch and even if we watered day and night it would be impossible to save all of them. By winter, there would be ugly gaps with snow blowing through.

Elizabeth was never back here on a weekday and I knew she couldn't figure out what to do with herself until Angie came downstairs again. Sighing, she stared out at the hot glare of the mid-morning sun, her hands jammed into the pockets of her shorts.

Too hot to go outside for a walk, in a house kept spotless now thanks to Zola's untiring efforts, no one to fix, no dragons to slay, she practically crawled with restlessness. Suddenly, she turned toward me.

“Lottie, do you know if something is the matter with Tom?”

“No.” If my answer was too quick, she didn't pick up on it.

“I suppose you don't know him well enough to notice anything wrong.” She looked at me intently. “But he called the other day and said he wanted to talk to me. In person. That's not like him.”

I knew, of course, it had to do with my sister. He wanted to look Elizabeth in eye when he broke the news.

“Why in the hell doesn't it ever rain?”

Her eyes widened at my sudden stupid response. But it served to get the conversation away from Tom.

“Elizabeth, Angie is the main reason I wanted you to come home, but there's something else I wanted to ask you about. When you were growing up, did you ever hear anything about the Diaz Family and a legal case?”

“Oh, sure. Nothing specific. Just that the family had been fighting over land forever.”

“Did you ever look into it?”

Instantly alert, her eyes narrowed. “Look into what, exactly?”

“I'm not sure.” And I wasn't. Nothing Francesca had told me was secret. Even the fact that Victor intended to sue the government would soon be public knowledge. And the Diazes suing the government was nothing new. I didn't know the location of the real map, and it would be a cold day in hell now before Francesca showed that to me.

For that matter, it might not exist. I didn't intend to press Francesca until I found out if there was a legal basis for a claim. Ascertaining her valid property rights would be very difficult, but Elizabeth had all the right connections.

“Go to your dad's office,” I said. “Grab a legal pad. We might as well do this right from the very beginning.”

She came back and we set to work. “Doña Francesca claims her family once owned a huge amount of land.”

“Used to? Their holdings are enormous now.”

“I know that. I've seen a copy of a map, but it meant nothing to me. All the words were in Spanish. She claims to have hidden the real one.”

“I thought you were the old documents whizbang.”

“Sometimes. What I want to know is—are there old legal records I'm overlooking? I can come to Denver if you'll steer me to the right place. Colorado was once part of Kansas Territory.”

Her vivid blue eyes sparked with interest. She was just moments away from applying her incredible concentration to the Diaz entanglements. “Wouldn't that kind of land information be part of the cache of Kansas Territorial records?”

“Maybe. Records before Kansas became a territory were hit and miss. There was some disagreement over the state boundary lines, too.”

“So what is it that you want me to find?”

“Not find, I guess, since I don't know what I'm looking for. But if something does turn up indicating the family once owned more real estate, would you please represent Doña Francesca?”

“Sure.” She laughed. “Well, not sight unseen.”

“I need to be entirely straight with this woman. To be able to tell her that I've found a rock-solid, honest lawyer.”

“If I'm going to be her lawyer, I'll have to talk with her in person.”

“Okay. She won't agree to have you anyway until you do.”

***

I called Cecilia and talked a blue streak before she agreed to ask Francesca to let another stranger on the property. And that was only after I had praised Elizabeth's abilities to the skies. She called back in a half-hour, and made it quite clear, that my stepdaughter would be subject to inspection.

Elizabeth gasped as we turned up the road leading to the Compound. “How can this be possible?”

“Oh, it gets better. You won't believe what lies at the end of this road.”

She fell silent for a while. “The waste,” she said finally. “The incredible waste. I haven't seen one crop. How much land is here?”

“About five square miles.”

“And nothing under cultivation?”

“Not one single acre. Victor Perez and his family live here, but he and his wife have day jobs. Cecilia Diaz takes care of her great-grandmother and only leaves the place when I'm here to watch over Francesca or when someone from George's family can stay with her.”

Elizabeth had surprised me. I expected her to land solidly on the side of the “bring back the buffalo” faction. But no. She was raised a Fiene. Grow wheat and feed the world. Where's the sin in wanting to grow grain, Buster?

“Why would that old woman want more land if she has all this?” she asked.

“I don't know. Having been around her, I believe it's a matter of principle. She says the government is trying to rob her of her inheritance. She says her land is worth a fortune.”

“The land right here is worth a fortune.”

“I know.”

“So how far back have you gone?”

“Just from the time Kansas became a state. Some of the Territorial records are missing. Kansas once had four constitutions, and the Territorial capitol kept switching.” I glanced sideways to see if she was offended by my recital of basic information.

“Well, tracking down stuff through her side of the family wouldn't have done you one bit of good, because married women weren't allowed to own property. They were under the Law of Coverture.”

“Not here, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, they were. Women surrendered all their rights to own property to their husbands.”

“Nope. Believe it or not, Kansas was way ahead of the game. The law was passed in 1868. Women could even claim homestead land.”

“You forget I'm an expert on women's rights. It's my specialty. I know a lot more about those laws than you do.” She smoldered like wet coals. I felt the heat coming from her side of the car.

I took a deep breath. “Contemporary law, maybe. But I know a lot more about historical laws.”

And, just like that, we were in a fight. We rode in silence toward the main house.

Francesca and Cecilia had undoubtedly seen us coming up the lane because they were waiting at the end of the walk. Uneasily, I eyed Elizabeth's attire and wished I had asked her to change to something less jarring.

We drove to the Old House while Elizabeth and I feigned congeniality. Once inside, I had my first glimpse of Elizabeth when she was on her best behavior. Francesca walked her around to the various work stations and explained the categories of plants and herbs, while I sat in a chair and watched.

When they had finished the tour, they came over to the chairs. I stood and relinquished my seat to Elizabeth.

“Go to the refrigerator please, Lottie Albright, and bring Miss Fiene and me a glass of lemonade. The glasses are in the cabinet to the side. Cecilia also brought over some cookies. There are plates on the shelf below the glasses.”

If looks could kill, my glance toward Elizabeth would have fried her to a crisp. I got the coffee and lemonade and hovered to one side like an English butler.

Astounded by Elizabeth's ability to say all the right things and rein in her inner snark, I felt like I was at the Mad Hatter's Tea Party with her playing a role.

Elizabeth sipped the lemonade and nibbled at an oatmeal cookie. Neither of the women offered me refreshments. For that matter, Elizabeth now sat in “my” chair and clearly did not intend to give it back. “If you would like to consider having me as your lawyer, Doña Francesca, I imagine you would like me to answer some questions. And I have several I would like to ask you also.”

Francesca gave a queenly nod of ascent. Then she turned to me. “I must ask you to leave, Lottie Albright.”

I was speechless.

“Yes, please.” Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “The car is air-conditioned,” she said to Francesca. “She'll be fine. Just fine. And she always has a book along.”

Dumbfounded, I picked up my purse and my briefcase and headed toward the door.

Elizabeth came out with Francesca thirty minutes later and we drove her back to the main house.

“Well,” I asked on the way home, “did you learn anything?” Elizabeth was hiding something. I could feel it.

“Lottie! You know better than that. I'm surprised at you. That's all privileged information.”

If I hadn't needed to steer, I would have whacked my forehead with both hands to knock out the stupidity.

I had persuaded Elizabeth Fiene—the world's most honest lawyer—to take on Doña Francesca as a client. Now this tiny Spanish woman who might have insight into Victor's murder was committed to a lawyer who had undoubtedly told her “not to discuss anything with anyone.”