Hydraulic Level Five (1) (8 page)

“Done.”

She capped her pen, grabbed her purse, and we ran out the door. We hopped in our separate cars—her beautifully restored Coronet muscle car and my Jeep Wrangler. I was on my third Jeep now (the second met a sad, sad end in a winter weather incident involving three elk and a guard rail). It had a deep blue paint job and was my baby.

We plowed down the tar-patched Main Street fenced by tall evergreens and a smattering of small businesses, including The Garden Market (where Dad worked) and Paddler’s, past Planet Bluegrass, which dwelled in the shadow of Steamboat Mountain.

The Cabrals’ home was in the foothills above town, on the edge of the Hispanic neighborhood. Their beautifully crafted cabin was in stark contrast to the number of small homes and trailers the trip took me by, many occupied by migrant workers. There was a gas station with faded Corona signs, an authentic restaurant with peeling cornflower-blue paint, and a taco truck which sold the best breakfast burritos this side of the Rockies. I drove past the tiny grocery store, where I’d spent many hours shopping with Sofia and sneaking strawberry
Jarritos
into her cart. There was the Spanish-speaking community church I’d attended with the Cabrals. Sometimes Samuel whispered translations into my ear or sang the English versions of hymns until his father gave us a “you
niños
stop talking in church” look. Despite the worn-out feel of the neighborhood, the road was a scenic stretch of Virgin Mary garden statues and mountainside.

Five minutes to the Cabral home, just enough time. I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

“Jaime Guzman,” answered a gruff voice.

“Jaime. Kaye Cabral.”

“That’s not what I hear.” Of course. Jaime followed court business religiously.

“Force of habit. Listen…about my message. I know what it sounded like—”

Jaime cut me off. “It’s okay, I know some people. How much money do you have left in that hefty Cabral Alimony Fund?”

Was she actually considering a hit? “I…I don’t want you to kill anybody.”

“Relax, Trilby, I’m messing with you. So what, do you want me to bash Cabral’s knees while he’s in town? It’s about time. Hold on a minute.”

I heard dogs yipping, followed by the clatter of what I assumed was a food dish. Jaime bred and trained black Labradors, the closest relationships she had save for her twin brother. She was obsessively proud of them. I made the mistake once of asking her, in a very crowded restaurant, if she’d considered breeding Labradoodles. She declared loudly, “No powder-puff poodle is going to fuck my dogs!” No one was shocked. It was Jaime Guzman.

“Back. It’s breakfast, you’ve called at a bad time.”

“Jaime, I don’t want you to hurt anybody. Just mess with them a bit.”

“Psychological torture. Even better.”

This was such a bad idea. “Listen, I need some real answers from Sam, but there’s a problem. Several, actually.” I explained how I wanted someone to monumentally sidetrack Caroline while I worked to pull information from a leery Samuel.

A pause. “Have you ever considered getting a pet? It’s a lot more rewarding.”

“No offense, Jaime, but pets aren’t my thing.”

“Fine, it’s your self-esteem. Now back to my original question: How much of that alimony money do you have left?”

I squirmed, not liking to bandy about my sizeable bank account. “All of it, except for the twenty thousand I used as a down payment on the TrilbyJones mansion.”

She whistled. “More than enough for a large charitable contribution. This gives us resources—sky’s the limit. I’ve got some ideas that will kill two birds with one stone.”

“Two birds?” Jaime embraced this more enthusiastically than I thought she would, and it made me nervous.

She sighed. “Hopeless. Two birds. Bird Number One: get Caroline out of your hair. Bird Number Two: get in a jab or two at ol’ Sam. Someone has to, since you won’t. I still think you’re an idiot for trying to refuse his divorce settlement. The both of you are utter pantywaists.”

I ignored that. “So, when and where do you want to meet? Your office?”

“No, I need to keep this separate from law firm business, legal ramifications and all.” Oh crud, what was she planning? “How about the Lyons Café, Tuesday evening, seven o’clock?”

Public was good, safer. “I can make it by seven. Please don’t do anything until we talk it over first.”

“Just research. Tuesday at seven, Trilby. Bring your checkbook.” The line went dead before I could say goodbye.

We were lucky the rain held off. It had poured yesterday, a typical afternoon mountain shower that reduced the path through the thick forest to mud holes. The Bridal Veil Falls loop was lush with wildlife—one of my favorite trails. It followed a stream through a couple of valleys, aspen groves, steadily-climbing slopes, and eventually broke into astounding views of hazy mountains. The trail also passed an old homesteader ranch, preserved by the park.

We’d been on the path for a couple of hours, the high altitude and sun stealing our breath and crisping our backs. I could barely make out Hector’s loping stride far ahead as he lugged Molly’s camera equipment for her. Angel and Danita walked in front of Sofia and me, pushing through branches and hopping over dead tree trunks.

“
Señora
Cabral, whaddya think of Samuel’s new girl?” Angel asked, never one to beat around the bush. “I’ve never seen so many suitcases.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Angel. You’ve seen hundreds of suitcases,” Danita snarked, side-stepping a puddle. “Airports, hotels, department stores…”

“Your closet.” He wrapped his thick arms around her waist and planted a passionate, sloppy kiss on her neck.

I don’t believe Danita and Angel had ever suffered a misunderstanding between each other. They were the bluntest people I knew. While he laced his straightforward nature with humor, she was no-nonsense, plain and simple. The only misstep occurred on the very first day of Kindercare, when Angel told Danita she was pretty. Then Dani, bawling, kicked Angel in the knee because she thought he was teasing her. That was the first of three times I’d known Dani to cry. The second was the day Angel left for Afghanistan, and the third, when he came home.

“So,
Mamá?”
Angel wasn’t going to let it go.

Sofia picked several big leaves and slipped them into a Ziploc bag. She collected leaves—alder, poplar, cottonwood—and pressed them into decorative tiles.

“I’m not sure what to make of Caroline yet. They haven’t dated for very long.”

“But they’ve been friends for several years now,” Danita countered. “It seems to be a natural course.”

Sofia gave her a stern look. I’d been on the receiving end of it many times, and I knew to shut up when it was directed at me. Dani did, too.

“Samuel hasn’t been forthcoming one way or the other, Danita. You shouldn’t read too much into it.”

My thoughts were torn. This morning had been…odd. It wasn’t difficult to see the wheels cranking in Sofia’s brain when Danita and I picked her up for the hike. Earlier, while Dani showered, I followed Sofia through their elegant, airy home, helping her finish breakfast dishes and fold towels.

“Kaye, can you take a few towels up to my daughter? I haven’t replaced them in any of the bathrooms yet.” I would have thought nothing at all of her request, but she didn’t look me in the eye. Samuel used to be the same way—he’d avoid eye contact when something was up.

“Sure.” She handed me a stack of six fluffy towels.

“While you’re up there,
mi corazón
, would you please put these in the guest bathroom and Samuel’s bathroom?”

I trudged up the stairs, past the multitude of framed family portraits and Mexican artwork, and tossed a few towels in Danita’s bathroom where she yelled at me for letting in cold air. Then I entered the guest bedroom and chuckled mirthlessly, understanding Sofia’s plotting. Luxury luggage was scattered around the room, clothing spilling out as if Caroline had frantically gone through them this morning. An army of hair and facial products lined all available countertop space in the attached bathroom, signaling that this woman had settled in for a long stretch.

Sofia wanted me to see that Caroline was sleeping alone in the guest bedroom, rather than in Samuel’s room.

Good lord, Sofia. She’d never given up, even after I begged her to let it go because her hope was too painful. I hated to burst her bubble. Samuel and I had snuck out after curfew all through our teenage years, even though our visits were innocent (somewhat). And while he certainly respected his parents enough not to flaunt his sex life, that didn’t mean he and Caroline weren’t doing a little boot-knockin’ mattress-dancing in secret. I nearly gagged when I saw the floozy’s barely-there black lingerie peeking out from one of her suitcases. If she and Samuel weren’t already sleeping together, she certainly planned to before long.

When Samuel and I dated, we tried to wait until we were married. But lust and hormones wore us down, and we caved the night he put a diamond engagement ring on my finger. All we’d wanted was for the other to be happy. Sadly, that single flower didn’t make me happy, now that I held the whole, decayed bouquet. How different a man he’d grown into, from the deep-feeling boy I’d once known.

I dropped the towels on the counter of Samuel’s bathroom and made my way back through his room. I’d been in here a few times since we split. Instead of hurting, it was strangely comforting—a warm, familiar embrace. His encased fossil collections, countless Moleskine notebooks, a shelf full of smudged baseball trophies. His high school letter jacket was still in his closet, hanging in a plastic dry-cleaning bag next to a row of grown-up suits, slacks, and dress shirts. He’d only worn it once or twice. While he’d been a star left-fielder and one of the best base runners on Lyons High’s varsity baseball team, he wasn’t a letter jacket kind of guy, and favored a black ski coat because I told him it made his shoulders look sexy.

I shouldn’t have snooped, but a piece of me was caulked in the walls of this room. There was a five-by-seven picture frame lying face down on his desk: his high school graduation. Samuel was in a cap and gown, grinning for the camera. I was piggy-backing behind him, arms wrapped around his neck, my cheek pressed next to his. The picture had once been in our apartment after we married. I thought he’d taken it with him to New York, but he must have abandoned it to his parents, probably along with a pile of other mementos.

I’d heard Danita turn off the shower down the hall a while ago and probably should have cleared out right then. But something caught my eye on Samuel’s desk—a pile of papers, typed and marked up in his handwriting. A single phrase jumped out, and so did my heart:
Planet Bluegrass
. What the heck? A brief scan told me it was a draft chapter of his writing, with the heading “Hydraulic Level Five”…a whitewater story?

A throat cleared behind me. I dropped the page, spinning around to see Danita in the doorway, arms crossed. Her damp hair curled around her shoulders, but she was dressed and ready to hit the trails.

“Looking for something?” The corners of her mouth twitched.

So busted. “Nope! Just dropping off towels.” She swatted my tush as I swept by, and I yelped.

“You’re bad, Kaye. Come on, there’s nothing in here you haven’t seen before.”

Nothing, except for Samuel’s draft chapter that had something to do with Planet Bluegrass and whitewater hydraulics. It was enough of a mystery to stir my nosiness. Already, my brain plotted ways to get another peek at that manuscript…

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Sofia’s voice pulled me out of my reflection. I took in our surroundings and was surprised to see we were already at the old McGraw Ranch, a hundred-year-old home surrounded by meadow and gnarled pine trees. She’d huffed alongside me for a good hour, face flushed and glistening, and I hadn’t been stimulating company.

“Sorry. Just enjoying nature.”

We walked around to the front of the old wood cabin and found a porch. Dropping our packs, we settled against the wall while the other three wandered through the tall grass, exploring the site. I was alone with Sofia, and sudden inspiration struck. Maybe she would be more forthcoming than Samuel. I settled for directness.

“Sofia, why do you believe Samuel left our marriage?”