The Mamacita Murders (29 page)
“Do you know who requested the tow?” I ask.
“Hmmm. It should say right here. It looks like the name Bess Sanchez is showing as the initial caller in the 911 log,” says Vince.
“I know exactly who that is,” I say disgustedly.
I pull off the freeway ramp and head to Leafwood RV Park. The possibility that Bess could have been involved with jeopardizing The Mamacita Club appalls me. Bess is going to have to answer why she did this. The thought of her being involved in any of this, especially when I fought for her daughter and tried to get Laura help is beyond me. Bess needs to explain all of this — why she’s upset at me and why she doesn’t want my motorhome there. And if she doesn’t explain, I will make her explain. This conversation is long overdue. She must have a problem with me personally. But I need to play this right. I want to find out what she knows about Cruz. And maybe she could give me some information about Laura’s boss lady.
I pull into the Leafwood RV park. The space the Airstream was parked at is empty. Tire marks in the dirt are the only thing left. I drive towards Bess’s trailer and see that her television is on inside her mobile home. Before making a sharp turn towards her home, I turn my lights and engine off and roll my Celica past Bess’s space to the next home.
I step on my brakes and let my car glide until it comes to a stop. I open my door, denting it against a clay pot holding a small cactus near some rocks. I shut my door and look at my watch. 8:50 p.m. I make my way up to Bess’s home. I usually try to avoid confrontation, but I’m not letting this one go. She’s messing with The Mamacita Club.
I knock at Bess’s door and hear a rocking type chair squeaking before I hear footsteps creaking on a floor getting louder and louder. The front door opens.
“Yes, may I help you?” asks Bess nonchalantly.
“Hi, Mrs. Sanchez, may I speak with you for a minute,” I say firmly.
“Sure, what’s going on?” says Bess calmly. “Come on in.”
“I’m fine out here. Did you have my Airstream towed?” I ask excitedly.
“No, of course not,” says Bess.
Knowing Bess is lying makes me even more angry.
“Well, why don’t you explain why your name is on the dispatch log as the person who first called the police,” I say.
“It was the neighbors who have been complaining. They have been asking that I call ever since the drive-by, so I finally did. Plus Mr. Vanderbilt from your office told us to report any concerns we had directly with the police. It was becoming a nuisance. Children were starting to play around it and it blocks the view of traffic,” says Bess.
A teapot starts whistling loudly inside Bess’s home.
“Come in, Ms. Ruiz. I need to turn the tea down,” says Bess, motioning me to come inside her mobile home.
I follow her in and stand alone in her living room, desperately waiting for her to return from the kitchen so I can examine her more.
“Bess, do you have a problem with me?” I yell towards the kitchen, knowing her answer alone will tell me everything. “I mean, do you have a problem with me helping your daughter or the other girls here at the park?” I ask.
“No, no, not at all. I didn’t understand what you were doing before, but I understand now,” says Bess. “I’m making myself some tea. Would you like some?” Bess yells from the kitchen.
“I’m fine,” I say back, disbelieving Bess.
I take a couple deep breaths and start to relax.
Bess’s living room looks exactly the same way I remembered it. Never knowing if she realized Dylan and I had been in her house the day Clown was arrested, I decide I certainly am not going to bring up that subject again. The same books I gave to Christina for the program still sit in the bookshelf. Christina
did
give them to Laura.
The Alchemist
. I loved reading that book and remember how abstract it was to the girls who read it at The Mamacita Club, but I knew they would relate to it someday. The idea of always looking for something, some trunk of gold that wasn’t ever there, would at some point hit them. I feel like I’m still searching for that gold, but am slowly coming to terms with the fact that it’s right in front of me.
I move closer to the bookshelf, hearing Bess pouring water. The books lay horizontally on the shelf, stacked up in one straight pile one on top of the other. Wanting to read that first line of
The Alchemist
, I reach for it and pull it from the shelf.
The top of a glass jar exposes itself behind the stack of books.
Oh, my gosh.
My arms tense up and I freeze. There’s no way that could be what it looks like. A million thoughts run through my head. I remain entirely silent and try to hear where Bess is.
I pretend not to have noticed what I just saw, but look one last time to make sure it is what I think it is. Trembles through my body start from my chest, move up to my face and take over my lower extremities.
The small head of a flamingo rests to the side of the jar. The bright pink and cream colors of the ceramic are as remarkable as the matching vase inside the motel room Laura was found.
I think back to the letter that rested near my peephole, threatening my life with a bullet, blade, or flamingo vase.
“Have you read that book before,” says Bess in a whisper. I feel her warm breath on the side of my head.
I turn around and open
The Alchemist.
“I’ve always loved this book,” I say nervously.
“What did you like about it?” asks Bess, suspiciously.
“Just the idea of magic, adventure, a journey, the idea of coming back to something familiar and grounded in love,” I respond quickly.
“I believe there is no such thing,” says Bess sternly. “At least those things were taken away from me,” says Bess. “My family, my daughter, my life. All taken away,” says Bess moving closer to me.
The look of anger in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. I begin to back away from the bookshelf and move toward the front door, fearing for the first time that Bess may really be capable of something like murder.
Before I have a chance to decide whether to make a run for it, Bess takes out a sharp pocket knife from her apron pocket. “My life was taken away by you,” says Bess, staring evily into my eyes. My sight blurs as I catch the shimmer from the blade. I see my mom with a stab wound through her chest.
My vision sharpens once Bess grabs the hair on the back of my head. Bending me back over her rocking chair, I lose my balance and land on my tailbone, losing any chance to grab my Lady Smith. Dammit, I think, fearing the worst if Bess gets to it. She holds her pocket knife up to my throat.
“Please, Bess, you don’t have to do this,” I plead, staring into her eyes, which are blankly staring through me. It’s that same blank stare my mom had in that photo.
Mom, please help me, please save me
. A violent kick at Bess’s front door startles us both. Christina stands in the doorway of Bess’s home, with her arms extended holding a gun, ordering Bess to let me go. Everything around me goes blurry and I begin to faint.
I take the day off to recuperate from Bess trying to kill me last night. Down at the Cove, I inhale the smell of salt water and realize more than ever how lucky I am to be alive. It brings me the peace that I need to call upon the Universe.
I sit breathing, in and out, in a rhythm and pace that slows down everything around. Laura comes walking towards me, wearing a white flowing dress with her hair pinned up to its sides by white and yellow flower hair fasteners. Her smile calms me and she sits next to me on the rocks.
“When I first met you, I thought there was nothing you could do for me, ever. I didn’t care if another day went by that I never saw you or spoke with you again,” Laura says.
“But my gut told me that I needed to trust you, that I needed to put my faith in you, because I had nothing to lose. What drew me to you was your sense of hope, your belief in leaps of faith, and your fearlessness. You seemed like you could make my dreams come true, especially to help me get out of the ugliness of where I live and do well in school. That’s why I believed in you and wanted to join The Mamacita Club.
“But the best part was that you believed in me. That’s what you should continue to do every week over and over again; keep helping young girls like me. I may not make it through, but the next girl will, I promise. There will be another girl like me who wants to join The Mamacita Club and needs your help, and you will help her as you wanted to help me.
“None of this is your fault. I could never play on the edge of the boat like the girl you saw in the Walled City. You don’t have to worry about disturbing me. You did what you could do. There’s nothing more you can do. Let me go.
“I ask you one thing, though. Make sure my mother is held responsible for what she did to me. She tried to take my life and she tried to take yours. She has a black heart. The case will be difficult, but know in your heart that she is the one who took my life. You will be able to prove the case with the little evidence you have. Just promise me that you will do this for me,” Laura says while getting up.
“Laura, tell me how I can prove this, tell me. I need something more for the case. I need you to testify. Please don’t leave, please. I need to save you,” I scream, feeling my legs trapped.
I struggle to get myself up but my legs aren’t responding to what I’m trying to do. They are limp, they feel heavy. Laura walks away from me coolly, not looking back, with a cigarette in her hand, smoking, inhaling long slow breaths, one after another.
She continues walking along the rocks, then flicks her cigarette into the water, causing the whole ocean to roar up in an orange flame, before she disappears in the distance.
I sit alone, watching the flames dance on the ocean at the Cove.
The day after watching the flames dance on the ocean, I’m holding Laura’s hand at the hospital and rubbing her cheek. I whisper to her that I hope she can keep fighting through recovery and someday, tell us what happened. Her eyes flutter when I sit by her, alone in her hospital room. She focuses in and out with her eyes. I tell her that I know her mom was involved and she smiles. I tell her how her mom was about to kill me, too, but Christina, who was visiting her grandma, heard me screaming and came to the front door.
I encourage her to join The Mamacita Club when she turns eighteen so she can tell her story to other young girls. I ask her to stay strong and pull through this for the case. But I also tell her that if the fight is too hard, I will be there to help her die, too. I tell her that it’s okay to die. This gives me a sense of peace, where I no longer feel I’m trying to control her destiny.
The doctors thought Laura was a lost cause, but it’s been three weeks since she’s been off her life support and she’s still alive. She was in a coma for weeks, but now she is able to eat food even though it’s spoon-fed. She can shake her head up and down and answer questions. She can acknowledge pain and sensation and moan, but she still can’t speak. Laura has no family left, and her mom is now in custody for assaulting me. She’s going to be an orphan. But Laura pulled through herself.
Laura looks peaceful, and I stare at her a few times just to make sure she’s still breathing. After crying myself to sleep last night thinking she might not pull through, I know I need to stop trying to save her and constantly be in control. I decided to surrender and let nature work its course. I feel free, but still hopeful Laura will pull through. I stay focused on Laura’s breathing, thinking she could die at any moment. But for the first time, I feel that I’d be okay with it.
Today, I hope that if Laura dies, it’s in my presence. My mom used to say that people who are dying wait for their loved ones to be by their side before they take their last breath. Too bad my mom didn’t have her choice of who she would take her last breath with. I know she would have picked me, Señor Borges, Nana, and our cat Penny.
Laura opens her eyes and stares right at me, squeezing my hand. She starts studying my face, eyes, and a tear that starts falling down my face. “Christina saved you,” says Laura.
“Laura,” I say hopefully.
The warmth from her fingers radiates through my arm as I shake my head trying to figure out if what I just saw and heard was real. These would be Laura’s first words.
“Yes, she did. You’re right. I was working so hard trying to save Christina. But at the end, she saved me.”
Thirty mintues after visiting Laura at the hospital, I sit across from Angela inside the Airstream. While she recites her usual angel babble, I cut Angela’s deck of tarot cards in three. She flips over the Eight of Swords. A woman is handcuffed and blindfolded, surrounded by swords.
“Well. Are you feeling trapped today?” asks Angela.
“Yes, and frustrated. All the signs were all there. The Mamacita Mason Jar. I kept getting clues from the Universe and just ignored them. The ship sailing in the distance when I was at the Cove, the ship I saw inside the Mamacita Mason Jar, the ship I saw in the Walled City all clueing me in to the scraps of paper inside the Mamacita Mason Jar. We could’ve found those scraps, spoken to Christina and solved this case weeks ago if I just paid attention to them, and that frustrates me,” I say.
I look down at the tarot card with Angela.