Dragon Fruit Page 14

  I walked on down the beach to cool off. The wind picked up and a few spits of rain grazed my cheek.

  Mike. I needed him to help me unravel this snarl. And I needed him to hold me and tell me everything would be OK.

  Yet the thought that I needed him irritated the heck out of me. I started back to the parking lot, kicking at the loose sand.

  I missed the guy, that was all. Why exaggerate? I quickened my pace. Maybe I missed Mike Dawson, but goddamn it, I could take care of this on my own.

  My head was down and my thoughts were churning as I crossed the beach. I didn’t look up till I’d nearly reached the parking lot. When I did look up, the lime-green jacket was the first thing I saw.

  Deirdre sat on the low concrete wall surrounding the lot. Our eyes locked.

  ‘About the little girl,’ she said when I’d reached her. ‘Otherwise, understand, I don’t give a shit.’

  I kept my voice neutral. ‘Fair enough.’ Don’t blow it, I ordered myself.

  She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. I didn’t see any tears but Deirdre looked as if she’d been crying. Her eyes were puffy, her face splotched.

  ‘I was a foster kid, all right? I know what the world’s like, Zarlin.’ Her chin jutted out. ‘I know firsthand what some people will do to little girls.’

  I stared at the woman. This prickly cactus had just shown me her vulnerable inside. ‘Deirdre, I—’

  ‘Shut up,’ she snapped. ‘If you haven’t been there, you don’t have a clue.’

  I nodded. And then I did shut up, because of what happened next.

  Two seagulls flapped into the parking lot. They didn’t make a sound. That was because they couldn’t: each had swallowed one end of a string. One tried to land, but the other took off. Tied together for evermore, they beat the air as they struggled on.

  ‘Human beings are disgusting, you know?’ Deirdre shrugged. ‘People are sick. They tie food scraps to both ends of a string, then toss it to the gulls.’

  ‘People can be cruel,’ I agreed.

  She looked at me hard. ‘That’s pretty much how it is, Zarlin. Once it happens to you. Like you’ve swallowed a string. You never ever escape from the memory, not for the rest of your life.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Deirdre.’ And I was.

  ‘Yeah, well. Shit happens. Anyway, listen up. Sure, I know all about the weed. And that’s all I’m going to say about that. But the trannie, see, what happened to her had nothing to do with the drugs or the PD. Like you said, she was drawing too much attention. Walking up and down Milpas, saying too much.’

  ‘I don’t get it, Deirdre. Saying too much about what?’

  The policewoman drew a strand of hair from her mouth. ‘About her missing daughter. Are you thick?’

  I held on to my temper. ‘You’re saying it was the kidnappers who beat Chucha up.’

  ‘Damn right. And I’m telling you straight: the kidnappers weren’t cops. You’re crazy to think that. Cops don’t kidnap kids. Not even the worst of them. Damn it, Zarlin, you’ve got such a twisted attitude about the police! It’s because of your brother, I suppose. The problem is you can’t see things for what they are.’

  I sank down into the Camino’s seat and shut my eyes. Mike was two days overdue. I’d never known that to happen before. I opened my eyes and reached for my phone.

  I knew Mike’s sister had little free time. Trudy was a wonder woman, raising three wild kids, teaching fifth grade, and helping to run the family ranch up in Panoche from her home in San Luis Obispo. I knew I shouldn’t bother her on her thirty-minute-long lunch hour.

  But I was worried, maybe even a little scared, and my mind was going places it shouldn’t. I needed to know if she’d heard from Mike.

  ‘Trudy, hi. It’s Jaymie. Sorry to bother you.’

  ‘No problem, Jaymie. I’m outside on yard duty. Eating my lunch with one hand, in between blows on the whistle. What’s up?’

  I could just picture the tall, willowy dark-haired woman, laying down the law up in SLO. I was pretty sure she didn’t take any guff.

  ‘I just need to know if you’ve heard from Mike. He’s been working up in the Los Padres Forest, and he should have been out two days ago.’

  ‘Two days? Jaymie, it sounds like you guys are an old married couple already. I haven’t heard from him, and no, you shouldn’t worry. Is he on a dangerous job?’

  An old married couple? Ouch. ‘Could be. I guess I shouldn’t talk about it. Anyway, he didn’t tell me much.’

  ‘Sounds like drugs. Jaymie, you know my brother. Mike can take care of himself.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. How are the kids?’

  ‘Great. Oh, you’ll laugh. I caught the twins the other day pretending to be bridesmaids. In your wedding, Jaymie.’

  ‘Trudy. You have to set them straight. We aren’t about to get married. Mike and I, we’re just …’ Just what? I stopped, drawing a blank on how to finish my sentence.

  ‘You’re what, just friends?’ Trudy laughed. Her laugh reminded me of Mike’s. ‘Listen, we’re all thrilled you guys are back together. Just do us a favor – don’t you dare go and elope. I’m not sure the girls would forgive you for that.’

  Marriage. Elopement. Where was all this coming from, anyway? Nope, you’d never catch me dragging a ball and chain down the aisle.

  I went to see Chucha again in the evening. I had to keep going back. I guess I was afraid that if I didn’t go she’d drift away.

  They’d turned her onto her left side. Now I could hear the guttural sound of her breathing.

  A different nurse was on the shift, a young Filipino woman. Her English was heavily accented but good. ‘You can talk to her. You never know, she might hear you. And use these if you want. Her mouth is so dry.’

  She drew a moistened tissue from a plastic dispenser sitting on the bed stand and dabbed Chucha’s lips.

  I’ve never been comfortable in the nursing role. Feeling as if I were intruding on Chucha’s personal space, I tugged at one of the tissues, then patted her chin.

  ‘You’re doing fine.’ The nurse smiled, encouraging me.

  I dropped the tissue in the trash and looked around for a chair. There was one shoved into a corner. I carried it around to the right side of the bed and sat down.

  My face was on the same level as Chucha’s. I saw glimmers of light just under her eyelids.

  ‘I’m working on it, Chucha. Like I told you this morning, I’m going to find Rosie. The cops are involved, I just can’t figure out how.’ I placed an index finger on her dark creamy cheek and stroked it. ‘At first I thought it was just some random punks who attacked you. Homophobes. Now I’m pretty sure that’s not how it was.’

  Chucha grimaced and made a sound like a low moan. I held my breath. But the sound wasn’t repeated, and her face relaxed.

  ‘Deirdre says I’m not objective because of what happened to Brodie. Damn right I’m biased. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my eyes open.’ I straightened in the chair.

  ‘It’s all tied together. But so far, I don’t have a fucking clue how.’

  Outside Cottage Hospital the night was dark and still. Too still. When a rat scuffled in the ivy at the side of the walk, I jumped.

  Rats were rampant these days in Santa Barbara. Warfarin was flying off the shelves, and owls and hawks were quaffing down the poisoned rodents. Toxins, like evil, were passing right up the line.

  When my cell phone rang in my pocket I jumped again.

  ‘There was a tip-off.’ Deirdre’s voice was high and squeaky, like a mechanical toy’s. She said a few more words but I couldn’t catch them.

  ‘Speak slower, Deirdre. What did you say?’

  ‘Listen harder. I said before the trannie was beat up, there was a tip-off. An anonymous call about her to our tip hotline.’

  Did I believe this? It sounded like crapola. ‘What was the tip-off about?’

  ‘The caller said your client was trying to kidnap a baby. I mean, Zarlin,
did you ever stop to make sure the missing kid is really hers?’

  An image of Chucha sobbing for her daughter passed before my eyes.

  ‘The kid is hers, Deirdre. The tip-off was bogus. So what are you saying, that the cops beat her senseless because of a false lead?’

  There was a long silence. Inches away from my toe, the noisy rat emerged from the bed of ivy. ‘Ugh!’ I hopped back and the rat retreated.

  ‘What did you say?’

  I shuddered. ‘Never mind.’

  ‘It’s like I told you, Zarlin. Cops take care of kids. Can you blame them for that?’

  FOURTEEN

  Gabi looked chic. She wore a slinky black cardigan and black tapered pants, along with a hot pink silky top. ‘I had a dresser,’ she explained as she arranged chocolate-oozing pastries on the pink Fiestaware plates. ‘At Nordstrom.’

  I breathed in the rich aroma rising off my first cup of the day, then took a delectable sip. ‘Fancy that. I’m sorry your rich uncle died.’

  ‘Huh?’ She turned and looked at me, plate poised. ‘I got three uncles, two dead and one is alive. But nobody is rich.’

  ‘I’m kidding. Nordstrom’s is expensive and working with a dresser, well. They aren’t going to show you stuff off the sales rack.’ I shrugged. ‘Just guessing. What would I know?’

  ‘No you are right, Miss Jaymie.’ Gabi turned back to the counter. ‘Nordstrom is too much money for me. I buy Ross, or secondhand. Santa Barbara, this is a great town for consignment you know.’

  ‘OK. So how did you work it?’

  ‘Norma Ventura, my brother’s wife’s sister, she is the dresser. She told me, just come up after five. So I did. To a little room with no windows. Very hot, very bright lights. It’s like you are a movie star, OK? You stand up on a little stage. Norma had all the clothes ready for me, you know, what fits my body and also my personality. I tried on almost everything on the third floor, Miss Jaymie. It took more than three hours.’

  I eyed the flagrant pink top. As far as personality went, Norma had hit the nail on the head.

  ‘Of course, I did not buy anything there. After, I went with Norma over to Second Time Around and bought almost all the same stuff.’

  ‘I’m impressed. So Norma did all that for free?’

  ‘For free? Miss Jaymie, Norma works hard, she has two jobs. Why would she do it for free?’ Gabi set one of the pink dishes in front of me on the kitchenette table, then set down her own and took the chair opposite me.

  ‘Last Christmas I made her six dozen tamales, OK? Three dozen pork, two dozen turkey, one dozen vegetarian. Six dozen, Miss Jaymie. That is seventy-two.’ She took a nibble of her pastry and looked reflective.

  ‘Norma, she still owes me. But she is a good person, she won’t forget. Some people, they—’ Gabi stopped. ‘What is wrong with me, Miss Jaymie. All I talk about is me. Tell me more about Chucha, how was she last night? Is she better now?’

  ‘She’s had brain damage, Gabi.’ I put down my cup. ‘Maybe Chucha will get better, but even if she does …’

  Gabi wagged a finger. ‘Positively positive, Miss Jaymie. I heard about this man, he was not related to me—’

  ‘Now there’s a miracle right there.’

  ‘OK never mind.’ She clanged her teaspoon against the cup as she stirred. ‘Maybe you want me to go away now, Miss Jaymie? Maybe you gotta think some more.’

  She said the word ‘think’ with a heavy negative emphasis. I knew Gabi was of the opinion that I thought too damn much.

  ‘I need to run something by you, Gabi. Something I heard from Deirdre Krause.’

  ‘Oh, the little police lady with the big, you know, the boobs? The one that is always making eyes at Mr Mike.’

  ‘Yeah, the very one. She told me that somebody contacted the police about Chucha. Someone betrayed her.’

  ‘What?’ Gabi jumped up from her chair. ‘Are you saying what I think? Did somebody call the cops, and then the cops went and beat Chucha up?’

  ‘It looks like it, yes. According to Deirdre, somebody left a message on the tips line and said that Chucha was trying to kidnap the little girl on the poster.’

  ‘I am so angry, Miss Jaymie! If I ever, ever find out who did that – never mind! But … but why?’

  ‘I don’t know why, not yet. But it could have been the same guy who grabbed Rosie from the boat. He’d want to throw suspicion on another person. And Chucha, she was the ideal target.’

  ‘I am so angry. I am sorry, I cannot sit still. I’m gonna go clean a very, very dirty house. Mr Petersen’s, I think. I’m gonna go do that right now.’

  ‘May I have your attention! Ladies, gents, and bi’s! We got a virgin with us tonight. Put your paws together for the Mission City Bettie who is also a real live private eye: La Macheesma!’

  I finished tying a double knot on the heavy skates and swayed to my feet. The crowd didn’t roar, but a few people did clap, and Claudia and BJ stomped and yelled.

  ‘Go, La Macheesma! Jaymie, kill em dead!’

  I wobbled into the circular concrete rink. My teammates swept past, strutting their stuff before the crowd. Two or three gave me friendly pats on the ass.

  I was dressed in black tights and my old gray and black running outfit. At the last minute I’d added a pair of kneepads just in case, though I didn’t plan on taking a spill.

  Back home, this had seemed like an appropriate outfit. But now I saw I was appallingly underdressed.

  For one thing, my hair was its natural color. I sported no streaks of purple, blue, or chartreuse. That alone labeled me as a plain Jane, frumpy, no fun. Then, there was my tracksuit. Most of the women wore fishnets, tutus, swimsuits, and black merry widows. They all looked like hookers on skates.

  Very tough hookers, I hasten to add. Some of the girls were real bruisers. Big and mean with yards of tats and evil twinkles in their eyes. The little ones were even scarier: they looked like wasps or centipedes, and no doubt knew how to stab where it hurt.

  By the way, these were my own team members I’m talking about. I couldn’t wait to lay eyes on the enemy.

  One of the girls bumped me hard from behind, passed me, and looked back over her shoulder. ‘Friend of that Molina bitch, huh?’ I caught the accent straight off: south Texas.

  I felt a jolt of angry adrenalin, then counteracted the emotion with reason. This was my quarry, after all: Sylvia Sanchez, aka Hot Wheels.

  ‘Friends? Sometimes.’ I shrugged and kept skating. ‘Sometimes not so much.’

  Sanchez lifted a sculptured eyebrow, then spun around and skated backwards, keeping me in view. ‘So why are you filling in for her?’

  ‘Paying off a debt.’

  Hot Wheels curled her lip, spun back around, and powered on.

  ‘Ladies, gents, bi’s, and all you curious pervs! Please welcome our visitors, the baddest bunch of four-eyed girls in the league – put your hands together for Leland Stanford JUNIOR University!’

  The crowd had swollen in size and was winding up. They stomped and cheered. Our opponents swept in from the wings. They didn’t look so different from my own teammates, except that there were more tall blondes, and their merry widows looked like they’d been purchased at Abercrombie & Fitch.

  The mayhem commenced straight away. It didn’t require a four-year degree at a private university to understand the rules, but who cared about stinkin’ rules? My only aim was to stay on my feet.

  I failed two minutes in when a willowy coed stuck out a skate and tripped me. I sailed ass over kite and landed in a heap on the asphalt.

  ‘Sorry,’ she cooed as she swept by on her next circuit.

  Like hell she was sorry. I managed to struggle back to my feet. My tights were torn and when I touched my sore knee, my hand came away wet. With blood.

  ‘I’ll protect you, lil bitch,’ a Texas-accented voice crooned in my ear.

  ‘I’m not your bitch and I don’t need protection,’ I growled.

  Hot Wheels released a long peal of l
aughter. ‘Whatever, Grandma.’

  Looking back on it thirty minutes later, I realized I kind of lost perspective at that point.

  I forged into the churning river of competitors. Elbows out, I figured I was giving better than I got. Grinning into the wind, I dealt jabs left and right.

  Then a tiny Stanford coed darted up beside me. ‘What’s an old lady like you doing out here?’ She looked about twelve.

  ‘What are you majoring in, sweetie?’ I retorted. ‘Art history, I suppose?’

  ‘PhD candidate in English Literature, sweetie yourself. My topic is vaginal imagery in Katherine Mansfield.’

  ‘Huh?’ I turned my head to look at her. The candidate head-butted me in the thigh. Expertly. I dropped like a downed cow.

  At least three skaters fell on top of me. It felt like a dozen. I heard a sharp crack, and when the associated neuron finally delivered its message to my brain, I screamed.

  There was a lot of huffing and puffing on top of me. Then, I was clear. But all I could do was whimper with the pain.

  A nasty-looking Stanford dolly knelt down beside me. She looked like a member of Kiss who’d ODed on estrogen. ‘Get some ice!’ she screamed over her shoulder. Then, to my face: ‘Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. Don’t move.’

  No way was I going to move. The pain in my shoulder was so strong I feared I’d pass out. But mainly, Doc had me scared shitless.

  ‘It’s a dislocation. I’m going to fix a sling for you. You need to go to emergency, girl. Just hang in there. I know it hurts, but you’re going to be fine.’

  I spotted Claudia and BJ hovering at the outer edge of the circle of bystanders. They looked stricken. With my good hand, I motioned them over. ‘Don’t get involved,’ I managed to hiss. ‘Maybe Hot Wheels and I can bond over this.’

  It fucking hurt, all right. But the show had to go on.

  Sure enough, I managed to finagle Hot Wheels into driving me to the emergency entrance at the back of Cottage. ‘I saw that Molina bitch trying to glom on to you,’ Sylvia observed. ‘She’s a lesbo, you know that, right?’