Dragon Fruit Read online

  ‘I’m taking you to your place. You’re a menace to yourself. You’re going to get in bed, and you’re going to stay there. If I could, I’d lock you in and throw away the key.’

  I was quiet as we gunned up El Balcon and turned up my drive. ‘Sorry I’m acting like an idiot. Something bad’s happened. I need to talk.’

  ‘I know.’ He pulled to a stop in front of my door. ‘Think that man-eater will let me in?’

  I looked out the window: Dexter had barreled out through the pet door. A ball of indignant fury, he snarled and snapped, racing back and forth in front of the Jag.

  I knew Zave secretly wanted to baby me. But instead he sat down in one of my two kitchen chairs and folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘I’m going to make coffee, fully-leaded. Want a cup?’

  ‘Why not. Just don’t offer to cook.’

  It hurt to laugh, but still, it felt good. It was an old joke between us: Zave was a superlative cook, and I was one of the worst.

  I set up my old drip coffeemaker, then sat down opposite him. ‘You know what happened to Chucha, right?’ I knew there was zero chance Zave hadn’t heard.

  ‘Yeah. Ugly business. Is she going to make it?’

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to go into it, not now. ‘Brain damage. Severe.’

  ‘Shit. Sorry, Jaymie. I know you liked her.’

  ‘Like her, you mean. Yeah, I do. Zave, here’s the thing. I just found out it was Angel. Gabi’s boyfriend, you know? Angel tipped off the cops about Chucha.’

  Zave’s expression turned hard, and a corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Asshole. Why the fuck did he do that?’

  ‘Prejudice. Ignorance. He thought Chucha would be a bad parent, that Rosie would be better off being adopted. So he went to the cops to get Chucha deported.’ I puffed out a stream of air. ‘According to Gabi, Angel had no idea she’d be beaten to within an inch of her life.’

  ‘He had no idea.’ Zave gave a short laugh. ‘They never do, the snitches.’

  ‘Gabi’s finished with him. I hope to God I never see the man again. I’d be tempted to rip him to bits.’

  ‘Speaking of people who aren’t what they seem. There’s someone I didn’t tell you about when you came to the office the other day.’

  I studied my former lover. ‘Great, just great. Another fucking surprise.’

  ‘I had an urge to protect you.’ He looked away. ‘Though why the hell I’d want to do that is a mystery.’

  I adjusted the sling. It was biting into my neck, and my shoulder throbbed. ‘Because we’re friends?’

  He smiled a little. ‘Yeah, all right. Put it that way if you want. We’re friends.’

  ‘So who is this about?’

  ‘Laura Marie Brautigan.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The nun. The priest. Whatever she is. Brautigan’s her last name, Jaymie.’

  ‘Oh.’ I was quiet. It was still dark outside, and I could hear a barn owl calling from the top of the Monterey cypress. ‘Laura’s very nice. And she seems genuine.’

  ‘Nice, maybe so. But genuine? Not entirely.’ Zave splayed his hands on the gray Formica tabletop. ‘It’s like this. A buddy of mine represented her, nine or ten years ago. I remember because the case was unusual. He told me all about it at the time, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Should he have done that?’

  Zave dismissed my question with a brusque wave of his hand. ‘Brautigan was employed by the county – I think she was based up in Lompoc. She was a social worker, dealing with foster kids. What happened was this: she helped some fourteen-year-old run away from his foster parents. Initially she was charged with kidnapping, but that was dropped for lesser charges.’

  ‘Laura must have had a reason for doing that, Zave. She doesn’t seem like the type to break the law.’

  ‘Brautigan argued that the law of God was superior to the law of man. Something like that. The boy was being abused. The foster parents denied it, of course. The kid was in a bad spot, and the wheels of bureaucracy were jammed. Laura took matters into her own hands.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She was convicted of a felony. Didn’t spend long in jail, though. The judge had a record of being tough on abusers. He was sympathetic to her.’

  ‘So when she got out, that’s when she must have decided to become a priest.’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe because she wouldn’t have been able to get a job in the public sector again, that’s for sure.’

  ‘And the boy? What happened to him?’

  ‘He was removed from the home. Other than that, I’ve got no idea.’

  The coffeemaker let out a long, pent-up hiss. ‘So – why would you think I’d need protection from that information? No, let me guess.’ I got up and switched off the coffee, then reached for a couple of mugs. ‘Staffen Brill. She was part of the picture, am I right?’

  ‘On the money. Brill and her partner, Morehead, were going to adopt the kid, take him off Laura Brautigan’s hands. That was the plan. They let him hide out at that estate of theirs, as a matter of fact. When Brautigan was arrested, Morehead and Brill came close to being charged. Real close. But they wriggled out of it.’

  ‘Claimed ignorance, I suppose. As if.’

  Zave accepted the mug I offered him – chipped, but my best. My best, except for the mug Brodie had given me. That one I kept for myself.

  ‘Sure. They were in the dark, or so they claimed. But that was a joke. One thing about that pair you can count on, is that they always know what’s going on.’ He laughed. ‘You think I can pull strings?’

  ‘So let me understand this. You want me to stay away from Brill and Morehead. I wasn’t interested in them before, Zave. But you’re right: now that I know about the past they share with Laura, I’m curious. I have to wonder why they wanted to help.’

  ‘We’ll never know. But there was something in it for them, you can be sure of that.’ Zave squinted as the steam off the coffee hit his eyes. ‘Listen, Brill and Morehead are poisonous. The less you have to do with them the better off you’ll be.’

  ‘Control freak.’

  ‘I try. But you can be a slippery little salamander.’

  ‘Look. I want to know that boy’s name.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Call me a pack rat. I’m attracted to odd bits of information, that’s all. Who knows, I might need it some time.’

  ‘No. What you need is to let it go.’ Zave set down the cup, harder than was necessary. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you any of it. This entire business leads back to the cops, you see that by now, right? If you can’t see it, Jaymie, you’re blind.’

  SIXTEEN

  Monday evening, when I hobbled into the small concrete arena at the Earl Warren show grounds, cheers went up on all sides.

  OK, it was just practice, and only twelve women were present: but La Macheesma got a round of whoops, whistles, and applause. I’d been wounded in battle, which meant I’d earned my stripes.

  The Black Widow glided up to me and stuck out her hand. She gripped my good hand so hard I thought I heard a ligament pop. ‘Way to go, bitch! You were awesome out there!’

  I hadn’t been awesome, I was sure of that. ‘Sorry we lost, coach. I heard about the score from Clau – from La Diablita.’

  ‘Yeah, so what?’ The Black Widow snickered, showing her fangs. ‘In three weeks we have a rematch. I got a few tricks up my sleeve. Those smart girls won’t be able to add two and two after we use ’em to wipe up the track.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ I looked around for Sylvia. ‘Where’s Hot Wheels? I want to thank her for taking me to emergency.’

  ‘Called and said she couldn’t make practice. Didn’t feel good or something, the wuss.’

  ‘Maybe she really is sick.’ I took out my cell. ‘Would you mind texting her contact info to me? I’ll send her some flowers.’

  ‘Ohh-kay,’ drawled the Black Widow. ‘Hey, you know she’s got a boyfriend, right? And I don’t think
she’s bi.’

  The Black Widow might have thought I was interested in Hot Wheels, but Hot Wheels herself wasn’t confused. ‘I figured you’d try to talk to me. That’s why I didn’t go to practice tonight,’ she snarled into the phone.

  ‘Sylvia, was it something I said?’

  ‘Don’t play dumb with me. When I got back to the fairgrounds that night, Del was there. He told me all about you, OK? A nosy PI, that’s what you are. You wanted to get info out of me, so you acted like you were my friend!’

  ‘Hey, bullshit. Claudia asked me to sub for her, like I said. And If I remember right, you volunteered to take me to the hospital. I suppose you think the separated shoulder was a fake too!’

  Hot Wheels laughed. Her laughter was real, throaty, and surprised. I actually kind of liked the woman, in a weird sort of way. But I did not like the company she slept with.

  ‘Yeah, the shoulder was for real. But that shit about filling in for La Diablita? That was crap. You set it up.’

  ‘You’re being honest with me, Sylvia. So I’ll be up front too. Yes, I wanted to talk with you. Sorry if I was sneaky. I didn’t know anything about you, didn’t know what kind of person you are.’

  ‘And you think you do now?’ Her had voice tensed. Del had tipped her off about me, and maybe she’d also talked to her brother. So why was the woman still on the phone?

  ‘Not really, no. If you want to hang up, I’d understand.’

  I was tired, I realized. Tired and impatient. I was trying to get by without any pain meds so I could think straight, but my shoulder ached liked effing hell.

  ‘Look, Sylvia. I understand if you don’t want to go against your boyfriend.’

  ‘What, Del? What the fuck are you talking about?’ Her voice changed again, taking on an anxious edge. ‘It’s my brother I’m worried about. If you don’t know that, you don’t know nothin’.’

  I sat up straight. Sylvia had something to tell me, all right. ‘Your brother. Steve Sanchez.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one.’ Her tone had turned sarcastic, but something else, something real, lay underneath. ‘Listen, Steve drives by my apartment two or three times every day. He says it’s to keep me safe. But I’d feel a lot safer if he just left me alone.’

  ‘If you have something to tell me, Sylvia, you don’t need to worry.’ I tried to keep the urgency out of my voice. ‘I promise your name won’t ever come up. You won’t be dragged into anything.’

  ‘Know what? I don’t trust you. I shouldn’t even be talking to you now. How do I know you aren’t taping this call?’

  ‘I’m not. But you have a point. Maybe Steve tracks your calls?’

  ‘Wouldn’t put it past him.’ Sylvia made an exasperated sound. ‘My big brother. He drives me crazy sometimes. Listen, can you think of some place to meet? Somewhere … where Steve won’t see my car. Where he never goes.’

  ‘I’ll come up with something.’

  ‘And in case you think I’m paranoid, get this. Del told me that when Steve’s gone, he asks other cops to keep an eye on me.’

  ‘I’ll text you with a location. Tomorrow, what time?’

  ‘I work ten to five.’

  ‘Nine, then.’

  ‘Nine’s early. I’ll think about it.’

  She was backpedaling now, I could hear it. After nibbling the bait off the hook the fish was swimming away.

  ‘Sylvia, I just had a brainwave. Do you know where the Botanic Garden is?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it. Never been there.’

  ‘I guarantee you Steve’s never been there either. And the parking is hidden down off the road. It’s above the old mission, in Mission Canyon. Nine a.m. tomorrow, I’ll meet you there.’

  I didn’t give her time to think twice. I punched off the phone.

  Sylvia needed to talk. I had no idea why, but she had a burning coal in her brain. She wanted to pass something on to me, to unburden herself. Something to do with her brother, Tejano Steve.

  I tooled up Mission Canyon at quarter to nine the next morning. All the windows in the Camino were rolled down and cool air streamed into the cab.

  The canyon smelled of damp loam and mushrooms, thanks to a few recent rains. It was generous, though, to call them rains. We’d had a few sprinklings, yes, but the drought continued to deepen. Summer loomed like a fire-breathing dragon lurking just over the mountains.

  The Botanic Garden parking lot was set below the road, screened by oaks and other native trees and shrubs. You could count on the fact that anything growing in the Garden was native to our golden state. Any foreign plant, no matter how beautiful or rare, had long ago been yanked out by the roots and mulched.

  I pulled Blue Boy into a slot next to a parking place reserved for electric cars. The lot was almost empty. The facility didn’t open till nine, for one thing. For another, this was the month of February: the garden was drab at this time of year and received few winter visitors.

  I climbed out of the Camino and went to stand near the entry gate. I wanted to get there before Sylvia. The garden employees and volunteers were good souls all, but I wasn’t sure how Hot Wheels would feel about being instructed to keep her feet on the paths.

  Promptly at nine, the entrance kiosk raised its green awning. The gate lady looked good: her smooth silver hair was cut in an artful bob, and her face work was up-to-date, which was more than I could say for mine. Her black and turquoise designer outfit, however, seemed less than ideal for dabbling in the dirt.

  ‘Good morning. Are you a member?’ Her expression implied she was sure I was not.

  ‘Yep. Lifetime. I don’t carry my card on me, but you’ll find me in your computer. Jaymie Zarlin.’

  The lady’s brows knitted. Her earrings, tiny gold flowerpots set with diamond-studded daisies, quivered. ‘Do you haveidentification?’

  I pulled out my driver’s license. What was it, I wondered, that made me look like I didn’t belong? I could play in the dirt with the best of them.

  ‘I’m bringing a guest. I think that’s free for members, right?’

  Her brow furrow deepened. ‘If you are a lifetime member, then yes.’ She peered at her iPad. ‘Hmm. I do see you here.’

  I could tell she was dying to know how someone of my ilk was a member. Oh, and a lifetime member no less. The morningwas bright and I was in a generous mood, so I decided to indulge her.

  ‘Jane Starkey gave me the membership as a gift. I don’t use it much, but every once in a while it comes in handy.’

  ‘Jane Starkey? Jane is one of our most valued benefactors.’ She handed me two tickets. ‘Perhaps you’d like to become more involved?’

  ‘Ah. Well, the thing is—’ As good luck would have it, Hot Wheels chose that moment to appear.

  ‘Hey, Jaymie.’

  In defense of the gatekeeper, whose jaw had dropped about a foot, I had to admit that Hot Wheels didn’t look like a woman who was eager to meander down a gravel path. It’s a challenge to look hot and sexy at nine a.m. in the month of February, but Sylvia had managed it, and with panache. Her mass of dark curls bounced, her fingernails glittered, and her boobs threatened to pop out of her tight V-neck top. The woman wasn’t there to pull weeds.

  ‘Hey, Hot Wheels, come on in. Let’s go for a walk.’ I waggled my fingers goodbye to my fellow garden member. I’d given her a gift, the way I looked at it: something to gossip about for months to come.

  ‘Damn fucking dirt. What’s the matter, can’t they afford a little concrete?’ Hot Wheels’ four-inch stilettos were sinking into the damp decomposed granite path.

  ‘Yeah, well. The paths used to be paved, the way I heard it. Then the Garden yanked all the pavers out. Not natural enough.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Sylvia put a hand on my shoulder to balance herself, then checked her heels. ‘If these shoes are wrecked by the time I leave, this place is going to hear about it. Fucking two-fifty.’

  ‘Blahnik, huh?’

  ‘A fucking good copy.’

  Together we
hobbled along to a garden bench. I noticed it was made of an exotic timber, teak. Definitely not a native timber. As a lifetime member, I would have to protest.

  ‘Shit.’ Sylvia grinned at me. ‘The day’s barely started, and already my feet are killing me.’

  I eyed the shoes and her get-up. ‘Where do you work?’

  ‘Nirvana Spa. I do nails.’ She held out her hands, to better display the lethal weapons springing from her fingertips. ‘I can do yours if you want, but not for free.’

  ‘I don’t have any to do.’

  ‘We’ll glue on some fake ones, La Macheesma.’ She studied my face. ‘Fake eyelashes, too.’

  I kept quiet. No need to inform Sylvia that, as far as I was concerned, my days as La Macheesma had come to a close.

  ‘Shit.’ Sylvia held back her curls to look up at the trees. ‘Those birds are loud.’

  ‘Mmm. Hey, thanks for agreeing to meet with me, Sylvia. I’d offer to pay for those shoes, but—’

  ‘Jaymie, you couldn’t afford it.’ She started to smile, but then her face fell. ‘I hate talking about this shit. What we’re going to talk about, I mean.’

  ‘I know.’ I paused. ‘Then why are you doing it?’

  She looked out over the meadow. It was covered in thick black plastic, to snuff out any weed seedlings even thinking about having a life.

  ‘Because I figured it out.’ Sylvia shrugged. ‘This is all about Chucha Robledo, right? I know her through work, actually. I’ll bet you didn’t know that. We’ve done a few weddings together. Quinceañeras too.’

  Sylvia had caught me by surprise. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Yeah. Chucha’s nice. She referred me to some clients, good ones. I feel bad about what happened to her.’

  Something occurred to me: maybe Sylvia Sanchez wasn’t as tough as I thought.

  ‘Listen, Sylvia. Wasson’s your boyfriend. He’s a cop. Aren’t you taking a risk, talking to me?’

  ‘Huh? I told you, Del I can handle.’ She looked sideways at me and arched a heavy black eyebrow. ‘I know how to keep him in line.’

  ‘I bet you do. But your brother – he’s a different matter, right? Are you afraid of him?’