Dragon Fruit Read online

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. You didn’t have authorization. That facility is locked at all times, accessible to PD personnel only. Mind telling me how you got in?’

  This was all crap. Wasson knew perfectly well I’d entered the warehouse with Mike. He most likely had pictures and also knew we’d entered with a key. And he knew the last thing I was going to do was to get Mike, a sheriff’s deputy, in trouble with the city cops. Was Del Wasson willing to start up a quarrel between the two agencies? I decided to call his bluff.

  ‘Sorry, Detective. I’m not free to tell you.’

  ‘That a fact?’ The guy quit smiling. ‘I think you’re free to tell me whatever you damn well want.’

  I figured two could play at Del’s game. I emitted a theatrical puff of frustration.

  ‘Look. I heard the PD is going to auction off a few cars, all right? I asked a friend, who will remain nameless, to let me into the warehouse so I could check out the one I’m interested in. It’s not playing by the rules, I admit. But is my little infraction worth your valuable time?’

  Del crossed one long leg over the other, and leaned back in the chair. ‘Which car was that, Jaymie?’

  The SOB had me. The truth was, I’d been so focused on the boat that I hadn’t paid any attention to the cars at the other end of the warehouse.

  ‘Oh, did I say one? I’m interested in all of them. I’ll be bidding for the best deal.’

  ‘Let your friend know we aren’t laughing.’ Del gave me a hard look. ‘I’m telling you for your own good, don’t pull a stunt like that again.’

  ‘Miss Jaymie, she don’t pull stunts,’ Gabi warned from behind the computer. ‘You should not talk like that.’

  Del tipped back his handsome head and laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’d say Miss Jaymie has pulled a fair number of stunts in her time.’ He gave me a broad wink, then got to his feet. ‘You ladies have a good day.’

  The office door closed as quietly as it had opened.

  ‘Ugh! I can still smell his perfume.’ Gabi picked up a sheaf of papers and waved them in the air. ‘Maybe he is handsome. But I don’t like perfume when it’s on a man, you know?’

  ‘That had everything to do with the panga boat, Gabi.’ I hopped off the corner of the desk. ‘The marijuana smuggling. Del thinks I’m poking around.’

  ‘He knows you are, Miss Jaymie. And he don’t like it.’

  ‘No. I wonder why not?’

  Claudia Molina beamed from the kitchenette doorway. ‘We heard you need help. BJ picked me up at school, and we came over right away.’

  It was good to see the kid smile again. Over a year had passed since her sister Lili was found murdered in a downtown solstice parade workshop. I knew it was BJ Bonfiglio who had helped Claudia come out of her shell.

  BJ stepped up behind her. ‘Hey, Jaymie. Hi Gabi.’ His smile matched his friend’s.

  Gabi hmphed from behind her desk. ‘Claudia came over ’cause I told her we’d pay her to put up flyers, that’s why.’

  ‘Fuckin’ bullshit.’ Claudia tucked her plaid shirt into her twenty-two-inch-waist chinos and grinned. ‘If you want, Jaymie, we’ll do it for free.’

  Claudia Molina was a busy girl. She left her dad’s Smith and Wesson knife at home these days, and applied herself at school. Gone was the partly shaved head. She wore her hair in a short cut, parted to one side. It reminded me of a good little boy’s cut, slicked down with his mama’s spit, but I’d never dare say that to Ms Molina.

  ‘OK, that is good.’ Gabi got to her feet. ’Cause that’s how you can pay us back for all the sodas and pastries you take.’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘I mean her, BJ. Not you.’

  Claudia cackled. ‘Yeah, BJ. You can have all the pastries you want. Cause mommy likes you better.’

  I rolled my eyes to heaven. I knew Claudia hadn’t forgotten that Gabi had saved her big time, six months earlier. But even though I was sure the kid was grateful deep down, these two shards of flint couldn’t help but strike sparks.

  ‘Nice to see you, BJ. How’s college?’

  ‘Pretty good. I don’t know what I’m going to major in yet, but I like all my classes so far. I really like computer science, but I’m still nowhere as good as Claudia at all that.’ He smiled. ‘And she’s still in high school and never took a computer class in her life.’

  ‘I keep telling you, you don’t need classes for that stuff, BJ. I can teach you whatever you want to know.’ Claudia stepped into the front office and BJ followed. ‘Anyway, BJ’s keeping his options open. Me, I like closure.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ Gabi muttered. ‘Closure, over and over and over.’

  Gabi was referring to the fact that Claudia had changed her mind quite a few times over the past few months. At one point she’d decided to become a detective, and then, most improbably, a cop. The last thing I’d heard, she’d settled on a career in law, all the better to enable her to ‘kick all the big fat rich people’s butts.’

  I plopped down in the hot seat. ‘Is it time for afternoon coffee?’

  ‘I’ll put it on,’ BJ replied. ‘And I brought a few slices of pound cake. I made it with the blood orange juice we froze from Claudia’s mom’s tree.’

  ‘Fuckin’ delicious.’ Claudia perched her tiny rear on the arm of the Craigslist couch. ‘So what’s this all about, Jaymie? The flyers, I mean. Can I take a look?’

  ‘They will be ready when they are ready,’ Gabi answered. ‘Come before school tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Some little kid is missing?’

  ‘No,’ Gabi snapped. ‘No, she’s happy with her mah. We just want to show people what a cute little girl she is.’

  ‘Hey, I’m talkin to Jaymie.’

  BJ retreated into the kitchenette. ‘Coffee and cake, coming right up.’

  ‘The flyers are a good idea.’ Gabi’s back was to me as she attacked the blinds with a long-handled duster. The copy machine, meanwhile, was clattering away. ‘But I’m gonna tell you what else you should do. You need to go talk to the lady priests.’

  ‘The lady priests. Is that some kind of a cult?’

  ‘Huh?’ She looked at me over her shoulder. ‘They are Catolica. They used to be sisters, Sister Laura and Sister Bernadette, and then they turned into priests. Now nobody knows what to call them. We can’t call them Father Laura and Father Bernadette, you know?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ I leaned against the kitchen doorframe. ‘But the last I heard, the Catholic Church still doesn’t let women become priests.’

  ‘Of course, El Papa, he don’t agree. If you go to the lady priests’ church’ – she slid a finger across her throat – ‘excomulgar.’

  ‘Excommunication? They must be dangerous women.’

  ‘Yes, but nice. They help people so much. Especially the people who come in with no papers, who got nowhere to go.’

  ‘I get it. So Laura and Bernadette are a danger to both Washington D.C. and Rome.’

  Gabi giggled. ‘Yes, I guess so. Very dangerous ladies who look like abuelas.’

  ‘Oh, grandmothers can be subversive, all right. If necessary, they can be the most dangerous women in the world.’

  Two of the most dangerous women in the world ran their op out of a small mobile home park on De La Vina, where ten to twelve tired old trailers were packed in like sardines.

  I had no trouble identifying the women priests’ trailers: lined up side-by-side, they were freshly-painted and surrounded by a collection of potted fruit trees and berry bushes. The space between the two single-wides formed a courtyard, where a buff-colored St Francis cradled a dove in his hands.

  A pair of little girls sat at an old redwood picnic table in the courtyard, chattering away as they applied themselves to coloring books. I was about to say hi when a young man hurried around the back corner of one of the trailers. The guy gripped a short-handled hoe.

  When our eyes met, I tried to quell my reaction. A severe cleft palate and lip split the lower half of the young man’s face. He uttered severa
l words, but I couldn’t understand what he’d said. He repeated himself, struggling to enunciate.

  I pointed at the open door of the mobile home on my right. ‘I have an appointment.’

  But he took a step forward, blocking me. His message was clear enough: I shouldn’t advance.

  FIVE

  ‘Roberto, it’s fine.’ An older woman, tall and slim with long white hair and gray eyes so bright they looked silver, stood framed in the mobile home doorway. She didn’t look like a nun or a priest. She looked like an angel.

  ‘I’m Laura. Are you Jaymie Zarlin?’

  ‘Yes.’ I found I had no problem beaming back.

  ‘Roberto, this is Jaymie. She is a friend.’ Roberto tipped his head in acknowledgement, then disappeared back around the corner.

  Laura descended the steps and approached me, extending a hand. ‘Roberto is protective of us. Now that he knows you’re a friend, he will be protective of you, too.’ Her hand was light as a leaf.

  ‘Are you in need of protection?’ I asked.

  ‘What is there to be afraid of?’ She smiled. ‘But it doesn’t hurt to have a sharp pair of eyes on the premises.’ She motioned me inside. ‘Let’s go in, shall we? Bernie will be along in a minute.’

  The old mobile home was comfortably furnished. A round coffee table stood in the center of a circle of chairs.

  ‘Please, sit down. By the way, I hope Roberto didn’t startle you, Jaymie. He’s rather fierce-looking, poor man. We’re searching for a way to help him.’

  ‘You and Bernadette must do a lot of good.’

  ‘Oh, not just us, not alone. It’s the old story of stone soup, you know? We couldn’t accomplish anything on our own. We’re part of a community, and everyone pitches in. And you, Jaymie. You do good, too.’

  ‘Uh – me?’

  Laura smiled her gentle smile. ‘We know about your good works. One of our benefactors is Darlene Richter, you see. She told us all about how you helped her with the little boy last year.’

  ‘Darlene has it backwards.’ Praise made me uncomfortable, and unearned praise made me break out in a sweat. ‘She arranged and paid for Beto’s surgery, and she took him and his family under her wing.’

  ‘You gave her the opportunity to step forward. No, those weren’t her words. Darlene said you opened her eyes.’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Good morning.’ A brisk voice female sounded from the doorway. While Laura wore a washed-denim skirt and pale pink blouse, this woman was dressed in black pants and a long-sleeved white oxford shirt. A pair of reading glasses hung around her neck on a silver chain. ‘Jaymie? I’m Bernadette.’

  I stood and exchanged a brisk handshake. ‘I’m glad to meet you.’

  The atmosphere in the trailer had altered. It still felt welcoming. But with Bernadette’s arrival, a meeting had been called to order.

  ‘Please excuse me for one moment, Jaymie.’ She turned to Laura. ‘The Esposito girls, out in the courtyard. Why aren’t they in school?’

  ‘Their mother had to go to emergency with their brother early this morning. Nothing too serious, hopefully, but Jorge cut his hand and it needed stitches. Yolanda will be back as soon as she can.’

  ‘The girls should be in school. When we’ve finished talking, I’ll take them myself.’ Bernadette sat down in an old harp-back chair. ‘It’s always something,’ she said to me. ‘Now. How can we help you?’

  How can we help you? A casual phrase people spoke every day. But I had a feeling Bernadette meant it.

  So I talked about Rosie and Chucha, and about the silver cross and the phantom child we called Millie. The women listened closely, without asking questions. Laura nodded a few times, and Bernadette fixed me with a sharp unwavering eye.

  When I’d finished, Laura shook her head. ‘That’s such a sad story. I’m so sorry for both little girls, and for their families, too.’

  Bernadette nodded. ‘Family separation. It’s so destructive for the children. We see it again and again.’ She leaned forward in her chair. ‘But I have to say, what you’ve described – it is highly unusual.’

  ‘What Bernadette is saying is true,’ Laura agreed. ‘We know adults arrive in boats from time to time, along with the marijuana. But to send a child on her own in a panga boat?’ She looked over to Bernadette for confirmation. ‘I don’t believe we’ve ever come across this before.’

  ‘Laura’s right. Unaccompanied minors don’t travel here in the panga boats. Boats are an unnecessary risk.’ Bernadette hooked a stray wisp of gray hair behind her ear and anchored it in place with the stem of her glasses.

  ‘In some ways, you see, a child is not so difficult to bring into the country. The boy or girl can travel in a vehicle, with a family member or acquaintance who has papers and will pretend to be the parent. Now, I do see why your friend Chucha arranged the boat trip. She had no one else to turn to, it seems. But for another little girl to have come into the country in the same way before her?’ Bernadette shrugged. ‘I suspect there’s more to this story than meets the eye.’

  Laura turned to me. ‘Do you have a picture of the missing child, Jaymie?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’d taken a snapshot of the picture of Rosie with my cell. I pulled it up, then handed the phone to her. ‘That’s Chucha’s daughter.’

  ‘Oh …’ When Laura looked up at me, I saw her eyes had filled with tears. ‘Such a beautiful little girl.’ She got to her feet and carried the cell phone over to Bernadette.

  Bernadette lifted her glasses to her nose, and peered at the photo. ‘This is Rosamar? Her looks are distinctive.’

  ‘She looks just like Chucha.’

  ‘Does she have any identifying marks, do you know?’ Laura asked.

  ‘A small birthmark at the nape of her neck. According to her mother, it’s shaped like a dolphin.’

  ‘Hm. Fanciful, perhaps,’ Bernadette replied. She turned to Laura. ‘You know, I wonder. What is the name of that attorney, the woman who campaigns against illegal adoption?’

  ‘I think you mean Staffen Brill.’ Laura had stopped smiling. ‘But, illegal adoption? Bernie, there’s nothing to indicate—’

  ‘Jaymie’s at a dead end, Laura. You’re right, of course: this sad matter most likely has nothing to do with adoption, illegal or otherwise. But talking to Brill might help, and it can’t hurt. I seem to recall that the woman knows a fair bit about illegal immigration as well.’

  Laura rose from the couch and went over to the counter dividing the living room from the small kitchen. She spun an old-fashioned Rolodex for a few seconds, then opened it to a card. ‘All right, here we are: Staffen Brill.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it.’ Bernadette nodded to me. ‘You should go and talk with her, Jaymie. Pick her brain, as they say. With the possibility of two children missing … well. Imagine, if you could help either – or even both. You’d be doing God’s work.’

  ‘Yes … yes, OK.’

  ‘But? I hear hesitation. Do you object to my reference to God, is that it?’ Bernadette leaned forward. ‘No. No, I do see. It’s only the one child you are concerned with. Am I right?’

  ‘Bernadette,’ Laura warned. ‘Let’s not press.’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ I looked down at the water-ringed coffee table. ‘It’s not that I don’t care about Millie – if she exists. I do care. But Rosie, I know she’s real. And if she’s still alive, she’s in danger.’

  ‘And business is business, am I right? You have been hired to find only the one little girl.’

  Mother Bernadette was pushing a trifle too hard. But I nodded. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Let me put it this way then, Jaymie. If you help the one child, you very well may then be in a position to help the other. Can we agree?’

  I smiled in defeat. Not all saints were gentle, I was sure. ‘It’s possible, yes.’

  ‘Then we are agreed.’ Bernadette’s smile was warm. ‘So, did you come in a car? I have a busy schedule today. Those two little Esposito girl
s are playing hooky, and they need a ride to their school.’

  I marched the two little scofflaws into the Franklin School office and handed them over to the school secretary.

  ‘Their mom had to take their brother to emergency,’ I explained to the frowning woman. ‘That’s why they’re late.’

  ‘People have to go to emergency all the time. We can’t accept that as an excuse.’

  ‘This was a real emergency, not a case of the Monday morning flu. He was badly injured, and the wound required stitches.’ I was right in my element now – an old hand at making up excuses for school tardiness. For good measure, I added, ‘There was a lot of blood.’

  The disapproval on the secretary’s face softened to mild skepticism. ‘We’ll see. Girls, go to your rooms.’

  The Esposito girls exchanged conspiratorial grins and scampered off through a side door.

  I escaped to the school parking lot and climbed into Blue Boy, the El Camino I’d inherited from my brother. Thanks to an interim owner, Blue Boy was painted a gleaming candy apple red.

  I rolled down the windows, then leaned back in the reupholstered seat and closed my eyes. The joyful sounds of kids at play brought back memories of recess: that heady release into freedom, all the sweeter for its brevity.

  A few minutes later I opened my eyes and shifted my thoughts back to the here and now. The lady priests had pointed me in a concrete direction. They thought my next step should be to talk to the attorney they’d suggested, Staffen Brill.

  But I felt cautious. This investigation, which was growing like a magic beanstalk, wobbled on a thin stem. I knew from experience that going in too many directions often led to disappointment down the road, not to mention wasted time. Was I getting too far ahead of myself?

  In spite of Bernadette’s sermon, my job was to find Chucha’s daughter – not to discover the identity of the phantom Millie. Yes, it was possible the two mysteries were linked. But the truth was, I could be chasing after ghosts: the ghosts of two deceased little girls.

  Sobered, I jammed the key in the ignition and the Cam purred to life.

  I’d begun my investigation based on an assumption: that Rosie Robledo was still alive. But now, mired in quicksand, I needed firmer footing. Proof. I had to find out for sure if Rosie had survived the ocean journey.