Blood Orange Page 9

  You could see where pictures had been taken down from the walls, leaving the nails. No rug covered the old vinyl floor. A single wooden chair with a rush-covered seat stood in the center of the room.

  There was nothing to look at but the shrine. Two fold-up craft tables, covered with old crocheted cloths, were pushed against the walls to meet in a corner, forming a V. The possessions of Lili Molina were arranged on the tabletops.

  “Please, go and look,” Teresa urged. “That is all that remains of my beautiful daughter.”

  A single candle flickered in a jar painted with pictures of La Virgen de Guadalupe, and an incense burner wafted white strands of smoke. A collection of earrings, a pressed gardenia corsage, and a child’s finger painting were among the objects artfully displayed. In the center of the shrine was a photo of Lili, not the self-conscious head shot you might have expected, but a picture of a giggling teenager with a green parakeet perched on top of her head.

  “Your daughter was beautiful, Mrs. Molina. I can tell she had a good heart.”

  “Yes. Yes, she did.” She motioned to me. “Come to the kitchen, please.”

  I sat down on a plastic-covered chair at the kitchen table, and Teresa sat facing me. It occurred to me that she was only a few years older than I. Already, her daughter had been murdered, and two years earlier, her husband had died in a gruesome accident. Life was giving this woman a very rough ride.

  The small table held a laptop computer. “Claudia’s,” Teresa murmured. She lowered the lid and moved it aside.

  I could see Teresa had something she wanted to say, but the words were not coming easily. She pushed a strand of hair off her forehead, and I noticed a diamond engagement ring on her left hand. The stones were not large, but the arrangement sparkled prettily in the dim light.

  “The sheriff, Mr. Dawson?” she began. “He was good to us. He brought Lili’s … things.” Teresa uttered each phrase separately, as if she had to drag her thoughts to the surface, one at a time. “But something was missing. I wasn’t thinking right, but Claudia saw.”

  I leaned forward to make sure I caught each of her words. “What was it, Mrs. Molina?”

  “Always, Lili wore La Virgen de Guadalupe on a gold chain. Her father gave the medallion to her when she was little. She never took it off, not even when she had a shower.”

  “I promise you, I’ll try my best to find it.”

  She let out a long breath, and her head tipped forward. “Thank you.”

  I looked at all the disarray: dishes piled high in the sink, an overflowing trash can. I didn’t want to take advantage of this woman’s despair. “Teresa? Before we talk further, I want to explain to you why I’m here. I’m a private—”

  In rapid succession, the screen door and then the front door banged open. “Ma! Who’s this?”

  A petite girl of around fifteen stood in the kitchen doorway. She wore a man-sized white wifebeater draping a pair of baggy basketball shorts. The bottom half of her scalp was shaved, the long hair on the top half tied back in a severe ponytail. Her eyes blazed.

  “Claudia, por favor…”

  Claudia, who most likely weighed in at around ninety pounds, advanced on me. “Ma. Let me handle this.”

  “Mija—”

  I rose to my feet, hoping to quiet the kid down. But Claudia wasn’t fazed by the nine or ten inches I had on her. “Back off, bitch! What are you doing bothering my mom?”

  “Miss Molina, calm down. My name is Jaymie Zarlin. I’m a private investigator representing the Armenta family.”

  “But—you never said that,” Teresa objected.

  “I was just about to tell you,” I answered weakly.

  “You’re full of it.” Claudia snarled. “Get the hell outta our house.” Alas, the snarl was kind of cute, like that of a kitten.

  I didn’t want to embarrass the kid, but I had no intention of being bullied by a bantam chick. “There’s something I need to say to you, Miss Molina. First, please take a step back.”

  “I ain’t ‘Miss Molina.’ And I ain’t taking no step back.” Claudia balled her fists and raised them. “You got something to—”

  “Claudia,” her mother said wearily.

  “Ma—”

  “You’re hurting me, Claudia.” There was misery now in Teresa Molina’s soft voice.

  The girl jutted her delicate chin at me. “OK, what do you want? Say it and go.”

  “You loved your sister a lot. I can see that. Do you want the man who killed her to get away with it?”

  Teresa moaned softly, then went quiet. Claudia’s face froze in a mask, her mouth open in a silent O.

  I was injuring them. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t for Lili’s sake. “The truth is this: Danny Armenta was set up. If he’s convicted, the killer will go free.”

  Teresa Molina broke into a sob.

  I stepped forward and rested my hand on her shaking shoulder. “I promise I’ll do my best to find Lili’s medallion.” I met Claudia’s stare. “And I’ll do everything I can to find out who did this.”

  As I crossed the small living room, I noticed that the candle at Lili’s vigil had gone out, probably when Claudia slammed open the doors.

  * * *

  “Don’t ever come around and bother my mom again, bitch!”

  Claudia had caught up with me in the narrow walkway beside the big house. I turned in time to see her reach into her baggy shorts and pull out an old pearl-handled switchblade.

  “You’re taller than me, but that don’t matter. White bitches like you are all weak.” She raised her arm, released the blade, and jabbed the weapon at my face.

  “Shit!” Claudia gasped. I’d grabbed her skinny elbow in midswing, wrapped it around her back, and tucked her hand up behind her ear. The knife clattered to the pavement.

  “Sorry, I miscalculated a little.” I dropped Claudia’s hand down slightly to ease the pain in her shoulder.

  “Fuck! I—ouch! OK! But don’t think I’m gonna say sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I let the girl go. “My brother died a few years back. I lost it for a while.”

  Claudia lifted her shoulder and rotated it. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath.

  “That’s a nice vintage knife you’ve got there. But you better put it back in your pocket.”

  She bent down to pick up the knife, closed the blade, and slipped it into her shorts. “It was my dad’s. Smith and Wesson.”

  Above us, a window creaked. Claudia tipped back her head. “Hey bitch, mind yo own business!”

  There was a hiss of disapproval, followed by the slam of the window sash.

  I had to laugh. And to my surprise, I saw Claudia suppress the hint of a smile.

  “OK. I need to tell you something, lady. Something my mom don’t know nothin about. And don’t you dare tell her, all right?”

  “All right. Let’s find a better place to talk, maybe out on the street.”

  “Yeah. Fuckin’ goddamn chismosa!” Claudia yelled up at the window. “Nosy-ass bitch,” she thoughtfully translated for me.

  When we reached the sidewalk, I turned to her. “OK, I’m listening.”

  “The Stellatos. Know who they are? Rich-ass family my mom used to work for.”

  “I know them.”

  “OK. Well, I think maybe something bad happened to Lili at their house. A couple months after my dad died.” I saw her swallow hard. “You … heard about my dad?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, Claudia.”

  “Yeah.” She glared at the pavement. “Well, anyway. One time the Stellatos, they had a big party. My sister went there to help my mom out. You know, dishwashing and stuff, like they were some kind of slaves.”

  “Uh-huh. So, what do you think happened?”

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe Mr. Stellato got mad at her. My mom always said he had a bad temper. Or maybe the rich kids at the party said some mean stuff. Once Lili started to tell me, but then she stopped. She never told Mom, I know
that for sure. Anyways, a week after the party, they fired my mom. She wasn’t too mad about it cause she got another job right away, and besides, the Stellatos gave her all kinds of money when she left—what do they call it?”

  “Severance pay.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. One time I asked Lili if Mom got fired cause of her. She got really mad and said to shut up. I don’t know, it’s weird. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, cause later Mr. Stellato got Lili into the Apollo Guild.”

  “How long ago did you say this was?”

  “A long time ago. Maybe almost two years.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Claudia. It might help. Listen, I want to ask you a question. I noticed your mom wears an engagement ring. Is she getting married?”

  “Yeah.” The girl shrugged. “Margarito’s OK, I guess. He gave Mom the ring a month ago. One good thing about him, he’s got papers.” She looked up quickly. “But my mom wouldn’t—she’d never get married just because…” Her words faded.

  “I understand. I’m glad for her.” I took a business card from my wallet. “Here. If you want to, let’s stay in touch. And please call me Jaymie, OK? I guess I’m old-fashioned, I like it better than bitch.”

  “OK.” She accepted the card. “Do you really think that kid didn’t—?” Her voice broke.

  “I’m certain Danny didn’t harm your sister.”

  “Armenta is weird.… No, it had to be hi-him!” There was an odd little hiccup in Claudia’s voice. Suddenly she bent double, as if she’d been punched in the gut. “Lili,” she moaned.

  For a moment, uncertain, I hovered over the girl. Then I knelt down beside her and rested my hand on her shoulder.

  “Get your hands off me!” She jumped up, eyes blazing. “And get the hell offa my street!”

  Chapter Eight

  Something bad had happened to Lili at the Stellatos’. I needed to know what.

  The next morning found me tooling alongside the bridle paths in Hope Ranch, where H. R. Haldeman had lived before his death, where Snoop Dogg chose to kennel up now. Considering what I’d learned about Vincent Stellato, I’d decided not to call ahead. I was willing to take my chances: it was midmorning, midweek, and hopefully the man of the house was either at the office, running his statewide highway paving business, or busy negotiating a ninth hole.

  The Stellato estate was located on Marina Drive, the street running along the cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The mansions were invisible, hidden behind tasteful and pricey teak fences, ancient live oaks, and dapple-barked California sycamores. It occurred to me that the El Cam was maybe not the best calling card in this neighborhood. To gain entrance, I’d need to employ either subterfuge or my dubious charm.

  As it happened, it would be subterfuge. A plumber’s van had pulled up at the Stellatos’ scrolly gate, and the driver was speaking into an intercom. When the gate swung open in a big arc, I drove in on the tradesman’s heels.

  The mansion was hidden, but close to the road. The first thing I noticed about the structure was that everything seemed out of scale. Arches, windows, and chimneys were all somehow half a size too large. The architect had managed to turn a traditionally welcoming Mediterranean design into something arrogant and ugly. Even the paint color, a stippled yellow, set my teeth on edge.

  The plumber’s van continued on around to the back, but I pulled the El Camino right up under the giant portico, between a bed of waxy white gardenias and a dark red Mercedes, brand-spanking-new. I switched off the engine and stepped out: paradise greeted me. The house might have been hideous, but the grounds were lush and blooming, the warm air drenched with subtle fragrances and birdsong.

  I shut the car door, turned—and sucked in my breath.

  The biggest German shepherd on earth had appeared out of nowhere. Silent except for a low menacing growl, it took a step forward and bared its fangs.

  Quietly, without looking the animal in the eye, I spoke to it. “Hey boy, good boy. Good dog, sit.”

  The thing did not sit, but leaped. As it dove past I felt a sharp nip on my leg, just hard enough to let me know who was in charge. The beast circled and prepared to make another pass.

  “Freddy!” a woman’s voice called out. “Freddy, please stop!” Freddy again showed his teeth and regarded me eagerly, as if I were a rabbit about to run.

  “I’m so sorry! Did Freddy bite you?” A woman in her late forties, wearing pale-pink garden gloves and matching clogs, hurried up. “Lance, come out here! Lance, you have to call Freddy before he—”

  “Before he kills again?” A handsome kid in his late teens leaned out of an upstairs window and laughed. In his right hand he dangled what looked like a joint. “Freddy, go back. Go on, git.”

  The dog slowly turned and moved off a few yards, then dropped down on the grass, with what looked like ill-tempered regret. “Sorry lady,” Lance drawled from above. He took a drag and puffed out a cloud.

  “Lance, honey, how many times have I asked you to please, please not smoke those nasty cigarettes in the house.” The woman smiled at me. She was pretty, in a faded sort of way. Even though her eyes and hair were dark brown, she reminded me of Doris Day. “He likes to roll his own nasty cigarettes for some reason or other. Kids. What do you do?”

  “It’s the economy, Mom.” Lance grinned above us like a Cheshire cat. “Saves money to roll your own.” He winked broadly at me.

  “My husband wants Freddy to run loose, for security. But I just don’t like it. I’m sorry if he frightened you.” She cocked her head like a robin. “I’m Maryjune Stellato. Are you with the Master Gardener program? I called about my Quercus agrifolias. I must be overwatering. They just don’t look—”

  “No, Mrs. Stellato. I’ve been mistaken for many things, but never a master gardener. Actually, I’m here on a serious matter. Concerning the death of—”

  “Oh. Oh my, I know exactly what you’re going to say.” Maryjune clapped her gloved hands to her cheeks. “Teresa’s daughter, that poor girl.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “How is Teresa taking it?”

  “Not so well, I’m afraid.”

  “No, no of course not. I sent flowers and fruit, and I wanted to go visit her, but Vince said—”

  “Hey, Mom? Who’s that you’re talking to?”

  Maryjune shaded her eyes and looked up. “This lady is here about Teresa’s daughter.” She turned back to me. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Jaymie Zarlin. I’m a private investigator, and I’ve been hired to look into Lili Molina’s murder.” There was a sharp noise at the window, but when I looked up, Lance had gone. “I understand Mrs. Molina used to work for you.”

  “Yes, she did. But—but forgive me, I thought they arrested the boy—”

  “A mistake. He didn’t do it.”

  “Oh my. Tell me, how can I help?”

  In this pretentious pile of stucco and concrete, I’d apparently found a genuine person. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.” I lowered my voice. Though I couldn’t see Lance, I had a feeling he was still listening in.

  “Absolutely. Absolutely anything I can do to help Teresa.” She tilted her head to the open window. “Lance, honey? Ms. Zarlin and I are going into the garden to talk. Lance, are you still up there? Better put your car in the garage before Dad gets home.”

  So the Mercedes was Lance’s, and Daddy was on his way home. I figured it might be a good idea to get my questions asked before Vincent showed up.

  Maryjune removed her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her gardener’s apron. “Let’s go sit in the Seaside Garden. It’s the most soothing.”

  I followed the lady of the manor past beautifully tended flower beds, across verdant grass. We came on a gardener kneeling before a rosebush blanketed in red blooms so dark they were nearly black.

  “Good job, Enrique. I know it’s a fiddly business.” Maryjune looked at me and giggled. “Don’t imagine we dethorn all the rosebushes, Ms. Zarlin. Only the ones near the paths.”r />
  Imagine that, a life without thorns. “Um, please call me Jaymie.” For the life of me, I couldn’t think what else to say.

  “I will, if you’ll call me Maryjune.” We sashayed around a few more corners on our plush emerald path.

  “Let’s sit here, Jaymie. This garden is completed—if ever a garden is—and I won’t be distracted with looking around and noticing what needs doing next. I’m kind of obsessed that way, you know.” And she giggled again.

  I just couldn’t help myself: I found it impossible not to like the woman. We sat side by side on a weathered teak bench.

  “I’d like to ask you about Teresa, Maryjune. I understand she worked for you up until about a year ago. Was she a good employee?”

  “Oh my, yes. The best, you know? I trusted Teresa completely. She worked hard—too hard, I sometimes thought. At times she looked like a mother bird with a nest full of chicks, just worn to the bone. She worked here three full days a week, Vincent likes a clean house. And she had five or six other houses as well, can you believe that? She did it for her girls, of course. You know, Teresa is so competent, I always felt she could do more than clean houses. But—I hope this is OK to tell you—Teresa is undocumented.”

  “It limits her options, that’s for sure. But tell me, why did Teresa leave? I understand you let her go.”

  “Oh … that was Vince.” Maryjune reached out and twisted a dead leaf off a shrub. “He insisted. We argued about it, actually.” She looked over at me. “We don’t argue often. I don’t see much point to it, you know? But that one time…”

  “That time you did,” I prompted.

  “Yes, that time I stood my ground. Vince claimed it was too risky for his business, employing an illegal. But I thought that was nonsense. Nearly every house in Santa Barbara has a cleaning woman who is illegal, for goodness sake!” She shrugged. “So, now I have a cleaning service. It’s very impersonal, and not nearly as good as Teresa was.”

  “How did Teresa take it—being fired, I mean?”

  “Oh, she was upset. But then Vince talked to her and made it right.” Maryjune glanced at me. “My husband has a bad temper, and some people think he’s mean. But Vince can be generous. He gave Teresa a large check—six thousand dollars, I believe.”