Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men) (30 page)

“I have an address. I thought you guys wanted to lock John Carpenter up and throw away the key? Go talk to her.”

He shifted in his seat. “Miss Sizemore, let me tell you something about the Mexican community. They don’t trust us.”

The guy’s last name was Martinez and he looked Latino to Amy. “Why not?”

“It’s possible this woman, if she was in the migrant camps at such a young age, isn’t a legal resident.”

He got paid to make assumptions? Must be a hell of a job. “And if she’s a citizen?”

“When it comes to rape, the Latino community has a different outlook. She won’t be co-operative.”

“Then buy a damn shovel and start digging!” Amy didn’t mean to shout, but every way she’d turned this afternoon, she felt like she was moving through wet concrete.

“I’d need a warrant to do that. And there’s not enough here to get one.”

Her middle fingers were twitching.
Be mature. Be mature.
Amy jumped out of the chair, tired of being talked down to. “Your job is to find what you need to get the damn warrant. That man may be getting away with murder—again. You’re seriously gonna sit on your ass and make excuses?” She took a deep breath. “Do you want me to forward you a copy of these recordings or not?”

He didn’t seem affected by her outburst. “Yes.”

She’d always believed the things she learned in school, the things her mother told her to read in a book. Things like, cops are eager to help people. Laws are made for the good of everyone. None of that seemed to apply in the real world. She was damn tired of feeling like some naive kid.

* * * *

D
an closed the door, but he didn’t cross the room to sit on the couch. He stood beside the desk. Why did Eric feel as though his brother would’ve still towered over him even if he’d let Dan have Rafe’s chair? He was sick of feeling
less than.

“Okay. I’m reopening Nance’s experimental orchards. The ones at the top of the mountain. Cynda’s worked all winter to get contracts with area restaurants to buy the fruit off the Dark Beauty trees. She’s working with a graphic designer on a website. I’m not reopening all of the orchards, just about twenty acres. We’ll see how that goes. Maybe next year we’ll talk about opening some of the lower orchards for pick-your-own.”

Why did Cynda get her project handed to her, while he’d been fighting Dan over a plan to use the migrant camp for years? “Uh huh. So this scheme, it’s like the jewelry you found and didn’t see fit to tell either me or C about?” Colton couldn’t know about the jewelry, because Lila would’ve mentioned it. Colton couldn’t keep a secret from his woman. If Lila knew about the jewelry, she’d be wearing some of it, because Lila loved old things. Ergo, C didn’t know.

Eric didn’t give a fuck about the jewelry. This happened a lot when he’d been in school. He’d be thinking about the lesson, but something else came out of his mouth when the teacher called on him. The two things seemed connected to him, but that weird circuitry had been what earned him the beatings from his father most of the time.

This wasn’t about peaches. It wasn’t about jewelry. It wasn’t even about money. It was about respect. Eric was tired of being treated like the family idiot. He had a plan, and men other than him had every confidence it would work. But he wasn’t telling Dan that. Just once in his goddamn life, Dan needed to accept that although Eric had made one horrible error in judgment, he could still be trusted. 

Dan stalked to the gun safe that dominated one wall, his bare heels thumping on the polished wood floor, in spite of the thin rug. “Before you ask, any profits from those acres will go to Cynda. She’s done the work to develop recipes using the fruit, find buyers, and get the contracts.” Dan spun the dial on the front of the tall safe and slammed down the lever. Yanking the door open, he added, “I spent my own money to clean ‘em up. I’m paying the crew that’s looking after those trees and I’ll pay to pick ‘em come harvest time. So, no, we won’t be splittin’ any profits. Or any losses. But I’ll be glad to lease those twenty acres from you and Colton.

Bingo. Now who’s the idiot?

* * * *

A
my flopped onto the couch. The cabin seemed too quiet after her rant at the solicitor’s office. She tried watching television, but nothing held her attention. She thought about going to the hot pool, but the thought of being alone in the yard—naked—made her skin crawl, though she knew John Carpenter was in jail. She understood the look Eric wore so much better now. 

Though it was barely past five, she couldn’t see anything through the windows. These winter nights, when it got dark so early, were depressing. Eric said he’d be late. She thought about taking Jonah to a movie, but she didn’t have the gas or the ambition to go anywhere.

Movie.
She eyed the pile of movie film on the kitchen table. On impulse, she called Lila. “What’s Jonah doing?” If Jonah was around, she wouldn’t be tempted to tell Eric what’d happened when he came home. She just didn’t see the point in raising his hopes, and watching them get dashed.

“Eating his way through the groceries I just bought.” Lila sighed. “What would you like him to do?”

“Send him down. I have something in mind he might enjoy.”

There was a smooth, white backsplash underneath the hanging cabinets in the kitchen, so she heaved the projector onto the bar. The ink on the boxes of film was almost illegible. What difference did it make? Any of them should show the De Marcos as kids.

She had no clue how to put the film on the projector, but used her laptop to find a YouTube video that showed how in simple steps. She also learned from her search that some Super 8 film had sound. Opening the cans on the kitchen table, she checked for a brown magnetic strip along the edge.

“Bingo.” Amy wiggled her hips in triumph when she finally found a reel with the strip for sound. It took several minutes and a few more reviews of the YouTube vid, but she got the film threaded.

Collapsing onto the couch, she dialed Lila again. “Where is he?”

“Oh, he’s doing his homework. He said he’d be done in about an hour.”

* * * *

D
an turned. Eric caught the small box he hurled across the room. Prying the lid open, he poked a finger through the pile of sparkling metal and stones that meant little to him, except that he’d loved his grandmother and she’d loved her jewelry. “I cannot believe you fucking forgot to mention you were doing something with the orchards. And it pisses me off that you also failed to mention your little windfall.” He picked a ring at random. He turned the bit of jewelry in his fingers, just to have something to do with his hand besides put it through Dan’s face.

“Colton will get second choice from that lot. He’ll be the next one to get married.”

Infuriated and unable to look at Dan, he stared at the ring. “I don’t know what Colton wants in order to lease you sole control of those orchards, but I know what I’ll take.”

From the corner of his eye, Eric saw Dan’s chest heaving. If he didn’t keep talking, Dan was gonna work his way around to reminding Eric he was the reason Rafe and Liv had an argument neither had ever been willing to patch up. Had that major family feud not taken place, he doubted Livia’s estate would’ve been auctioned.

The past he hated was never as close as it felt in this house. He didn’t begrudge Dan the farmhouse. The place had Rafe stamped all over it. Naturally, Dan hadn’t changed a thing. Every polished surface seemed to throw back some memory of his father, mostly times Rafe had raised immortal hell over one of Eric’s fuck-ups. He hated this room. His body ached from remembered blows, delivered here. His pounding heartbeat could’ve been Rafe’s heavy hand striking his chest.

Dan inhaled, his huge chest expanding. His words were clipped, like he spoke through clenched teeth. “What would that be?”

“I’ll take a lease giving me control of the migrant camp. That’s less’n twenty acres, so I want the lower packing shed, too. You can use the smaller ones for Cynda’s peaches.”

Dan set his jaw. “No. It’s not viable to put some kid’s camp up there, Eric. The bank already told you, you don’t know what you’re doing. You’d be wasting your time and your money.”

Eric jumped out of the chair. “That’s my signature move, right? No matter what I do, according to you, it’s stupid. So much like Dad. Hell, sometimes, when I look at you, I forget the old bastard’s dead. Well, I’m not asking you, Dan. I’m tellin’ you. If you can just hand control of twenty acres over to a woman you only met about five months ago, then you can damn sure hand control of the camp over to me. I’ll sign your lease when you sign mine. If not, then I guess Cynda wasted all the time spent on her little project.”

* * * *

A
my disconnected the call to Lila. “Dammit.” She didn’t have the patience to wait an hour. Turning off the lights, she started the projector, then decided to grab a drink. She spied packs of ham and cheese in the fridge, beside the six-pack of canned soda. Eric seriously needed to stop storing his loaf bread on top of the massive side-by-side fridge. She could barely reach the end of the plastic wrapper. She glanced at the spot on the wall while spreading mayonnaise. The leader film was still running. Then, a young girl came into focus, seated in an old-fashioned school desk.

Is that Sarah?
The girl had long, dark hair and she looked about twelve. A woman, perhaps in her late fifties, came into view holding a stick microphone. The old-fashioned technology gave Amy a burst of affection for her cell phone.

“It’s okay.” She glanced up to see the older woman was the speaker. The sound was surprisingly good. She had no trouble understanding what was said. “Speak slowly. Use English. If you don’t know the English word, use Spanish and I’ll translate.” The older woman faced the camera.” I’m Livia Montgomery Chapman. This is Mariele Torres de Cordoba.”

Oh, crap.
Was this a film Eric’s grandmother made of one of her students? Groaning, Amy decided she’d eat the sandwich before changing the reel. She wanted to see Eric, Dan, Colton, and Sarah as youngsters. Mostly Eric. Today, after her failure, she needed to see his eyes before they had had that hurt look in them.

* * * *

E
ric held up the ring he’d picked out of the box, for no reason other than it matched the paint on Amy’s car. Fury had control of his tongue now, not his brain. “And this? Fuck your high-handed decisions. I’ll get married when I goddamn well please, but since you already had first pick, we’re doing this by age, not wedding date.”

Shoving the ring into his pocket, he yanked the office door open with such force a figurine toppled from a hanging shelf. Shattered pieces flew across the patterned rug.

Cynda stood in the middle of the fancy, useless room. Her hand was at her throat. Her lower lids sparkled as much as the stupid ring on her finger. He couldn’t meet her stricken eyes when he brushed past.

Eric couldn’t go home. He hated that he’d hurt Cynda, and the last thing he wanted was to take his foul mood out on Amy. She’d had her mock interview today, on top of her test. If those things had gone well, she’d want to celebrate. If not, he owed it to her to lift her spirits. He’d planned to take her to dinner and tell her about the camp. Maybe take her parents along, if she wanted. Too damn bad his plan had been blown to bits by his brother. Snow and ice still clung to the sides of the lane, but he’d be damned if he’d use Dan’s driveway. He made a three-point turn in the road, feeling stupidly triumphant when his tires churned up clots of mud and flung them across Dan’s front yard.

The sun was almost gone when he reached the camp gate. He sat in the truck, glaring at the angel. Why stay here? Why give a damn if his brothers had to hire someone to replace him?

He understood why Sarah never came back. This place applied shrink wrap early, stunting a person’s growth. Whatever people thought you were was all you could ever be. Though he was furious with Dan, he saw the way people looked sideways at his brother and Cynda when they went out together. He saw the looks people gave Lila, too.

And sooner or later, they’d look at Amy the same damn way.

Do I want that for her?

* * * *

“T
he bee man, he promised me honey and some cash if I’d clean his house. His wife was in the bed. He told me she had the cancer in her
mujer
parts. That she couldn’t be a real wife to him. I didn’t like the way he watched me. I didn’t know why he would tell me of such a...
privado
thing.”

“
Mujer
means ‘woman’,” Livia interjected, stroking the child’s arm.

Amy dropped the butter knife. Mayonnaise splattered the counter. Her stomach churned. She dashed to the couch to grab her phone. Her hands shook so violently, she had to scroll through her call register several times before she found the number she needed. The film was still running when Mark Martinez answered. “I think I’ve found the evidence you need for that warrant. How about a victim telling her story, in living color? Is that good enough for you?”

He took down directions. “I’m just a few minutes away, actually.”

She disconnected. The film was still running, but the young girl was no longer in the picture. Now the camera was set at a slightly different angle, like someone had bumped it. Liv Chapman was no longer centered in the frame. Amy could see rows of vintage school desks, a United States flag, and the flag of Mexico. She’d seen this room when she and Eric were looking for the ledgers. The flags were in tatters now.

Livia stared into the camera with eyes so much like Eric’s, Amy found it hard to breathe. That look of pain... so familiar. “I told my husband, Nance, about the rape. He said he didn’t care. Called this adorable child a whore. I took Mariele to speak to the police. They don’t care, either. She’s not a citizen, they said. Not their problem.” Tears slid along etched lines in the woman’s face. “My husband’s partner, Emilio De Marco, agreed to pay her passage home, but she refused. She said she had no home to go back to.”

Livia inhaled, clearly trying to get her emotions under control.“John Carpenter raped Mariele and he’s going to get away with it. He terrorized her, bragging that he’d buried bodies of other Mexican women who refused him in his barn. Maybe he’s making up the murders to scare her into keeping quiet about her rape. But when I look into his cold, gray eyes, I wonder. Women have gone missing from this farm, and those nearby. We always assumed they got homesick, because that’s what the other workers said. But what if they all kept quiet out of fear? Or intimidation?”