Wishbones (28 page)

I knew exactly which portrait. The day was pleasant and warm, but my body had grown cold.

"I gather Federico doesn't know you visit there?" Tinkie was having a hard time keeping her tone neutral.

"He doesn't know I come back to Costa Rica at all. He said that to him, I am dead. He won't speak my name." He laughed. "Why should he care if I go there? I built the house for Carlita. It will pass to Estelle in a few years. If I go there, it's none of his business. He drags filthy movie people there. He takes his whores there. No one in the movie business has morals."

"That's a blanket condemnation of a business you don't know about." I'd had enough. "A lot of people in film have ethics and--"

"And you're sleeping with Graf Milieu."

I didn't deny it, and I had the most awful thought that perhaps he'd watched us from the peephole behind the portrait. It was a Norman Bates concept.

He laughed. "I haven't been watching you, Ms. Delaney. But film crews talk in town, and eventually everything of interest filters back to me. My network of sources is impeccable."

"I'm flattered that I'm of interest," I said. "But does your
network of impeccable sources tell you where your granddaughter is, or who's in the house attacking people?"

"Some say it's the ghost of my daughter."

"And what do you say? Are you responsible for the attacks on Tinkie, Jovan, Joey, and me?" I walked up to him, and it took me a moment to realize he was in a wheelchair.

"And your question has been answered," he said with only a hint of bitterness. "I've been in this chair for the past eight months. I'm not capable of frolicking through the secret passages for mischief or spying."

If he hadn't been such an old roach, I might have felt sorry for him. "But you are capable of hiring someone to do so."

He nodded. "A smart man would pay someone to do his dirty deeds." He paused a beat. "Though I'm innocent, of course."

"Where is Estelle?" I pressed.

"She refuses to see me because I told her the truth. That her father wanted her mother gone so he could live his profligate life. I told her about the affairs and the way Carlita came home from Los Angeles to cry and berate herself that she wasn't beautiful enough to keep her husband." His forearms rested on the wheelchair, but he couldn't keep his fingers from dancing in the air.

"Why did you do that?" I asked. "Why would you hurt your own granddaughter like that? Federico is her father."

"The Gonzalez family always faces the facts, Ms. Delaney. We look life in the eye and spit."

"And you may have cost your granddaughter her happiness." Tinkie leaned forward into his face. "You are a vile, unhappy old man and you want everyone around you to be the same. You stole Estelle's chance at a relationship with her father and filled her head full of anger and suspicion."

"I tried to protect her."

There was a terrible second when I thought Tinkie was going to punch him. She controlled herself and stepped back.
"Your soul is rotted. You'll die alone and that's what you deserve. Let's go, Sarah Booth."

I was almost out the door when he called out to me.

"Ms. Delaney, you won't last a year in Hollywood. The cannibals will eat you alive. They're already nibbling."

I didn't bother to respond. He was still hurling bile when we walked out the front door and into the sun.

"We didn't learn anything new," I pointed out. My head had begun to throb.

"Not true. We learned a lot about the family dysfunction, and that the old bastard has access to the Marquez house and money to hire someone to do dirty deeds. He's capable of anything."

I sighed. "Poor Carlita and Estelle."

"Do you think he was trying to set us up when he mentioned seeing someone in a red gown? That sounds like your ghost."

"Unless he's manipulating all of this. He didn't exactly say he'd seen her ghost."

Tinkie opened the wooden gate that led to the street. "Maybe she's haunting the place, waiting to kill him."

"Always the eternal optimist, Tinkie. Let's get our things out of the house. We aren't going to find an answer and I don't want to be there after dark.

Tinkie was in a funk as she drove back to the mansion. She gripped the steering wheel, drummed her fingers, sighed, and generally showed her discontent. When we pulled up to the gate, I was glad to see three security guards still there.

Federico had insisted that Promise Security Agency remain on the premises until Tinkie and I were completely clear of the house. The interview with Estoban Gonzalez had disturbed both Tinkie and me. It was difficult to look into the abyss and not be affected. He was unhinged, and in a way that I would never understand. How had his love for Carlita and Estelle become so twisted that he'd deliberately destroyed them trying to make them hate Federico?

And why hadn't Federico told us that the old man was alive? That nagged at me. Even if he thought Estoban was in Venezuela, surely it was worth a mention that he was still breathing and meddling.

As we stopped at the entrance, I recognized Daniel. He and two additional guards were checking a horse trailer that had come to pick up Nugget and Flicker and return them to their home. Seeing the horses gave me a pang, because I'd grown fond of them, but it also reminded me that I missed Reveler
and Miss Scrapiron. It seemed like a million years since I'd ridden my wonderful gelding through the vast expanse of the cotton fields.

The horse trailer pulled through, and Daniel turned to us. "Did you forget something? I thought everyone had left."

"We're getting our things," Tinkie explained.

He looked at Sweetie in the backseat and gave her ears a rub. "Federico was explicit that I remain here until you leave, so I and these men will stay." He frowned. "I've sent all my men to other jobs but I can call them back."

I hesitated. It was true that the security guards hadn't been able to protect us, but it was nice to know someone with a weapon was on the premises. "We'll be fine with you watching the gate. If we need something, we can call."

"Senor Marquez made it plain that your safety was my first priority."

"It's okay, Daniel. We won't be all that long." My emotions were mixed. Tinkie and I had a perfect success record with our cases. We'd solved every one. It went against the grain to simply walk away without knowing who was behind all the problems at Casa Marquez.

Daniel shook his head. "So many unfortunate things have happened here." He looked at the mansion, beautiful and elegant in the distance. "I never thought it before, but perhaps this place is really cursed. Thank goodness no one died here, but you came very close, Ms. Delaney. I just can't imagine who would do such a thing."

I could imagine, but I wasn't going to say it out loud. It could be Grandpa Psychopath or Estelle the Demented. "Have you heard anything from Estelle?" I asked.

He shook his head, a furrow deepening between his brows. "I'm very worried. I know she's been . . . difficult about her father and the film crew being in the house. She's not like that really. You don't know her. Estelle is a kind person. It's only her family that makes her act crazy."

"I'm concerned about her, too," I said, and I was sincere. Even if she had tried to kill me, I was apprehensive that something untoward had happened to her. She literally had disappeared, and while her father and grandfather could dismiss that fact, I found it unsettling.

"Were you aware that Estelle's grandfather was in town?" I asked Daniel.

I could tell by the look on his face that this news came as a shock to him.

"I never asked Estelle, but I assumed he was dead. In all the time I've known her, she never mentioned him once."

"He's very much alive," Tinkie said. "And let's just say that his obsession with Estelle isn't exactly healthy."

Daniel checked to be sure his employees were out of earshot. "Estelle never talked about her grandparents. She didn't want anything to do with her family. She can't speak of her father without getting furious. She hates them, except Ricardo. She speaks of him as if she really loves him."

"Do you think Estelle is behind all of this because she's trying to ruin her father's film?" Tinkie asked.

"Estelle would attempt to frighten you out of the house, and she would damage property like the cameras. I have no doubt of that. Would she push a woman down a flight of stairs? Would she try to drown you, Ms. Delaney? No. I can't believe she would go that far."

"Did Estelle ever talk about the house?" I asked. "Like there were special rooms or secrets here?"

He thought about it. "It's strange because she seemed to seek out the ghost stories, but I also had the sense she was afraid of the place. I tried to get her to take me here one night for some wine and . . ." He had the grace to flush. "But she refused. All of those empty bedrooms, and she wouldn't even walk through the front door."

"You honestly think she was afraid?"

"I do." He blew out a breath. "And I let her down."

"How so?" I asked. Tinkie was staring at the place as if she could use X-ray vision to see into the heart of the house.

"Once Estelle wanted to talk about the house, about how her mother might be here, and if she could only talk to her." His fingertips dug into his forehead as he rubbed the sweat away. "I didn't take her seriously and I teased her. After that, she wouldn't say any more about the house or Carlita. I blew my chance. If I asked about her family, she said she hated them, except Ricardo. I don't understand. Senor Marquez seems like a nice man."

"Did Estelle ever mention growing up in the house?" Tinkie asked. "Playing games, maybe."

Daniel shook his head. "The only thing I remember is that once she said when she was little, she used to believe the house made her mother cry."

That was a bizarre statement, but knowing what we did about Estoban and his spy system, I understood why Carlita might weep. To a child, that could have been very confusing. "Did Estelle say how the house made her mother cry?"

"If she did, I don't remember." His gaze went back to the house. "Do you believe in evil, Ms. Delaney?"

"I believe in evil people," I said.

"And you, Ms. Richmond? Do you believe in evil?"

Tinkie considered longer than I had. "I believe people can be evil," she said, "and I also believe that sometimes negative energy gets trapped in a place. Maybe it's evil or maybe it's not. What do you believe, Daniel?"

"I think this place is bad. Estelle would drive by here and look. It was like she was drawn here by something greater than herself. Even when it made her unhappy, she still came. Just to look."

"This was her link to her mother," Tinkie said. "Perhaps she merely wanted to feel close to Carlita."

"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe there's something in that house that pretends to be Carlita and isn't."

Now that was a cheerful thought. "We should go, Daniel," I said. "We need to pack."

"Call me if anything suspicious happens," he said. "I'll be here all night."

"We'll be fine," Tinkie assured him. "I just hate that we have to leave without figuring out what's going on."

He put a hand on the door. "If you hear anything from Estelle, will you tell me?"

Tinkie nodded. "I will. And the same from you. If she calls, please tell us."

He saluted and stepped back as we drove away.

When we were parked in front of the house, Tinkie killed the engine and sat. She finally looked at me. "I'm not ready to give up. I know something is going on here, but I don't know that we'll get to the bottom of it."

"Tinkie, everyone is gone."

"What if Estelle is still here?"

"Then she'll have the house to herself once we leave."

"I'm not sure that's what she really wants, and to be honest, I'm ready to go home. I miss Oscar." She looked up at the empty windows. "I may be a coward, but I don't want to spend another night here."

She was selling herself short. She wasn't window dressing in the detective agency. She took action when it was necessary. I had a flashback of her running across an open field toward Virgie Carrington as Virgie held a gun trained on Coleman. Virgie had drugged Oscar and taken him hostage, and Tinkie meant to save her husband. She was willing to risk her life to do so. To prevent her from running straight into gunfire, I had to tackle her. Good thing she had a penchant for high heels or she might have outrun me.

When she opened her car door, Sweetie jumped out and began to patrol the property. The house looked dejected. I was reminded of a film star I couldn't name--so beautiful, until the camera closed in too much and revealed the tiny sag of
flesh and wrinkles. Casa Marquez looked as if the people who loved her had left for good. I swallowed a lump of unexpected emotion. The place seemed sad and abandoned.

Did our homes miss us? I wondered. Was Dahlia House waiting for my return? For some a house was merely a structure, a place of shelter. But for a Delta girl, home was a place where the past met the future. It was part heritage and history, a place of comfort and safety. This mansion, though more modern and larger than Dahlia House, had been Carlita Marquez's home. Her children had grown up here, laughing and playing games with a grandfather they adored.