No Witness But the Moon(14)

“You’re not my father!” Yovanna shouted before running into the bathroom and slamming the door. Byron paced the floor in front of the couch and ran a hand through his thinning black hair. “You think I wanted this? She goes or I do!”

In the doorway between the living room and bedroom, three-year-old Damon stood in his Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas, clutching his favorite stuffed dog and sobbing. Marcela walked over to her son and scooped him into her arms. He curled willingly to her body. She smelled the little-boy scent of baby powder and milky sweat at his neck. She held him close and shot her husband an angry look over the child’s head.

“You woke him up! How could you?”

“I woke him up? Me? Your daughter did this,” said Byron, gesturing to the locked bathroom door. “She’s been nothing but trouble since she got here!”

Marcela swayed Damon gently back and forth, making shushing noises.

“Please, mi vida, she’s been through a terrible journey. She won’t even tell me what happened—”

“And that’s my fault? I asked her to come? I work two jobs, Marcela. You work hard, too. We are exhausted. We barely get by raising Damon. How are we supposed to live like this?”

“Things will get better.”

“How? How will they get better?”

Marcela had no answer. She was the mother of two children. They were like her right and left arms. Perhaps one was painful at the moment. Perhaps one didn’t work the way she had hoped. But there was no question it was part of her body. She could not live without it. She opened her mouth to try to explain this to Byron. Her cell phone rang before she could get the words out. It was almost eleven P.M. Nobody she knew called her at this hour. She sat on the couch with Damon snuffling into her shoulder and fumbled with the phone buttons to answer.

“Aló?”

“Is this Marcela Salinez?”

The man on the other end was a native English speaker. Maybe the husband of one of her housekeeping clients. She rarely spoke to anyone but the women.

“Yes?”

“This is Detective Theodore Dolan with the county police. Are you home right now, ma’am? May I come by and speak to you?”

Marcela hesitated. “Why do you want to speak to me?”

“I think it would be best if we discussed this in person. Do I have your correct address?” The officer rattled it off. Marcela barely had the strength to confirm it.

“Thank you, ma’am. I will be there in ten minutes.”

Marcela hung up, panicked and shaky at all the reasons a police officer might want to visit her house at this late hour on a Friday night.

Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the real one.





Chapter 5


Adele Figueroa was so preoccupied with the shooting this evening that she completely forgot about the dog in her kitchen until she heard the sound of nails tapping like uncooked rice on the linoleum floor. The brown-and-tan short-haired mutt jumped up to the gate Adele had temporarily installed between the kitchen and the rest of the house. He was a Golden Retriever/German Shepherd mix. People told her that such dogs were gentle like retrievers and smart like shepherds but apparently, this dog hadn’t read the American Kennel Club manuals. He was dopey and skittish and an insomniac to boot. She was already regretting saying yes to keeping this monster, even for a couple of weeks.

“Hey there, buddy,” Vega called out from the front foyer.

The dog’s long, slender tail wagged hyperactively. His floppy upturned ears jiggled with excitement. His big pink tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, giving him a goofy expression. Adele felt a pepperiness at the back of her nasal passages. Time to pop another allergy tablet.

Vega threw his jacket on the coat rack by the front door. His eyes, so flat and hooded on the drive over, suddenly brightened. His whole body seemed to relax. They’d both been stiff and tentative around each other in the car. Every comment felt like a minefield.

“What’s his name?” asked Vega.

“Diablo.”

“Devil? He looks kind of sweet to me.” Vega walked over to the gate and saw at once how Diablo had earned his name. “Uh-oh.”

Adele came up behind him. “Oh my goodness. Bad dog! Bad, bad dog!”

The entire kitchen floor was littered with open cereal boxes, crushed chocolate-chip cookies, and chewed up bits of paper towel. To make matters worse, Diablo had peed over everything. The dog had no shame about what he’d done, either. He trotted about the chaos like an artist showing off his latest masterpiece.

“Huh. Well, I get the name at least,” said Vega. “How about if I take Diablo for a walk and then come back and help you clean up?”

Adele sighed. “There’s a leash by the back door. And a spare key as well if I’m in the shower.”

Vega slipped his jacket back on and climbed over the gate, his boots pulverizing the mess even further. He fetched the leash and whistled for Diablo to follow. The dog bounded over, tongue panting, tail wagging furiously. He stood perfectly still while Vega fastened the leash to his collar. It had taken Adele ten minutes this morning to manage the same feat.

“Little piece of advice, pal,” said Vega, scratching the dog behind the ears. “You want to stay in the se?ora’s good graces, don’t mess up like this again.”