Читать книгу Twilight - Sherryl Woods, Sherryl Woods - Страница 13

6

Apparently it was too early in the day for a big crowd. Inside the Yo, Amigo headquarters, Dana spotted only a handful of boys and even fewer girls. Perhaps it was part of Rick’s tactic to bring her here when there would be only a few people to talk to.

But it was a starting point, she reminded herself sternly, and, right now that was all she needed.

She watched as Rick strolled through the cavernous building with the confidence of a man who was in charge. She overheard him tease and taunt in a surprisingly lighthearted manner, saw the playful exchange of punches and handclasps. There was respect here and trust.

There was none of that in the hard, cold gazes that turned on her. She was eyed with obvious suspicion. Even when Rick explained, first in quiet Spanish, then in English, who she was, there was only the slightest softening of attitudes, the faintest mellowing of distrust.

The boy Rick had called Marco was the first to speak directly to her. With chiseled features and thick black hair, he had classic good looks, plus plenty of attitude. He surveyed her with an insolent, assessing gaze, then muttered something in Spanish that had his friends chuckling, until a stern look from Rick cut them off. He spoke sharply to them in such rapid Spanish that Dana caught only an occasional word, and even then, her long-ago lessons in the language failed her.

Whatever he’d said, though, seemed to alter the charged atmosphere. First one girl and then another smiled and shyly introduced herself. There was Rosa with the huge dark eyes and curly hair and the thickening waistline of pregnancy. Then came Ileana, with the tattoo of a scorpion on her wrist and half her head shaved. Dana forced herself not to react to the eccentricities, but to the hesitant welcome in their eyes.

There were more, but Dana knew she would never keep the names straight and apologized for it. She added in faltering Spanish that she was glad to be there, glad to meet them.

Her attempt to speak their language gained her another grudging point or two. She could see the first vague hint of acceptance in their eyes. She knew, though, that it was only a beginning. There would be many more steps before she could ask the questions that plagued her, that much was clear. One wrong step and the distrust would return, stronger than ever.

She had tiptoed through many an awkward interrogation, smooth-talked her way around deep suspicions in the past, but she was out of practice, and no one she had ever encountered was as deeply distrustful as these kids clearly were. How had she ever imagined that she could blithely waltz in here and demand answers? The past few minutes had shown her the folly of that thinking.

When an awkward silence fell, Rick stepped in. “You guys can spend time with Mrs. Miller later. We have a few things to take care of first in my office.”

Dana knew he was right to hustle her along, to give them time to absorb the idea of her presence, but she hated the prospect of even so minor a delay. Still, she said her goodbyes and dutifully followed him to the open door on which his name had been painted by the same artistic hand that had inscribed it on the wall out back.

When they walked inside, a beautiful, dark-haired teen looked up from the piles of paper in front of her, started to say something, saw Dana and gaped. She had barely recovered when Rick’s introduction had her gaping again.

“You are the padre’s esposa? I mean, his wife?”

There was such awe and reverence in the girl’s voice that Dana could do no more than nod.

“This is Maria Consuela Villanueva,” Rick said. “She keeps things in order around here.”

Dana surveyed the chaos doubtfully.

“I know, señora,” Maria said with a shrug, “it does not look as if I have achieved much, but you should have seen it before I came.”

Dana could not imagine it being worse than it was now. File folders lined the walls in stacks that were waist high. There were no file cabinets to hold them. A rickety table in the corner held a coffeemaker, a mismatched assortment of mugs and some sort of pastries. All of it looked ready to topple to the floor if so much as a breeze stirred.

Then there was the general decor. It seemed to Dana as if someone had gotten a deal on seconds at the paint store. The old metal desk with its fresh coat of bright red paint looked incongruous against the buttercup-yellow walls. The backbreaking metal chair in which Maria sat was a vivid blue. Even the trash can had received a coat of new paint—lime-green.

“Who’s your decorator?” Dana inquired.

“That would be Maria,” Rick said with obvious pride. “She thought it was too dull around here before.”

“It was gray,” Maria said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Everything gray. It was enough to make a person depressed.”

Dana glanced at Rick. “I assume the gray had been your choice.”

“No, it was here when we took over the building from the county. Institutional gray. Very bland and nonthreatening.”

“And your office? Did you allow Maria to change the decor in there? Or were you happy with your bland environment?”

Rick opened the door. “See for yourself.”

Dana stepped inside and promptly had to hide a chuckle. His walls were fire-engine-red, his desk yellow. His chair was lime-green. Those for his guests were a startling shade of purple.

“It’s very...” She hesitated, then settled for “...bright.”

“Cheerful, yes?” Maria said, gazing around the room happily. “Everyone helped. We did it as a surprise.”

Dana searched Rick’s face. “And were you surprised?”

“Stunned is more like it,” he muttered. “I’d really grown rather fond of that gray.”

“Too boring,” Maria said, ignoring his plaintive expression. “This is better. People leave this room feeling happy.”

“Or dizzy,” Rick countered.

Maria’s brow crinkled worriedly. “You hate it?”

Dana waited to see just how diplomatic Rick Sanchez could be when the situation required tact. Sure enough, he reached out and gave Maria’s hand a quick squeeze.

“It’s a beautiful office,” he reassured her. “Everyone who comes here says so.”

She gave a nod of satisfaction. “We could do something wonderful with your apartment, too, if you would just allow us.” She glanced at Dana. “Beige, floor to ceiling, nothing but beige and brown. It is worse than the gray, I think. It feels as if you are already in your grave with the dirt closing in.”

Dana shuddered at the imagery.

“It is not beige,” Rick protested. “It’s Navajo-white. I picked it out myself.”

“Call it what you like. I know beige when I see it. And the carpet is brown, yes? And the sofa? And that disgusting chair you love so much?”

Rick threw up his hands. “Okay, yes. But I’m not wasting money to change any of it. It’s livable. Besides, I’m never there.”

“True enough,” Maria agreed, “especially since...” A warning glance from Rick silenced her. “Never mind. Would you like coffee, Señora Miller?”

Dana shook her head.

“Okay, then. I will leave you to your meeting.” She retreated hurriedly.

Dana had listened to the exchange with fascination. She had watched the casual, affectionate teasing and wondered if there was more to their relationship than boss and secretary. Maria seemed to know an awful lot about Rick’s home.

“If she’s not crazy about your decor at home, maybe you should let her change it,” Dana said when Maria was gone.

Rick stared at her blankly. “Why would I do that?”

“If you expect her to spend any time there...”

Rick’s immediate chuckle stopped any further speculation. “My, my, you do have a vivid imagination, don’t you? I thought private detectives were supposed to look for evidence, not jump to conclusions.”

“In this case, the facts add up.”

“What facts?”

“She’s a beautiful young woman. You’re a healthy male. Both of you are single and unattached. She knows exactly what your apartment looks like, so obviously she’s spent time there.”

His gaze locked with hers. “I am a healthy male,” he confirmed softly. The mood suddenly shifted as he stepped closer. “You’re a beautiful widow.” One finger stroked lightly, provocatively along her jaw. “I know exactly what your house looks like, so obviously I’ve spent time there.”

Dana swallowed hard, but she couldn’t seem to make herself look away. She knew he was just trying to make a point, but she was too caught up in unexpected sensations to reason out what it was.

“So, Ms. Private Detective, would you say you and I are having an affair?”

She should have anticipated it, but she hadn’t. The taunting, softly spoken suggestion shocked her. Dana scowled at him, even as a traitorous tingle of awareness and anticipation shot through her. She forced herself not to back away, not to show any sign at all that he had shaken her with that slight caress.

“Touché,” she said, her voice husky and uneven, despite her best efforts. “Sometimes the facts may not add up.”

“Maybe it would be best if you and I stick to the things we can prove,” he suggested, his tone astonishingly casual considering the level of electricity that had been humming through the air just seconds before.

Dana could only nod.

“Have you thought about what you’d like to do here?” he asked as if the conversation up until that moment had been about nothing more consequential than the weather.

For once, she was grateful for the quick change of subject. “Poke through the files,” she said readily.

“I meant with the kids.”

She sighed. “You’re really going to make me go through with this, aren’t you?”

“It’s part of the deal. Reading, cooking, sewing, whatever. It’s up to you.”

She thought over the choices he’d offered and rejected all of them. She wanted something that would potentially reveal more of their personalities. “How about photography?” she said impulsively. “I have some experience with that.” Of course most of it had been snapping shots of errant husbands in the arms of the other woman. She supposed she could translate that and her two formal classes into an impromptu course of some sort.

Rick looked doubtful. “I don’t know.”

His lack of enthusiasm only fueled hers. “Why not? It’s a skill that they might be able to use.”

“But to get the equipment they’ll need, they might resort to theft,” he said realistically. “We can’t afford to buy the digital cameras.”

Dana wasn’t sure whether it was real enthusiasm for the idea or just plain perversity that made her say, “I have several old cameras at home and I can pay for the supplies.”

“You would trust these kids with your cameras?”

His doubting expression had her hesitating, but only for an instant. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t willing to put herself on the line in exchange for the information she so desperately wanted. “Until they give me reason not to,” she said firmly.

A grin spread across his face. “Well, well, Mrs. Miller, now you’re beginning to sound just a little like your husband. There may be hope for you yet.”

The hard-won, if somewhat mocking, compliment pleased her more than it should have. She forced an indifferent shrug. “One small step at a time. What should we do? Put up an announcement of some kind?”

“Just set a time for the start of classes and tell Maria. Believe me, word will get around.”

“And if no one shows up, do we still have a deal?”

He shook his head. “You have to win them over. That was the deal. If photography doesn’t work, I guess you’ll just have to come up with something else, won’t you?”

The challenge was unmistakable. Dana resolved then and there that she would make the photography class work. She would teach these kids the skills they would need to take first-rate snapshots. Maybe, with a little luck, she’d even find one who could become a professional. Catching herself, she realized she was actually getting carried away. She saw how easy it was to become excited about possibilities.

She was also, once again, getting distracted. She eyed Rick suspiciously. Was that what he really intended? Had he hoped that she would get so caught up with these kids, so emotionally attached to them, that she’d forget all about the little matter of identifying her husband’s murderer?

“It won’t work,” she said quietly.

“What won’t work?”

“I won’t forget about Ken’s death. I won’t drop the investigation.”

His unblinking gaze stayed level with hers. “Never thought you would.”

Either he was being straight with her, or he was a masterful liar. It was too soon to lay odds on which.

“When do you want to get started?” he asked.

“The sooner the better, but I’ll need my equipment.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

“Better wait till afternoon. These kids are supposed to be in school in the morning,” he said dryly.

“But those in there—”

“Dropped out or were suspended. We’re working on getting them reenrolled. I don’t want to reward them by offering a special class in the morning. Make it four o’clock. That way, more kids will be here and I’ll have time to get some work done before I come out to pick you up and bring you in.”

“That’s not necessary. I can drive myself in.”

He shook his head. “I thought we’d settled that. On my turf, I make the rules.”

“I’m not one of your strays.”

“No, but you are here because I’ve made it possible,” he reminded her in a way that reaffirmed who held the power.

“It’s a public building,” she countered defiantly.

“You think you can get these old bricks to talk, go right ahead and try,” he retorted smoothly.

Dana sighed. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Four o’clock will be fine. Am I expected to sit in the corner until you’re free, or are you taking me home now?”

“No, I am not taking you home now. I’m taking you to lunch. You’ve lost too much weight. You’re obviously not eating.”

“How would you know a thing like that? You’ve never seen me before today.”

Before she realized what he intended, he reached out and snagged a chunk of material at her waist and tugged. There was at least an inch or better to spare.

“Evidence, Dana. Solid, irrefutable evidence.”

“Maybe I just like to wear my clothes loose.”

He grinned. “Give it up. You’re not going to win. Ken was very proud of your fashion sense. He often wished he could persuade you to teach these girls a thing or two about style.”

He had expressed the same wish to her on several occasions, but she had always dismissed the idea with one excuse or another. She had never realized that he’d shared those thoughts with Rick.

“He said you were too busy with other commitments,” Rick said, though it was clear he hadn’t bought the excuses.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I have lost a couple of pounds,” she conceded. “I haven’t felt much like eating.”

“Today you will,” he assured her. “I’m going to stuff you with black beans and rice, maybe a few enchiladas, maybe a taco or two.”

Despite herself, her mouth was watering. “Spicy?” she asked.

“If that’s the way you want them.”

“Is there any other way?”

He nodded approvingly. “See there, you and I do have one thing in common.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she warned.

“Hey, I’ve always believed that the path to victory was to find the first little chink in your opponent’s armor.”

“Is that what we are? Opponents?”

“Aren’t we?”

For some reason that she didn’t care to explore too closely, Dana suddenly regretted the accuracy of his assessment, but she couldn’t dispute it.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose that is exactly what we are.”

It was too bad, too. What she was in desperate need of these days was an ally.