* * *
After his shift, Stump knocked on Maria’s door as agreed, but Dixon answered instead. Maria stepped in front of Dixon and into the hallway. She tried to close the door but Dixon stuck his foot in the way. “I like the fresh air,” he said.
“Whatever,” Maria said before moving down the hallway and turning to Stump. “I can only be a minute. Mama’s making me be nice to that man, but I don’t like him.”
“Me neither.”
Maria whispered, “You should ask Juanita about the notebook.”
“The cleaning woman? What notebook?”
“It’s in code. She thinks Dixon has other wives and makes them all do it with him.”
“Do what?”
“Make love, silly. I really gotta go now.”
Maria kissed her fingertip and touched it to Stump’s lips, then stepped inside.
Stump turned and headed for Ol’ Ug’ with another lesson to ponder. Girlfriends were more complicated than fighting City Hall.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Delores waited until the end of rush hour to begin a two-hour trek south around the backside of L.A. via I-15. Yolanda Vigil, the woman who’d initially tipped off the cops about Dixon’s antics in the first place, had given an address in the beach town of Carlsbad. Other than her feisty attitude, Yolanda fit the profile that Dixon seemed to prefer—undocumented, not yet middle-aged and vulnerable.
Now, Delores wanted to have another meeting with Yolanda. The open road, a cold Pepsi, and steadily moving traffic lent her a much-needed lift.
Carlsbad was similar to other beach towns—large million-dollar homes by the water, with older, more modest homes inland. Yolanda lived in the latter where lush foliage was commonplace. At the home in question two giant red rose bushes climbed proudly like palace guards up either side of the front door while countless other healthy flowers decorated other sections of the mature landscaping.
Yolanda was supposed to be in a finished-off garage to the side and back of the property. Delores had seen the arrangement before. The family who owned the property usually lived in the main house and provided newly arrived undocumented immigrants and other homeless Hispanics with a relatively safe place to live until they could get acclimated. After a few months, the temporary boarders would move on and somebody else would take their place. Yolanda was simply one of the links in the chain.
Along the side of the house, Delores marveled at hundreds of delicate pink and white pansies that fluttered in the breeze like excited butterflies that were happy to see her. She tapped at the appropriate door and Yolanda answered. “Hi. Do you remember me?” Delores said. “I’m Detective Sanchez. We met in Palmdale a few weeks back. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your former husband if you don’t mind.”
Yolanda didn’t answer.
Even though Delores was young, she’d been taught how to bond with apprehensive witnesses. “It’s been a long drive. I’d be most grateful if you’d let me use your restroom.”
Yolanda looked her up and down and then opened the door. “Oh, thank you,” Delores said as she stepped inside. “I really appreciate it.” Inside, two single beds lined the outside walls and presumably doubled as sofas. Across the small room, two chairs and a small kitchen table butted up to some very limited counter space. All of it was nicer than the dilapidated items she’d been using at Cal-Vista. She moved into the only other room and closed the door.
A couple minutes later she washed up and joined her hostess. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Yolanda gently nodded.
“I know you’re afraid,” Delores began, pleased to have broken the ice, “but you don’t need to be.”
Yolanda remained rigid.
Delores pulled a few papers from her purse. “I’ve been investigating Mr. Browne. I think he’s purposely misled several women about what it takes to become a citizen and I’d like to find out just what he told you and what your relationship was like. It would be a big favor if you’d help me.”
Yolanda hesitated but then said, “He knows policemen.”
“I know he’s threatened you, but I’m an officer and if we really wanted to harm you, we wouldn’t have let you go the last time we saw you.” Delores glanced toward the small kitchen counter. “Could I bother you for a cup of water?”
Yolanda nodded and moved toward the kitchen. “He told me they were watching me,” she said.
Delores nodded. “I know he says things like that, but he doesn’t have any authority over you or anybody else. You can believe me. We don’t have anything against you.”
Yolanda laid two glasses of lukewarm tap water on the table and sat down. Delores took a look at her water. As was typical around there, it had tiny floaty things in it. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, before taking the smallest sip possible, “how’d you meet Mr. Browne?”
Still hesitant, Yolanda eyed Delores before answering. Then, “I came up here with Claudia and Luis.”
“Friends?”
“Claudia is my cousin. Luis is her husband. Luis had a job in L.A., but rents were lower in Palmdale so we moved into Mr. Dixon’s building.”
“But they must have left,” Delores said, knowing that Dixon wouldn’t get entangled with anybody who had family nearby.
Yolanda nodded. “Luis got a better job. He and Claudia moved in with Luis’s new boss, but there was no room for me.”
Delores could just about fill in the blanks from there, but the important thing was to keep Yolanda talking and eventually ask her to testify against Dixon. “So you were all alone. What happened next?”
“Mr. Dixon said I had to pay all of his rent by myself, but I had no money.”
“So he offered to help you?”
“He said I could work for my rent,” she said, nodding.
“Did you agree to do that?”
Yolanda stared at the ground. “He said there was something else.”
“Get married?”
“He said he’d help me learn English and get a green card so I could get a better job and take care of myself.”
“What about citizenship?”
“That too. He said the government would help pay my bills.”
“Did he make you pay him some money too?”
“He wanted me to, but I didn’t have no money so he said I had to live with him longer.” She hung her head. ”I thought that was what I wanted because I wouldn’t have to move again.”
Delores scooted her chair right in front of Yolanda’s. “I have to ask you something personal, but it’s very, very important. Did you have to have sex with him?”
Yolanda’s head bobbed downward. “He said we had to or they wouldn’t give me my papers.”
“Well, that part is true. There’s an interview where they want to make sure people aren’t lying about their relationships. How long did all this go on?”
“Many months.”
“Did he keep making you do those things?”
Yolanda scrunched her nose. “Yes. Other women too.”
Delores shook her head in disgust. “Would you have done that with him if it weren’t for the agreement you had?”
Yolanda’s lower lip pressed upwards. “No. He’s way older than me, and I like my own people.”
Delores paused. “Just so I’m clear, Yolanda, are you saying that you only let him do those things with you because you thought he was going to help you stay in the U.S. and get you citizenship?”
“That’s what he told me.”
Although it was precisely the news that Delores hoped to hear, she sure as hell wasn’t happy about it. She knew from her own experiences how ashamed and helpless Yolanda must have felt. God, how she hated men like that.
Yolanda sniffled. “I just hope Jesus will forgive me.”
Delores placed a hand on Yolanda’s knee. “Jesus knows that you only did what you had to do.“
Yolanda’s saddened eyes made contact, as if to say thank you. “He said if I told t
he police what we did I would go to jail. And now, you’re here. Am I going to get deported?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Yolanda may have sneaked into the country illegally, but she was a gentle woman who didn’t deserve to be exploited. “What you did was wrong, but you didn’t know that. I have a big favor to ask of you. It would really help me if you’d be willing to press charges against Mr. Dixon. Do you know what that is?”
“No. I don’t want to be around him. He might do something bad to me.”
“Well, he can’t really do that.”
“That’s what he told me you’d say.”
“Well, what if I got some other people to start the whole thing? Would you be willing to tell the judge about your situation too?”
“A judge?” she shook her head wildly. “I don’t want to do that.”
“You won’t get in trouble. Dixon is the one who’s bad.”
“No. No. No. I already told you too much.”
Yolanda reminded Delores of Simone. Both were a few years older than she and both had been manipulated and abused by a man they’d trusted. “Do you know any other women who did the same things with Mr. Dixon?”
“Just Inez.”
“Inez? Where can I find her?”
“Still at the building, I think.”
“Would she talk to me without telling Dixon?”
“No. No. She and her daughter have been there for many years. They’re loyal to him.”
“I see.” Delores said while she put her pen away. “What are you going to do now? Where are you going to live? How are you going to support yourself?”
“I met a nice man. He’s got a job, but I’m afraid to tell him I slept with a man I didn’t love.”
Delores squeezed Yolanda’s hand. “If you want my opinion, you should tell this new man the truth. If he’s a good man, he’ll understand.” She reached in her pocket, handed Yolanda her business card and her only cash—a fifty-dollar bill. “I want you to have these things. If you ever need to talk to someone, you can call me. I promise not to tell anybody else without your permission.” Yolanda’s face contained both tears and a smile as they rose.
As Delores walked back past the flower field, she soaked up the outdoor beauty that contradicted some of the indoor ugliness she’d just left behind. Once back in the car, she noted that her tank was near empty. She opened her purse and peeked in her checkbook, knowing full well she’d already maxed out her overdraft protection. Ditto her credit card. All she had was a partial roll of quarters in the glove box that she kept for parking meters and emergencies.
Of course all of that would get worse in a few days when both her condo payment and Monday Girl’s rent would come due. “Fuck!” she screamed as loudly as she could.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next day, Delores pumped a handful of quarters into a parking meter and followed a couple skate boarders toward the beach. A gentle breeze blew her a warm kiss through a row of palm trees. The peace was literally just what her doctor ordered.
After her recent meetings with Dr. Moreno, Delores made some progress with some of her challenges but every frustrating meeting with Dixon Browne and his trail of victims set her back. And none of that addressed Delores’s biggest, darkest secret—the black cloud matter.
When with her shrink, Delores had admitted to suffering with long-term intimacy problems borne out of the things Tio did to her and Simone when they were children. But Delores had never told anybody—not her shrink, not her mama, not even her priest during confession—how she learned to overcome her inadequacies. Why would she? She barely believed it herself.
Moreover, as long as she was making progress on her lesser issues, such as finding time to relax, she had reason to hope that her black cloud of shame would eventually dissipate on its own. Until then, she elected to remain focused on the present, and at the moment there was a delightful row of unique shops along the beach area to check out.
A couple minutes later Delores reached the boardwalk, stepped past the walkway to the asphalt and turned left, toward her primary destination: The Happy Place Bookstore. She’d seen it from afar some days back when she and Dixon were in the area. It was at the end of the next block by the Skate Plaza, which was abuzz with boarders, and wedged right between the bookstore and that impressive puddle of rumbling blue water on her right known as the Pacific Ocean.
As Delores followed the crowd, she expected to enjoy the scent of fresh-brewed coffee from the sidewalk cafés, but when she drew to within a few paces of the bookstore she was surprised by the earthy scent that had also pierced the salty air. A busy window display of unfamiliar titles bragged of the type of odd reads one could find inside.
The store itself was smaller than the cookie cutter chain stores but the classy wooden floor-to-ceiling bookcases lent the place much more charm. Original paintings, probably the work of locals, were packed onto every spare inch of wall space, most with price stickers on them. The lights were dim, and a half-dozen readers of eclectic ilk occupied randomly scattered, comfy chairs.
A short line of anxious buyers waited for their turn with the lone cashier who was a long-haired hippie-type wearing a sleeveless jean shirt and a touring cap. “Can I help you?” a woman said from behind Delores. The woman was too wise looking, too formal and too mature to be a clerk.
“Your place is so charming,” Delores said, grinning.
“We try. I’m Millie Skater. My husband and I opened the place a long time ago. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Delores glanced outside to the skaters in the ramps and resisted the urge to say that Millie’s last name matched their activities. “I hear you have a nice section of travel books.”
“Sure do.” Millie said, pointing toward the back corner. “On the wall just past the restroom. Let me know if you need any help.”
After thanking the learned shopkeeper, Delores glanced in the general direction of the travel books and slowly worked her way past several homemade displays. Considering the internet and the competition from the bigger book companies, it must have been tough to keep up a small shop like this.
When she reached her section, Delores scanned the titles of several dozen interesting hardcover possibilities. Since she had done very little traveling, part of her wanted to see pictures, but pictures took up pages where fascinating information could be revealed through the words and experiences of well-traveled authors. There were so many delicious prospects she already knew she’d be coming back.
She picked up a large white book, simply titled Great Britain, and gave it a quick thumbing. Loaded with pictures and stories, it seemed like a bargain for $17.50.
“You ever seen Coca-Cola London Eye?” a male’s voice came from her side. She turned quickly to see a tall, thin, blonde man, wearing gorgeous maroon suspenders and smiling through a piano’s worth of perfect white teeth.
“Well, no. I don’t think I ever heard of it. A Coca-Cola store?”
He grinned. “It’s no store. You Yanks call them Ferris wheels. It’s much taller than the one in Pacific Park, up north a bit.”
This time she detected his delightful British accent. “Sorry. I’ve never traveled very much.”
“Me mum likes it,” he added. “So it has to be good.” He looked to be about thirty. No ring and was getting cuter by the minute.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“I used to work there, as a tour guide. It’s always been my favorite attraction.”
“Even better than Big Ben and the changing of the guard? I heard those were the best.”
“They’re nice. So are the museums. But nothin’ beats the view from 135 meters high in the chilly London sky—particularly when you’re sitting in your gondola with a special friend, overlooking a dozen sights all at once.”
“Oh, I get it. That’s why they call it the Eye.”
“The eye in the sky, it is. Day or night, it’s just as good. Maybe I can show it to you
sometime.” He extended his hand. “My name is Gordon.”
She tilted her head and took his hand. What a delightful stranger. “I’m Delores. What does Coca-Cola have to do with it?”
“They have sponsor rights and put red lights on it. Some locals don’t like it but I think it’s romantic.”
So was this unexpected moment.
He smiled. “What does a lass such as Delores do when she’s not reading books?”
Hmm. Some guys were intimidated by her career. Others were weirdly aroused by it. She hoped Gordon would be different. “I’m a constable,” she said, trying to sound at least vaguely familiar with his lexicon.
“Are you on holiday?”
“No. Why would you ask that?”
He waved a gentle hand in front of her. “No uniform.”
“I’m not that type of officer.”
“Oh I get it. You must be an inquiry agent?”
Inquiry agent? Delores smiled and nodded. “I forgot that term.”
He pointed toward the sidewalk café. “I’ve never met an inquiry agent before. Could we take a spot of tea?”
Delores was more inclined to go for an espresso, but what the hell. This was the kind of guy that had real promise and she was getting a little more confident about her ability to deal with nice men. She paid for the white book with a couple crumpled ten spots she’d found in her old purse the night before, caught a wink from Millie and eased outside where they grabbed a small table at the nearby café. Before long they were laughing about their language differences. “Another one,” Gordon said. “No British lass would refer to her bum as a fanny.”
“Why not?” Delores quizzed while grinning.
He leaned forward and whispered. “It means the other lady-thing. You know. The vagina.”
“Oh, my gosh,” she said, raising a hand to her lips in mocked surprise. “I’m glad you said something before I said something really embarrassing.”
Gordon laughed. “That would not be good.” He tipped his cup of tea her way. “Would you have time to go for a walk?”
Delores preferred to know people a little better before going anywhere with them, but Gordon had the pleasant ability to ask questions without being offensive. Probably something he picked up as a tour guide. And now that she’d had a couple conversations with her shrink, she was feeling more confident in her ability to deal with men. What harm could possibly come from a trek down a well-traveled boardwalk in the daylight? “Why not?” she said, faking a British accent. “An inquiry agent ought to be able to protect herself from a handsome lad with suspenders if she has to.”