She stared at me with nostrils wide and mouth pulled down at the corners. “Do I ever! They’re criminals. They poisoned my cousin.”
“Really?” I stared back.
“Really. He’s a farmworker. He picks strawberries, lettuce, whatever is ripe. He was working at an organic farm down in Oxnard but it’s next to a conventional one. They sprayed the field with the fumigant Agrosafe makes. Calling it safe is a bunch of BS. I couldn’t believe how sick he got.”
“Did he file charges?”
“You kidding me? He’s poor, Robbie. He had to stop working, and he doesn’t get any paid sick leave. He had to go on welfare. He’s a proud man, and he hates it.”
“Carmen,” Luisa called from inside.
“I gotta go,” Carmen said. “We’ll talk later.” She bustled off, shaking her head.
Wow. Her poor cousin. I hoped he would recover. I gazed at the brilliant magenta flowers of the bougainvillea covering the wall next to me, another sight missing from the Midwest, and one I adored. Luckily, the plant grew fine without fumigants of any kind. All it wanted was a lot of sun and little bit of water.
A small brown bird hopped around in the showy plant, and somewhere a mourning dove made its who-who, whoo, who sound. The ones in Indiana had a different call from these western ones. Different varieties of the same species? I didn’t know enough about birds to tell.
I sipped the cold beer as I checked my phone. Liz had texted back, asking where I was. I answered,
Lunch at NAC. Join me?
She responded within seconds.
Be right there.
After Carmen brought out my quesadilla, I bit into perfection. A flour tortilla filled with roasted peppers, green chiles, and sautéed onions, topped with pepper jack, folded in half and lightly fried on both sides? My idea of heaven, especially topped with fresh salsa and a generous scoop of guacamole. It would be easy to offer this same dish at my restaurant. I took the obligatory picture before I bit into it.
I was halfway through my cheesy, crunchy lunch when Liz putted up to the curb in a classic sixties VW convertible bug. Painted a light blue, it had the rounded bumpers marking it as made in 1966 or earlier. I didn’t know much about birds, but vintage cars? Bring it. California must have more old cars than anywhere else in the country. It was common to see a sixties Mustang, an early-seventies Jaguar, or a well-maintained Ford truck from the fifties on the roads. They lasted a lot longer out here in the absence of salted roads and harsh driving conditions half the year.
“I’m on the patio,” I called after she unfolded her tall frame from the low seat.
She gave a wave and hurried toward the door. A moment later she’d plopped into the chair across from mine, her silver hair more flyaway than when I’d seen her before. Her whole manner seemed flyaway this morning.
“How are you?” I asked.
Carmen walked up, order pad out. “Hey, Liz. Lunch?”
“Fish tacos, please,” Liz said nearly breathlessly. “And I’ll have a Corona, too.”
“Coming right up.” Carmen peered at her. “You okay?”
Liz blew out a breath. She glanced around. We were still alone out here, and she beckoned us both closer.
“I just heard the worst news.”
I put my hand to my mouth, waiting. Had something happened to Zoe? No, this was shock on her face, not grief.
“Paul is dead,” Liz announced.
Carmen’s breath rushed in with a rasping sound. She crossed herself.
I shook my head slowly at the news. No wonder she looked shocked. “But he’s so young.”
“I know.” Liz nodded. “He’s only forty-two, or was.”
“What did he die of?” I asked.
“That’s the thing. They’re saying it might have been an aneur ysm.”
“Exactly like Mom,” I whispered.
Chapter 17
“Exactly like Jeanine.” Liz gazed at both of us.
Carmen looked as stunned as I felt. Could Paul’s death also be murder by agrochemical?
“I need to tell my boy,” Carmen said. “He’s gonna be sad. They were friends.”
“That’s right. Hector told me yesterday he and Paul were buddies.” I felt terrible for Hector. “How did you find out Paul had died?” I asked Liz.
Liz wrinkled her nose. “I have a police scanner. So I can . . .” She glanced at Carmen. “So I can keep track of what’s going on.”
With Zoe, I imagined, but she must not want to tell Carmen about her daughter’s problem. “And what did you hear?”
“They don’t say much and they have all these codes,” Liz went on. “But an ambulance was sent to Paul’s apartment an hour ago. I know the neighborhood he lived in, and I have a girlfriend who’s an EMT. I asked her what they could find out.”
“Ma’am?” a voice called from indoors. “Can we have our check, please?”
Carmen raised a finger. “You tell me everything later.” She hurried into the building.
Liz continued. “My friend was on that call. They discovered Paul dead on his kitchen floor.”
The same way Liz had found Mom. “Why do they think it might be an aneurysm?” I asked. “You know, not a heart attack or something?”
“I don’t know.” She narrowed her eyes at the bougainvillea. “Something looks different? Broken blood vessels in the skin or some other sign? I actually have no idea. They’re the experts. They must have a way to tell.”
“I should think so. Did you hear who found him? Who called it in?”
“No, but Paul has—had—a roommate. It must have been her.” She tapped the table. “Robbie, what if it wasn’t a natural death?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What if someone killed Paul?”
“Unfortunately, I was thinking the same thing. Liz, we have to find out more about Agrosafe. About Walter Russom. I mean, Mom died two years ago. But this is happening right now. Maybe Paul’s apartment building has a security camera, or a neighbor saw somebody go in or come out who isn’t normally around.”
“Shouldn’t we tell the police our suspicions? It’s their job, no? On the TV shows they do door-to-door searches
