Crunch Time

crack, on the other.”

My mouth dropped open as I glanced at Yolanda. Her left hand covered her eyes in shame.

Ferdinanda concluded by saying, “That’s when we decided, we have to move out.”

“You didn’t tell me,” I whispered to Yolanda.

“I couldn’t tell you, Goldy,” said Yolanda, still not looking at us. “I was ashamed.” She did glance up at me then. “He hit me so hard I thought my bones were broken. They swelled up, then turned black and blue. My long sleeves covered up the bruises.”

“Yeah,” said Ferdinanda. “Tell her about the VD, too.”

Inside the dark van, I could just make out Yolanda’s face turning scarlet. She said, “Crabs. I’ve been treated. I got it from him, but I’m all right now. It was nothing that would affect food handling. I told Ernest, in case he didn’t want me fixing his dinners. He knew all about STDs and their treatment, and he told me not to worry about it.”

“Did you file a police report, Yolanda?” asked Tom gently. “Over the fact that Kris hit you?”

“No,” she replied in a low voice. “Later, when we were in the rental and things started happening, I called the police. But back then? When he hit me? I just wanted to get out of there.”

4

I interrupted. “Tom, let me get them back to their place.”

“Just remind me,” said Tom, his tone still gentle, “was Ernest investigating Kris? Trying to prove he’d been harrassing you?”

Yolanda looked down and sighed.

Ferdinanda shook a gnarled index finger at Tom. “Not yet. But Ernest, he promised he would help as soon as he finished up some other things.”

“Some other things?” said Tom.

Yolanda intervened. “He was going to help me. But he had to finish up the divorce case, the puppy mill, investigating Humberto and the missing assets. After that, he was going to go after Kris. Ferdinanda is right. He promised.” Another sob escaped her lips.

Ferdinanda dug in her pocket for the tissue. She muttered, “Humberto,” and spat into the tissue.

Tom pressed her again. “Did Kris by any chance know that Ernest was going to investigate him?”

Yolanda looked out the van windshield. “I’m not sure. But Ernest did say he was going to, you know, open a file on Kris.”

“When did he say this to you?” Tom asked.

“I don’t remember.”

Tom’s fingers tapped the dashboard. “He was going to open a computer file? A paper file?”

“I told you, he had a nice handmade cabinet, with hanging files in it.” Yolanda’s tone had turned sour again. “I didn’t check to see if he had a file on Kris.”

“Tom, please,” I said again. “It’s getting late. The puppies need to be fed. Can we go?”

“Just one more thing. Does either one of you know how to shoot?”

“Tom!” I cried. “You said they weren’t suspects.”

Yolanda sighed. “It’s all right, Goldy. No, I told you before, Tom. I do not know how to shoot a gun, and I don’t want to learn.”

Ferdinanda frowned in defiance. “I know how to shoot. I was a francotiradora, how do you say, sniper, in Raul’s army. Somebody comes after me or Yolanda? I will shoot them.”

“And that’s all either one of them is going to say without a lawyer,” I interjected.

Tom turned in his seat to eye me directly. “Listen to me. I want you to ask permission of the investigators at Ernest’s house before you go in and touch anything. Understand?”

“All right,” I said.

“Yolanda,” said Tom, “do you have a remote to get into Ernest’s garage?”

“Uh,” she said, “yes.”

“Good,” said Tom. “Still, when you all see the police car, I want you to honk or something before you go in. Understand? Yolanda, I know you and your aunt may want to stay there, but I just don’t want the investigation messed up.”

“Okay,” said Yolanda.

I asked, “Could you call me when you know what’s going on with John? Because if Yolanda and Ferdinanda decide to stay with us, and John can’t let the dogs out tonight, I’ll need to find somebody else to do it.”

“Yup,” said Tom as he heaved himself down from the van. “Thanks for your help, ladies.”

“Tell your friend I’m sorry I hurt him,” said Ferdinanda.

When Tom said, “He knows,” I wanted to hug him.

A clap of thunder startled us as we drove toward Aspen Hills. Yolanda had asked if we could trade places, so she could be in back with Ferdinanda. Once they were sitting next to each other, they began to speak in Spanish. I would have tried to follow what they were saying, but they began to speak so fast that there was no way I could make it out.

Which they no doubt knew.

I couldn’t help but wonder, Did Yolanda take Humberto’s money to spy on Ernest? And did she actually spy on him and tell Humberto what Ernest was doing? What is the story on those missing assets?

The sky began to spit large drops. I glanced at my watch. The storm had been brewing all afternoon, and now, at ten to six, it was hitting us. The television meteorologists were always warning that this time of year in Colorado could yield “unsettled” weather patterns. For a caterer, this means “unsettling,” because if you had an outdoor event scheduled, you could, at the last moment, be hustling a lot of chairs and tables inside. Thank goodness for CBHS’s alternate plan to use the gym the next day. Thank goodness we didn’t have anything we needed to cook outside. Thank goodness Arch had his own transportation that night and wasn’t depending on me. Thank goodness . . .

I recognized my own thought pattern. I was trying to calm myself, trying to get distracted, before something potentially unsettling was due to take place. As Yolanda’s tires ground up the hill into the back entrance of Aspen Hills, I swallowed hard. Up, up, up we went. The engine gnashed its innards as I turned the steering wheel hard for first one, then another switchback.

On our right, John Bertram’s house, then his garage, came into view. A hundred yards beyond that, crime- scene ribbons wrapped around rocks and posts fluttered in the wet breeze.

As John Bertram had told us, Ernest McLeod’s house was a third of a mile farther up. When I saw it, my heart plummeted. So much for just worrying about weather, cooking, transportation, and other insignificant issues.

“Hey, you two,” I said to Ferdinanda and Yolanda. “Everything all right?” They’d both begun sniffling, so no.

I peered ahead into the gloom. I could not see any police cars. If Ernest had had one garage remote and Yolanda had had the other, how had they gotten in? Well, presumably John Bertram had a spare key to his friend’s house and had given it to the sheriff’s department. And even if John hadn’t, the police had their ways. They’d already gotten in once and found the seventeen thousand under the mattress.

But if Tom wanted me to honk at the police car, then to get permission to go inside, how was I supposed to do that if I couldn’t see anybody there?

Yolanda and Ferdinanda were still crying. I pulled over onto the graveled shoulder, then reached into my bag and handed tissues back to Yolanda, who kept one and gave the other to her aunt. Ferdinanda wiped her eyes and then tucked the tissue into another unseen compartment of her wheelchair. I wondered where she kept the baton, and how often she used it.

We were just above the highest location of the crime-scene tape stretching around a boulder. The rain pelted down; the yellow ribbons blew sideways. I strained to see up to Ernest’s house. There was no police car. Could the