A Time to Gather (32 page)

“Yeah.” The word stretched into two syllables. He shook Bobby’s hand.

Bobby pulled out a notepad and sat down.

Rosie said, “I hope you enjoyed dinner?”

“It was great,” Nathan replied, his tone still hesitant.

“Mind if we ask you some questions?”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“You’re not under arrest. If you admit to breaking a law, we may use that admission against you.”

“Driving here tonight, I hit seventy-five in a sixty-five.” He smiled, but his eyes didn’t crinkle.

Rosie’s fake smile showed a few teeth. “We just need a little information concerning my friend here.”

“Okay.” He looked at Lexi. “Interesting ‘friends’ you have.”

“Rosie!” she cried. “What are you doing? You didn’t say you were—”

“Mr. Warner.” Rosie focused on Nathan. “Do you know Erik Beaumont?”

“The TV newscaster. Lexi’s brother.”

Lexi had told him as much, confirming what he already knew from reading old articles about the fire.

Rosie consulted a small pad in her hand. “Do you
know
him? Personally?”

Nathan hesitated. “We’re acquainted.”

“How?”

His face turned deadpan.

Lexi’s stomach turned sour.

He cleared his throat. “We worked together. I was copy editor at Channel Three.”

“Past tense?”

“I left to do freelance full time.”

“When was that?”

“October fifteenth.”

“Not long after the fire.”

He tilted his head in assent.

Lexi’s heartbeat raced. Nathan
knew
Erik? He
worked
with him and never mentioned that fact to her?

Rosie went on. “Were there problems at the station, problems specific to the fire story, around the time you left?”

“People were upset. Beaumont was sitting on the biggest story in years. In essence, by refusing to talk about his family’s experience in the fire or allow them to be interviewed, he gave an exclusive to the other stations and the print media. He threatened to quit if anyone even attempted to contact his family.”

Lexi remembered how Erik okayed the few interviews she did with newspapers and a local magazine. He was adamant, however, that his station would not benefit from his family’s tragedy. He would not let them be exploited. Which was fine with Lexi. She’d used up all her courage talking to the print reporters. She had no desire to be on television and easily said no to requests from other stations.

Rosie said, “Are you saying Erik blackmailed Channel Three?”

“Not exactly. Things have gone south for him, I know, but before the fire he
was
Channel Three News. Nobody really thought he’d quit. They were angry, sure, but they respected his family’s privacy. Felicia Matthews interviewed the firefighters who were there that night with the family.” He glanced at Lexi. “No one, though, got close to the Beaumonts.”

Rosie leaned forward. “Did you try?”

The patio swirled in Lexi’s vision. She grasped the edge of the table.

“No, I did not try.”

“Until now.”

“Touché.”

“Did anyone from the station attempt to contact a Beaumont family member right after the fire?”

“Yes.”

Rosie clicked her pen. “Care to elaborate?”

Nathan took a deep breath. “He worked at the station. Sold advertising. A wannabe announcer. Erik didn’t know him, but learned from his grandmother Indio that this guy had called her and set up an interview.”

Lexi gasped. The incident had been ugly. Poor Nana. She’d practically lost everything she owned in the fire, but she was such a trooper that soon after she agreed to do a videotaped interview. She felt convinced her story would encourage other seniors. Erik had recognized the man’s name and gone berserk. The interview never happened.

Nathan said, “His idea wasn’t sanctioned by the station. He planned to sell it elsewhere. Erik insisted the guy be fired. His opinion carried a lot of weight. The guy lost his job.”

Lexi twisted the napkin still on her lap. “Tall? Armani-suit type? Dumbo elephant ears?”

Nathan nodded once.

Rosie reached over and touched Lexi’s shoulder, squeezing gently, never taking her eyes off Nathan. “Mr. Warner, have you been in contact with this man since he was fired?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Nathan Warner knew not only Erik but the man in the bar too? The man who’d set Erik up? Who’d sent him on his merry way to find Felicia and Brett, armed with drugs and a toy gun? And he’d talked to that man
yesterday
?

Lexi was through the arched doorway as her chair clattered against the floor tiles.

  
Fifty-Seven

B
obby picked up the chair that fell when Lexi ejected herself from it.

Rosie chewed on the inside of her lip. There had been no time to warn Lexi. The pieces of the puzzle hadn’t come together until thirty minutes earlier. As Papi was serving the empanadas, she and Bobby were learning that Warner had worked at Erik’s TV station.

Knowing she couldn’t have warned Lexi didn’t help, though. The sight of her friend discomposing was enough to make Rosie cry.

“Delgado?” Bobby crooked his thumb toward the door, his way of asking if one of them ought to go after Lexi.

Rosie gave her head a slight shake. Lexi would have to take care of Lexi.

Bobby sat back down and Rosie narrowed her eyes at Warner. He appeared to be the nice guy Lexi had described—an open face, dressed for comfort, an easygoing manner. A likeable person.

She wanted to toss him in a holding tank with an assortment of repeat offenders.

He said, “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Are you really doing an article about heroes?”

“I am now. I made it up. Then I met her and decided it’s a good idea.”

She huffed a noise of disgust.

“Mr. Warner.” Bobby picked up his notepad. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Reid Fletcher.”

“Why don’t you just start from the beginning and tell us what’s going on?”

“He and I hung out together now and then. I was working toward going freelance with my writing, he was trying to break into radio or TV as a newscaster. After he lost his job, he had a hard time finding another one. He’s at a small radio station up in Orange County, still in sales. He’s pretty bitter about Erik. So much so that he vowed he would get vengeance.”

Rosie clicked her pen in triple time. Lexi’s story about the other guy was taking on substance.

Warner continued. “He came down one Friday night. I met him at a bar downtown.”

Bobby said, “Date? Name of the place?”

Warner filled in details. Same date, same place in question.

“Beaumont walks in, pretty well lit already, doesn’t recognize me. Reid acts like he just won the lottery. He grins and says, ‘Payback time.’ They get to conversing. I watched for a while, but I couldn’t stomach much and left.”

“What did you hear?”

“He egged Beaumont on, talking trash about his girlfriend. What a lowlife, hitting a guy while he’s down. Next morning I read in the paper some cop shot . . .” He studied Rosie’s face; his eyes grew wide. “You shot him.”

Rosie ignored the comment. “What’s the connection between you, Fletcher, and Lexi?”

He rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I noticed her that night, sort of hanging back, clearly with Beaumont, though. Clearly not in a date way. She was too wholesome and down-to-earth looking. I always got along with Erik, but he can be a real prig. When it comes to women, wholesome and down-to-earth are not on his radar.”

Rosie held back a smile and caught sight of Bobby’s smirk at her. Sheesh. Nothing got by him.

“Reid called me a few days later and admitted he might have pushed Beaumont too far, embellishing the gossip like he did about Matthews and the ballplayer.”

“Did he say anything specific about the interchange with Beaumont, anything beyond a reference to gossip?”

“No. The guy’s a magpie. He could talk his mother into disowning his brother.”

Rosie didn’t think Nathan Warner was lying. He appeared fairly wholesome and down-to-earth himself. Besides that, newspapers had reported the toy gun in Erik’s hand, though not the drugs in his system. Apparently Warner had not overheard either being discussed between the other men at the bar. Apparently neither had
Fletcher mentioned them to him in subsequent conversations.

“But,” Warner went on, “he felt guilty about upsetting Beaumont. And he wondered if I’d seen the mousy chick with Erik.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “I told him there were a lot of mousey chicks present. He described Lexi to a tee and said he had learned she was Erik’s sister. He said that after what happened, she might cause him grief. I pointed out that he wasn’t responsible for Erik’s choices. I mean, it wasn’t like he drove the guy to Matthews’ house and put a gun in his hand. What was the big deal?”

Rosie willed herself not to glance at Bobby. Not knowing yet how Erik got to Felicia’s, they’d discussed that very possibility. His car had been found parked downtown. Taxi records had not revealed a trip that night between the bar and her place. A bus ride did not fit the scenario. It was too far for him to walk in such a short amount of time. Erik himself couldn’t remember a thing.

Bobby said, “What’d Fletcher say to your point about him not being responsible?”

“He just said to trust him.” Warner stopped talking.

Rosie clenched her hands into fists, not sure she could speak coherently.

“Mr. Warner, why did you trust him?”

He blinked a few times, as if he’d been elsewhere in his mind and needed to refocus on the surroundings. “He’s my little brother.”

Rosie bit the inside of her lip again, visions of Nathan Warner behind bars dancing in her head.

  
Fifty-Eight

C
laire switched on the coffeemaker and settled into the chair she’d come to think of as her own in the hospital waiting area.

Max was in Tuyen’s room. They’d hoped to have her at home by now, but although she was much stronger, the doctor did not want to release her just yet.

Max spent more time with her than Claire and Indio did combined. It was a marvel to behold her husband. His demeanor softened by the day. His heart was so evident she easily imagined a lush garden sprouting in his chest.

He’d laughed when she told him that. He said he preferred images of a sunny tennis court full of trophies engraved with his name.

She heard a buzz in her handbag. “Whoops.”
Technology
, she thought wryly and rummaged for her cell phone. She’d grown used to the quiet at the hacienda. No traffic, no cellular signal, no people. Anymore it was an effort to remember to turn on the mobile phone when she drove down into the city. The mental note to turn it off while in the hospital most often escaped her.

She was the only one in the room, so she answered. “Hello?”

“Claire. This is Rosie Delgado.”

“Hi!”

“I only have a moment. I wanted to alert you that Lexi is pretty upset.”

Claire’s stomach twisted.

“I thought you should know. Did she tell you about the reporter she met?”

“Yes. Nathan somebody?”

“Right. Evidently he’s not exactly who she thought he was. We were talking here at my dad’s restaurant when it all came to a head. She left on the verge of tears about twenty minutes ago.”

“Why were you and Lexi—”

“I can’t say just yet.”

She recognized the all-business tone in Rosie’s calm alto.

“Claire, I know Lexi has some emotional problems. I’m guessing she has an eating disorder. I just wanted you to be aware that she’s going to have a rough go of it tonight.” Her voice hushed. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

A curious sense of relief flooded through Claire. Someone understood her daughter. Someone who resembled a guardian angel assigned to her family.

“Oh, Rosie! You don’t intrude in the least. Thank you for your concern. I’ll check on her.”

“Okay. How is Tuyen?”

“Still here in the hospital, but she’s improving wonderfully.”

“Glad to hear that. I have to go. Take care.”

“You too.”

Claire sat still, phone in her hand. The coffeemaker chugged through its final stages. The aroma smelled like Indio’s best.

Claire smiled briefly and whispered, “God is good.”

She shut her eyes and horrible images came of her baby being sick. By now her imagination had them down pretty good, very distinct and detailed.

As far as she knew, Lexi did not drink alcohol. At the moment, that was a major positive. Her body might be deteriorating at warp speed compared to the average young woman’s, but things would not be compounded by her passing out and choking to death on . . .

Claire sat up straighter and dialed Lexi’s cell number. No answer. She punched in the apartment number. No answer, not even the machine. When her daughter painted, she sometimes turned off everything.

Would she be painting now though? From Rosie’s description, Claire thought not.

“Claire?”

She looked up as Max strode across the room.

He sat in the chair catty-corner from hers. “I’m upset about Lexi. I just can’t get her off my mind. It’s a literal heaviness inside my chest.”

She stared at him.

He hung his head, combing his fingers through his hair. The stubble on his chin was thick. Although he’d spent most of last night at home, he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning before heading back to the hospital. “It’s this business with Tuyen. I can’t help but see Lexi in her. Neither of them really had a father growing up.”

He raised his eyes to her. “Do you think it’s too late? The forgiveness thing, when I confessed to her—that was a whole different entity. This is about the here and now. I want to—I don’t know. Step alongside her? Somehow clue her in that I care? How do you and my mom do it? Phone calls, notes, cards, little gifts. A listening ear.” His smile was sad. “Homemade chocolate-chip cookies. What’s wrong?”

She wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Everything’s right except for what Rosie just told me.” After recounting their conversation, she said, “I think Lexi is either at home or heading to the hacienda.”