Scent of Roses (16 page)

Biff's was a restaurant/bar on Main Street. The limited menu, basically frozen fried chicken and pizza, was lousy, the employees surly. She couldn't figure out how the place stayed open but it had been there for years.

“All right, Biff's is good.”

“I'll follow you down there.”

She nodded and started her car.

There wasn't much going on in town as they drove along Main Street, but there rarely was, even on Saturday night. The high school kids mostly took their dates to Mason, where there was a six-theater cinema and, being a farming community, the rest of the town's residents went to bed early, even on Saturday night. Except, of course, for the beer-drinking crowd, which hung around the Top Hat Bar, on a side street a few blocks away.

Elizabeth parallel parked in a space just down from Biff's front door, and Zach parked his BMW in the space behind her. She hadn't been in the restaurant—to use the term loosely—since she had returned to San Pico, but she found it hadn't changed. Worn linoleum, a pool table in the back of the narrow room, a long bar where patrons could eat or drink and a row of wooden tables along the wall.

Zach led her over to a table, then went up to the bar and ordered a couple of cups of coffee.

“Sorry, this is the leaded version,” he said as he set the white china mug down in front of her. “They don't believe in decaf at Biff's.”

“That's all right. After what happened tonight, I could use a bracer.”

Zach smile. “Maybe I should have ordered you a whiskey.”

Elizabeth ignored what that grin did to her. “Maybe you should have.” But if she had a shot of alcohol and lost even a few of her inhibitions, she would invite Zach back to her apartment, back into her bed, and she didn't want to do that.

“So…what do we do next?” she asked. Picking up the little metal pitcher on the table, she poured a good dose of cream into her thick black coffee.

“Tansy says we need to find out what happened in the house, which we've already started to do—unfortunately, without much success. I guess we'll just have to try harder.”

“What else can we do?”

“I'll talk to a few of the workers on the farm, see if anyone has been around long enough to remember any of the people who lived in the old house before it was torn down.” He took a sip of his coffee, then grimaced at the bitter taste. “The place was there a lot of years, though. As far back as I can remember. I imagine quite a few tenants have lived there at one time or another.”

“After you mentioned it, I remembered seeing it there when I was a kid. I just never paid that much attention.”

“It wasn't much to look at, an old, gray, wood-framed house with a big front porch.”

“It didn't make much of an impression. I remember it had white wooden shutters at the windows, and by the time I was in high school, it was pretty run-down.”

He nodded. “The problem is finding out who lived there.”

“More importantly, we need to know if anyone died in the house, particularly a child.”

“According to the stuff on the Net, violence is usually part of the equation, or a sudden, unexpected death, like an accident or something. Of course, there's no way to know if it's true.”

“No, but it's something to keep in mind.”

Zach took a sip of his coffee then set the cup back down on the table. “I'll find out as much as I can. I'm not exactly welcome out at the farm, but I'll try talking to Carson.”

“That ought to be interesting. You going to tell your brother you're trying to find a ghost?”

“Not hardly. I'm going to tell him I'm interested in the history of the farm.” He took another sip of the bitter brew. “I'll tell him I have someone interested in writing a book on the area. Carson will jump through hoops for a little publicity.”

Elizabeth stirred more cream into her mug, trying to disguise the taste. “I really appreciate your help with this, Zach. This isn't exactly my area of expertise.”

“Mine either.”

They spent the next half hour planning their strategy. Since the house sat on ground owned by Harcourt Farms, there were no separate ownership records to search. Public utility companies seemed the most promising avenue—if their records went back far enough and the company could be convinced to share them.

Harcourt Farms provided its overseers with a house and water, Zach told her, but the phone was paid by the tenants, as were the gas and electric bills. Elizabeth planned to speak to the telephone and utility companies to see what she could find out.

She decided to use Zach's story that someone wanted to do a history of the farm. Of course, their best hope was that Carson might have some sort of record of who had lived there, or that the longtime employees on the farm might remember something useful.

It was getting late by the time their plan was set. Elizabeth had managed to finish several cups of the too-strong coffee, leaving her wide-awake. So was Zach, she discovered as he walked her to her car, then leaned down and gave her a soft, incredibly sexy kiss.

She didn't resist. It just felt too good.

“Let me come home with you.” He kissed her again, a deep, thorough kiss that turned her insides to butter. “We're good together, Liz. Let's see where this thing takes us.”

She leaned toward him, tempted. Oh, so, tempted. Instead, she pressed her fingertips against his lips to stop his seductive words.

“I wish I could, Zach. You'll never know how much. But I just can't take the risk.”

He stared at her for several long seconds, then cupped her face between his hands and kissed her deeply. Knowing she shouldn't, she let him.

“I could persuade you, Liz. You know I could.”

She looked into those hot dark eyes and knew he was right. “I know you could. I'm asking you not to.”

Zach said something beneath his breath and stepped away from her, raking a hand through his short dark hair. “I wish things could be different.”

“I wish I were more like Lisa.”

Zach reached toward her, cupped her cheek with his hand. “I wouldn't want that. I like you just the way you are. I wouldn't change a thing.” A last soft kiss and he took her arm, led her around to the driver's side door of her car, then waited as she settled inside.

“I'll keep you posted,” he said when she rolled down her window. “You do the same.”

“I will. Good night, Zach.”

“Good night, baby.”

She watched him in the mirror as she drove away, saw his headlights appear behind her as he followed to make sure she safely reached her house, and wondered if she had made the right decision.

C
arson Harcourt sat in his study, poring over the production records for the month. It took a moment for the light knock on his door to penetrate his thoughts. When he looked up, he saw his housekeeper, Isabel Flores, standing in the open doorway.

“I am sorry to bother you, Señor Harcourt, but your brother just drove up in front of the house. I thought you would want to know.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you, Isabel.” Carson watched her walk off down the hall, hips swaying, full breasts jiggling, and thought how smart he had been to hire her. She was wise enough to treat him with respect whenever she was working in the house, and she knew how to please him in bed.

His groin tightened. He'd been busy lately, getting ready for the lettuce harvest. He'd also been working with Walter Simino, preparing to launch his campaign for the assembly, which he would begin in early spring, starting with a big barbecue to announce his candidacy. With so much on his mind, he could use a little sexual relief and Isabel managed that quite nicely.

And since she was in the country without a green card, he didn't have to worry about her giving him any trouble. Carson made a mental note to pay the girl a visit tonight.

He was smiling as he looked up to see his brother walk through the door. The smile instantly faded.

“Well, look who's here. What brings you out from under your rock, today, Zach?”

Zach's expression remained bland. After years of goading, he had taught himself incredible control. Only the faint tick of a muscle along his jaw said Carson's jibe had been effective.

“Something came up. I thought you might be interested.”

“Really. Something like what?”

“A guy called me a couple of days ago. He was working on a book about agriculture in the San Joaquin Valley. He was interested in Harcourt Farms. He thought I might be able to help him with some of the history.”

“You're right, that is interesting. Are you sure this isn't going to have some kind of negative slant?”

“He's just concerned with the history.”

“Have him give me a call. I'll see what I can do.”

“He wanted me to talk to some of the longtime workers, see what they might remember about the place in the old days. I figured you wouldn't have time. I told him I'd give it a try, see what I could turn up.”

The last thing Carson wanted was to spend time with his farm workers. That's why he hired overseers.

“I told him I'd talk to you about it,” Zach continued. “I figure once he gets the basics, he'll want to talk to you about the other aspects of the farming operation.”

Now that was more like it. He wouldn't mind having something written about him and the success of Harcourt Farms, as long as it had a positive ring. Let Zach do the unpleasant legwork.

Still, there was something in his half brother's manner that bothered him. Zach was never much good at lying. Carson wondered how he managed to earn those fat legal fees he got in L.A.

“All right, go ahead. Stiles hasn't been here that long. He probably wouldn't do you any good.” Lester Stiles was foreman of Harcourt Farms, Carson's right-hand man. “Mariano Nunez has probably been working here the longest. He lives in the third house down the row.”

“Yeah, I remember him. He ran the orchard crew back when I was in high school. I remember he was my boss when I worked the shaker in the almond harvest.”

“Maybe the old man can tell you something of interest. And tell your guy—what did you say his name was?”

Zach glanced away, a sure sign he wasn't being completely honest. “Steven Baines.”

“Tell Baines to call me. I'll set aside some time for an interview.”

Zach just nodded. “Great. Thanks. You wouldn't have any kind of list, would you? Something that might tell the names of the people who worked here over the years?”

Carson eyed Zach warily. He didn't like the direction this conversation was going. “No. Why would you need a list?”

Zach shrugged, but his shoulders looked tense. “I just thought it might be useful, jog some memories. At any rate, the next time I talk to him, I'll tell Baines to give you a call.”

Carson watched his brother walk out of the study, more certain than ever that something was going on. He'd find out what. He practically ran San Pico. People told him whatever he wanted to know. Well, he wanted to know what Zach was up to and it wouldn't take him long to find out.

Carson picked up the phone.

 

Zach left the house and headed for the workers' compound. He still had a bad taste in his mouth from his conversation with Carson. He hated to ask the bastard for anything. He just hoped the result would be worth it.

It was Sunday, a day off for a number of people on the farm so there were more people than usual around the housing area. Zach spent the morning talking to some of the longtime workers, and the head overseer, Mariano Nunez, a weathered old Mexican who had been employed by Harcourt Farms for more than thirty years.

“I remember the old gray house,” the old man said. “I had friends who lived there…the Espinozas. Juan Espinoza came up with me from Mexico.”

The old man remembered a couple of other residents who had lived in the wood-framed house over the years. The Rodriquez family had been the only other residents of the new yellow house besides the Santiagos. The last resident of the gray house, a man named Axel Whitman, had lived alone for a number of years. Zach wrote down all of the names Mariano could remember, but he didn't know where any of them had gone after they left the farm.

Juan Espinoza and his family had lived there the longest, Mariano told him, then moved to a farming community near Fresno, where Juan had later died. As far as the old man could recall, no one had ever died in the house, at least not in the thirty years he had lived on the farm.

Zach didn't see the foreman, Les Stiles, anywhere around but he wouldn't talk to the man if he did. Stiles kissed Carson's ass, big-time. Odds were, he wouldn't know anything useful and asking him questions might make Carson suspicious.

Zach thought about calling Liz with the morning's unhelpful information, but decided against it. He needed to go out to Teen Vision, see how things were coming along with the barn.

Maybe instead of calling, he'd stop by her house before he drove back to L.A.

 

Raul Perez hung up the phone in the hall outside his dorm room. He had called his sister, but Maria was away at the grocery store, so he had talked to Miguel instead. It wasn't a pleasant conversation. His brother-in-law had ranted and raved, furious at Maria, angry at her friend, Elizabeth Conners, and the brother of the man who owned Harcourt Farms.

“Your sister thinks there is a ghost in the house. She is acting completely crazy. I cannot believe it!”

“Maybe there is a ghost,” Raul said softly.

“
Por Dios,
if you believe that, you are as crazy as she is! If there is a ghost, why have I not seen it? Why is it just your sister?”

It was a very good question, one Raul had pondered himself. “I don't know. Maybe there is a ghost, maybe there isn't, but Maria is afraid.”

“She doesn't have to be afraid. Not as long as I am here to protect her. On visiting day, I will bring her out to see you. Talk to her, tell her she is being foolish. Maybe she will listen to you.”

Raul nodded, though Miguel could not see. “I will do my best.” Raul hung up the phone, and unconsciously his hand clenched into a fist. His sister was frightened. He didn't know what was happening to her, but something was wrong and he was powerless to help her.

He started down the dormitory stairs to join his roommate, Pete Ortega, in the mess hall, his stomach rumbling, reminding him it was time for lunch though his appetite wasn't nearly as big as it had been before he'd talked to Miguel.

“Raul! Wait up!”

Turning, he saw Zachary Harcourt hurrying to catch up with him, heading in the same direction he was.

“Hi, Zach.”

“Hey, kid. Good to see you.” The dark-haired man looked into his face and Raul's smile faded. “What's the matter? You look like your dog just died.”

Raul sighed. “It's my sister. I talked to Miguel this morning.”

“Damn. Then I guess you know I'm not exactly on his good list and neither is Ms. Conners.”

“He said you were out at the house last night, looking for the ghost.”

“Not exactly, but close enough.”

“Did you see it?”

Zach shook his head. “I don't know if what's happening out there is real or not, but something's going on and we're going to find out what it is. Once we do, your sister won't have to be afraid.”

“I am worried about her. I wish I could be there to help her.”

Zach stopped walking and caught Raul's arm. “Listen, Raul. I'm not exactly sure how I got in the middle of this mess, but now that I am, I'm not going to abandon you or your sister. I'm not quitting until the problem is resolved. I give you my word on that.”

Raul felt a wave of relief so strong something burned behind his eyes. “Thank you.”

Zach clapped him on the back. “You just keep doing as well as you have been. That's all the thanks I need.”

Raul just nodded. His throat felt too tight to speak.

“Come on,” Zach said, his hand back on Raul's shoulder, steering him toward the mess hall. “I'm starving. Let's get something to eat.”

Raul let him lead the way, determined not to worry about his sister. Zachary Harcourt had given his word. Raul just prayed he would keep it.

 

Zach pulled down his visor against the glare of the late afternoon sun. He should have been driving the opposite direction, heading east down the highway toward Interstate 5, on his way back to his Pacific Palisades apartment, getting ready for a long day at the office tomorrow. They were starting to take depositions on the Themoziamine case this week and he needed to be prepared.

Instead, he was driving down Main Street, turning onto Cherry Avenue, pulling up in front of Liz's apartment building. He'd only stay a minute, he told himself, just long enough to fill her in on his unsuccessful morning at Harcourt Farms.

Shoving the gearshift into Park, he turned off the engine, then hesitated only a moment before opening the door into the pervasive afternoon heat and climbing out of the car. Making his way to apartment B, he knocked on Liz's front door, and a few minutes later, she pulled it open.

“Zach! What are you doing here?”

His mind went completely blank. She was standing there in a little orange bikini that showed every luscious curve of her body. Her glorious dark auburn hair was wet and she was drying it with a beach towel, obviously having just come in from the pool. His body stirred to life and he went rock hard.

He cleared his throat but didn't look away. “I know I should have called. I just decided at the last minute to stop by. I wanted to tell you what happened when I went out to see my brother.”

Noticing the greedy way he was devouring her with his eyes, she wrapped the beach towel around her hips and tied it in a knot.

Damn, she was sexy. He wasn't sure exactly what she had that made her different from other women he had known, but she sure as hell had something.

“Come on in.” She stepped back smiling, inviting him in, and he walked into the living room and closed the door behind him. “Give me a minute to put on some dry clothes.”

His gaze slid over her breasts, barely covered by the tiny cups of her bathing suit top, and his body tightened. “Don't bother on my account.”

Liz's smile deepened, until her glance caught on the thick ridge at the front of his Levi's and something shifted in her pretty blue eyes. “I'll be right back,” she said, her voice a little huskier than before.

She started to turn away, but Zach caught her hand and tugged her around to face him. He hadn't meant to do it, but when her eyes widened in surprise and her lips parted, he hauled her into his arms and claimed her mouth.

Her hands came up to his chest and for an instant he thought she meant to push him away, then he felt her tongue slide over his as she kissed him back and every cell in his body caught fire.

Christ, he wanted her. His fingers closed around the towel and he untied the knot she had made, let the damp material puddle on the floor. Her orange bikini was wet, clinging to the cheeks of her bottom, and he cupped them, kneaded the firm round flesh, and heard her soft moan.

He glanced toward the window and saw that the curtains were mostly drawn, slid a hand into her thick, wet hair, and deepened the kiss. The sides of her swimsuit bottom fastened with tiny orange bows. He pulled one and then the other, jerked the wisp of fabric away and tossed it into a corner. The top went next, exposing those full, rose-tipped breasts. He suckled each one and she began to tremble.