State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (11 page)

Chuck narrowed his eyes, bloodshot from
crying. “If I find the son of a bitch who did this to her, I’ll
kill him—!”

Stone did not doubt that he could, probably
with his bare hands. The same way his wife was killed perhaps?
Interesting parallel.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Stone warned.
“Let’s leave finding the perpetrator to the authorities.”

Chuck rubbed his nose and stewed in
silence.

“We’re going to need all the help we can get
from you, Chuck.” Stone gazed at him.

“I’ll tell you whatever I know,” he
snorted.

Yes, you will
, Stone promised himself.
But what exactly do you know?

“Good. I can drive you to the morgue if you
like.”

Chuck sucked in breath. “I’ll drive myself,
if that’s all right? I need to deal with my grief
alone
.”

“I understand.” Stone left it at that. There
would be time for questions and answers later.

* * *

At home that evening Stone sat at the formal
dining room table with his wife, Joyce, and two of their kids,
Carla and Paco. They were eating his favorite meal of spaghetti and
meatballs with garlic bread.

Stone stared absentmindedly at his wife.
Native American, she was still as beautiful as when he first fell
for her in high school with a defined facial bone structure and
ebony hair that went down to the middle of her back. He was a
senior and star wide receiver for the school team; she was a junior
and the reigning student council president.

“What is it, Stone?” Joyce asked, her big
black eyes favoring him perceptively.

Stone met her gaze. He didn’t particularly
like discussing his work in front of the kids. But at the same
time, he didn’t want to hide from them the very real dangers in the
world they lived in. Including right there in Eagles Landing.

“A woman’s body was found today by the lake,”
he said sadly. “And it looks like she was strangled.” Stone chose
to spare his family the further horrors the victim had clearly been
put through. “Her husband reported her missing when she didn’t come
home from work two days ago.”

“How awful.” Joyce furrowed her brow, the
fork full of spaghetti frozen in her hand.

“Eww,” Carla moaned, flipping back her flaxen
hair in the way fourteen-year-old girls liked to do.

“Yeah, eww,” twelve-year-old Paco mimicked,
including flipping back his shaggy brown hair.

Stone tried to imagine losing Joyce or his
kids to violence. The thought made him wonder if the city was
becoming too violent for them to live in. But where would they be
any safer? Perhaps in Alaska, where Joyce had spent her younger
years before the family relocated to Northern California.

They lived in a violent world. There was no
getting around that. No matter where they went.

“Do you know who did it?” Joyce asked.

“No—not yet.” Stone stuck a meatball on his
fork and ate it.

Joyce wanted more. He could read the hunger
for details in her eyes. “Where did it happen?”

“Belle Park.”

Joyce reacted with alarm. “We’ve taken the
kids there!” she said, as if having never considered such a place
could be dangerous. Or that their children could have just as
easily been murder victims.

“I know,” Stone said, painfully aware that
there were no guarantees that their kids would always stay out of
harm’s way. No matter his desire to protect them and Joyce at all
costs.

“May I be excused?” Carla said to no one in
particular.

“You’ve hardly eaten any of your food,
honey.” Joyce set her fork down, as if for effect.

Carla sneered. “I’ve eaten
too
much! I
have to keep my weight down to make the cheerleading squad next
semester.”

“You will be too weak to do any cheerleading
if you don’t eat more,” argued Joyce.

Stone looked at his slender daughter and
wondered if she was becoming anorexic. He saw no such problem with
his son who was bigger than most boys his age.

“They’re never gonna pick
you
to be a
cheerleader!” Paco said cruelly, enjoying needling his older sister
every chance he got. “Cheerleaders have to be nice to look at, even
if they are super
skinny
!”

“Mom! Dad!” Carla’s mouth hung open
disgustedly. “Will you tell that stupid twit to keep his silly
opinions to himself?”

“Apologize to your sister, Paco!” Stone
ordered, if only to try to keep the peace for one meal.

Paco wrinkled his nose. “Why should I? It’s
true! And she knows it—”

“It is not!” Carla sprang from the table and
ran towards the stairs. “And I do not!” She added as a parting
shot.

“Carla—” Joyce called out angrily.

“Let her go,” Stone said on a breath. He
turned on his youngest son. His first thought was to verbally
assault him just as he had his sister. But he knew full well that
Paco really loved Carla and was merely having fun at her expense.
It was up to her to get past it. “Eat the rest of your food,” he
told him simply. “Then it’s off to bed.”

Stone put one more load of spaghetti in his
mouth and got to his feet, suddenly having lost his appetite,
albeit for very different reasons. Joyce gave him a scathing look
as if he were suddenly the bad guy.

“I’ll talk to her,” he promised, wondering
how they made it through the first two kids in one piece and would
someday have to deal with a house full of grandkids.

At least their children were all still
healthy and alive. That was more than Adrienne Murray could
say.

Someone had seen to that.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Suncrest Nursing Home was located in an
upscale retirement community in Wilameta County, just seven miles
from Eagles Landing. Beverly had chosen this facility after a long
search for a place that could properly care for her father, without
breaking the bank or being too far away to visit. It was a hard
decision to put him away, but a practical one. She was ill equipped
to take care of her nearly teenaged son and a father with
Alzheimer’s disease, while working full time as a prosecuting
attorney.

Beverly’s father, Alberto Elizondo, was in
the courtyard when she and Jaime arrived. A nurse was supervising
them and seemed content to allow the patients to wander around in
the huge yard surrounded by geraniums and daisies, as if trying to
find themselves.

“What should I say to him?” asked Jaime,
uncertainty creasing his brow.

“Just talk to him as your grandfather,”
Beverly responded. “Even if he seems lost, he’ll appreciate
it.”

Or so she hoped.

They walked up to him. Alberto was staring
into space, as if waiting to be picked up by aliens. Beverly noted
that where once her father had been a large man and strong as a
bull, he was now quite frail and seemed to be getting thinner by
the visit. At seventy-four, he still had much of his hair. It was a
fine layer of wintry white and combed to the side and
backwards.

“Hello, Papa,” she said to him, mindful that
on her last visit he had responded as if he remembered she was his
progeny.

Alberto stared at her with blank eyes,
green-gray in color.

“It’s me, Beverly.” She felt like she was
talking to a stranger rather than her own father.

“Beverly...” He narrowed his gaze at her,
straining for recognition. “Have we met?”

“She’s your daughter,” Jaime blared out. “And
I’m your grandson, Jaime. Don’t you remember us, Grandpa, even a
little bit?”

Beverly could hear the irritation yet sincere
hope in his voice.

Alberto painted a smile on his weathered
face. “Sure I do. You’re my grandson, Jaime.” He looked at Beverly,
straining for recognition. “And you’re...”

“Beverly, Papa,” she repeated gingerly, as if
talking to a child. She tried to help him along with hand gestures,
like using sign language.

“Maria?” He scratched his head vigorously.
“You look like my Maria.”

Maria was Beverly’s mother. She had always
been told she favored her. Except by her father, who had always
claimed her features were similar to his side of the family.
Beverly preferred to think she inherited the best of both
parents.

It was all she could do to hold back the
tears. She knew she had to stay strong, especially in front of
Jaime. It was hard enough on him trying to come to grips with his
grandfather’s memory loss. She didn’t want him to see her break
down, causing him further distress.

“I’m not Maria, Papa,” Beverly said gently to
him. “Maria was my mother...and your wife.”

“My wife?” Alberto looked confused.
“Maria...”

“Mama’s dead now, Papa.” It pained her to
have to say this, still shaken by the reality herself. “She’s been
dead for five years now.”

“Dead...for...five...years—” Some form of
understanding seemed to register. “No, not Maria,” Alberto croaked.
“She would never leave me. She promised me she’d never leave me—”
He began bawling like a baby.

Beverly hugged her father, wanting to comfort
him, just as she needed to be comforted.

“Mama didn’t leave you, Papa,” she promised
him. “She’s never left any of us. She’s in heaven now, but will
always be with us in spirit.”

“She will?” Alberto pulled back and with
watery eyes, held her gaze.

“I promise, Papa.”

“Yeah, Gramps, Mom’s right,” seconded
Jaime.

Alberto smiled momentarily, as if he had
forgotten the entire heart wrenching conversation, before turning
his mouth downwards into a pout. He eyed Jaime, and asked,
befuddled, “Why are you here? I don’t know you!”

“Yes, you do!” shouted Jaime, fresh tears
staining his cheeks. “I’m your
grandson, Jaime
!”

With that he ran off, ignoring Beverly’s
cries to come back.

The nurse, alerted to the activity, came
over. She was heavyset and in her early thirties. “I think it’s
time for Mr. Elizondo to take his medicine and then a nap,” she
told Beverly curtly. “You can visit again—”

Beverly might have objected—after all, this
was
their
time with her father, no matter how much of him
they had lost forever—had she not known she had to go find her son.
She had to try and make him understand and learn to deal with
it.

“I have to go now, Papa,” she told him,
forcing a cheery smile, even as tears streamed down her face. “I
promise we’ll come back again soon.”

There was no response from him as the nurse
led him back inside.

Beverly found Jaime sitting on the hood of
the car. “You shouldn’t have left like that, Jaime,” she said
tartly. “Can’t you see that only makes matters worse?”

“No it doesn’t,” he muttered. “It can’t get
any worse! He was only pretending. He doesn’t know me at all and
probably not you either! I want Gramps back, like before.”

Beverly wrapped her arms around her son,
holding onto him for dear life. They were both crying.

“He’s never going to be the same Grandpa you
remember, Jaime,” she said, anguished, but honest. “I wish I could
say differently. He’s an old man with a memory disease that’s
incurable and only going to get worse. All we can do at this point
is pray that Papa can somehow live out his days in relative comfort
and peace.”

Jaime seemed to accept this for the moment;
even as Beverly tried to come to terms with what seemed like a tall
order.

* * *

That afternoon while Jaime went
skateboarding, Beverly took the opportunity to do some neglected
yard work. She had once had an impressive flower garden, but had
been unable to keep up with it in recent years. Now she promised
herself to give it another try next spring. Maybe grow some
perennials and plant some bulbs.

Beverly spent an hour doing aerobics in the
den and another half hour on a stationary bike, deciding she could
use a bit more firming here and there. Everyone told her she was in
great shape, which she strived to be. Grant seemed especially
pleased with her body. But, like most women, she always felt a
constant need for improvement. Maintaining a steady workout regimen
as a full time Mom and attorney was a challenge to say the least.
Yet it was one Beverly was determined to keep up with for peace of
mind and fitness.

Later Beverly listened to messages retrieved
from her voice mail at work. Most had to do with various aspects of
her caseload, requests for interviews, and even an offer to join a
prestigious law firm. She had entertained such offers in the past,
but never seriously. She loved working for the D.A.’s office, even
if sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass. Mostly the work
managed to tap into her skills effectively and challenge her mind
in ways she could never have imagined.

One message in particular that caught
Beverly’s ear came from a Detective Stone Palmer of the Wilameta
County Sheriff’s Department.

“Ms. Mendoza, I just talked to a woman
writing a true crime book on the Suzanne Landon case. Her name is
Lydia Wesley. I’m sure you know the crime originated in Monroe
County, but ended up being prosecuted in Wilameta County. How Ms.
Wesley got my name, I’ll never know, since my role as a secondary
investigator in what turned out to be Ms. Landon’s murdering her
rich boyfriend was only minimal in the scheme of things. Anyway, to
make a long story short, I referred her to you since you prosecuted
the case. So don’t be surprised if she comes your way. Bye
now.”

Beverly rolled her eyes. She had little time
right now for someone seeking to exploit a murder for personal
gain. Much like Suzanne Landon had herself. With any luck, this
Lydia Wesley would forget that Detective Palmer had ever given her
name as a source of information.

The last message came from Grant, who said,
“Just wanted to say that I miss you and loved being with you the
other day, in every way...” He paused, as if weighing whether to
say anything else. “If I play my cards right, I should have some
dynamic news to share with you on Monday, baby. I’d better leave it
at that for now, so as not to jinx myself—”