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IF BRENDA HAD seen me drive off with Dior in the car, she would have run after me. Right? I’m sure I mentioned something about 40th Street to her. Regardless. Here we were, heading toward the Phoenix Mountain Preserve and—oops—the Dumonts’ home.
We reached the end of 40th Street and the parking lot of the trailhead south of Shea Boulevard. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been there with Dior. He must have recognized the place because he went nuts. I parked away from the bathrooms and the ramada in a quiet spot. Managed to get the leash on the super excited Dane, and after checking my lipstick and mascara in the side mirror, I locked the car, and we walked out of the parking lot toward Tristan’s home. It was a little after eleven a.m.
Dior pulled so hard on the leash I had trouble keeping a normal pace. I couldn’t help wondering if he remembered that this was the road to Tache’s home. Would he be disappointed his playmate wasn’t there?
Had I been on roller skates and let Dior pull me without restraint, we would have been flying down the narrow road that meandered through the large homes on acre lots and ended up smack in sight of the Dumonts’ residence. We had made it there in no time at all.
A few cars were parked outside the open gate. I could see a vehicle up by the front door in the motor court.
The closer we got, the higher the excitement, both for Dior and me. The Great Dane charged up the driveway like a freight train with faulty brakes, and I found myself at the wide-open front door, panting. I paused there, trying to compose myself and also hoping to see Tristan before anyone else noticed me. No such luck.
“Hi, Monica, did you bring an escort?” Detective Eve laughed looking at Dior who wouldn’t stand still a minute. He now pulled toward the room that opened onto the patio and the large, fenced back yard—home and playground to Tache. Once inside the vestibule the smoke damage glared from walls once richly dressed in Venetian plaster but now covered by black smoke. An acrid smell lingered throughout the room.
“Wow, somehow I thought the fire was only in some of the upstairs rooms.” I couldn’t divert my eyes.
“Well, this is only smoke damage, but you’re right. The upstairs rooms suffered the worst,” the detective said. “Tristan is actually up there discussing the amount of the loss with the insurance people. And we are finishing up our third sweep of the house.”
I nodded and resisted the temptation to ask what they were looking for.
With an amused expression she watched Dior’s cavorting “Why is your dog so restless?”
“Oh, he wants to go outside. He thinks he’ll get to play with Tache, Tristan’s appaloosa. They are good playmates.” I patted Dior’s back hoping to calm him down. “Will it be okay if I go out there with him while I wait for Tristan?”
She gave me a knowing smile and nodded.
The yard looked just the way I remembered it, minus the mare of course. I removed the leash and let Dior run. He headed straight for the barn. I sat on the wooden bench, my back to the house. Such a peaceful place—the winter grass freshly mowed, birds singing, and the blue sky above. February in the desert, paradise on Earth.
Hard to believe so much drama had happened in such a short time.
“I’m not moving back into the house,” Tristan had said.
Part of me agreed and welcomed the change. Yet, it seemed like such a rushed decision. Maybe he could do some remodeling instead? From the bench, I watched Dior wandering around the empty stalls, sniffing and pawing. Then he barked, loudly. Doggie wasn’t happy. If he could talk just about now, he’d be asking me where his buddy Tache was.
Hands stroked my shoulders. I jumped.
Tristan bent to kiss the top of my head. “Sorry, Fiat, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Before I could answer, Dior came running. I guessed he assumed that if the owner showed up, the mare couldn’t be far behind.
Tristan sat next to me. His hand found mine resting on the bench, and he intertwined our fingers. There was something in that silent gesture that felt solemn, like a promise, an oath.
I scooted closer to him, my shoulder brushing against his. If only we could bottle this perfect moment and revisit it when we needed comfort, hope, and above all, love.
An involuntary sigh escaped my lips. He squeezed my hand.
“Such a peaceful place,” I whispered.
“It’s an illusion,” Tristan said. “Only lasts until you leave.”
Never had I experienced such a complete sense of warmth, love, and trust toward a man I hadn’t shared a bed with. For the first time in my adult life romantic clichés like, “I would die for you,” made perfect sense.
A loud thump came from the stalls.
“Dior.” I jumped to my feet.
A bark. And I took off running, Tristan at my side. He headed straight for Tache’s empty stall. The bottom part of the Dutch door was ajar. Dior must have entered the stall attracted by Tache’s scent.
Tristan unlatched the top part and pushed it open. The Great Dane stood in the middle of the small room, tail and ears at attention. What had him stirred up? The floor on half the room seemed swept and free of hay or anything else, but the corner farthest away from the small window not only had mounds of hay but a pile of something that looked like rags and some empty cans?
“What happened?” Tristan said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. Dior backed away from the pile and tiptoed toward the open door.
“When I was last here to take Tache to the ranch, the only thing left in the stall was a stack of blankets we used for her bedding. Where did all this hay come from? And what’s under it? Something that made that loud sound. You think someone slept in the stall? Who?”
All I could do was shake my head. “Maybe we should tell the detectives about it. Are they still in the house?”
“I think so.” I felt his intense concentration and had the feeling he noticed more out of place stuff than he was letting me know.
“Let’s not touch anything. Maybe you should put the leash on Dior, and I would rather you go back to the house with me.” He put his arm around my shoulders, and with Dior in tow, we walked back inside the home.
The duo of detectives asked me to please stay put and keep my dog close. Tristan went to the barn with them, and I began to feel like a fifth wheel, of what I had no idea. Dior wasn’t happy either. Perhaps we had both worn out our welcome. The silence in the big rooms grew spookier.
This romancing adventure was quickly becoming a he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not kind of game. Then again, with all the stuff going on this wasn’t the best time to visit. And only twenty minutes ago I was contemplating dying for him. Ah, the ephemeral power of love. Made for great movies. Except, this wasn’t a movie.
I waited for what seemed like forever. Even Dior looked bored as he sat on the floor, staring at me with his Please, let’s go look. By the time I had decided to follow Dior’s suggestion and got up to leave, voices sounded from the patio, and Tristan was back along with Detective Ross.
“Oh, sweetie, you must be so bored. I need to stay put and wait for the forensic investigator to get here so I can point out what I recognize and what’s been placed in the stall that I’ve never seen before. And Dior deserves a super special treat. I’ll make sure and get it for him.”
I suppose he noticed the lack of enthusiasm in our reaction because poor Tristan began to apologize.
“Perhaps I should go. Dior is ready, and I would only get in the way,” I said in the sweetest way I could manage.
Tristan hesitated a moment then glanced toward the detective who had been talking business on his cell. “Do you mind if I walk Monica to her car?” he said.
“Uh, I—we—walked.” My cheeks were on fire.
“Oh, from your house? I could give you a ride back,” he offered.
“No, no. Actually I drove to the parking lot at the 40th Street trailhead, and then we walked over. We both needed the exercise.” I had to say something.
“Okay then,” he turned to the detective again. “I’ll walk her to the preserve parking lot. If you need me in a hurry call me, I’ll jog back.”
Detective Ross nodded his head, still involved in a deep conversation.
A few minutes later, we walked out the open gate and headed toward the mountain.
“Fiat, you have no idea what Dior here discovered. The crash was from a small, sealed garbage can that Dior must have tried to open. Instead it tipped over. That was the noise we heard. It was hidden under blankets and covered with hay.”
“Please don’t tell me you found a dead body. And if you did, I don’t want to know.” I meant every word. Dior picked up the pace, and I tried to keep up with him.
“No, no dead body, but a large, empty can of gasoline the detectives think was used to set the Kia on fire and then as to not waste what was left over, the rest was splashed on the bed and furniture in the extra room where I kept my mother’s things. The fire eventually got to my bedroom. Also she must have tried to burn some of her old documents and the hair coloring box she used to change her appearance.”
“Angelique? How do you know for sure?”
“The detectives. Avondo insisted he didn’t burn the car. He told them Lois was alive, asleep in the back seat when he left the Kia in the desert. Angelique, or whatever her name is, had put sleeping pills in Lois’s drink and convinced him they would leave her there—that by the time Lois woke up and found her way back to civilization, the two of them would be on a flight to France.”
I stopped and turned to look at him. His eyes gave me the answer I sought.
He too believed Rogelio Avondo. Angelique double-crossed her own lover and left him there to take the blame.
OMG! It wasn’t just his eyes, so hard to read, mere slits as if to keep a seething rage from spilling over. His whole expression seemed frozen. I slowed my pace and reached for his hand. He attempted a smile, but his lips looked tightly drawn.
“Do you think Lois knew he killed Silvia De Aguilar?
He shook his head. “She died before the news was made public. We found a letter addressed to Angelique from the law office I had hired to help speed up her green card application. They needed to see her, something about fingerprints. I haven’t reached the lawyer yet, I’m guessing her false documents weren’t going to fool the pros, and she panicked. Lois had a copy of the letter in her belongings down at the ranch. She must have questioned Angelique about it.”
“I’m guessing Angelique was in a hurry to leave the country before you got back in town, huh?”
He stopped cold, as if I had sucker punched him. Wow.
“Now you see why I must get rid of the house and anything connected to this.”
I kept quiet.
“You don’t agree?” he asked. His tone should have been my fair warning.
I missed it.
“I don’t know, Tristan. Maybe I read too much into things, but it seems like a pattern, the way you react to emotional pain, I mean.” I could have died after I let the last word out. Because he looked as if I had just shot him through the heart.
“Do you care to explain?” Now the hurt in his eyes washed over me.
“I’m not judging you,” I said, not sure I could trust my own voice. “Just thinking about how after your mom died you ran off to Colorado. You moved to Arizona from France at your father’s death, and now... you’re getting rid of everything connected with Angelique and your own past, and running away—”
As if on cue, his cell chimed. He looked at it.
“Got to go.” He turned around and broke into a jog.
