I pulled into a driveway on Londonderry Drive in the Cardinal Valley subdivision and took in the house before me. It was a standard red brick house built in the sixties with a large picture window. I knew it would contain three bedrooms and one bathroom, a nice-sized backyard with a metal fence. I know this because I lived in Cardinal Valley when Brannon and I first married. I made a mental note to visit our first house when I left here, but now was not the time to go down memory lane.
The yard was freshly mowed, and whoever lived here loved flowers with splashy bold colors—white snapdragons, Mexican sunflowers, orange trumpet vines, yellow black-eyed susans, purple morning glories, and brilliant zinnias. The windows showed no sign of dust and the brass mailbox near the front door was still shiny from its last polishing. The owner of this house took pride in its ownership and obviously loved it.
There were two pickup trucks in the driveway, so I knew someone was home. I knocked on the front door and waited. Finally a woman in her sixties opened the door and peered out. Her graying hair was pulled back into a bun and she wore a cotton house dress with a daisy pattern. The woman looked exhausted, and her eyes were red from crying. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Gomez?”
“Madre de Dios! I hope you are not selling something. There has been a death in the family. Leave us be.” She started to close the door.
“No, Mrs. Gomez. I’m not selling anything, but I need to speak with you.”
She gave me a closer look. “Are you from the police?”
“No, ma’am. I’m Mrs. Reynolds. I live next door to Lady Elsmere. I discovered your husband.”
“Why are you here?” She eyed me suspiciously.
“To pay my respects and tell you what happened. I would want to know if I were in your shoes.”
Mrs. Gomez blinked a few times, then opened the door to let me in. The inside of the house was just as colorful and cheerful as the outside. Bright oranges and yellows accented by splashes of red dominated the house. However, the colorful palette was dulled by the grief of Mrs. Gomez. Through the back sliding door, I could see two adult men with their wives and children sitting on the back patio eating.
“I’m sorry. I see you have your family gathered. What I have to say won’t take long.”
“No, please, sit down.” She beckoned to a chair. “You said you found my husband.”
I sat down and put my purse on the floor. Mrs. Gomez sat in the opposite chair.
“I was with Miss Todd when it was discovered that Last Chance was missing.”
Mrs. Gomez muttered something under her breath in Spanish. I caught the word diablo. I’m sure she was referring to the horse and not Shaneika Mary Todd. At least, I hope she was.
I waited for Mrs. Gomez to continue and when she didn’t, I spoke, “When we couldn’t find the colt, we went outside and saw that your husband’s car was parked near the barn. We went up to it and saw him sitting in the driver’s seat. I knocked on the window and when he didn’t respond, I opened the door. It was then we discovered that Mr. Gomez had passed.”
Mrs. Gomez rubbed her eyes and reached for a box of tissues on the coffee table. I handed the box to her.
“Did my husband seem to have been in pain at the time of his death?”
“We thought he was taking a nap, so no, Mrs. Gomez. I think his death was quick.”
“Wasn’t there much blood in the car? How can a man be shot and there not be blood everywhere in the car? Wouldn’t you have noticed that something was not right?”
I was stumped. Neither Shaneika nor I noticed blood splatter on the windows of the car. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Gomez, but we didn’t observe anything untoward in the car. We didn’t know Juan had been shot until we tried to help him.” There was no need to tell her that he thudded carelessly to the ground after we opened the car door, so I didn’t.
“It was nice you tried to help my husband. I thank you.”
Seeing that Mrs. Gomez was ready to end the conversation and show me the door, I asked, “May I have a glass of water, please?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Gomez rose to go into the kitchen and I followed her.
“I didn’t see Mr. Gomez’s Toyota outside.”
“The police haven’t discharged it yet.”
“Is there a date for the funeral?”
Mrs. Gomez clutched the side of the kitchen counter.
“Mrs. Gomez, are you all right?”
“It’s nothing. All this stress makes me dizzy. The medical examiner won’t release the body for another week or so. She says she is waiting on a toxicology report before my Juan is let go. It distresses me so to think of him lying on a cold slab in a morgue.” Mrs. Gomez filled a glass with tap water and handed it to me.
“Let’s sit down then.” I took the glass from her and went over to the kitchen table. Mrs. Gomez followed, glancing out the glass sliding door. There was a faint smile as she gazed at her grandchildren before turning her attention back to me.
I took a sip of water before asking, “I see your wedding picture on the wall along with your children. That’s a beautiful wedding dress you’re wearing.”
“It was my mother’s wedding dress and the lace veil was my grandmother’s.”
“I suppose the dress and veil were handed down to your daughters.”
“I have only two sons. Their wives wanted more modern wedding dresses.”
I could tell Mrs. Gomez disapproved. “Perhaps your granddaughters then.
She remarked, “Perhaps.”
“Were you married here?”
“Yes, Juan and I met at St. Paul’s downtown. It was a church social for singles.” Mrs. Gomez chuckled. “It wasn’t love at first sight for me, but Juan was determined. I think I dated him from sheer fatigue. He kept asking me out every other day, saying ‘what will it take, woman?’”
“How long were you married?”
“It would have been thirty-eight years next month.”
“I’m a widow myself.”
Mrs. Gomez looked at me with pleading eyes. “Does it get any better?”
“My husband left me and died before we could reconcile. There was much anger associated with his death.”
“He left you?”
“For a younger woman. A common story with middle-aged men.”
“Juan and I were separated at the time of his death.”
“Another woman?”
“Oh, heavens no. He had a sickness. Gambling.” Mrs. Gomez inched her chair closer to mine. “Juan was involved in a car accident two years ago. He got a large settlement. In our culture, a windfall like that is used for the entire family, but Juan started gambling. He had never gambled before, so it was a shock to us all. Before I knew it, he had gambled away most of the money. I hid what was left and begged him to get help, but Juan refused. I gave him an ultimatum—either get help or get out. You know what Juan did, Mrs. Reynolds? He left me. He found where I hid the money, took it, and left me. What do you think of that?”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Gomez. Such heartache. Where did he go?”
“To some two-bit rooming house on the north side of town. I went there once with my sons to talk with him—you know, knock some sense into him, but he wouldn’t budge. Juan was going to do what he wanted to do ‘since he had sacrificed his entire life for us.’ It was crazy talk.”
“Was that the last time you saw him alive?”
“No, he would come occasionally to eat with the family, wash his clothes, or gather a few of his things. It was so odd. He acted so normally I thought he had come home for good. I’d go to the grocery store or out into my garden, but when I entered the house again, he was gone.”
“Do you think he came back looking for money?”
Mrs. Gomez bit her lip. “I think you might be right. He was looking for money. After he started gambling, I hid my personal money, checks, and credit cards. He never found those.”
“But he found the settlement money?”
“Unfortunately, I hid it underneath the driver’s seat of my car. Not a very imaginative place to hide money, thinking back on it.”
“Hindsight is 20-20. Did you ever confront Mr. Gomez when he came home?”
“No, I and my sons acted as though nothing had happened. We thought this might ease his passage back into the family fold. We didn’t want to start a fight with him.”
“Mrs. Gomez, you said he didn’t start gambling until he had this car accident. Do you think it might have something to do with it? I mean, did Mr. Gomez have any injuries?”
“He got quite a nasty bump on his head, a couple of broken ribs, and a fractured femur. A drunk ran through a stop sign and totaled his car. The drunk was severely injured and died several months later. We thought Juan was lucky.”
“I just think it odd that the gambling coincided with the accident.”
“My feelings were that Juan saw that his life had been in danger, feared death, and wanted a release of some kind. Gambling provided that release. You know, Mrs. Reynolds, life is a thief. For every boon, it takes something away. Fortune granted my husband his life and a large settlement from that accident, but stole his soul. Yes, life is a thief.”
How well I knew. How well I knew.