think it’s wise to go behind Pop’s back on this, Sam?” Paolo decided to play devil’s advocate.
Sam had no desire to tangle with Danilo. “The cops are damn well gonna find somethin’. Pop knows it. I could see it on his face when Brad told us about Viejo. If all this could damage Pop or the business, we need to do all we can to get ahead of it.”
“So what’s our next move?” Lugo asked.
“I’ve got June pullin’ all the files for the new immigrant employees. Maybe we can find some kind of connection the cops haven’t stumbled onto yet.”
“They’re not idiots, Sam.” Again Paolo played the advocate. “They already found out all the vics shared the same address.”
“An address nobody can find,” Lugo reminded his big brother.
“It’s the only real clue they have. I still hope it’ll lead somewhere—pun intended,” Sam said.
Lugo sighed. “I pray it’s anywhere except back to us.”
“Amen,” Paolo muttered.
“Chances are it’ll all lead back to us.” Sam took his turn at playing devil’s advocate.
“What are you sayin’?”
“You know exactly what, Pow. Papa didn’t make his money by bein’ Texas’s most upstanding citizen. We all know he’s got skeletons in his closet.”
“Then what do we do when it leads back to us?” Lugo queried.
“Pray.” Sam’s voice sounded monotone and grim. “Pray it doesn’t ruin us all.”
* * *
Paul Tristam entered his boss’s office carefully, as if he expected something to be thrown at his head. Avra had been even more demanding than usual. The funny thing was he didn’t think her mood had anything to do with the Ross Review.
He’d brought in a tray laden with her favorite tea and Danish. His plan was to relax her while trying to probe into what was going on with her. From the corner of his eye, he saw her across the room on the sofa. Papers of all shapes, sizes and colors were spread about her. His voice of reason told him to set the tray down and go. He only half listened. He set down the tray and then crossed the room to her.
“Avra?”
“Hmm…”
Encouraged by the absent reply, Paul expelled the breath he’d been holding. “Need help?”
“Yeah.” She shoved aside a page and dragged all ten fingers through the hoard of short, unruly onyx curls atop her head. “’Cause I must be out of my mind
wastin’ so much time on this mess.” For good measure she swiped a few papers from the coffee table.
“I’m sorry.” She groaned the words while holding her head in her hands.
A frown crossed Paul’s sun-kissed features. Now he knew for sure that something heavy was going on.
“Avra—”
“Thanks for the tea, Paul. Why don’t you go ahead and take off for the night?”
“Avra, are you sure everything’s all right?”
She had to laugh, knowing she was making her assistant more nervous than usual.
“I promise everything’s fine. I’m just trying to prove something to myself.” She tugged on the cuff of her pin-striped shirt and cast a woeful look toward the strewn papers. “I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause.”
“And it’s something you need to handle alone.”
“Yeah.” She nodded and looked up at him with a weary smile.
Paul reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Thanks, hon.” She patted the hand on her shoulder.
Alone in her office once more, Avra left the whirlwind of papers and went to help herself to a cup of the fragrant tea. There she debated over taking her own advice.
She brought the mug to her mouth but didn’t sip. Instead she studied the mess she’d made in the office living area. Huffing, she set down the cup and went to tidy up. While gathering papers, she took another look at the oddly shaped page that had warranted a closer glance. Actually, it was a number scrawled between two sentences: 14918.
“What the hell are you?” Avra tried to make sense of the numbers again, thinking that they had something to do with the sentences they had been written between.
Unfortunately it seemed that the note was written as an afterthought. It had nothing to do with the paragraph that was part of the story on the John Holloway suicide. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the papers, she thought about what she’d told Paul about it all being a lost cause.
“14918.” She muttered the numbers again before slapping the page to her thigh. “Dammit to hell,” she cursed, at last completely discouraged.
* * *
“Carson always suspected there was someone else on this besides him. I should have listened to him.” Shane Arroyo said his words tightly into the receiver.
“This was important.” The voice on the other end of the phone line sounded grated, crackling through a poor connection. “You know as well as anyone that your brother was…disturbed.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“We’re sorry, Shane, but this is bigger than all of us.”
“Would you have taken my brother out had the cops not beat you to it?”
“I know you’re on the edge, Shane.” The voice sounded soothing, patient. “It couldn’t have been easy having to ID Carson’s body, so I’ll just forget your implications.”
Shane’s mouth tightened.
“Your brother didn’t die for nothing. The Melendezes will pay for what they did to your family—for what they’ve done to so many families.”
“You’ll have as much to lose as the Melendezes when all of this comes out.”
“But it still must come out.” The voice acknowledged Shane’s prediction. “It’s gone on too long and Dan’s making no move to stop it.”
“But his sons—”
“I can’t risk them moving in and playing heroes. That’s not in the plan and would not be in our best interest. The timetable will have to be upped in light of your brother’s passing. Do you understand?”
Shane nodded before offering verbal confirmation. “I understand.”
The call ended shortly afterward.
*
