Hard Times (A Sam Harlan Novel Book 2) (5 page)

Callie watched as I removed the gun. “Leaving that behind?” she asked.

“What kind of danger do we face in a restaurant in the middle of the afternoon? Besides, you’ve got your crucifix.”

She grunted, but her fingers went to the crucifix between her breasts and absently stroked the silver.

I put the trench coat back on and crossed the street with Callie before entering the restaurant. Only a few booths were occupied. The smell of hot oil lingered in the air. I knew, even before looking at the menu, that most of the items would be fried.

A swarthy young man with tightly clipped black hair smiled at us. He was dressed in black slacks and a black polo, the name of the restaurant embroidered in blue and gold thread on the breast. He smiled a mouthful of shiny white teeth and it lit up his face. “Just the two of you?” he asked.

I nodded back. The young man’s English contained no accent. The Mendoza family must have been in the United States for a long time.

The young man led us to a booth with cracked blue vinyl seats and motioned for us to sit. We did and he handed us two laminated menus, festively colored with detailed descriptions of the food. “Would you like chips and salsa with your lunch?” he asked.

“Just chips and salsa and a couple of Cokes,” I said. “We’re not that hungry.”

The young man smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched him leave. His clothes were a far cry from the white apron I wore in my diner. My eyes roamed around the room. A strikingly attractive young woman with a shoulder-length black ponytail and wearing the same black slacks and black polo brought drink refills to a table of old women on the other side of the restaurant.

The young man returned with our chips, salsa, and Cokes. As he was placing them in table I said, “Are you Franco?”

The young man almost spilled my Coke. He recovered quickly and laughed, a rich, musical sound that brought a smile to my face. “No way, man. I’m Elias.”

“Colden’s aunt asked us to check on Elena,” Callie said.

Elias shrugged, casting a quick glance to the kitchen before turning his attention back to us. “I don’t know where she is,” he said.

He turned to go, but I tapped my finger on the chipped wood table. I withdrew my wallet and placed a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “I just want to talk,” I said. “Colden is pretty upset, scared that something might have happened to her. He says your family doesn’t seem concerned.”

Elias took a seat at the table, slowly reaching over to pluck the fifty-dollar bill from my fingertips. “Colden is a good kid. He just needs to chill out. Elena will be back. Just give her time.”

“So you like Colden?” I asked.

“Sure,” Elias said. “He’s smart. Works hard. Helps his aunt a lot. Nothing wrong with him.”

“Everybody in your family feels that way?” I asked.

Elias shrugged, but once again his brown eyes shifted from us to the kitchen and back.

“What about your brother?” Callie asked.

Elias let out a soft laugh. “Franco is just … Franco. Sometimes he’s an asshole.”

I leaned forward. “Franco didn’t say something about Colden? Called him a gringo?”

Elias shrugged. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Years ago.”

“Franco didn’t like that Colden was white? Does Franco have a problem with white people?”

Elias squinted at me. “What do you think when you see me? You think I’m just some Latino who just crossed the border? Please. My parents grew up in California. I was born in Los Angeles.”

“So Franco didn’t care that Colden was white?”

“Hey, if Franco said that, it was probably a joke. Or, maybe he was just giving Colden a hard time. If he didn’t like him, it
isn’t
because he’s white. Yeah, sometimes people make comments about us and sometimes Franco gets bent out of shape, but most people treat us good. We were one of the first Mexican restaurants in
this
town. There’s a larger Latino community here now. So whatever you’re thinking, you can forget it.”

“Okay, let’s go with that,” I said quietly. “Nobody treats you differently because you’re Latino. Then why did Mary Kate mention that the cops wouldn’t be interested in investigating?”

“Cops are cops,” he said with a shrug. “Everyone
else
may have accepted us, but cops will
always
be cops. They come in and stuff their faces, maybe make a few dumb jokes. One time I heard a cop call my dad a beaner, but most people here aren’t like that.” He paused, brow furrowed. “There
is
one deputy. He’s about my age. He used to have a thing for Elena. He used to follow her around school, treated her like dirt, but everybody knew he wanted to be with her.”

“So you went to school with him,” I said, “and then he became a deputy? What’s this deputy’s name?”

“Tom Mueller. A real jackass.”

“You think maybe Deputy Mueller might know where Elena is?”

“Nah, man,” Elias said. “It’s not like that. Elena isn’t in any trouble. She probably just … freaked out. Colden was pushing her to get married. I think she just took off, you know, to blow off a little steam. Figure out what she really wants to do.”

I heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind and I turned to see another man, clearly related to Elias, but a little older and with a whole lot of attitude. His hair was a little longer but held tightly in place by a hairnet, and he wore a stained apron over his black slacks and polo.

He ground to a halt at our table and scowled at Elias. “You going to sit here all day? Maybe you should try working.”

Elias’s face turned red. “I was just talking to customers.”

“You don’t get paid to talk to the customers,” the man said. “You get paid to
wait
on them, not waste their time.”

Elias glanced around at the mostly empty restaurant. “Like I was neglecting the place,” he griped. “They wanted to ask about Elena.”

The man turned his glare upon me. “Is that so?”

I nodded at the man. “You must be Franco.”

Franco continued to scowl, then finally nodded. “Why are you asking about my sister?”

Sister Callie said, “Colden’s aunt is worried about her.”

Franco granted. “Colden’s aunt should mind her own business.”

I noticed Franco’s eyes drawn to the plain silver crucifix around Callie’s neck. Callie noticed it, too, and absently began stroking it with her fingertips. “Are you Catholic?” she asked.

“Used to be,” Franco grunted, the fierceness of his glare dropping a notch.

“Not anymore?” she asked.

Before Franco could speak, we were interrupted by an attractive Latina woman who stepped from the back and called out Franco and Elias’s names. I knew at first glance that it was their mother. I did the mental arithmetic which, based upon Franco’s estimated age, put her over forty-five but under sixty.

Then I did a double take. Their mother had clearly won the genetic lottery. I’d never truly understood what smoldering good looks meant until that moment. She wore her hair long, like her daughter, but with bangs that accented her face. If she sported another ten pounds she might be considered chunky, but as it was, her body was … voluptuous.

If Elena looked anything like her mother, I understood why Mueller used to follow her around in high school and why Colden was smitten.

She approached us and made a chopping motion with her hand. “I tell you boys to work and this is what you do?”

Her voice was low and husky, and while her boys had a Midwestern accent, hers carried a mild hint of her Hispanic heritage. I caught her eyes, smoky brown pools of anger, and gave her my most polite smile. “You must be the owner,” I said.

Her anger was carefully replaced by a smile, her attitude changing on a dime. “I am. Thank you for visiting. I’m sorry if these two,” she said, pointing a heavily lacquered nail at Franco and Elias, “haven’t brought your food yet. What did you order?”

I glanced down at the chips that Callie and I hadn’t touched. “We weren’t really here for the food, ma’am. Mary Kate Glick sent us.”

The woman’s carefully constructed smile faltered and was replaced by a smile of genuine warmth. “Tell Mary Kate that Elena is fine. I’m sure she’s just with friends.”

The whole thing seemed off. I wanted to ask the woman—Leticia, by the badge pinned to her ample chest—to name one of Elena’s so-called friends. I wanted to ask why no one seemed concerned that Elena had been missing for over two days. I wanted to question her about what she knew of Elena’s relationship with Colden.

Instead I nodded my head. “I’ll tell her, ma’am.” I picked up a tortilla chip from the red basket, dipped it in salsa, and took a bite. The chip was still warm from the deep fryer, but the salsa was bland. I washed it down with a large swig of Coke.

Franco harrumphed and spun on his heel, returning to the kitchen, while Elias stood, nodded at us, and went to check on other customers. Leticia watched her boys go and turned her attention back to us. “Tell Mary Kate
everything is fine
.” She left and followed Franco to the kitchen.

Callie raised an eyebrow as she took a bite from a tortilla chip. “A family who doesn’t seem concerned that their daughter is missing,” she said. “A distraught young man worries about her, so he asks a man he doesn’t even know to investigate.” She took a careful sip of her Coke and waited for me to speak.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s off.
Everything
about this is off.”

The sun was
an angry red ball of fire hovering low in the autumn sky when we returned to Hawkeye Gun & Pawn. A brisk October wind blew through the nearly empty streets, an occasional dried-up corn tassel floating in the breeze. I pulled my trench coat close for warmth as Callie and I went back inside to speak with Mary Kate.

The bell above the door tinkled softly, alerting Mary Kate to our presence. She sat on a stool behind a glass display case of jewelry and watches on the north side of the pawnshop. She glanced up and her face darkened. “Did you find Elena?” she asked.

I took a long look around as we approached the counter. The pawnshop’s shelves were filled with household items of every vintage, a vast collection of air tools still covered in grease, and musical instruments ranging from recorders to clarinets, but the pawnshop itself was empty of people. “It doesn’t seem like you get much business,” I noted.

Mary Kate shook her head wearily. “It comes and goes,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “I’m in a bit of a dry spell. If I didn’t sell the occasional gun in the back, I couldn’t afford to cover the rent.”

“Well, we talked to Colden,” I said. “Then we went to Fiesta Cancun, but nobody knows where she is.”

“Who did you speak with?”

“Her brothers,” I said, “and her mother, Leticia. Leticia had a message for you. She said Elena is fine.”

Mary Kate shook her head. “I just don’t understand.”

“Do you know the mother? She seems to know you.”

“Leticia Mendoza?” she asked with a smile. “I’ve known her for years. We’re the only two women on the city development committee. We’ve been working together to help revitalize the downtown area. She’s a good woman.” She paused. “A
strong
woman. I don’t understand why she isn’t more concerned about her daughter.”

I’d been thinking the same thing. “Mary Kate? Have you noticed anybody funny hanging around?”

Mary Kate squinted at me, confused. “Funny?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“Anybody who doesn’t belong,” I said.

Mary Kate shook her head, frowning. “Not that I remember. This isn’t a big city. Everybody tends to know everybody.”

“What about anything out of the ordinary?” Callie asked.

Mary Kate shook her head again, but for a brief moment, I noticed the flatness in her eyes. “No,” she said. “Everything is fine. Everything is
just
fine.”

I caught Callie watching me from the corner of my eye. Something was definitely amiss. “Do you know where the Mendozas live?” I asked.

She was about to answer when the bell above the door tinkled. I turned in time to see a beefy young blond man wearing a deputy’s uniform enter the pawnshop. He glanced around and rubbed his thick mustache with the back of his hand before stepping deeper into the pawnshop. His eyes inspected the shelves, pausing on different merchandise, before finally settling on me.

He slowed, his face uncertain, then relaxed when Mary Kate stood, walked around the corner, and raised her hand in greeting. “Mary Kate,” he said. His voice was even and measured—it was the voice of someone in charge.

“Tommy,” Mary Kate said curtly. “Did you find any stolen merchandise on my shelves?”

The young man chewed his lip. “It’s Deputy Mueller, when I’m on duty, if you don’t mind.”

“You’ll always be Tommy to me,” Mary Kate scoffed. “I’ve known you since you were a boy. It’s hard to believe you’ve grown into such a fine young man.”

The tone of her voice was sincere, but there was something else there, something I couldn’t quite place.
Anger? Disapproval?

The deputy turned his piercing glare upon us. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sam, and this is Callie,” I said, pointing to the Sister.

Callie offered the faintest hint of a smile, but the deputy continued to glare before finally turning back to Mary Kate. “We had a report of a stolen diamond tennis bracelet. Anyone come in here trying to pawn something like that?”

Mary Kate pursed her lips. “No tennis bracelets. A few rings, though.”

The deputy frowned, then shook his head. “What about a revolver, a three fifty-seven magnum with pearl grips?”

Mary Kate shook her head. “No revolvers like that. Anything else?”

The deputy shifted his gaze back to us. “Guess not. How’s your nephew?” he asked.

“He’s good,” Mary Kate said.

The deputy grunted, then turned to go. He was halfway to the door when Mary Kate asked, “Why don’t you stop by and say hello?”

The deputy’s stride faltered. It was a quick thing, barely noticeable. “I’m busy, Mary Kate. No time to bullshit.”

Mary Kate watched him go, the bell over the door tinkling as the deputy let the door slam shut in the wind.

I raised an eyebrow. “What was that about?”