Scent of Roses (23 page)

Zach kept the call brief and fairly impersonal, phoning to tell her about the fight between Miguel and Raul, and ask her to speak to Maria. If she heard a wistful note in his voice, it was only that she wanted to hear it so badly.

She didn't linger over the call. She knew how she felt about Zach—she was in love with him. But she was realistic enough to know that whatever Zach felt for her would be fleeting. Zach was a loner, a runner, a man who needed no one, and every hour she spent with him would only make losing him harder.

As soon as she hung up the phone, she dialed Maria's home number, praying Miguel would still be working in the fields.

Thankfully, a woman picked up the phone.

“Maria? It's Elizabeth. Can you talk?”

A tight sound came from Maria's throat. “I am so glad you called.”

Worry trickled through her. “I would have called sooner. I didn't want to cause a problem with Miguel. Are you feeling all right? Is everything okay with the baby?”

“I am tired, is all. I am taking the sleeping pills at night, but no matter how much I sleep, I am tired just the same.”

“Have you seen the doctor lately?”

“
Sí,
just three days ago. I was spotting a little, not much. He said I should stay off my feet, try to get more rest. He said the baby is doing all right.”

“He was sure about that?”

“Sí.”

“Is there a chance we could talk? I mean in person? I'd really like to see you.”

“I would like to see you, too. I was thinking to call. Miguel is gone two nights. Last night Isabel stayed with me— Isabel Flores. You remember her?”

“You said once that she was a friend.”

“That is right. She lives in the big house here on the farm but she is busy a lot.”

“Did anything happen last night? Did Isabel see the ghost?”

“No, I do not think so. The little girl…she does not come that often. I have not seen her for a while.”

“Is Isabel staying with you tonight?”

“She was going to stay…but Señor Harcourt…he wishes to see her tonight.”

“Señor Harcourt? Carson Harcourt?”

“
Sí.
Isabel is his housekeeper.” There was something in Maria's voice, something she wasn't saying. Elizabeth remembered the attractive young Hispanic woman she had noticed several times the night of the party she had attended at Carson's house. Surely Carson wasn't involved with the girl. Then again, even if he was, they were both consenting adults.

Still, Carson was her employer, the man who paid her salary. Elizabeth couldn't help wondering if Isabel's duties included more than just taking care of his house.

“If Isabel can't stay, would you like to spend the night at my apartment?”

“
Gracias,
no. I cannot do that. Miguel might call and if he does, he will be worried if I am not here.”

Miguel.
The thing Elizabeth wanted most to talk to Maria about. “You can't stay there by yourself.”

“I was hoping…I thought maybe you might come and stay with me.”

Elizabeth's stomach contracted. She knew things Maria didn't know. The articles she had read rose up in her mind, the sickening descriptions, the way the young girl in Fresno had been raped and tortured. How her body had been mutilated before she had been buried.

Elizabeth's mouth went dry. How could she spend another night in the house when she knew the truth about the people who had lived there?

Not there,
she told herself.
It was a different house, a completely different time.

Besides, how could she allow Maria to stay in the house if she were unwilling to do the same?

“Are you sure you won't stay with me?” she pressed. “We could make popcorn. I could bring home a video and we could watch it on TV.”

“Miguel would not like it.”

Elizabeth sighed, fighting an urge to kick Miguel. “All right, if that's the way you feel, then I guess I'll have to come out there.” But sometime soon—whether or not Maria was afraid it might cause trouble—she had to talk to Miguel, somehow convince him that forcing his wife to stay in the house during these last important days of her pregnancy was harmful to her and their baby's health.

Relief sounded in Maria's voice. “You will come. That is good. Maybe you will see the ghost.”

A shudder rolled down Elizabeth's spine. Maybe she would. If she did, what would it mean?

Elizabeth's chest tightened at the gruesome possibilities.

 

“I need to see you.”

“Where are you?” Carson asked Stiles.

“Ten minutes away.”

“I'll be here when you get here.” Carson hung up the phone and a few minutes later, Isabel showed Les Stiles down the hall to his office. Carson thought about the plans he had for the girl that night and gave her a smile of reminder, which she warmly returned.

His smile slid away as Stiles walked in, hooked his beat-up straw cowboy hat on one of the brass hooks in the row next to the door, then sat down in the chair next to his desk.

“What is it?” Carson asked.

“I got a call from a friend this morning…fella named Collins, known him since way back when. A couple of days ago, your brother and the Conners woman made a trip to see the Fresno police. Then Zach went down to talk to the local PD. That's where Collins works.”

Carson's insides tightened. “Zach and Elizabeth went to the police? What the hell's going on, Les?”

“According to Collins, they were asking questions about a girl who was murdered in Fresno. Seems like she was killed by a man and woman who lived in the old gray house here on the farm.”

Carson leaned back in his chair. “For chrissake, those two lived here years ago. What the hell are they digging into something like that for?”

“You knew about the murder?”

“Not really, just rumors here and there. It happened just after I was born. The people who did it had been gone from the farm for several years when it happened. I guess there was something in the local paper back then. My grandfather was running the place in those days, but even years later, my dad never talked about it. I don't think he liked the idea that a couple of murderers had worked here on the farm.”

“I wonder why Zach's digging into something like that?”

Good question.
Carson swiveled his chair toward Stiles. “I rarely have any idea what my half brother's up to, but in this case, I don't like it. In the spring, I'll be announcing my intention to run for political office. Having a solid reputation is one of my strong points. Zach would like nothing better than to see my name linked to some long-ago murder that didn't even happen in San Pico.”

“Papers would prob'ly be all over it. It sure wouldn't do you any good.”

“No, that kind of thing is never good.”

“You want me to handle it?”

“I want both of them to stop digging into matters that don't concern them. Do what you have to in order to make that happen.”

Stiles just nodded and shoved his big frame out of the chair. Grabbing his battered hat off the rack, he jammed it on his head, stepped out into the hall and closed the door.

Carson just sat there.
Goddammit!
Why did things always have to go wrong? He stood up and walked over to the window. The harvesters were moving through the rows, harvesting fat white boles of cotton. Fields of roses still bloomed in the distance, but the season was coming to an end. Carson turned away from the window. For once, his mind was far from the farm.

Returning to his desk, he sank down heavily in his chair.
First the lawsuit, now this.
And just like before, it was all Zach's fault.

Carson's hand unconsciously fisted. He had to take charge, had to take control before it was too late. Silently he vowed he would do whatever he had to.

S
uch a simple little house. Two bedrooms, one bath, sparsely furnished with secondhand furniture and inexpensive, sentimental knickknacks. Painted a soft shade of yellow with plain white trim, it looked almost friendly.

Elizabeth shivered as she climbed the front porch steps and knocked on the door, knowing the place wasn't friendly at all.

Maria pulled it open and a wide smile broke over her face. The moment Elizabeth stepped through the door, the young girl swept her into a hug, which was a little clumsy with the size of Maria's belly and the plastic bag of groceries hanging from Elizabeth's arm.

“Thank you for coming,” the young woman said. “I am so glad to see you.”

“I brought a few things.” Elizabeth held up the bag. “And I ordered a pizza for supper. I hope that's okay. The delivery man ought to be here any minute.”

“I love pizza! Miguel likes my cooking better, so we do not have it very often.”

And they didn't have much money. It was the reason she'd ordered the food and brought some goodies for them to munch, some popcorn and a six-pack of Diet Coke, since Maria couldn't drink alcohol. Elizabeth would rather have had a bottle of wine—or better yet, a big bottle of tequila— something that would knock her out for the night so that she could forget about ghosts and murderers and maybe fall asleep.

They unpacked the goodies in the kitchen, put the Cokes in the fridge and set the popcorn out to pop later. Then the doorbell rang and the pizza man arrived, a young man wearing a Dave's Pizza apron and a little paper hat. Elizabeth paid the boy, and as soon as he was gone, they sat down to eat pepperoni pizza and drink soda at the little table in the kitchen.

It was getting dark outside, the early September days finally getting a little shorter.

“I am glad you are here,” Maria said, flicking a glance toward the window where the light had begun to fade.

“Is it this way every night, Maria? When it starts to get dark, do you worry about what might happen in the house?”

The girl was standing at the kitchen counter. She finished the last of her Coke and set her empty glass and Elizabeth's down in the sink. “I try not to think about it. Mostly, I am all right…until we go to bed. Miguel is so tired he usually falls right to sleep. I take my pills and then I sleep, too, but even when I am sleeping, sometimes I see her.”

“You wake up and see her, you mean?”

She shook her head. “She is there, sometimes, in my dreams, trying to warn me. And always she is so frightened.”

“What do you think she's afraid of?”

Maria turned away from the sink and sat back down at the table. “I do not know. Whatever holds her here. And she is afraid for me and the baby.”

An icy shiver ran down her spine. “We've done a lot of research, Maria, Zachary Harcourt and I. We found out things about the house—or at least the old house that was here before this one was built—some of them not so good. I think maybe you're the link, the fact that you're pregnant. I don't think the ghost has shown herself to very many people, but since you are here now, and you are going to have a baby, she has come.”

“
Sí,
I think that, too. I think there is something that connects the ones she fears with my baby.”

“More than one? Are you sure?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It just seems that way.”

“But you don't know who they are.”

Maria shook her head. Elizabeth was tempted to tell her about the couple who had once lived in the old gray house, that a few years after they moved, the man and his wife had tortured and murdered a child in Fresno, that Consuela Martinez had been pregnant at the time of the murder and later had lost the baby.

Perhaps the information would convince Maria to leave. But if she refused, she would be even more terrified than she was already.

They watched TV for a while, switching through the three valley stations the television was able to receive.

There wasn't much on. As the evening settled in, they popped corn and ate it watching a
Seinfeld
rerun, then an old John Wayne western neither of them had seen. The national news came on at eleven, but it was the same depressing mayhem that was on every day. The local news followed, the big news in San Pico being the upcoming weeklong Rose Festival near the middle of September, which was less than two weeks away.

Sitting next to Elizabeth on the sofa, Maria yawned and her eyelids began to droop. They couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to go to bed.

Elizabeth nudged Maria. “Why don't you go to bed? It's getting late and the doctor says you need your sleep.”

She nodded, pointed at the lightweight quilt folded neatly on the chair next to the sofa. A foam pillow covered with a fresh case sat on top. “If you need anything—”

“This is fine. I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby.” That was a lie. She'd be lucky if she could relax enough to close her eyes.

Maria waddled heavily off toward the bedroom, and Elizabeth went over to check the front door. She turned the deadbolt, heard it click into place, went into the kitchen to be sure the back door was locked as well, then returned to the living room to put on the pair of pale blue nylon pajamas she had brought.

Maria's door stood open. Elizabeth didn't blame her for leaving it that way. She wondered whether the girl had taken her nightly sleeping pill, but didn't ask. Instead, she draped the quilt over the sofa, placed the pillow at the end, then sat down and tried to tell herself she was sleepy.

The window air conditioner hummed. Even in September San Pico was hot. She lay down on the sofa and let the white noise soothe her. Amazingly, she drifted off to sleep.

It was the creak of the floorboards beneath the carpet that awakened her. Her eyes cracked instantly open at the distinct groan she remembered from before, the sound of footsteps, someone moving carefully across the living room floor.

Her eyes searched the dim light in the room. For long seconds, she lay there, straining to hear. The sound came again, as if someone passed by the end of the sofa, but enough light filtered in through the curtains that she could see no one was there. She sat up slowly, peering into the darkness, her gaze swinging toward the open bedroom door.

The footsteps moved forward, as if they walked through the opening, and Elizabeth's heart clattered, thundered beneath her breastbone. Her hands shook as she drew back the quilt and quietly rose to her feet. Barefoot, she moved toward the bedroom door, her own steps silent on the carpet.

As she reached the opening, she saw that Maria lay quietly sleeping, but even as she watched, the woman's breathing quickened and her eyes twitched wildly beneath her closed lids. Lying on her side, Maria drew her legs up toward her protruding stomach as if she tried to protect the precious life inside. She moved a little, began to shift restlessly under the sheet, and a soft moan seeped from her throat.

Elizabeth started toward her. She had taken a couple of steps into the room before the wind began to howl. The room seemed to grow darker, the faint thread of moonlight outside the window no longer able to penetrate the thin muslin curtains over the bed.

What felt like a strange electrical current filled the air, lifting the hair at the nape of her neck. Elizabeth stepped backward, pressing herself against the wall, her heart pounding, her mouth so dry her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Around her, the air in the room began to thicken and swell, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. A pale haze crept into the bedroom, a faint light that was there and yet wasn't. The wind moaned outside, a fierce, almost human keening, a tortured sound that conjured images of death and dying.

She forced herself to breathe, to drag deep breaths into her lungs, and made herself look at the bed. Maria sat in the middle, her legs out in front of her, staring straight ahead. Her dark eyes were open and staring, the pupils wide but unseeing, and Elizabeth had the wild notion that she was still asleep.

The air grew even more dense, felt almost tangible against her skin, and Elizabeth recognized the faint scent of roses. The smell grew heavier, thicker, cloyingly sweet, a sickening odor that built and changed, turned even more repulsive, reminding her of rot and decay and making her stomach roll with nausea. The awful smell drifted into every nook and cranny, floated to the ceiling and oozed over the floor.

Then as quickly as it came, it faded.

Elizabeth's gaze shot to Maria, still sitting rigidly in the middle of the bed. Her lips began to move, and though Elizabeth couldn't make out the words, she saw that Maria's gaze was fixed firmly on something at the foot of the bed.

For the first time, Elizabeth felt a wave of real fear as the haze in the room began to move and swirl, began to condense, and she realized it was taking the form of a person.

She bit back a frightened sob at the sight of the small figure slowly taking shape, the image growing clearer and clearer, the figure of a little girl. She could see her now, the tiny black patent shoes, the full skirt gathered around her tiny waist, covered by her pretty pink pinafore. Her blond hair fell in waves around her face, down to her shoulders. Her skin was pale, completely translucent, and yet there was a hint of color in her cheeks.

Elizabeth could see her plainly and yet behind her—though her—Elizabeth could make out the bureau against the wall, the small porcelain lamp sitting at one end.

The child said nothing, at least no words that Elizabeth could hear, though she had the oddest sense that she was somehow speaking to Maria. The young woman started to shake, her body trembling almost uncontrollably.

Frightened for her and for the baby, Elizabeth started toward her. Terror struck as she realized that she could not move. Not a finger. Not even a toe. She was pressed against the door as if an invisible force held her paralyzed.

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but no sound came out, and the fear inside her swelled to immense proportions. Her gaze locked on the tiny, pale figure at the foot of the bed, and she watched in horror, frozen in place, her eyes darting from the child to Maria and back again.

Then the image slowly began to fade. In seconds, it was completely gone, along with the eerie haze in the room. Except for the hum of the air conditioner in the living room, the bedroom was utterly silent. Sitting in the middle of the bed, Maria blinked several times then looked up at her and burst into tears.

The sound jolted Elizabeth into action. Freed from the force that had held her immobile, her legs shaking, she released the breath she had been holding and rushed toward the bed.

“Maria!” Reaching out, afraid she would frighten the girl even more, Elizabeth gently caught her shoulder. “It's me, Elizabeth. Are you all right?”

The girl's head slowly turned. “Elizabeth?”

“Yes. I'm right here. I saw everything.” Sitting down on the bed, she leaned toward Maria and the girl went into her arms. “It's all right. It's over.” Maria clung to her fiercely, weeping against her shoulder.

“It's all right,” she said again, though at that moment, nothing felt right at all.

“Elizabeth…something bad has happened. I am bleeding.”

Elizabeth looked down, saw the bloodred stain spreading across the sheet. “Oh, my God!” Leaping up from the bed, she raced toward the phone in the living room. “Don't move!” she called behind her. “I'm getting help!”

She was shaking so hard, she was barely able to dial 911, fumbled once, then made herself slow down and do it correctly. Hurriedly, she told the operator that a young, pregnant woman was hemorrhaging and that she desperately needed an ambulance out at the workers' compound at Harcourt Farms. Though the operator wanted her to stay on the line, the cord wasn't long enough to reach the bedroom. Elizabeth left the receiver off the hook and hurried back to Maria.

“Just hang on,” she said. “They're on their way.”

But Maria wasn't looking at her. She was staring at the wall at the foot of the bed. Elizabeth followed her gaze and her eyes filled with horror.

Painted in slashes of crimson that matched the blood on the sheet was a message:

LEAVE—OR THEY WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR BABY.

Elizabeth started to tremble. It was a terrifying message that could no longer be ignored.

 

Zach shoved open the glass doors leading into the reception area of San Pico Community Hospital. A quick scan of the sterile interior said Elizabeth wasn't there.

“I'm looking for Maria Santiago,” he told the woman behind the front counter. “She was just brought in a couple of hours ago. Can you tell me which room she's in?”

Peering through a pair of tortoiseshell half-glasses, the stocky woman gave him the room number and pointed him down the hall in that direction.

“Just follow the yellow line painted on the floor,” she said. “It's past visiting hours, so I doubt they'll let you in, but at least the nurses can tell you how she's doing.”

“Thank you.” Zach made his way down the corridor, passing uniformed nurses, and doctors in pale green scrubs. He kept hoping he would run into Liz but he didn't see her, not until he pushed open the door to Maria's room and walked in.