Everyone knew everyone in this community. Better not to be too inquisitive. But she’d have to find a way to not only enter the restricted area, but to get back on Zeke’s property and visit Posada del Gato Negro.
It was almost midnight when Dena grabbed the bag of supplies and a hooded black sweatshirt and headed for her car. Fifteen minutes later she drove past Zeke’s estate. The gates were closed.
“Lock yourself up. Lock yourself in. Bury your head in the sand,” she said in a sing-song voice. Further along the road, two cop cars blocked the entrance to the hotel site and she slowed the car down to the speed limit.
“Darn it.”
She pushed away the beginning of panic and drove past. It was a remote area, and she really didn’t know her way around. When she ended up back on the road near the archway into Three C’s Estates, she breathed a sigh of relief, reversed the car up an empty side street, and cut the engine.
She grabbed the supplies, prayed that none of the cops would make a coffee run, and hurried across the street. She clambered up the embankment and with shaking hands grabbed the wire cutters. The mesh cloth on the six-foot-high wire fence was easy to cut through, but even with both hands she made little headway on the wire.
A vehicle approached and its headlights flooded the road. She dropped to the ground. When the car passed, she dusted off and gripped the cutters again. The distant yip of coyotes sent a chill through her. Tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stood up. The coyotes yipped again. An animal, small and furry, brushed against her leg then beat a fast trail into the bushes.
She jumped backward and dropped the wire cutter. Her heart pounded and she gripped onto the fence to prevent falling. A city girl, and out of her element, when things stirred again in the bushes, she ran.
Chapter Three
Dena rolled over in bed. Slits of morning light shone around the edges of the blinds. She’d run from danger—real or imagined—twice in twenty-four hours. Time to get serious. She yawned and reached for her cell phone.
“Mr. Cabrera?” she asked, when she heard the brusque hello. “This is Dena Roman. I need a favor from you.”
He blew out a long audible breath. “How can I help?”
She envisioned his cool hazel eyes. Wondered what he’d look like if he smiled. She cleared her throat with a couple of small coughs. “My offer of representation…well, I have to be honest…it was more about me than you—”
“How so?”
“Well, I need closure.”
A long pause ensued. “Go on,” he finally said.
“I hope you understand…I have to walk on the land where they discovered Carli’s body and—”
“To achieve what?” he asked softly.
“I’m not sure…I…I knew her.” She crossed the fingers of her left hand and put it behind her back. It wasn’t a lie. “We were very close.”
He let out a long breath. “I see.”
“Look, I just have this need to walk on the land. Maybe it’s an obsession or something.” She waited, held her breath, afraid to breathe in case he turned her down. Please, please let him understand obsession, and not think I’m crazy.
“It’s a restricted area—”
“I know, but if we went up to your border fence, and if we didn’t touch anything—”
“Of course, I understand.”
“You do? Oh, well…you see, it has to do with my mother…and ah, Carli’s mother and depression, and…well, I don’t know, death and family and…just a lot of stuff and—”
“We could get fairly close to the area,” he said. “Do you ride?”
“What?” She felt a hot flare of embarrassment. With Zeke’s unexpected compassion, she’d babbled like a ten-year-old.
“Can you ride a horse?”
“Oh…yes.” She crossed her fingers tighter. She hadn’t ridden for a long time, but how hard could it be? “Yes, of course.”
“Okay. Can you be here by nine?”
A quick glance at the radio alarm clock showed twelve minutes past eight. “Yes—” The phone went dead. She grabbed Carli’s photo. “I found a way in.”
She kissed her sister’s face, fell back on the bed, and grinned.
That was nice of Zeke. Really, really nice.
Remembering the short time frame, she jumped up, packed her clothes and double-checked the room. Today she’d go back to L.A. and straight to the office. She’d talk to Steve in person. He always worked on Saturday afternoon. She’d tell him the truth about what she’d done. Then she’d quit and come back here to investigate