Dena stood. “I should go and unpack. It was nice to meet you, Manny. I’ll let you know what Zeke thinks about my plan.”
“Thanks,” he said, and his face brightened. “I hope he agrees with it. I’ll stay here for a few days, help Rocky with the grapefruit.”
“Wait,” Irma said. She turned to Manny, and said something in Spanish.
Dena knew it was a discussion about her. She’d picked up on a few words. Irma didn’t sound angry.
“Mama says dinner is at seven, in the dining room.” Manny grinned. “Do you like chicken? Are you allergic to anything?”
“No known allergies,” Dena said. “And I love chicken.”
Manny repeated what she’d said to Irma, in Spanish. He turned, winked. “Mama says it’s just you and Zeke. So dress nice. Not that you don’t already, but you know.”
Dena laughed. “Thanks.”
That pleased her, dinner with Zeke, just the two of them. She had more questions for Manny, but with the plan she’d begun to formulate, she’d get to ask them soon. She’d have answers to many of the questions she had about the Cabrera family, and the staff that worked for them.
Chapter Seven
Later that evening, Dena stood for a moment in the doorway to the living room and masked her disappointment. She wouldn’t have Zeke all to herself. Manny had been mistaken. Rocky and Zeke were seated in mahogany leather chairs, facing each other, each with a cocktail glass in hand and engaged in hushed conversation.
With only an initial glance, she could see everything in the room had a dark hue and a richness of fabric or texture that spoke of old world charm and money. There was a definite Spanish influence in the carved woodwork on the tables and armoire. Wall sconces cast amber shadows on the walls and a fire burned softly in the huge stone fireplace. A crystal vase full of peach-colored roses and long stems of Spanish lavender stood on a side table, their sweet soft perfume contrasting the masculine space.
Zeke saw her and stood.
“Hello,” she said. Both men wore serious expressions, and she sensed she’d been the topic of conversation. She forced a smile.
“Would you care for a drink?” Zeke asked, and moved toward her.
“Evening,” Rocky said, easing out of the chair.
“No, thank you.” Dena nodded hello to Rocky. Both men had cleaned up nicely and wore slacks and dress shirts. Rocky had even put on a tie. Zeke’s crisp white shirt was open at the throat; she noticed the triangle of smooth, lightly suntanned skin and looked away. “Are you feeling better, Zeke?”
“Yes.” He gave her a fleeting smile. “If you’re not having a cocktail, perhaps we should go into the dining room—”
He touched her elbow and a tiny thrill of energy shot up her arm. Warmth flowed from his hand through the sleeve of her silk blouse, but he withdrew it far too quickly. The dining table was elegantly set and Zeke moved her chair in after she sat. He seated himself at the head of the table. Instrumental music played softly, and she glanced toward the sound. Wall speakers were set high, almost invisible.
Rocky sat opposite her, swirling the liquid in his cocktail glass and peering into it as if it held all of the answers to his gloomy disposition.
Irma came in, served everyone and left. There was an awkward silence as they ate. Several times Dena tried for conversation but it fizzled out. She raised her glass of wine, took a sip, determined to ferret out the tension.
She smiled at Rocky. “I met Manny today. He’s a nice young man. He said he sometimes lives here when he’s working on the land. Do you often do the same, Rocky?”
He shook his head and made a production out of chewing.
“Do you live in La Quinta?”
He sliced into his chicken. “Indio.”
“Where does Irma live?”
“Indio.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “Are you neighbors?”
“No.”
Dena cut off a small piece of chicken and chewed it slowly. She’d figured when she’d come to Zeke’s aid this morning, Rocky had warmed to her. She couldn’t figure out his sullen mood tonight. What a changeable personality.
Zeke was off in some unknown land. He’d barely uttered two sentences and didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. Dena did the best she could not to insult Irma’s cooking, because under other circumstances she would have licked the plate clean. She took another bite, and moved food around like a kid being forced to eat liver. She couldn’t wait to escape to her room; there was no