J. Jance - Day of the Dead

The senora was strangely dressed. A green stocking cap confined her mane of silver hair. Over the green headgear perched a red-and-blue baseball cap. She wore a sweatshirt over ill-fitting jeans. On her hands was a pair of rubber gloves.

At the very moment Maria Elena noticed the senora’s gloves, she also saw the machete. Seeing the weapon, the girl recognized it for what it had always been-a death-dealing tool. In an instant of clarity, Maria Elena knew that the senora had come not as an appreciative audience to that day’s torture but as the Angel of Death.

Maria Elena watched transfixed as the shiny curved blade rose high in the air above her. When it fell, she made no attempt to dodge away from it or defend herself. Rather than fighting the swiftly falling blade, she welcomed the blow and willed herself to rise up to meet it. Her moment of release was finally at hand.

After countless days of unrelenting horror, death came as a blessing to Maria Elena-an answer to her desperate prayers, the only possible answer.

J. A. Jance

Day of the Dead

Seven

At six o’clock in the morning, with the sun barely up, a cold nose brushed Diana’s bare arm. Damsel was ready to go out. Brandon had wanted to install a pet door. Despite the obvious convenience, Diana had rejected the idea. She remembered vividly how, a few years earlier, a troop of white-faced coatimundi had let themselves into one of her neighbors’ house through an unattended pet door. Alone in the kitchen for several hours, the mischievous, raccoonlike creatures had trashed the place. When the woman came home, the shock of finding her kitchen alive with wild animals had caused her to suffer a mild heart attack.

No, having a pet door was absolutely out of the question. Diana much preferred being the one who got up early to let Damsel out. She padded out to the kitchen and started the coffee, then went into her office and turned on the computer. Early morning was Diana’s favorite time of day. She tried to slog her way through her e-mail while the coffee was perking.

There were a dozen or so spams waiting to be discarded, a couple of e-mails from fans who had written to her through her Web site, and an invitation to appear at a librarians’ convention in the fall in Tallahassee, Florida. Finally, and most important, there was one from Lani.

Twenty-two-year-old Lani had come home at Christmas all excited about the idea of spending the summer after graduation doing volunteer clerical work for Doctors Without Borders in some godforsaken corner of the world. Brandon had put his foot down.

“Don’t you read the papers?” he’d demanded. “Every week I see something about those people getting blown up or shot or worse. If you’re determined to help out, surely there are less dangerous places for you to volunteer.”

“What about Medicos for Mexico?” Diana had suggested, trying to find a compromise that might head off an argument between her husband and daughter.

“Who’s that?” Lani asked.

“It’s an organization started by some friends of mine from the reservation,” Diana told her. “I’m sure you’ve met them somewhere along the way. Each year Larry and Gayle Stryker take a team of medical volunteers-doctors, nurses, and what have you-down to Mexico, where they provide pro bono medical care for people who wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

Brandon’s reaction to this was as instant as it was adamant. “Absolutely not!” he growled. “No way, Jose. You’ll work for those people over my dead body!”

“I’ll work for them if I want to,” Lani had shot back at him. “I’m not your little girl anymore, Dad. I’m the one who gets to decide.” With that, she had stalked out of the living room and down the hall, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Her cheeks flushed with anger, Diana Ladd had glared at her husband. “That’s a nice way to start Christmas vacation,” she said. “And what on earth do you have against Gayle and Larry? They’re perfectly nice people.”

Brandon shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Never mind.”

“I won’t ‘never mind,’ ” Diana returned. “There must be something.”

He chewed his lip before he answered. “I should never have brought it up. Forget it.”

“I won’t forget it.”

“You didn’t go over the campaign-finance public disclosure forms during the last election,” Brandon admitted finally, “but I did. I wanted to know where Bill Forsythe was getting all his campaign contributions. And there they were, right at the top of the list-Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence Stryker. They send us a Christmas card every damned year. I just saw this year’s in the pile on the entryway table. And all the while they’re making nicey-nice with you, they were stabbing us in the back-stabbing me in the back.”

Diana was floored. “I’m so sorry, Brandon,” she said. “I had no idea.”

“No,” Brandon agreed. “I’m sure you didn’t. I wasn’t going to mention it because I know they’re friends of yours. My griping about them sounds like sour grapes, but the idea of Lani possibly going to work for them…” He shook his head. “It was just too much.”

That discussion had happened the evening of the first day Lani was home. Diana had thought the summer-job issue would be a bone of contention all through Lani’s stay. Then, as soon as Lani found out about Fat Crack’s deteriorating health situation, all talk of summer jobs anywhere disappeared off the radar. It was all they could do to talk Lani into going back to Grand Forks to finish her senior year. She had wanted to stay home to look after Fat Crack.

Opening the e-mail from Lani, Diana found that Gabe Ortiz’s health was still a major cause for concern.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Have you heard anything more about how Fat Crack is doing? I had a note from Wanda last week, but you know how that went. Wanda said he was fine, and for me not to worry, but I am worried. I’ve told my instructors that one of my family members is very ill and that, if he gets worse, I may have to take my exams early. Two of them said that would be fine, and they’re the last two on the schedule. As for graduation, that’s off. I already told the registrar’s office that I’m not going to walk through the ceremony. I’m sure that’s okay with you. I know how much you and Dad both love boring graduation speeches.

It’s still cold here. I check Tucson weather online every morning. I’m looking forward to coming home. And staying there.

Love, Lani

With her fingers flying effortlessly over the keyboard, Diana wrote back:

Dear Lani,

As far as we know, Fat Crack is fine. He sent a woman from the reservation to see Dad yesterday. Her daughter was murdered years ago, long before you were born. She’s hoping Dad and TLC can resurrect the case and figure out who did it. If Fat Crack is well enough to be worrying about someone else’s problems, Wanda’s probably right and he’s doing just fine. After all, Wanda has been married to Gabe Ortiz for a long time. If she says he’s okay, I’m guessing it’s true.

Dad’s still sleeping. He woke me up when he came to bed at two. He’s all excited about having a case to work on. I’m happy to have him doing something besides looking over my shoulder and asking whether or not I’m making progress.

Please don’t worry about Fat Crack. Study hard and do well on your exams. I’m sure that’s what he wants you to do. It’s what we want, too.

Love, Mom

P.S. I’ll try to call you later on this afternoon.

After answering the remaining e-mails, Diana went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee before going out to the patio. She sat in the shade and tried to work, but the words wouldn’t come. Her mind was too full of what Brandon had told her at dinner the night before.