Faye Kellerman - The Burnt House

“That would be fine. I’ll make some breakfast.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Devargas, I’m sure we’ll all be hungry.”

Cathie nodded approvingly. It would have been rude not to accept the invitation.

“Come as early as you want,” Devargas told them. “I’m sure as hell not going to sleep tonight.”

“No we will not sleep tonight,” Sandy reaffirmed. “The truth is I have not really slept in thirty-two years.”

D AYBREAK BROUGHT A crystalline sky against a backdrop of deep violet mountains, a scene so crisp and infused with pure colors that it almost looked artificial. Decker took an early-morning walk around the Plaza, a green square in the center of town. All around were one-of-a-kind boutiques that specialized in regional arts, crafts, and clothing. He saw the Indians setting up their wares on the sidewalk under the portico fronting the old courthouse, placing handmade silver jewelry, pottery, and sand art on worn, wool blankets. By the time he got back to the hotel, Marge and Oliver were waiting in the lobby. Peter Devargas had called about twenty minutes ago. He was ready whenever they were ready.

Breakfast with the grieving couple was a somber affair, but that didn’t stop anyone from eating. The meal included scrambled eggs, trout hash served with salsa, beans, rice, and the ever-present corn tortillas served steaming hot. Fresh grapefruit juice and piping-hot coffee were the beverages of choice. When there was nothing edible left to consume, Sandra got up to clear. Everyone did their share and the dishwasher was loaded in record time.

The group adjourned to the living room, the detectives sitting three across on the couch while Sandra curled up in a chair opposite the sofa. She was dressed in a caftan, her gray hair long and loose. Devargas was in jeans and a work shirt. He leaned against the wall, staring out at a large cottonwood tree that dominated the front of his house. Cathie and her parents, Tom and Lucy Ruiz, would come by later in the afternoon.

Marge started out by addressing Sandra Devargas. “Thank you for talking to us at such a difficult time. It would be helpful if we had pictures of Beth and Manny.”

“As many photographs as you can give us,” Oliver added.

Peter spoke. “We got lots of Beth. I’ll want them back.”

“Of course,” Marge said. “Pictures of Manny would be helpful as well.”

“That’s too bad because I burned them all,” Devargas answered.

“Why do you think he was responsible for Beth’s death?”

Peter turned around and faced the detectives. “The boy was a snake in the grass.”

Decker turned to Sandra. “What did you think about Manny?”

She didn’t speak right away, assessing her thoughts. “He was charismatic, good-looking, the star of the football team.”

“He was a running back.” Devargas addressed the men. “Fast on his feet and quick with a line or a comeback. Girls fell for it and for him.”

“He did have his share of dates,” Sandra said.

“All the attention made him cocky.” Devargas spoke with bitterness. “Here, he was a big fish in a tiny pond. When he got to Los Angeles, he wasn’t so special anymore. To me, he was only special in his own mind.”

“Tell the truth, Peter. He had a lot of local fans.”

“Well, I wasn’t one of them.”

“That may be, but you weren’t a young girl with a free heart.” She sighed. “I think L.A. took him down a notch. In the beginning, they were both miserable. I thought that it would give them motivation to move back to Santa Fe, where they were loved.”

“She was loved,” Devargas corrected.

He was sounding more and more like Farley Lodestone, Decker thought. “Did they ever consider moving back to Santa Fe?”

Sandra shrugged. “If they did, they never told me. Then, of course, they disappeared…”

“She disappeared, he cut out.” Devargas glared at the detectives. “That boy is somewhere out there. If you people are worth a tenth of your salary, you’ll go out and find him!”

“If he’s out there, that’s exactly what we’ll do,” Oliver said. He turned to Sandra. “Do you think that Manny was responsible for Beth’s death?”

“Sometimes yes, but sometimes no,” Sandra answered. “I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.”

“How did they support themselves?”

“Beth worked as a waitress and Manny took on odd jobs.”

“The boy was a damn janitor.”

“There is nothing disreputable about honest labor, Peter.” She looked at the detectives. “He worked as a janitor, but he also took on odd jobs-carpentry mostly. He was good with his hands.”

“They were fighting all the time,” Devargas said. “There was never enough money.”

“At first, there was tension,” Sandra agreed. “Later on they got along much better.”

“How so?” Marge asked.

“Well, maybe they just adjusted. She and Manny had steady jobs, but I think what really helped was joining the church. It gave them friends with common interests and spiritual guidance.”

“It wasn’t like a church,” Devargas snorted. “It was more like a whacky cult.”

“She was raised Catholic.” Sandra stepped in. “But over here, Catholicism is often mixed with our tribal customs. I’m Santa Clara Indian, so our children were always taught several ways of honoring the Holy Spirit. We’re more tolerant of unconventional worship. So it was natural that Beth would be comfortable in a service that might be a little different.”

“This wasn’t just unconventional worship, this was a damn cult,” Devargas kept insisting. “They were all gonna live together in a commune, probably get stoned on pot and have orgies.”

“Peter, you don’t know that at all.”

“I know that Manny smoked pot all the time.”

“Not all the time.”

“Every time I saw him, I smelled it on his breath. We tried to warn Beth about him, but she wasn’t having any of it.”

Sandra had no comment to his pronouncement. Decker was writing notes as fast as he could. “Why do you think the church was a cult?”

“Because it was the seventies,” Devargas said. “That’s what the young rebellious kids did. They got together, smoked pot, and had orgies-”

“Peter, that’s just not fair. There were lots of wonderful young people back then. They just had something to say.”

Devargas snorted. His eyes shifted between Decker and Oliver. “You two would be about Beth’s age. I bet you remember the wild times.”

“I do indeed, but I wasn’t part of it,” Decker said. “I was in ’Nam, then I joined the police force.”

“Times two,” Oliver said.

Devargas gave them a begrudging nod of respect. “Then you know that these communes were excuses to take drugs and have lots of sex. Beth wasn’t that type of girl, but she was smitten by that boy.”

Decker asked, “Did this church have a name?”

“Church of the Land…some crap like that,” Devargas spat out.

“The Church of the Sunland,” Sandra corrected. “After all, it was California.”

“Did you ever attend church services with your daughter?” Marge asked.

“No, we didn’t,” Devargas said. “We weren’t interested.”

“I did once,” Sandra admitted. “It was an alternative service, but I thought it was very nice. The church rented a storefront and there were about thirty congregants.”

“Do you know specifically where they rented space?”

“It was in San Fernando,” Sandra told them.

Decker said, “There’s the San Fernando Valley and the city of San Fernando, which is surrounded by the San Fernando Valley. You wouldn’t happen to remember a street name.”