Sophia wasn’t nearly as convinced. “Do his cell phone bills come here to the house? Or do they go to the store?”
“To the store, I guess. I never see them. Why?”
“I was just wondering if you balanced the bank statements, that kind of stuff. I remember you used to do it when I was younger.”
“Only when I was married to your dad. Gary’s so much better about money. He takes care of all that. And he does it at the store. I haven’t seen a bank statement in ages.”
Sophia knew she could be wrong, but she had a hard time giving Gary any credit for that. From her perspective, he did what he did to keep her mother completely insulated and oblivious to his actions.
He was good at that. She’d seen him act in a similar manner with what he’d tried on her. “How do you get money?” she asked.
“He gives me an allowance.” Anne smiled meaningfully. “A generous allowance.”
Sophia returned the smile as if a rich husband was as important as Anne believed. “It’s amazing that he’s been able to turn the feed store around. Why do you think the guy who owned it before couldn’t make it?”
“He was an idiot.”
“The article in the paper said that Gary attributes part of his success to his ability to deal with Mexican Americans, to speak their language.”
“That’s probably true. A lot of farm laborers come in. Knowing Spanish helps him communicate. Gary taught himself,” she added proudly.
“I remember.” The tapes he’d purchased to learn it had blared through the house for hours.
Anne scooted her chair closer. “You know…I’m glad to see a little interest on your part toward Gary. You’ve always been so…resistant to accepting him.”
You mean in my bed? The words went through Sophia’s mind, but she didn’t speak them. She didn’t have much time to accomplish what she’d come for. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m growing up,” she said vaguely, and glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. The store closed at six. What time did Gary usually get home? It’d been too long since she’d lived with her mother to have any sure way of knowing. It could be soon.
“Can you excuse me for a minute?” she asked. “I need to use the restroom.”
“Of course.” Her mother picked up her plate and followed her inside but veered off toward the kitchen.
Sophia walked to the entrance of the guest bathroom, paused to be make certain her mother was busy washing up and wasn’t paying attention, then crept across the marble entry and beneath the curving staircase to her stepfather’s office.
French doors opened into a luxurious denlike room with white paneling, white carpet and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking grass so green and so carefully trimmed it could’ve been used as a golf course. At Casa Nueva, there were no reminders of the heat outside—no desert landscape, no Southwestern art, none of the beige stucco that was so popular this close to the border. Her mother considered all of that to be “common” and “vulgar.”
The thick padding beneath the carpet made it easy to walk without sound. Sophia crossed to the desk and jiggled Gary’s mouse to dissolve his screensaver. She wanted to check his browser history, see where he’d been on the Internet. But the first thing that came up was a page requiring a password.
“So that’s how you keep Mom out of your business,” she murmured, and started to search the files and drawers instead.
In one drawer she found quite a bit of cash. Marveling that he hadn’t bothered to put it somewhere safe, she thumbed through the stack of hundred-dollar bills and counted nearly five thousand dollars. Five grand was a lot to have on hand, the type of cash smugglers often carried. But cash wasn’t incriminating in and of itself.
She tried another drawer. Office supplies.
Another drawer. Checkbooks. A few photographs—none of her, thank God.
The last drawer. Paper for the printer on the credenza behind her.
Hoping to discover something solid to explain the reason his phone number had been written on that wipe board, she moved to the filing cabinet. And found a handgun.
It was a Glock. She recognized that right away. But was it the same caliber as the one used in the UDA killings? She was just lifting it out of the drawer when a noise at the doorway made her turn.
Gary was standing there.
24
“What are you doing?”
Sophia raced through a series of excuses, searching for one he’d believe.
“What are you looking for?” he demanded before she could answer, and came into the room.
Although she’d been caught red-handed, Sophia couldn’t reveal the truth. If she was lucky, finding Gary’s number in that safe house might finally make it possible to unravel the mystery behind the UDA murders. And even if it didn’t, even if it was completely unrelated, she had to keep that information to herself long enough to figure out what it meant.
After dropping the gun back in the drawer, she pressed a finger to her lips to indicate that he should keep his voice down and jutted out her chin. “What do you think I’m looking for?”
To Sophia’s relief, the emotions registering on his face changed from shock and suspicion to irritation. “Don’t tell me. You’re hoping to find that picture you think I have of you.”
She silently released the breath she’d been holding. “What else?”
“That’s crazy, Sophia. I let you search my wallet at the store. Now you’re here, going through my office? What gives you the right?”
“The lies that Leonard is spreading, for one!” she said with a dark scowl.
It was his turn to act as if he was concerned that Anne would hear. “Keep your voice down.”
“He’s ruining my reputation!” she snapped.
“But I don’t have any such picture!”
“Then how does he know that anything inappropriate went on? And how is he extrapolating some unwelcome groping when I was sixteen and seventeen to mean I’m having an affair with you now?”
The hardness that entered Gary’s eyes told her he didn’t like how consistently she held him to the truth of his actions. “I have no idea. He hates you.”
She got the impression Gary did, too. She knew he’d deny it if she accused him. Her mother was still hoping they’d achieve peace as a family. But she’d been a problem for him, in one way or another, ever since he’d married her mother, and as long as she refused to let him escape responsibility for what he’d done, that wouldn’t change.