Bruja Brouhaha Read online

  Tattoo Neck tolerated her outburst with a stoic face. “Hey, T. It was a guy thing. We were playing around with Miguel. No harm.”

  Biceps Boy pointed at Miguel. “Until he freakin’ attacked me.”

  “You were obnoxious to Dr. Cooper,” Miguel said.

  Biceps Boy gave him the finger and walked away.

  “Go back to work, Miguel. Jackson needs you,” Teresa said. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

  Miguel spread his hands and shrugged sorry at me as he backed down the sidewalk toward the clinic.

  Tattoo Neck glared at Nick. “What are you looking at? This is none of your business.”

  “She’s my business,” Nick said, thumbing at me.

  “They’re Lucia’s friends,” Teresa said to Tattoo Neck. “Apologize to the lady so I can go back to work.”

  Tattoo Neck and Buzz Cut seethed restraint through clenched teeth and fists. Nick and I watched as spectators to an inside confrontation where Teresa had the upper hand.

  “Come on, Teresa.” Buzz Cut dropped his hands to his side, frustrated. “We weren’t doing nothin’.”

  She cocked her head, mocking him. “Nothin’? I left work to break up nothin’? Should I tell Carlos about your nothin’? Apologize.”

  Buzz Cut swallowed, looking at me with a tight face. “Didn’t know you knew T. We good?”

  “We’re good,” I said.

  Tattoo Neck tilted his chin at me. His way of apologizing, I supposed. I nodded, my way of accepting.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Nick took my hand, leading me toward the crosswalk. “What happened back there? What did those men say to you?”

  I gave him the thirty-second version. He glanced over his shoulder at Teresa. “Interesting. She has some kind of control over them. I’m surprised they let her disrespect them in front of us. If Teresa wields that much power on the street, I’d say she knows more about the shooting than she admits to.”

  I couldn’t tell Nick he was right. Teresa’s attitude toward the thugs made me question if she lied to me in the clinic about being afraid. She tried to manipulate me earlier, but why? Was she really worried about Victor or was she conniving to keep the investigation away from her?

  “I think I’ll ask Dave to pull her record. I don’t like her friends, and I don’t like them around you and Lucia.” When I didn’t comment, Nick said, “Did you hear anything about Victor inside the clinic?”

  “Miguel thinks I should to talk to Ynez Briano, a patient who’s close to Victor. She’ll be at her dress shop on Alvarado tomorrow. Did Bailey talk to Lucia and Cruz this morning?”

  “He was there when I arrived. Cruz repeated her story about Victor and Lucia going through papers, and Victor leaving after a phone call. He must have given Lucia a heavy sedative, because she didn’t remember the papers or a phone call. Why would Victor have an overwrought woman go through papers?”

  “Good question,” I said, stepping up on the curb. “But since Lucia doesn’t remember the papers, we have no way to know. How is she?”

  “Clearer. More animated,” Nick said. “After Bailey left, we talked about the article. She told me about her courtship with Paco, pulled out her book of potions, and even demonstrated the way she dries herbs. I need more background on the building, and a photo or two, but I have enough to write a good feature. We were paging through Paco’s scrapbook when I saw you through the window and ran out.”

  “And nearly got hit by a truck,” I said. “I prefer you alive. I don’t communicate well with spirits.”

  “How do you know? I might be a great haunt.” He opened the door to Botanica Rojas and we went into the shop. Cruz waved from behind the TV. Nick stopped at a pile of books and papers on the counter close to the front window.

  “Is Lucia in the back room?” I said to Cruz.

  “No. She told me to wait here for you. She went upstairs.”

  Nick summoned me to the counter. “Before we go up, I want to show you something. You’ll love this.”

  I knew from experience that few things excited Nick more than old papers. He put on his glasses and opened a faded black leather album. He flipped to a page of blurred black-and-white photos arranged with names and dates scripted in Spanish on their white borders.

  He pointed at a photo in the middle of the page. “This is Paco’s father, Aden Rojas.”

  The face in the picture stirred instant memories of Paco. He inherited his father’s Latin features—his eyes, nose, and the cut of his jaw. The middle-aged Aden Rojas, his thumbs hooked around black suspenders on a white, collarless shirt, beamed at the camera from the sidewalk outside the building we were in. “BODEGA ROJAS EST. 1932” was painted in a bold arc on the window behind him.

  “Bodega?” I said.

  “This shop was a grocery store before it was a botanica.” Nick turned the pages and showed me a progression of building photos.

  I identified the eras by the automobiles parked in front on 7th Street, from tinny old Model Ts to round, luxurious, and heavy 1930s roadsters to the sleek, sharp-finned cars of the 1960s.

  He stopped at a picture of a dark-haired woman with a stern, heart-shaped face. She wore an off-the-shoulder blouse and a flowered, ankle-length skirt. Her arm was wrapped around a boy in knickers and a baseball cap. “This is Gracia, the Rojas family matriarch. Paco was her only child.”

  Across the page was a photo of Gracia and a comely young redhead with a familiar, mischievous smile. The women were at the back counter of the shop, surrounded by bottles. “Is that Lucia?”

  “Sure is. She and Gracia were close. When Paco and Lucia got married, they tried to have children but failed. Infertility is thought to be a hex in Santeria. Every birth is viewed as an ancestor reincarnated. Gracia tried to help Lucia—she taught her how to make Aztec herbal medicine potions to get pregnant.”

  “But the pregnancy never happened.” I remembered the night Lucia told Carmen and me, with regret, that she and Paco couldn’t produce heirs. They loved children. The jar of hard candy they kept for neighborhood kids still stood next to the cash register.

  “Gracia schooled Lucia in everything about Santeria and herbal alchemy,” Nick said. “They started Botanica Rojas together in the back of the Bodega while Aden and Paco sold groceries in front.”

  I saw a sliver of yellow paper peeking from behind a full-page photo of Paco, Lucia, Gracia, and Aden. I pinched the edge and slid the paper out. “What’s this?”

  Nick unfolded the sheet and skimmed the cursive writing on the yellowed document. “This is the original building deed. Check this out—Aden Rojas purchased the land and this building for eighteen thousand dollars in nineteen thirty-two.”

  “Wow. That’s less than most cars cost today. This property must be worth a million dollars by now.”

  “Easily a million, probably closer to two based on location. Two generations of memories live under this roof.” Nick folded the paper into his pocket. “This deed belongs in a safe or Lucia’s safety deposit box, not hidden in a scrapbook.”

  I pictured the Rojas family selling their collection of statues and exotic concoctions to generations of families, while Los Angeles burgeoned into a modern metropolis outside. As I looked around, my eyes stopped at the end of the aisle where Cruz sat enthralled by the heated Spanish dialogue on her telenovela. I assumed Victor didn’t hire her to stare at a TV downstairs while Lucia puttered in the apartment above.

  Resentment stirred inside me. “Cruz, why is Lucia upstairs alone?”

  She turned down the volume. “She wanted to talk to Paco, undisturbed. Go up. She left both doors unlocked. I’ll be there in a minute to make her lunch and give her a pill.”

  I turned to Nick. “Let’s take Lucia out to lunch.”

  “Great idea. She hasn’t been out since the wake.” He packed the photo album with the rest of the papers and carried the box to the back room.

  “Don’t knock when you get upstairs,” Cruz said. “Lucia will get mad. She thinks kno
cking stirs up bad spirits and chases away good ones.”

  * * *

  A breeze fluttered the window curtains in the upstairs corridor outside Lucia’s apartment. Nick put his ear to her front door then turned the knob. The living room shades were drawn; slivers of daylight peeked through the sides. A bouquet of pink tulips stood sentry in a vase on the table between the armchairs.

  Lucia knelt in front of the Santeria altar in an ecru lace veil and a striped apricot housedress. Miniature votives and a hurricane candle flickered among the coconuts, bananas, pears, and trinkets scattered around the picture of Paco propped in front of his urn.

  We waited and watched from the doorway while Lucia sprinkled herbs in a bowl of water at the foot of the photograph. She set a small crucifix into the bowl, chanted, and made the sign of the cross with a small bouquet of flowers over the altar.

  Lucia kissed Paco’s photograph. “Te amo, Paciano.” Then she pushed herself up and raised the shades. “What are you waiting for? Come in.”

  “We didn’t want to disturb you.” I wrapped her in a gentle hug, her body so thin I feared I’d break her.

  She pinched my cheek with affection, then took my arm and pushed back my sleeve, uncovering my bracelet. “Hah.” She wagged her finger at Nick. “I told you the bracelet would protect her. You didn’t believe me. You had to run into the street.”

  “He was very gallant, Lucia. Between Nick, Miguel, and Teresa, I didn’t need the bracelet at all.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe, Liz. The orishas know you’re special to me. Both of you are. And you have to be careful. I stirred up trouble by setting the hex in motion. There’s no turning back. Before the full moon wanes, Paco’s murderers will be punished.”

  “People are afraid of you, Lucia,” I said. “Your friends in the neighborhood need reassurance that you wouldn’t hurt them.”

  “No.” Lucia sat in her armchair, scowling. “Someone at the wake was responsible for killing Paco. I felt the evil there, taunting me. I had to fight back. Bad luck and misery can hound Paco’s killer until he shows himself. Keep the bracelet on, Liz. Make me happy. Stay out of trouble.”

  “I promise, just for you. Nick showed me photos of you in the family scrapbook downstairs. I loved seeing you as a girl, the saucy redhead Paco fell in love with.”

  Her strawberry red hair came from a bottle now, but her eyes sparkled with the same mischievous glint in her pictures. “Paco was too handsome. I had to make him marry me before the other chicas got their claws into him. Something you should remember, Liz.”

  Nick coughed. “Liz found the deed to your building hidden behind a photo.” He pulled the paper from his pocket. “You should keep this in a safe place.”

  “You found the deed?” She clapped her hands. “Paco and Victor searched all over for it. Put it in the top drawer of the desk. I’ll tell Victor when he calls tonight.”

  “He’s calling you?” Nick said with surprise.

  “He calls me every night. He promised to visit me soon,” she said.

  First relieved, then miffed at Victor for not calling Carmen or the clinic, I said, “Did he tell you where he is?”

  “Not now,” she said as Cruz opened the front door.

  “Time for lunch and your medication. Are you hungry?” Without waiting for an answer, Cruz headed into the kitchen.

  “Let us take you out,” Nick said. “Liz and I will bring you back fat and happy.”

  “Not today. Victor told me to stay home and rest,” Lucia said.

  “Does Detective Bailey know Victor called you?” I said.

  “I can’t tell anyone,” she said. “It’s a secret.”

  When Cruz came out, Lucia took her pill and rested her head back in the armchair. “Nick, do you still have the statue of Santa Barbara I gave you?”

  “I keep it on my desk. Changó, the orisha of lightning, thunder, and electricity. I think of you when the lights flicker and during spring thunderstorms. Que viva Changó.”

  “Yes, Changó is that, and more. I wanted you to have the statue because you understand justice the same way Changó does. And because you and Liz are strong together, like Changó and Oyá, his mistress and companion in battle.” She grinned up at me. “Their lovemaking is passionate and volatile. Inseparable, like the two of you.”

  I accepted Lucia’s comment—compliment?—with a smile. Leaving her with Nick to talk Santeria, I decided to have a chat with Cruz in the kitchen. I found her rifling through the drawer next to the sink. She took out an opener and then pierced open the can of beans in front of her on the counter.

  “We tried to coax Lucia out to lunch, but she refused,” I said. “Has she been eating?”

  Cruz threw up her hands and sighed. “I know she doesn’t like my cooking yet but she won’t leave the building. I’m trying to make her happy. Teresa brought us food from the Chicken Shack the other night. The local restaurants won’t deliver to this building because of the hex and the fire at Fidencio’s. We have casseroles and tamales in the freezer that I microwave. Don’t worry, Lucia eats when she’s hungry.”

  As Cruz rattled off explanations, I picked up the prescription bottle from the counter and read the label. Xanax .125. Victor Morales was Lucia’s prescribing physician, and the scrip was dated the day after Paco’s death.

  “Is this the only medication Lucia takes?” I said, noting the light dosage.

  She took the bottle out of my hand and dropped it in a drawer. “The only one. I have to fix her lunch before she takes her nap. Don’t want her to starve,” she added with a prickly smirk.

  Her attitude grated on me. I was aching to pry into Cruz’s background. I couldn’t sense her compassion or empathy for Lucia. I trusted that Victor and Father Nuncio checked out her references, so I set aside my feelings and accepted their judgment—for the moment.

  “You’ve been with Lucia constantly for the past few days. Has her state of mind improved since the wake?”

  Cruz emptied the beans into a pan on the stove and turned on the gas. “Lucia is strong. She gets tired in the afternoon, but she sleeps good and she eats good.”

  “And have the delusions stopped?”

  “She talks to her orishas. The orishas talk back. What you call delusion is Lucia communicating with the other side. She’s fine. And if she weren’t, I would notify her doctor,” Cruz said, stirring cooked rice into the beans. “She has plenty of those.”

  “Has anyone aside from Teresa and us phoned or come over?” If Victor had called, Cruz would have heard the phone ring.

  “No one.”

  “Except Dr.—”

  Cruz set the spoon on the side of the stove and faced me. “Please don’t upset her anymore with talk about Dr. Morales. The detective this morning was bad enough.”

  Curious that she assumed I meant Victor. “I actually meant the call from Dr. Torrico. He told me he spoke to you.”

  “Oh.” She paused for a beat. “Yes, Dr. Torrico called me to ask about her. I thought you were talking about phone calls for Lucia. When I said she was strong, I meant that she’s doing well for what she just went through over her husband. But she sits near the phone all day convinced Dr. Morales or Paco will call. Are we done? I’m kind of busy.” Cruz turned to the stove.

  I went back into the living room. Nick sat at the edge of Paco’s armchair. Lucia relaxed in her chair, grinning at him like a child who couldn’t hold a secret.

  “Victor’s going to call me again today. He’s with Paco. You can’t tell anybody, Nick. He made me promise not to tell.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Lucia dozed off in her armchair, Nick tugged me to the window beside the altar. Dropping his voice, he said, “What pill did Cruz give her? Lucia was fine this morning.”

  “Some sedatives have delusional side effects, but I just saw the bottle. The anxiety medication Victor prescribed isn’t that strong. Part of me wants to believe her, Nick. What if Victor r
eally called?”

  “To tell her he’s with Paco?” He glanced over at Lucia. “I don’t like this. If her mind is slipping away, what do we do? She doesn’t have relatives.”

  “We find Victor. We’re here for her now. Carmen will examine her Monday.”

  “I don’t know if we should leave her alone.”

  Cruz came out of the kitchen. “She’s not alone. I’m here. I take good care of her.” She set a glass of milk and a plate on the end table at Lucia’s side.

  “And I’m grateful you’re here.” Nick’s suave smile didn’t cancel Cruz’s scowl.

  “She missed her lunch. You better go,” Cruz said.

  “Tell her we’ll be back later.” Nick gave Cruz his business card. “Here’s my phone number. Call me if she needs anything. Anything.”

  “Si.” As we left, Cruz said, “And don’t worry. I’ll make sure she eats.”

  * * *

  Nick and I walked the two blocks to Langer’s Deli. We ordered pastrami and Swiss cheese sandwiches on rye with coleslaw and Russian dressing, a Diet Coke for me, and Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda for Nick. Between bites of hot pastrami and crunchy french fries, we made a decision to go to the hospital and talk to Carmen.

  The cloudless, smog-free sky opened the view of the city from the skyscrapers downtown all the way to the frame of the snowcapped San Gabriel Mountains to the north. We drove stop-and-go to Good Samaritan, bogged down by construction and late afternoon traffic on Wilshire.

  As we walked into her room, Carmen sat up in bed with a cheery smile. “I’m so glad you came. Sit down. Sit down. Thank you for the flowers, Nick.” She gestured at the vase of white daisylike buds on the windowsill.

  “I thought you’d appreciate them. The ancient Egyptians dedicated the flowering chamomile plant to the sun gods because of its healing properties,” he said.

  “They’re lovely. Just looking at them makes me feel better. Detective Bailey and I talked at length about Victor after you left the hospital yesterday. I haven’t heard from him today. I assume there’s not any news?” Her hopeful look fell into disappointment when we shook our heads.