Lucky Lucette, Page 3

  I jump into my car and drive like mad to their mansion, to their super exclusive place. At Ramaldi’s hiding place in the middle of numerous trees in front of the mansion, he sees me all shaken and asks, “Maybe you shouldn’t confront your wife like that.”

  “If she’s in there then I need to know!”

  “Okay, but please calm yourself.”

  He doesn’t want to blow his cover, so I go at it alone. As I’m stepping away from Ramaldi’s surveillance point to head towards the mansion’s front door, a thought suddenly occurs to me.

  “She hasn’t left the mansion, has she?” I question gruffly, turning to face him.

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “I had to have the guard call the house to verify who I was in order for them to let me in to the subdivision.”

  “She’s still in there.” Ramaldi confidently asserts.

  “Well, then she must know I’m on the way. I’m sure whoever took the call already told her.”

  “So it appears.”

  I stride to the mansion door. Luckily for both me and Ramaldi, the electrified gate was on the blink and we had no problems getting to the house. Pounding on the doorbell, he butler finally answers. He tells me to wait as he goes to the living room to talk to the person taking care of the home. The house-sitter. I ignore him and stride across the foyer to the living room. The butler rushes after me in a worried frenzy.

  “He wouldn’t wait to be announced,” the butler explains to Lucette’s cousin, out of breath.

  “It’s okay, Jeeves,” Lynette asserts, curiosity on her face as she eyes me. “What are you doing here, Justin?”

  “Where is she?” I burst, my eyes darting everywhere.

  Lynette’s eyebrows come together. “Who?”

  “Who else would I be talking about?” I snap.

  “Justin, why in the world are you here?” Lynette questions again. “And for heaven’s sake, what are you talking about?”

  I can’t believe she’s playing games with me. My frustration meter is off the charts! My boiling point has been reached! She thinks she can hide Lucette from me! I grab a large, fancy vase nearby and hurl it to the wall. It violently breaks in large sharp chunks.

  “What’s got into you?!” Lynette snaps furiously. “Do you know how much that vase was worth?!”

  “Where’s my wife?” I menace, growling.

  “Lucette?!—is that what this insanity is about?!” bursts Lynette. “Justin, you’re acting like a lunatic!”

  “Should I call security?” Jeeves questions.

  “Where. Is. She?” I threaten, snarling.

  “How should I know?” retorts Lynette. “You’re the one who’s her husband!”

  Just then I see a young man about my age step in the room with a puzzled face. Everything becomes suddenly clear! My heart completely deflates. I now know what happened. I’m going to kill that idiot Ramaldi!

  “What’s all the commotion, Lynette?” the young man questions.

  “The madman my cousin is married to burst in here and broke my aunt’s favorite vase!” snaps Lynette.

  “Sorry,” I blurt as I start rushing out the room onto the foyer. “Send me the bill for the vase,” I say over my shoulder as I reach the door and swing it open.

  Let me tell you that I just can’t high-tail it out fast enough. I’m red-faced. Super embarrassed. I just made a fool out of myself in front of Lucette’s cousin. Lynette is probably calling my in-laws at this very moment to tell them what just happened.

  Lucette’s parents never liked me in the first place. Now they’ll like me even less!

  Reaching Ramaldi, I have to control the huge urge to punch him. Idiot! All this was his fault!

  “Did you find her?” he questions.

  I take a deep breath and unsnarl my fingers. “The girl you saw is Lucette’s cousin! The guy she was with is her boyfriend!”

  “Oops, my bad,” Ramaldi mutters. “It’s just that from the picture you gave me of your wife, she and her cousin look like each other. They seem to have the same build and coloring.”

  “You idiot!”

  “Hey now,” Ramaldi bursts furiously, “I told you not to go in there, didn’t I?”

  “I pay you good money to do your job so do it, you stupid, worthless piece of crap!!!”

  Ramaldi starts stomping towards his car. “I don’t have to take this! I’ll refund your money.”

  Calming down, I rush after him. I don’t want to get another detective. He’s the cheapest one with the best recommendations I could find. “Don’t take it so personal, Ramaldi. I apologize. I’m just freaked out about my wife.”

  He stops in his tracks to eye me carefully. “There’s something about you that rubs me the wrong way. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. Today, you proved my instincts right. I don’t want to work for you. Get yourself another detective.”

  Chapter 7

  Lucette:

  I really want to stop at my parents’ home on the way out of San Antonio, but Alejo convinces me that it isn’t a good idea.

  “We need to keep to the plan,” he says.

  When I think about it, I realize he’s right. Once we leave San Antonio, tears roll down my eyes. I wonder how my parents are doing in Europe.

  A few hours later, I ask Alejo if he needs help with the driving. El Paso is a long way from San Antonio. He must be getting tired.

  “No, I’m fine,” he says. “Thanks for the offer though.”

  This man is just so polite. I really like him.

  The road seems endless but many hours later, we arrive at our desert destination. How am I feeling? Scared. Excited. I’m about to start a new life. What kind of life will it be?

  Justin:

  “Dad, I really need the money,” I plead with my jerk father over the phone. I totally hate doing it—despise it with everything I have inside of me. But I swallow my pride.

  I absolutely have to find my wife!

  That Ramaldi idiot had walked out on me. I tell myself that it was for the better. The moron couldn’t detective himself out of a paper bag! I had found a much better detective. One of those relentless people who had served in the military under special assignment. He’s as tough as can be!

  Ratchet is a bulldozer!

  But the thing is that his price is much higher than Ramaldi’s fee. Ratchet guarantees his work, though. He told me he’d return my money if he couldn’t find Lucette.

  “I’ll find her, kid,” he had growled. “I’ve never had to return any money! I’ve never failed. I never will.”

  Now, the trick would be to convince my jerk father to loan me the cash.

  “Please, Dad,” I plead. It makes me sick to my stomach to do so, but I don’t have any choice.

  “Jane!” my father yells out to my mother. Believe it or not, I can actually hear the alcohol coursing through his system. “Your son is whining like a little girl that he needs something from me!” he warbles with glee. He loves it that I’m begging. “I thought that the last time you called me,” he’s retorts, back to talking to me, “you told me how much you hated me and what a terrible father I’ve been.”

  I really regret having told him that stuff. Even though what I had told him was true. I should’ve kept my big trap shut. How could’ve I have possibly known that I would need his help?

  I clear my throat. “Dad, I’m sorry—”

  “You’d better be, you little punk!”

  “You have every right to be upset with me, Dad.”

  “Darn straight!”

  “I said the most disgusting things to you.”

  “Jane, get your ugly, useless self over here!” he commands, yelling at my mom again, “so you can hear what your worthless son is telling me!”

  I clear my throat again. I’d really need to grovel. Ugggg! No choice. “I’m soooo sorry, Dad. Very, very sorry. I’d do anything to take back what I said. I—”

  “Hey, stop that!” he demands, snapping. “I didn’t ra
ise a sniveling woos!!!”

  “Yes, Dad.” I’m relieved the groveling appears to be over.

  “If I loan you that money you’d better pay me back!”

  “Yes, Dad, of course.”

  “And with interest!”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “How much do you need?”

  Chapter 8

  Lucette:

  I stare at the outside of the small but nice house I’ll now be living at. It’s a sky blue with white shutters on the windows and a very pretty flower garden in the front. Wondering what kind of life I’ll have from now on, I sigh. Going from the lush green of San Antonio to the dry desert of El Paso is quite an eye opening experience.

  “You okay?” questions Alejo, grabbing my suitcase from the car trunk.

  “Yes, fine,” I murmur, lying. My nerves are about to burst.

  “Shall we?” he asks, pointing at the door.

  “Yes.” I follow him to the white door. A matt with the word welcome in huge bright yellow letters is under our feet. I don’t know why the silly thing makes me feel better.

  Alejo starts knocking on the door. There’s no doorbell. I take in a sharp breath when I hear the shuffling of feet from the inside.

  “Everything’s going to be great,” he tells me with a cheerful smile.

  I nod, gulping painfully. My throat is too dry to say anything.

  The door swings open and a woman and a man stare at us with luminous grins—the kind of smiles that light up a whole neighborhood of Christmas trees.

  “We’re so glad you were able to make it here!” the woman bursts as she abruptly hugs me. I’m completely taken by surprise! Her arms enclose me in a warm and safe cocoon. Tears fill my eyes. She stops squeezing and faces me. “I’m Consuelo Sanchez.” Her Spanish pronunciation of her name is like pretty music. “I’m so glad you’re here, Araceli.”

  Araceli Fileto.

  My new name. I’d better get used to it fast.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, forcing myself not to shed the water from my stinging eyes. Letting me go, I feel a little lost outside her circle of warmth.

  “Araceli, I’m Mauricio Sanchez,” the man says, extending his hand. I shake it and then he surprisingly gives me a quick hug. “Yes, Consuelo and I are so thrilled you’re here with us.”

  After introductions are made with Alejo, the Sanchezes enthusiastically lead us into their house. The home is very colorful, let me tell you. I don’t think I’ve ever been in one quite like this one. The homes I had been in, including my parents’ mansion, were usually filled with quiet, monotone colors—beiges, whites, and silent hues that don’t stand out. The Sanchez home is filled with pastels, brightness, and roaring colors.

  The Sanchezes take me on a tour of the small house. They say they want me to be completely comfortable in it. The walls in every room are a different eye-catching color. Turquoise in the living room, light pink in the hallway, sky blue in the bathrooms, and sea foam green in the two bedrooms. One of them will be mine. Alejo deposits my suitcase on the twin bed of my new room.

  “Now that Araceli is settled in,” announces Alejo, “I need to be leaving.”

  “Not so fast,” Mr. Sanchez bursts,” Consuelo and I prepared a feast to celebrate Araceli’s coming to live with us. You have to stay for it!”

  “Yes, you must,” Mrs. Sanchez asserts.

  Alejo smiles. He likes the Sanchezes as much as I do. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  They lead us to the canary yellow kitchen. Both Alejo and I gasp in unison. The Sanchezes weren’t kidding about the feast. The center oak table is full of colorful pots. The kind you see in the movies with Mexico as the background.

  The picturesque pots are filled with all types of Mexican food—tacos, enchiladas, spicy roasted chicken, and other dishes I can’t quite recognize. Dessert isn’t left out. Flan, cake, fruit salad and colorful candies I’m not familiar with. The intoxicatingly delicious aroma permeates the humble kitchen. My mouth drips with overwhelmed juices.

  Wow! I keep telling myself.

  I’ve always loved Mexican food. How could I not with all the spices and amazing flavors that make it up? My parents also love it even though they try to play it down like they do with our Mexican heritage. They always emphasize my great grandmother’s European birthright and keep quiet about our roots stemming from Mexico.

  High society.

  It makes harsh judgments about who belongs and who doesn’t. It slices into class differences as if it was a cake. My parents buy into it. So had I for a long, clueless time until I felt the brunt of not belonging in those circles when I got married.

  The Sanchezes make Alejo and I sit down while they flutter about making sure we have everything we need. I drink a melon beverage while Alejo prefers a Coke. He’s driving back to San Antonio and needs the caffeine. Mr. Sanchez offers him the couch to stay for the night, but Alejo says he needs to get back to his family ASAP. The Sanchezes tell him they know the importance of family.

  “You’re part of our family now, Araceli,” declares Mrs. Sanchez, her voice as warm as a summer day. “You can be sure of it.”

  I don’t think anyone in my life has ever gone to such lengths to make me feel welcome. My eyes water again. I order the tears not to flow.

  Later, Alejo announces he really must leave. Deep inside, I freak out but force myself not to show it. As much as I like the Sanchezes at this point, they’re still strangers. Alejo is my lifeline and he’s leaving! Still, I force myself to be strong because Alejo has a family to get back to. I thank him profusely and bite my lower lip as he leaves.

  I tell the Sanchezes I need to settle into my bedroom. Mrs. Sanchez asks me if I need any help. I shake my head.

  Alone in my new room, sobs burst out. I hush them as much as I can, so the Sanchezes won’t hear the pain I’m in.

  But inside of me, I’m a total tsunami.

  With tears and emotions crashing everywhere.

  Justin:

  It’s very late at night. Luckily, no one is anywhere in sight and the darkness covers me. The only street light for the block is way down the lane. How lucky am I?

  I eye the house to make sure no lights turn on or that no one looks out any windows. It hadn’t taken me long to find the house—not with Ratchet’s very accurate directions. The guy is awesome at his job!

  I’m just so lucky to have been able to hire him. An hour after my stomach turning conversation with my father, he had deposited the money I needed into my bank account. He loved it that I owed him, that I’d had to come to him practically on my hands and knees. The power intoxicated him! Luckily, with all my groveling he hadn’t asked me what it was for. Normally he would’ve grilled me—demanding to know where every single penny would go. And I really didn’t want to tell him that my wife had left me. It would’ve made his day that I had failed at marriage unlike him. Even though his wife, my mother, is miserable with him, he’d never admit to how unhappy their marriage is.

  Unfortunately, due to a bad fall when she’d had an especially bad argument with my father about his drinking, my mother hadn’t been able to have any more children except for me. My father would sneer that she had only been able to give him one son—a worthless one at that.

  He just loved it when I screwed up or when life bit down on me.

  This would prove how pathetic I had turned out, according to him. How unlike him I was. How undeserving of bearing the Swaggart name.

  “I wish I could tear the family name right out of you!” he’d burst when he was particularly drunk. “You’re no good! Valueless! I wish you had never been born!”

  “Yeah, Dad, I wish I had never been born too. I wish I wasn’t your son!” I’d shout back.

  “Why couldn’t God have given me another son?!—one that deserved the Swaggart name?!”

  Whenever I’d mess up, no matter how small, he’d use it to yell at my mom that he had to keep drinking in order to assuage his deep miseries. What an excuse, huh
?

  Pushing thoughts of my jerk dad away, I try to focus on what’s on hand. The house I’m spying on is still in the dark. The street is still lonely.

  I take a swig of my bottled beer—luckily I have friends who buy them for me. At seventeen I can’t buy alcohol, but with my adult pals, that’s not a problem. The tart taste of the liquor eases me. It soothes any traces of misgivings about what I’m about to do.

  I think about Ratchet and his strength. He inspires me much more than my father ever did.

  I really like the guy. And he doesn’t ask any silly questions as to why I need certain information. He had accidentally let it out that he had been dishonorably discharged from the Army. When he questioned what I thought about that, I slapped him on the back and congratulated him. His total toughness and ruthlessness is a huge plus in my book. He’s a real life superhero!

  Wow!

  I wish that I could shove it in my father’s face that I had encountered a real man—not a fake tough guy that my father for sure is.

  One day I’d have to introduce Ratchet to my dad. It would be an interesting meeting I’m sure. One that I would completely enjoy. You see, my father is totally threatened by hard-hitting men. I guess he senses he’s not in their league.

  He really wants to be.

  But he’s not—not even close.

  I stare at the house, pausing a little before my next move. I squeeze the very sharp ice pick in my hand.

  It’s time for a reckoning.

 

  Chapter 9

  Lucette/Araceli:

  Sleep is very hard to come by. Too much has happened today. The burning, countless tears have stopped. I’ve already cried myself out. I really hope the Sanchezes didn’t hear my sobs. They’ve been so nice. I’d hate for them to think me ungrateful for their generosity in giving me a home.

  But at the same time I tell myself that they must understand what’s happened to me. I’m sure they’ve been at least somewhat informed of my predicament.

  Why else would they volunteer their home to a perfect stranger?

  I violently toss and turn. I try not to think about him. He’s so different from what everybody thinks. What people don’t understand about charming Justin is that his mood can turn on a dime. Yes, that fast.

  A fury ignites inside of him that no one can control—least of all him.