As Randy and I walked into the office, she goes, “I thought you were coming alone.”
And I’m like, “I would have, but you seemed so nervous last time we talked, I thought maybe you could use some extra help.”
She smiled. “That’s nice of you, but it really wasn’t necessary.”
“Don’t worry about Randy,” I said. “He’s okay. He’s been helping me search for you, so we’re both on your side.”
Randy walked over and shook her hand. “I met your dad,” he said. “We talked a little bit about the banking business. I’m thinking about going into a career in that line.”
She looked past him toward me. “I’m sure if you trust him, Dylan, then I can too. Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll fix you something to drink. Will diet soda be okay? I think that’s the only thing in the fridge.”
Of course, I’m not a fan of diet anything, but I said okay just to be sociable, and Randy, well, he’ll take anything that’s free. She fixed the drinks in whiskey-style glasses and talked about how good a writer she thought I was after reading my articles about her. She thought I really had a future in journalism. She even thought I should start my own blog.
She handed me and Randy our drinks and then sat behind the desk. After one sip, I remembered why I didn’t like diet soda—the aftertaste was like liquid rubber.
Randy disagreed. “That hits the spot,” he said. “You wouldn’t have a little rum I could splash in here, though, would you?”
“No, sorry,” she replied. “I’m not really the partyer like some of my other friends you’ve met.”
Randy’s like, “Me either. I just like a little rum now and then. And a good cigar.”
This, sadly, was what he thought would impress her.
“Look,” I said, “I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to talk about rum and cigars.”
“No,” she said. “Not exactly.”
“You want to know what I think?” I asked.
“I’d love to.”
“I think you couldn’t talk last night because your dad is putting pressure on you to say what he wants you to say.”
She shifted uneasily in her seat. “Why would you think that?”
I took another pull of my soda. “For one thing, because you got kind of panicky when I mentioned Hector Maldonado’s name, and for another, because I don’t think Beto Hernandez really kidnapped you.”
“You don’t?”
“It’s that brother of yours,” Randy said. “We think he’s kind of a douche.”
She’s like, “What? Tres? Don’t be ridiculous.”
And I go, “What Randy’s trying to say is that some things don’t add up. For example, I got the idea your dad thinks you and Beto were, like, a couple until you wanted to break things off, and then he wouldn’t let you go. I know Beto a little bit, and he just doesn’t seem like that type. And I don’t think he’s your type either. No, I figure you’d be more likely to go for a guy like Hector.”
“You think you know me well enough to say that?”
“I’ve done my research. You and Hector are both good people. Idealistic. Kind of like me. I can see the two of you hitting it off.”
“But why would you think I even knew this Hector person?”
“Well, you obviously recognized his name. You probably met him while you were delivering meals to the Ockle ladies. Hector’s grandmother lives right next door. It all fits—you broke up with Rowan right around the time you started at FOKC, and then not too long after that, Hector’s dead and you vanished. Seems pretty likely somebody didn’t like the idea of you and Hector together. At first, I thought it might be one of your exes—Rowan or Nash—but if it was either of them, you wouldn’t have that good a reason to go along with the story about Beto, would you? Rowan’s family doesn’t have the status anymore to apply any pressure on your dad, and truthfully, your dad’s probably not the type who would be pressured by Nash’s family either, no matter how much money they have. No, I think your dad’s private detective found out Tres had you locked up somewhere and then framed Beto to keep Tres from getting into trouble. Your dad can’t have people knowing his own son killed Hector and then tried to get you out of the way because you knew about it.”
“Yeah,” added Randy for emphasis.
“You’re wrong.” Ashton shook her head. “Tres didn’t have me locked up anywhere. I was with Beto. In fact, he took me with him to his grandmother’s house the day you came by asking questions. That’s why Oscar hit you. They didn’t want you to find out I was in there.”
That was a stunner. And cut a pretty big hole in my theory. “But what about Hector?” I asked. “Someone killed him, and I know for a fact Beto figured that someone was mixed up in Gangland. So, yeah, maybe you were with Beto, but not involuntarily. He wouldn’t take you to his grandmother’s if he kidnapped you. No, he was helping you hide from whoever poisoned Hector.”
Just then her phone rang, but she only glanced at it for a second, then muted the ringer. With a sigh, she looked up and goes, “Poor Hector.” That was all for a moment, then she went on. “He had the loveliest brown eyes. So sweet. And ambitious in his own way. He really wanted to have a career doing something for his people. And not just Mexican Americans but working-class people everywhere. He loved that I worked with FOKC. You should’ve heard him talk about our future together. We were going to change the world.”