“Daddy and Sofia weren’t”—Diana laced her fingers together—“but of course people talked. It wasn’t right having her in my mother’s house. Complicated. But Ricardo was just a toddler, and he had a sweet, rascally way about him. It took a year after Martin left for college for me to convince Daddy they needed to go. Too many whispers. Too many ghosts. Ricardo would have been four when he and his mother moved away. I didn’t see him again until that one time last year at the ranch. All grown up, like someone else entirely. A beautiful man.”
Lana couldn’t decide how much of Diana’s story was true. She could sense there were holes. She just didn’t know which ones were worth poking.
“When we first met, you gave me the impression you hardly knew Ricardo.”
“Surely you’re a woman who appreciates the value of keeping some things to yourself.”
Lana resisted the urge to adjust her wig.
“And you were meeting with Victor,” Diana continued. “I don’t believe he knows about Ricardo’s history with my family. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
Lana considered what Diana was saying. Was she so uncomfortable about the past rumors about her father and Ricardo’s mother that she didn’t want them to come to light again? Or was there something else, something more recent, that she was trying to hide?
Lana decided to take a gamble. “I don’t believe Ricardo was working for Victor when he died.”
“How’s that?”
“What if I told you Ricardo and your father had their own plans for the ranch’s future? A project that didn’t involve the land trust. Or you and your brother.”
“I’d tell you you were wrong. Which you are.” If Diana’s jaw were clenched any tighter, it could double as a vise.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he told me.”
“Your father told you, or Ricardo told you?”
“I . . .” Diana impaled a piece of lettuce with her fork. “As I said. I’ve barely seen Ricardo in decades.”
“But he mattered to you.”
“He mattered to my father,” Diana snapped. She chewed in silence, her lips pressed tightly together.
Lana tried a different approach. “Let’s suppose for a moment the note I showed you was from Ricardo. That he was leaving the land trust to do something different. Something big. Maybe with your father, or maybe with someone else. How do you think Victor Morales would react if he found out Ricardo was working on a project behind his back?”
“Victor?” Diana looked relieved at the change in subject. Her face resettled into a buffed, placid surface. “Are you asking if I think he is capable of murder?”
It wasn’t what Lana had asked, but it was interesting that Diana interpreted it that way.
Diana rotated her fork slowly, hovering above her salad. “I don’t know. Victor is a slippery man. He plays in the sandbox of the fortunate, and he thinks he deserves their toys. But he is a man of words. Not one of action.”
“What do you think Victor would do with his words if he thought Ricardo betrayed him?”
“He would find a way to play it to his advantage. As would anyone, I imagine.”
“A situation you’ve found yourself in?” Lana asked.
There was a long pause.
“I have, at times, been disappointed by men,” Diana said carefully. “But betrayed? The men I involve myself with are far too intelligent to make that mistake.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was career day at North Monterey County High, which meant all the students got herded into the gym after sixth period to begin thinking about their bright futures. As far as Jack could tell from the colorful banners hanging over the booths, there were three options: Silicon Valley if you wanted to get rich; agriculture if you wanted to stay home; or the military if you wanted to get out of town. Jack wanted adventure, but she didn’t think it came with a uniform or a gun. She floated around the tables, trying to avoid eye contact with the overcaffeinated recruiters. She spent a few minutes at the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s booth, where she picked up a free pen and a pamphlet about their global marine research. But the chipper lady behind the table didn’t know anything about the scientists tracking endangered bluefin tuna across the Pacific. She was pushing the glorious opportunity to stand in front of a tank and teach tourists about otters. Jack already had a better gig doing that.
“Jack!”
At the end of the row, at a scratched table with no banner and a few janky xeroxed flyers, Detective Ramirez was calling her name. The detective had on an emerald-green blazer and was standing next to a patrolman so young he practically could be a student.