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Ben went to help. Moving Corie aside with a teasing, “Out of my way, short stuff,” he lifted Rosie onto his shoulders. She squealed in surprise then giggled when she found herself high enough to place the chain a third of the way from the top.
“How does that look?” Rosie asked of the room in general.
“It’s beautiful.” Corie stood back to admire it and Teresa nodded.
“Good job,” Ben agreed, lowering Rosie to her feet.
By the time they broke for pastries and cocoa, Ben concluded that all he could do in such a situation was abandon the need to control and simply embrace the chaos. Teresa had a little directorial control, but, for the most part, let the children experience the thrill of decorating by themselves.
They all sat around the large kitchen table, Corie and Teresa making sure there was an equitable distribution of treats. Ben leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee, listening in on the conversations.
Rosie and the Stripe Sisters talked about what they would do when their parents came for them. There were small, homey plans that involved doing their chores and cleaning their rooms. Lupe, the oldest sister, intended to plant flowers.
“What if we live in an apartment?” Karina asked.
“You can have flowers in an apartment,” Rosie said. “In a pot instead of in the ground.”
“But that’s not a garden,” Lupe protested.
“Sometimes you can’t have a garden,” Rosie said. “Sometimes you can only have a pot.”
The girls nodded seriously. Ben thought about how sage an observation that was.
“I’m gonna learn to play football. Catch, Peterson.” Carlos pretended to throw a pass. Soren, across the table, reached a skinny arm up to catch the imaginary ball. The two boys laughed.
“We don’t have a football,” Rigo, the next oldest Santiago brother, pointed out.
“That’s okay, I do.” Soren picked up his cocoa. “When your family comes, you can have my football.” He shrugged.
Ben suspected the boy didn’t believe that would happen.
“Maybe Santa will bring us one,” the youngest Santiago brother said hopefully.
Miguel, brother number three, chimed in with, “You’d have to be good for that to happen, Tonio.”
The boys laughed. “We’d better take Soren’s football.”
Corie came with the coffeepot to top up Ben’s mug. “You doing all right?” she asked. “These guys can be hard on the nerves when they’re excited. You got your strength training in for the day by lifting them all up to hang their paper chains. It’s fun for them to go beyond their reach.”
He had to agree with that. “It’s fun for all of us. What brought each of them here?”
She put the pot back on the warmer and came to lean beside him. “The Flores girls’—or Stripe Sisters, as you call them—mother is a widow and lost her job. She’s being retrained at a place in Florida that teaches food service skills and hotel management. Teresa got her into the program—it’s run by friends of hers. The Santiago Army’s dad was injured on the job in an oil field and, when he recovered, he went for retraining, too.”
“The kids have been here through all that?”
“Eight months for the Flores girls, six for the Santiago boys.”
“What about Rosie?”
“Teresa’s been in touch with her father, who is a US citizen living in Mexico. Her mom was in poor health and died at home and the neighbors brought Rosie here so her father, who remained in Mexico, could come for her and take her home without having to deal with the system.”
“Her parents were divorced?”
“I think so. Not sure. He doesn’t think he can support her but has been looking for a solution.”
Ben said in annoyance, “Like a job?”
Corie hitched a shoulder. “Teresa tries not to make judgments. Soren was the son of a border guard who died in the line of duty. He’d been a friend of Teresa’s, so she took Soren in. He’s sort of happy here.”
“Sort of? Shouldn’t a kid be definitely happy?”
“Ideally. It’s just not in the cards for some.”
He thought he heard a personal note in her voice. “Like you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was happy when I was really little. I remember Jack taking good care of me. I didn’t even realize how bad our mother was until they sent Cassie and me back to our fathers. That part of my life was okay until my father died. Then it was awful. Until Teresa found me when I was twelve.”
Ben sighed, realizing how much strength was around the table—and standing beside him. “Lots of sad stories.”
“Yes. Well. It’s a foster home. This is often sad-story central.” She straightened from the counter. “It’s too bad you’ll be going home soon. The kids really like you.”
“I have some things to do first.” He toasted her with his mug. “You’ll have to deal with me a little—”
The sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Teresa, arbitrating a dispute between Soren and Rosie, looked up.
Corie stayed her with a hand. “I’ll get it.” She set her cup down and crossed the living room to pull the door open.
Gil Bigelow, Querida’s chief of police, stood there in his dark blue uniform, his brimmed hat at a testy angle over light blue eyes. His craggy face was etched in stern lines. He was another good friend of Robert Pimental’s and one of Corie’s least favorite people. When Pimental had had her arrested for assault, Bigelow hadn’t even listened to her side of the story. If it hadn’t been for that passing delivery person, she’d probably be doing time today.
Bigelow’s hands rested lightly on his creaky leather belt overloaded with tools of the job. Teresa came up beside Corie.
“Good morning, Chief,” she said. “What is it?”
He firmed his stance. “I’m here to tell you that you have to be out of here in five days. According to Mr. Tyree, you’ve ignored all his efforts to encourage you to abide by the rules of your renter’s agreement. You argued with the assistant he sent. Therefore—”
“That isn’t true, Gil Bigelow, and you know it.” Angry color filled Teresa’s cheeks. “I am behind in the rent, but I’ve told him over and over again about the leaky ceiling, the bad plumbing in the kitchen and the wide cracks in the veranda. Those are his responsibilities as my landlord and he’s done nothing about them.”
“Now, Teresa, there’s no point in getting hysterical. The law is the law. He has the right—”
“I am not hysterical. I’m loud because you don’t hear me otherwise.”
Corie struggled to remain calm. “He’s done nothing but harass Teresa since he inherited the house from his father. He—”
“Pardon me.” Corie was completely surprised by the sound of a male voice behind her. A hand on her upper arm moved her aside as Ben stepped between her and Teresa. All the children, she noticed, had clustered around them, Rosie holding Roberto.
Ben extended his hand to Bigelow, his manner courteous but somehow charged, as though a current ran beneath the calm. The chief seemed to recognize it. “Good morning, Chief,” Ben said. “I’m Ben Palmer. I’m visiting for a few days. What’s this about eviction?”
Bigelow sized up the intruder then widened his stance, as though taking up more room somehow expanded his position. “This,” he said, his voice lowering a pitch, “is none of your business, Mr. Palmer. It’s between Ms. McGinnis and me.”
Ben continued to smile. “I’m sure you don’t want to violate the law, Chief. As a police officer, myself, I know that only a county sheriff or one of his deputies can enforce an eviction order, and then, only at the end of the court process.”
Anger and offended male ego lit Bigelow’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “Where you from, Palmer?” he asked.
“Oregon.”
“Well, this is Texas.”
“Right. But unless Texas has seceded, this law applies to you. It’s a federal law. It applies everywhere in the United States. You can’t make her leave.”
The chief took what he likely thought was an intimidating step toward Ben.
Ben stood firm and watched him approach, his manner still polite.
“I want her,” the chief said, a furious tremor in his voice, “and the children out of here in five days.”
Ben shook his head. “The landlord has to file an eviction notice. That would be a five-day notice for nonpayment of rent, which isn’t the case here—at least not without good cause. A ten-day notice for a breach of the lease, which isn’t the case, either. So, a thirty-day notice would be required. Still, the tenant could contest it. A formal eviction notice has to be filed first before a court case can proceed. At the very least, Ms. McGinnis can remain here for the next two months.”
Ben’s manner changed, the smile gone as he took a step toward the chief. “You’re the one who has to leave. You have no right to be here, therefore, you’re trespassing.”
“I,” Bigelow said, “am a representative of the law.”
“Without legitimate reason for the eviction you’re trying to serve, without the required paperwork and, apparently, without a working knowledge of the law you claim to represent.”
Corie’s heart pounded as the men stared at each other. Bigelow was clearly on the brink of violence, Ben waiting for it.
Expecting the chief to lay a hand on Ben at any second, Corie was surprised when he inhaled a breath and seemed to think better of it. Wisely so, she thought. Ben was a good fifteen years younger and considerably more fit.
“We’ll see about this, Palmer,” the chief said. Then he turned, strode toward his up-accessorized police car, got in and sped away.
Teresa threw her arms around Ben’s neck. “How do you know all that?” she asked.
“We had a situation at an apartment building at home. My partner and I were called in to keep the peace until everything was done properly. I learned a lot.”
Corie was astonished by what had just happened. Ben had defended them against one of Querida’s bullies. He’d stood up to the police chief’s intimidation tactics on her behalf. Well, not her behalf. He’d stood up for Teresa and the children, but their problem was as important to her as any of her own, so he might as well have defended her.
“We don’t have to go?” Rosie asked. “Ben made it so we don’t have to go, right?”
Soren laughed and patted Ben’s arm. “Ben scared the police chief,” he said. “We can stay for two more months.”
Corie ushered the children back while Teresa pulled herself together. The past year had been a nightmare with Tyree’s repeated threats to evict her. She held on to Ben the way Corie wanted to—as though he were a strong handhold in a hurricane. And it had been so long since either of them had anyone to hold on to in tough times except each other.
Corie sat the children at the table again, gave them each another pastry half, knowing she was taking the coward’s way out to soothe their nerves but accepting that it was expedient. She made more cocoa, turned up the Christmas carols and got a discussion going about what they should make for Teresa’s present.
* * *
BEN LOOKED DOWN into Teresa’s tear-filled eyes and felt an eerie change take place inside him.
She hugged him fiercely again. “Thank you, thank you!” she whispered thickly. “I’m so glad you were here.”
He patted her shoulder, feeling his whole world go south on him. To be honest, he had to admit that it had begun when he and Jack and Sarah had followed Corie on her path to theft and vengeance.
“We’ve held him off for now,” he said, watching her pull tissues out of her pocket and dab at her nose. “But this is just going to continue unless we settle this once and for all.”
She looked up at him doubtfully. “Tyree doesn’t care about our situation. His father was a good man, but all Cyrus cares about is getting me out. I hate it when the children are worried. I wish they could just go to school and come home and play and be happy.”
“Are their parents really coming back? Any of them?”
“Absolutely,” she said, her eyes suddenly dry, her customary confidence returning. “They’re not bad people. They’ve just had bad things happen to them. I started this place so that when parents are ready to take their children back, they don’t have to wait forever for the court to do its thing. They can just reclaim their children and make a home again. They’ll be back. I know Joel Santiago and Amelia Flores thought they’d be finished with school by Christmas.”
“All right,” he heard himself say, “then we’ll do everything we can to see that you stay.”
“How will we do that?”
“Leave it to me.”
“You’d have to stay around for a while.”
Yeah. He was getting that.
He’d never been a selfish person—he’d been raised better than that. But his life so far, apart from his job, had been about doing what he wanted to do. He was enthused and excited about his plans to start an investigative agency. He was willing to work hard and had a fairly good business head. He could make a success of Palmer Private Investigations.
But he wasn’t going to be able to launch his business until he had Teresa and Corie and the children on a safer footing and he’d resigned from the Beggar’s Bay police force. And then there was the jewelry... He had no illusions that he could single-handedly solve either issue. He needed an ally in the cause, but he was going to do his best to brighten up the children’s world and give them the stability they deserved.
Teresa hooked her arm in his and tugged him back into the house. “Thanks, Ben, for caring about us.”
“I’m glad I was here.”
“And for agreeing to stay.”
He was about to deny that he had done that, but it would have been pointless. He hadn’t said the words but in his heart he’d made the promise.
And it was all Corie’s fault.
CHAPTER FIVE
BEN WENT TO town in the afternoon while the children made more ornaments for the tree. On an errand to buy more lights, he decided to make a detour to the local newspaper office.
Querida was too small to support a daily newspaper, but the Weekly Standard had its office in an unpretentious storefront in a strip mall on the other side of town.
The editor, a tall, slender man Ben guessed to be in his forties, seemed to be a one-person operation, except for a receptionist. He introduced himself as Will Fennerty.
Ben asked him if he could take a look at all the articles that had run that year on the Querida government, particularly Robert Pimental, the chief of police and Cyrus Tyree.
“I can,” he replied. “Fortunately for you, there’s no such thing as a weekend off in the life of a small town editor/publisher.”
Will provided copies in twenty minutes. He leaned across a battered counter toward Ben and asked if he was from the attorney general’s office.
Ben laughed and asked if the Querida town government required such attention.
The man nodded. “It absolutely does, but with just myself doing the reporting, I don’t have the staff to follow up on all my investigations. And if I don’t spend half my time selling advertising, I won’t survive anyway. I’d suggest if you’re going to look into things, find out how a deputy mayor in this tiny town can support a palatial home on Ocean Drive in Corpus Christi.”
“Doesn’t Pimental have to live in Querida to work in its government?” Ben asked.
“He has a modest little place here, too.”
“Maybe his wife has money?”
“She was a car salesman’s daughter from Dallas.”
“So, his job here is funding the Corpus Christi lifestyle?”
“I think so.”
Ben remembered that elegant Ocean Drive neighborhood because that was where Tyree lived. He, Jack and Sarah had trailed Corie there the night of the robbery.
“And nobody’s noticed? I mean, what’s a town this size doing with a deputy mayor, anyway?”
Will shrugged. “The mayor had ALS. When he was voted in he brought along Pimental, who had a car agency in Manzanita. The two of them were childhood friends. Since the mayor’s illness has become completely debilitating, Pimental’s been pretty much on his own.”
Ben was beginning to see the picture.
“Pimental’s behavior is largely ignored because the rest of the state doesn’t care about Querida. We don’t really produce anything and the landscape isn’t exactly inspiring. The police chief also seems to live far beyond the salary of a small-town cop. There’s so much going on in city hall, I wouldn’t know who’d be safe to report it to if I did have an airtight case.”
“Wow. I have a friend fighting eviction—”
“Teresa McGinnis. Cyrus Tyree seems determined to get her out of there,” Fennerty conceded.
“It doesn’t seem like the house is prime property.”
“I don’t get that, either. His father left it to him, along with a few other properties in Querida and Manzanita. I think he treats those the same way—never fixes anything and is always chasing the rent.”
“I understand Corie Ochoa went to the deputy mayor for help,” Ben added.
Will laughed. “Yeah, that was rich. He tried to get her to pay him to help and she beaned him with her purse. Didn’t take that very well. Just not a nice man.”
“I understand. And...one more thing.”
“Sure.”
“Did you report on the theft of Tyree’s wife’s jewelry?”
“I did. It happened in Corpus Christi, but he’s well-known around here.”
“TV news reported that Tyree had surveillance cameras.”
“Yes. Want to see for yourself what they got?”
Ben suppressed any reaction, hardly believing his luck.
Will let Ben in behind the counter, walked around his desk and invited Ben to take the chair beside it. He stabbed in a few commands to his laptop and turned the screen toward Ben.
“Since it’s from a private security system I had to get permission, but Tyree seemed happy enough to give it to me. It’s clear he was robbed.”
Ben’s stomach sank. “By whom?” he asked innocently.
The copy of the film began to play. “That part’s not so clear. It’s impossible to identify anyone.”
Ben watched shadows moving among the bushes in the dark. The makes and models of the vehicles were impossible to determine, and license plates weren’t visible. That was a major relief.
He turned the screen back. “Do you suspect anyone?”
“No. Every other person in Querida and Corpus Christi dislikes Tyree. And his wife has serious pretensions, so any number of people would be happy to see either or both of them taken down.”
“Thanks.” Ben stood and shook his hand. “I appreciate your help, Will.”
Ben went to Wolf’s Hardware to buy three strings of one hundred-foot lights, per Teresa’s instructions, several boxes of plain ornaments and a box of bubble lights, thinking the children would enjoy seeing those at work. He also bought an inflatable Santa Claus and Mrs. Santa for the front lawn. If Teresa was horrified by it, he’d just take it home with him—whenever he went home.
As Ben headed out of town for Teresa’s, he noticed Corie pulling into a parking spot near the restaurant, ready to begin her shift. He punched his horn and she waved.
* * *
A SPICY AROMA tantalized him when Soren opened the door at his knock—along with two of the Santiago brothers and all of the Stripe Sisters. “We’re having spaghetti for dinner, and you’re invited.”
“What did you buy?” Bianca stood on tiptoe to see the contents of the bag he carried. He lowered it to the coffee table so they could look inside.
“What’s this?” Carlos took out the flat inflatables and unfolded them. “Look! Santa. And Mrs. Santa. And they’re big!”
The other kids abandoned the bag for the big, red-suited Claus couple. Santa had a giant sack and the missus held a teddy bear and a candy cane.
“For the lawn?” Soren asked.
Ben nodded. “If we have a bicycle pump or something for blowing up an air mattress, we can inflate them tonight or tomorrow and put them out. But we should probably ask Teresa first.”
The Stripe Sisters went into the kitchen to do just that.
Teresa came to the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand. Soren and Carlos held up the figures. She smiled broadly. “You’re a child-spoiler, Ben Palmer,” she said. “Can you stay for dinner?”
The atmosphere was different without Corie. Not that she was ever particularly happy to see him, but he was discovering that he wanted to see her. He had thought about going to the Grill for dinner.
But the children jumped up and down at the invitation. Rosie, who was setting the table, told him Teresa made the best spaghetti. “You have to eat some salad with it, but the spaghetti’s really good. We have garlic bread, too.”
Ben felt himself relenting. He’d been loved his entire life, and he’d always dealt well with his friends’ children and those he came across in his work, but he’d never experienced this almost-adoration before. He put it down to these children living in a household run by women. He was a new and different experience for them.
“Please,” Teresa added. “I’d like to repay you at least a little for all you’ve done for us today.”
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thank you.”
An argument followed among the children about where he would sit. Teresa settled it by placing him between Rosie and Soren, who were already bickering. “We have a dinner guest,” she said, focusing a pointed gaze on each child. “Soren, please pass him the garlic toast.”
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