Crush - Alan Jacobson [128]
Vail took a flier, played a hunch. “Mr. Guevara, is your mother still alive?”
Guevara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want with my mother?”
Vail shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Just a question.”
“I can’t see how she’s got anything to do with this conversation.”
“That’d be kind of hard for you to judge, though, since you don’t know why I’m asking. Wouldn’t you think?”
“My mother has nothing to do with me, my business, or my family. Next question.”
Interesting.
Dixon dug into her pocket. “I’d appreciate if you get that other information for us later today or tomorrow.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I have something to tell you.”
Dixon handed over her card. Vail watched Guevara take it, then took special notice as his eyes flicked back over to Lugo. The look said he wasn’t happy. Whatever was going on with Lugo, they would soon find out.
UPON LEAVING, Vail suggested they grab lunch while they could, since once they returned to the sheriff’s department, they would likely get sidetracked with work. Dixon recommended Azzurro Pizzeria on Main Street in downtown Napa, a fifteen-minute drive from Superior Mobile Bottling.
“Best pizza I’ve had in a long time,” Dixon said. “The flavors burst all over your tongue.”
Vail laughed. “Burst all over your tongue?”
Dixon unfolded the menu. “You’ll see. My fave’s the Verde. Spinach, garlic, chilies, and ricotta. If you like mushrooms, the Funghi is absolutely killer.” She looked up at Vail. “Sorry. You’ve got me doing it now.”
Lugo was quiet while they consulted the menu and then ordered. The waitress brought their iced teas and then moved off. Vail and Dixon made idle chitchat about the area, including their favorite pizza restaurants they’d eaten in across the country.
Finally, with Vail itching to address what was on her mind—it was bothering her like a piece of food stuck between her teeth—she turned to Lugo. “Ray,” Vail said nonchalantly, “do you have a history with César Guevara?”
Lugo looked up, as if suddenly realizing others were at the table with him. “A history?”
“Do you know him?”
“Why are you asking?” Dixon asked.
Vail had to tread carefully. She had a knack for alienating people, and Lugo was a good guy and well liked. She didn’t want to start something that would undoubtedly leave a bad taste with everyone on the task force. Clearly, Dixon had not picked up on the silent interplay between the two men. Did I imagine it? She tore open a packet of Splenda and dumped it in her glass. “I just thought I noticed Guevara giving him some strange looks.”
Lugo took a drink from his iced tea. “Really?”
He’s not making this easy. Careful . . . “So you didn’t notice him giving you looks, like he was pissed at you or something?”
Lugo pursed his lips and shook his head. “No.”
“So you don’t know him then.”
Lugo bobbed his head. “Sort of yes, sort of no. We worked the vineyards as migrant workers back when we were teenagers. But we weren’t friends or anything.”
“Have you seen him lately? Run into him somewhere, grab a beer?”
“I haven’t talked to him in twenty years.”
Nowhere to go with that answer. He’s either telling the truth or he’s a good liar. Regardless, without causing hard feelings, Vail had to drop it here. But the more she thought about it, the stronger her sense that there was something going on between the two men. If Superior Mobile Bottling and/or César Guevara continued to remain under suspicion, she would have to convince Dixon to take the next step: check out their colleague’s story. Get his phone LUDs and see if any of Guevara’s contact numbers showed up.
Their pizzas came and Vail acknowledged the “bursting flavors.” If there was one thing about this trip she found enjoyable—other than her limited time with Robby—it was the food. She even had to admit to Dixon that the Funghi pizza was “killer.”
Now if she could just find the real killer—the Crush Killer—she’d be happy.
FORTY-SEVEN
When Vail, Dixon, and Lugo returned to the conference room, all