42. Mallory
Chapter 42
Mallory
It's not easy sitting beside Hugo after what we did. Especially because after the buzz wears off, I'm ready for more. Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones, but I'm not so sure. In fact, I'm positive that's not it at all. Perhaps it never was.
It's him. Hugo. I want him with an unbelievable ferocity, in every way. Even sitting here, smelling his scent, makes me soft. Warm. Gooey. I am basically a s'more for this man.
"My dad was not the most organized keeper of paperwork," Hugo admits. He sighs and rubs at the pleat between his brows. There's a mountain of papers to sort through, sitting in a spot on the desk my ass only recently vacated.
"All these old invoices? Why keep them?" He shakes a handful. "Some of these are from twenty-five years ago."
We work for a solid two hours. Not surprisingly, I need to pee. Hugo tells me where the office bathroom is, and I go in search of it. I locate it easily, and run into Claudette on my way in. She sends me a polite smile, one I return when an idea strikes me.
"How long have you worked at Summerhill? Just out of curiosity," I add, hoping she doesn't take it as anything but a simple query.
"Going on ten years. I took over for my father when he had his stroke. He was the mill manager for as long as I can remember."
"I'm sorry to hear that happened to him."
"He's ok. Lost some motor function, but it was well past time for him to retire. If he didn't love the De la Vegas like family, he would've stepped away sooner."
"The Summerhill community seems like a close one."
"We really are." She smiles proudly. "Aside from those who come here for seasonal work, we have very little turnover." Thumbing behind herself, she says, "Speaking of work, I better get back to it."
She heads the opposite way. I finish up in the bathroom, hurrying back to Hugo.
"Tell me about the people who come here for seasonal work," I say, whirling into his office and closing the door with a flourish.
Hugo looks up from the papers he's sorting through. He sits back in the desk chair, rakes a hand through his hair.
"They arrive in the fall and winter months. Here in the desert that means October through January."
"They come during that time because it's?—"
"Harvest season. "
I'm nodding as I think this over. "We're still looking for old employee records, but I think we should also keep an eye out for a list of seasonal people."
"Seasonal people would've been gone by the spring," Hugo points out.
"True. But did your dad ever keep people on following harvest? Somebody who wanted to stay, and was a good employee?"
Hugo shrugs. "It's not impossible, but I don't know of anybody off the top of my head. I was really young."
We continue the search, stopping only to eat some of the protein bars and almonds I tucked away in my purse earlier when we stopped at Hugo's house.
My focus remains steadfast, for the most part, but I'll admit to being distracted by the way Hugo bites the side of his lower lip. And the way his big, callused hand palms his thigh, elbow stuck out to the side when he leans down for a closer look at a paper.
"I found something," he says, excitement poking at the corners of his tone. "It couldn't be more informal." He slides the paper across the desk to me. "It's literally a list of names, with a date."
Hugo's dad wrote in all caps, the letters clear and precise despite the age. At the top of the paper, underlined, are the words CHRISTMAS BONUS. The year listed is only one prior to the year he was killed.
"See that?" Hugo stabs at a name on the paper.
Jimmy Esteban.
"That's Claudette's dad," he explains. "He worked alongside my dad for years. I don't recognize any of the other names. My mom mentioned once that there was a large exodus following what happened to my dad. The employees were really upset. But those who've been hired since have stayed on."
"Jimmy stayed when all those employees left?"
"Yes. Claudette took over for him eventually."
"I ran into her in the bathroom. She told me as much. She's the one who mentioned the seasonal employees."
I reach for the police file, flipping open the folder. I locate the list of all the people the police spoke with, including every Summerhill employee. Down the list I go, reading out a name as Hugo confirms they are on his dad's list.
At the bottom of the police list is a black rectangle. "This one appears to be recently redacted." My finger slips over the ink. It doesn't leave a mark on my skin, but it looks newer. Not nearly as aged as the rest of the document.
"What reason would the police have for redacting the name of someone they interviewed?"
"Protection. Usually it's done to keep someone's personal information from getting out. It's odd, though. Why this name, and not the others? What is it about this name that needs protecting?"
Hugo sits back. His lips purse, and he rubs his thumb and his forefinger together. Suddenly he's up from the desk, crossing the office in two strides. "I'm going to ask Claudette to call her dad."
"I'll wait here for you."
Hugo halts with his hand on the door handle. He looks back at me, shaking his head. "Wherever I am, you are welcome there, too."
My heart trips over itself. None of this is by design. He's not trying to say the right thing, but it happens because of who he is.
I get up, and he holds out his hand. Together, we make our way to Claudette's office.
The friendly smile falls from her face when she sees Hugo's serious expression.
"Everything alright?"
"I need a favor, Claudette."
She nods, encouraging Hugo to continue.
"Can you please call your dad and ask him if he remembers any new employees from around the time my dad was killed?"
The request obviously takes Claudette by surprise. "Umm," she blinks hard. "Sure. But, Hugo, how do I explain this to him?" Claudette's eyes flicker to me, like maybe I'm the reason for all this.
Hugo squeezes my hand. "Tell him Simon's son waited too long."
Claudette takes her phone from her purse. She taps on the screen a few times, and then a ringing sound fills the air.
A man answers. "Hey, hon."
"Dad, hi. Listen, I have a question for you, and I know you're not expecting it." She glances at Hugo. "Like, at all. I have Hugo in my office, and he would like to know if you remember any new employees from around the time Simon was killed. "
"Hugo? Hello there."
"Mr. Esteban, it's nice to hear your voice."
"Likewise, son. You have a question about employees?"
"Recently I came into possession of the police file from my dad's murder investigation. There's a list of Summerhill employees who were interviewed, but?—"
"All of them," he interjects.
"Excuse me?" Hugo says.
"All of the employees were interviewed. Every single one. Myself included."
"Mr. Esteban, I'd like to know if there were any newer employees around that time period. Anybody who might not have been included on an employee list. Someone who maybe wasn't in the system yet?"
"Hugo, I wish I could give you the answer you're seeking, but it's been a really long time. Everything I told the police back then is still true today. I didn't leave anything out. I'm the one who gave them the names of every Summerhill employee. Even the guy who kept coming around trying to buy a parcel of Summerhill land. Every name, I gave it to them."
"That must be the redacted name," I whisper, and Hugo nods.
"Do you remember his name?"
"Well, I, uh..." A few seconds pass. "I'm sorry, I don't. It's been so long."
"That's ok, Mr. Esteban. It doesn't sound like he was all that important anyhow. "
"I don't think he was," the old man says. "Wasn't around much, or for long."
Hugo's nodding, looking at Claudette to let her know he's done. "Thanks for your time, sir. We'd love to see you sometime."
"Love you, Dad. I'll see you and Mom for dinner tomorrow." Claudette waits for her dad to respond, then hangs up. "I'm sorry that wasn't more fruitful," she says to Hugo.
"Thanks for giving him a call. I know it's one of his least favorite subjects."
Claudette taps her desk with the side of her thumb. "It's one of everybody's least favorite subjects. The whole town loved your dad."
If the whole town loved Simon, why would somebody kill him?
It's this question that sticks with me when we leave the Summerhill office. Stays with me as Hugo and I make dinner that evening. Pokes at me when we lie on the porch bed and star gaze.
Hugo is far away, too, in some distant land in his mind. He chopped green onions with a look like he was a thousand miles away. Kissed me with restraint. For the first night since I can remember, his hands did not stray when we laid down in bed.
I fall asleep safe in Hugo's arms, only to be awakened later by his pained whispers.
"It's him." His voice is strained.
"Hugo?" I run a gentle hand over his shoulder. He's still sleeping. Still dreaming.
"It's him," he croaks.