Free Tempting Danger by Eileen Wilks Page B

other. As could other things.
    “You were right to bring this to me,” she said at last, reverting to Chinese. She gave a sharp nod. “But I do not know the meaning. I will have to inquire of . . . another.”
    “Who?” Lily asked, startled. “Someone who knows—”
    “You will not ask,” Grandmother told her firmly. “This is not someone I go to lightly, but a favor is owed . . . has been owed for a long time. A very long time now.”
    Alarming possibilities skittered through Lily’s mind. She leaned forward, touching Grandmother’s hand. Magic purred from the wrinkled skin into hers. “Don’t put yourself at risk.”
    The thin lips twitched, and the dark old eyes softened. She patted Lily’s hand. “I am very fond of you, it is true. But I do not do this for you. Not just for you. And now,” she said, settling back in her chair, “I will tell you what else I know about lupi.”

SIX

    THE Fuentes apartment was in La Mesa. The bland, two-story buildings formed a square with a swimming pool and parking filling the center. Some poet wanna-be had named the complex The Oasis—a name it failed to live up to. There were two royal palms street side. No gardens, porches, or balconies. No green.
    At least the exterior wasn’t pink. Lily sighed as she hunted for a parking spot, thinking of her own tiny apartment. She put up with the Pepto-Bismol paint job and lack of space because the place was three blocks from the beach, but sometimes she suffered dwelling envy.
    She had to park two blocks away, but the walk was pleasant. It was one of those clear, perfect days that hit the city sometimes in the fall, the kind of day people move to California for. It made Lily want to get her hands in the dirt. Not that she had a garden of her own, except for a few pots, but she had free rein in the naturalized area around Grandmother’s place. Maybe she could squeeze out an hour later.
    Lily buzzed Rachel’s unit; after a long wait, the girl told her to come up.
    The Fuentes apartment was a corner unit, second floor. The staircase was enclosed, and the stairs themselves were cement and led to a landing that served two apartments. Lily would talk to the residents of 41-C later, see what they knew about Rachel and Carlos Fuentes.
    She rang the bell and waited. She was debating whether to ring it again when it opened.
    Rachel Fuentes looked like hell. Her face was splotchy, and the big eyes that had glowed last night were dull and red today and hidden behind a pair of rimless glasses. She wore shapeless sweats that had been washed with something red at some point; they were a funny shade of purple. That luxuriant mass of hair was tied in a rough knot at her nape. “I guess I have to talk to you.”
    “This is a difficult time, I know. I’m sorry to intrude.”
    “Come in.”
    Despite the pleasant weather, Rachel had the air conditioning on. The apartment was downright chilly. It was larger than Lily’s, but whose wasn’t? It was also more cluttered—not out of control, but not the place of a neatnik, either. And a lot more colorful.
    All the color that tragedy had sucked out of Rachel still lived in her apartment. The walls glowed a rich, multihued gold. The couch was slipcovered in red and strewn with throw pillows in orange, yellow, and lime green. The chairs in the dining area were each painted a different color. There were paintings on the walls, not prints but actual oils—a bright, slightly surreal landscape, a grinning blue dog surrounded by colorful shapes.
    “Did you do the room yourself?” Lily asked.
    “What?” Rachel paused in the middle of her pretty room, blinking. “Oh. Yes. Carlos likes bright colors, too, but he isn’t . . . he wasn’t interested in decorating.”
    “I’m impressed.” And she was. Too bright for her tastes, but it had taken an artist’s eye to put so many vivid colors in a small space and make it work. There was passion here, Lily thought. That didn’t surprise her. The sense