by Becca Bloom
I followed her gaze to the park just before a building blocked my view. They were sitting on a bench facing the restaurant.
“Maybe they’ll leave us alone. Lady’s not with us, so there’s no reason for them to follow us.” I sounded more confident than I felt. The more they insisted, the more I sensed trouble for my dog. There was no way I’d let those people near her.
“Sylvia and Rosa no let them close to Lady. If they try come in when I there, I make them leave.”
As strange as it may seem, the image of Abuelita with a butcher’s knife in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other brought me a measure of comfort. At least, it helped me focus on the task at hand. Even when the tenacious two followed us to the hotel.
Shirley oversaw the flower arrangements in the lobby. I’d never seen so many roses in so many colors in one place. Their perfume saturated the air, and I’d never enjoyed breathing so much.
When Shirley saw us, she plucked two coral pink roses with yellow-tipped petals from a vase bursting with the blooms. Handing one to me and the other to Abuelita, whom she’d air kissed as soon as I’d introduced her, she said, “I was hoping you’d come by today, Jessica. Miss Matty arrived last night. And the rest of our invited guests confirmed their arrival for today.”
“Antonio and Diana?” I asked, testing for her reaction.
She smiled widely. “I can’t wait to see them. Once they come, our group will be complete again … except for Sophia, of course.” Her smile faded and she gripped my arm, “For Miss Matty’s sake, I hope you find the killer before the gala. She’s worked too hard to have such a dark shadow cast over her celebration, and I dread to think what would happen if Señora Cuesta were to find out.” She looked at me intently, her eyebrows raised in question marks while her gaze never wavered from mine. She wanted promises I couldn’t give; answers I didn’t have. Not yet. My jaw clenched as my resolve deepened.
“I’ll do my best to find the truth.” That was a promise I could keep. Which meant I needed to keep asking questions. “What do you think will happen when Señora Cuesta finds out Miss Matty is here?” Sylvia had called Señora Cuesta and I knew she would show up. It was inevitable for her and Miss Matty to bump into each other.
A woman’s voice, low and precise, answered behind me, “If I must take out another restraining order against that woman, I will do it.”
I turned around to see a lady I would guess to be in her early fifties, though she must have been older than that. Her hair was tucked in an elegant chignon, and she wore a blood red silk blouse over creased navy trousers. She was shorter than me by a couple of inches (though not as short as Abuelita), but she wasn't the sort of woman to be looked down upon by anybody. She exuded confidence with every inch of her trim, petite form. She would have intimidated me had she not reminded me so much of my mom.
Chapter 15
"Are you the young lady Shirley told me is investigating the murder of Sophia?" Miss Matty asked, her eyes inspecting me from the top of my head to the toes of my sneakers.
"I am," I said, wishing I had donned something more professional than my normal jeans and t-shirt. Eager to take her attention off of me, I added, "And this is my friend, Señora Jimenez. Her daughter was a sophomore when you taught here."
Miss Matty's expression softened. Raising a perfectly manicured red nail, she took Abuelita’s hand and pressed it between her own. "I thought I recognized you from somewhere. Sylvia is your daughter, correct? I didn’t have the pleasure of teaching her, but I remember her to be a beautiful girl with a clever mind. I hope she is well?"
Empty compliments were much easier for Abuelita to accept than sincere ones from her family. With a wide grin, she said, "Sylvia is my daughter. She is well. Thank you."
“And you are looking well, Señora Jimenez. I would have recognized you anywhere.”
Now, that was pushing it too far. Abuelita stiffened, saying through pinched lips, “I too mean get sick.”
Miss Matty took her hint with a delicate chuckle and took a step away from Abuelita. “You haven’t changed at all. Now, please tell me how I may help you,” she said.
A group of people entered the hotel and approached Shirley. Dressed as they were in matching blazers with neckties and scarves in uniform colors, I guessed them to be faculty members of the Baños High School.
I looked behind me to the empty seating area. “Miss Matty, can you spare a few minutes? I’d like to ask you a few questions about Sophia.”
Miss Matty's skeptical eyes made my ears burn as she sat opposite me and Abuelita.
She spoke first, the consummate leader accustomed to taking charge. "Shirley told me you are under orders from General Bolivar. I cannot imagine he chose to work with you of his own free will." She sat back in the wicker chair, her fingernails tapping against the woven canes as she continued her inspection of me.
I felt like Elizabeth Bennet under high society’s scrutiny, and my favorite line from Pride & Prejudice bolstered my spirits: My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.
I remembered why I had put myself in the position I was in in the first place. Not only did my friends need whatever help I could give them, but I desperately needed to know what happened to Sophia. And a well-dressed power-tripper was not going to get in my way. I’d been wrong. Miss Matty was nothing like my mother.
Abuelita came to my defense as I crafted my response. "Jessica very capable. She trap killers in three murders before Sophia. If General Bolivar trust her, why you doubt? You think you do better?"
While I appreciated Abuelita's confidence in me, I had to bite my lips together to keep from laughing. The general trusted me as much as I respected him, which was to say not very much.
Miss Matty's eyes snapped from me over to Abuelita, unaffected by the sharp retort. "I know the general. He is a difficult man who believes himself far too important to deal with a young woman who may prove herself to be more intelligent than he is." Her gaze returned to me, all trace of humor gone as she said, "Please forgive me, Miss James, but decades of government work has made me doubt intentions. Why are you involved in this case?”
I chose my words carefully. “Her family and true friends have suffered thirty years of doubt. It’s time to put an end to it and expose her murderer to the consequences. Until we do so, my friends’ ambitions are roadblocked by General Bolivar who refuses to send his investigators in a timely manner and thus allows the wrong done against Sophia and everyone who cared for her to continue. How can I stand by and do nothing when it’s in my power to help?”
She must have liked my answer because a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips and her demeanor softened. “It is men such as the general who make the path of opportunity difficult for women like us — women who refuse to be intimidated by them; who will see a job done well despite the obstacles. I will do everything in my power to help you succeed in this investigation, Jessica. Sophia was my best student. Great things awaited her, and I consider it a grave injustice that her life was snuffed out before she could begin to explore her true potential. Her disappearance has weighed on me these thirty years, and I would like nothing more than to begin the next phase of my life before retirement at peace."
Relieved at the turn in our conversation (and that I hadn’t totally misjudged her character), I said, "Please tell us everything you remember about Sophia."
Miss Matty frowned. Clasping her hands together in her lap, she said, "She was a troubled girl, though she never spoke of her problems. She was the sort of girl to help her friends through their trials while suffering in silence. I called her into my office a few times. I told her that if she needed a friend, I would be there for her. I did what I could in my capacity as her teacher, but she never sought help."
“Do you know why she was so upset?" I asked.
Miss Matty cackled. "What is there not to be upset about at the age of seventeen? Sophia was dating the soccer star of our school. She was the girl everyone looked up to
and tried to imitate. As if that is not enough pressure for a teenage girl, rumor was there were problems at home as well. Her parents divorced shortly after her disappearance."
I wished people would stop calling what happened to Sophia a “disappearance.” Did it help them justify giving up on her search so easily? "Did you believe she ran away just like everyone else did?" Yeah, that came out snappier than I’d meant it to.
Shaking her head slowly, Miss Matty said, "I wanted so badly for her to be happy. It was easy to convince myself that she was better off wherever she was. It gave us a false sense of closure. We were fools. We ought to have known better." She breathed deeply, running her thumb across her nails. In a soft voice, she added, "There was a small part of me that could not accept Sophia would be so selfish as to disappear without a trace. When Shirley told me her body had been found, I was not surprised. I was ashamed."
Appeased, I asked, "Did she have any enemies? Anyone who might have benefited with her gone?"
She shook her head emphatically. "Everyone loved Sophia."
"What about her close friends? They were all in your study group together, weren't they? Did you notice any animosity or any changed feelings amongst them before graduation?"
The elevator door dinged as it opened, and Alex walked into the lobby. As soon as he saw us, he pivoted on his feet and turned in the opposite direction to the dining room.
Abuelita returned my confused look. Why would Alex purposely avoid us? He hadn't had any difficulty airing his suspicions the day before, though of everyone he voiced the most concern about my qualifications in investigating Sophia's murder (which, in all reality was probably sensible of him, though he certainly wouldn't hear that from me).
Miss Matty turned around to face Abuelita and me, and it occurred to me that perhaps it wasn't me Alex sought to avoid, but Miss Matty. The disapproval in her hardened eyes was plain to see, and there was a harshness to her tone when she finally answered my question. "I cannot say I witnessed any animosity amongst my study group members, however, I did notice increased tension toward the end of the second semester. It is a stressful time, though, so at the time, I didn't give it any further thought. But if there is anyone who knows if something happened, you should speak with Alex Acosta."
Before I could ask what she had against Alex and why Señora Cuesta was deserving of a restraining order, the familiar tune of George Thorogood’s guitar echoed through the lobby like a prophesy that we were on the cusp of doing something very “bad.”
Abuelita scrambled for her phone, saying, "Sorry, is family," as she finally managed to answer.
Miss Matty said aloud what I was thinking. "Appropriate ring tone."
I smiled and was about to continue to question her to give Abuelita some privacy when Abuelita squeaked, "You say what?!" in a voice loud enough for me to know our interview had come to an end — for now.
After a few seconds, Abuelita said, "We go. We be there ten minutes." She hadn’t shoved her phone back into her pocket before she was on her feet.
I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it was important, so I stood too.
"Rosa shipment here. Is more big to what we think," she said, taking a deep breath which apparently did not calm her like she needed as she continued to breathe deeply.
Miss Matty stood. Wrapping her hand around mine, she said, "I look forward to speaking with you again. If you have any more questions or if you think I can help you in any way, please do not hesitate to contact me. If I notice anything or remember something relevant, I will call you."
We exchanged numbers, and she walked with us the few steps to the opening sliding doors leading to the portico. A silver Porsche braked in front of us. A woman with a shellacked blonde blowout straightened her perfectly tailored blazer worn over a starched button-down shirt with a pointy collar before turning to us. Her abnormally puffy lips, straight nose, capped teeth, and conspicuous lack of wrinkles couldn’t erase the similarity to her daughter. She was Sophia's mom, Señora Cuesta.
A hotel employee with a luggage cart weaved around us and waited by the trunk. Without anything more than a glance at us, Señora Cuesta demanded, "Tell the manager of this hotel that I refuse to stay in the same establishment with that woman." She glared daggers at Miss Matty.
I glanced over my shoulder. Miss Matty stood with her feet planted widely and her arms crossed.
It was very much like a Wild West gunfight. And I was in the line of fire.
Chapter 16
As much as I wanted to help Tia Rosa with her stuff, I had to talk to Señora Cuesta first, but I didn’t want Abuelita to leave without her knowing my plans. Abuelita walked so fast, I had to jog to catch up.
Already breathless, she said, "Why you here? You stay talk with Señora Cuesta. I go help Rosa. Is curious why Señora Cuesta hate Señorita Matty. You ask. Go before she kill her and you no can ask. Go!"
"I don’t know why I bother,” I mumbled as I turned back to the hotel where the manager attempted to console both fuming women blocking the entrance to his lobby.
Señora Cuesta fished in her hot pink, crocodile Birkin bag that would’ve made my supermodel sister drool in envy. Not just anyone could afford a Hermès handbag, but I was more interested in its contents. Pressing against the hotel wall and looking for cover in case she pulled out a pistol, I crept closer to the woman while I questioned my sanity. Normal people avoided guns; they didn’t walk toward them.
I heaved relief when Señora Cuesta pulled out a black American Express card.
“Still flashing money around to get your way, I see,” Miss Matty said. Turning to the hotel manager, she said, “I have a restraining order against this woman. She has threatened me on several occasions.”
Señora Cuesta slammed her trunk shut. “That was thirty years ago, Matilda. You and I both know that your precious little document expired years ago, and as much as you flatter yourself to the contrary, I have no desire to spend any time in your company.” Handing her status-stating credit card to the manager, she said, “Give me your best room. Make sure it’s not in the same wing as her.”
She was an ice queen. A very rich ice queen who left a trail of Chanel No. 5 in her wake as the valet took her keys and she walked with the bellboy across the portico to the lobby.
Before she passed me, I emerged from behind a potted palm beside the glass doors. “Señora Cuesta, I’m Jessica James. I’m looking into the murder of your daughter.”
She looked me up and down. Annoyance crept up my spine. I was tired of being appraised.
“You may accompany me to my room, Miss James,” she said like I was a maid.
“What an honor. My pleasure, I’m sure,” I said, then nearly choked on my own spit when I realized I’d said my thoughts aloud.
Miss Matty winked at me, no doubt impressed by my sassy retort. I was horrified. Nice people didn’t say things like that. At least, not so people could hear them.
Five minutes later, I was seated in a suite larger than Adi’s apartment. Señora Cuesta helped herself to the bar, pouring herself a drink and offering me one (which I refused even though I could’ve used it).
“You may wonder why I’m looking into Sophia’s death,” I began, preparing to run through my credentials (or lack of) yet again.
“Miss James, I couldn’t care less. I got a call yesterday from Sylvia Jimenez telling me that you were there when my daughter’s body was found. I haven’t heard anything about my Sophia in thirty years, and the police could tell me nothing even when her case was active. If you can expose her killer, I don’t care if you’re nothing more than a tourist who bumbled into a crime scene.”
What could I say to that? I was just a tourist who’d bumbled into a crime scene. So, I told her where we had found Sophia. At her insistence, I showed her the pictures Abuelita had taken on my phone.
“I brought some of Sophia’s things so the police can match her DNA,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief as she handed my phone
back.
“Do you doubt it’s her?” I asked.
“It’s her. I’m certain of it. But I know the real investigators will want to run tests. Like you, I’m doing my best to expedite their process.”
Fair enough. Now it was my turn to ask questions. “Señora Cuesta, what do you have against Miss Matty?”
“She killed my daughter.”
Given the venom between those two ladies, I’d expected that reply. “Why do you say that?”
She swirled the glass in her tumbler and took a long drink. “She put ideas in her head; made her think she needed to study abroad; that settling down and having a family was somehow an abuse of her feminine rights,” she said with a scoff. Taking another drink and setting the glass on a coaster, she added, “Now, don’t you think it’s convenient that Sophia was invited to study at London just when she was murdered? Matilda was able to convince everyone that my girl had simply run away from home. She took delight in casting the blame on Sophia’s father and me. She never lost a chance to gloat.”
“Why would she want to kill Sophia? She described Sophia as her best student,” I said.
“Of course, she did. But that woman was up to no good. Everything was fine until she started teaching here, and then she picked up and left so quickly, I think she was running from what she’d done. She killed my Sophia. I know it.”
The tests. Luis had suggested that her students cheated on their entrance exams. What if Miss Matty had orchestrated it and Sophia had found out?
“What about Luis? He spent time in jail. Some considered him obsessive,” I said.
Señora Cuesta looked longingly at her drink. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, but she didn’t reach for the glass.
“Luis was a sweet boy. I always hoped Sophia would end up with him, but her father expected her to marry better. Marrying money isn’t all it’s set up to be,” she mumbled bitterly, losing the fight with her self-control and draining her glass with a pill worthy of a horse.
