by Becca Bloom
I pitied her, but I needed answers before she passed out on me.
“I talked to Luis. He’s seems like a really nice man,” I said.
“He’s from a good family. His father built the gas station and they’ve done well, but it wasn’t good enough for Sophia’s father. He preferred Antonio.”
“You didn’t like Antonio?”
Her head rested against the back of her chair, and I saw her visibly relax. I willed her not to fall asleep … for all the good that’d do. I knew what those pills did. Dad had used one once. I remembered.
“He was too self-absorbed for my Sophia. He would say something thoughtless and make her cry. Then, she would go running to Luis. He was a good friend to her. Her best friend since kindergarten,” she said, her words beginning to slur.
I was running out of time. “What about Diana? Wasn’t she Sophia’s best friend?”
Her eyes drooped and her head waved from side to side as if it was too heavy to hold upright. “It was expected. Diana’s from another wealthy family. It’s only natural for us to stick together, you know? They were good friends, but I think you can decide who was the better friend. After Sophia’s so-called ‘disappearance’ Diana couldn’t run to Antonio fast enough.”
Señora Cuesta’s eyes filled with tears. “You need to leave now,” she said.
I hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone. But when she started snoring, I tried to get out of my chair without making any noise.
Tiptoeing past Señora Cuesta, I yelped when her icy fingers gripped my forearm.
“Find her killer, Miss James. Promise me you will.” Desperation slurred her words more than the pill and liquor could.
My heart ached for her. It wasn’t difficult to say, “I promise I’ll do my best.”
Tears squeezed my throat, but I made it down to the receptionist with dry cheeks.
“Can you please check on Señora Cuesta over the next few hours? She’s really upset, and I can’t stay.”
I imagined the receptionist was used to dealing with difficult customers, but I saw panic cross her face at my request.
I added, “If she questions you, tell her I asked you to do it. Tell her that she’s important to my investigation, and if she wants my help, she’ll cooperate. I’ll call her in the morning.”
Add in the promise of a dozen of cream-filled strawberry doughnuts, the receptionist was convinced to check on Señora Cuesta personally. Feeling wretched, but knowing I’d done what I could, I finally left the hotel to help my friends.
Leaving the shade of the portico, I walked down the hotel’s drive grateful for my family. I couldn’t imagine having to face a child’s murder alone like Señora Cuesta. My family wasn’t perfect, but we were there for each other. They’d never give up looking for me if I disappeared. Of course, Uncle Eddie’s disappearance was different. There had been nothing to see according to the police. Not even a body.
Unease crept over me as I reached the curb. Had we given up too easily?
Tires screeched and a horn honked right in front of me. I jumped back, the cherry red paint of the car too close as I tripped over the curb into the gravel surrounding the hotel’s Welcome sign. The car that would have run me over raced by, its draft swishing over my skin.
Chapter 17
I brushed my scratched hands on my jeans. As if my muscles didn't hurt badly enough, I now had a tear in the knee of my favorite Levi’s and a bloody knee where I must have smacked it against the curb.
Looking up at the offending car, wanting to catch a glance of the idiot who had taken the corner too fast and had the nerve to honk me out of the way, I allowed myself a few moments to wallow in self-pity. It had been a crummy day … and it was still morning.
A man with a sweater draped loosely over his shoulders tossed the keys of his sports car to the valet before he had even closed his car door. There was a woman with a floral headscarf with him. She waited until the valet opened her door to get out. Neither of them looked back at me to apologize or see if I was okay after they had nearly run me over. Their arrogance made my blood boil.
"What jerks!" I said aloud. I didn’t even care if anyone heard me. In fact, on the off chance anyone cared to hear my opinion (and understand it), I repeated in Spanish, “Estúpidos!” I could hardly believe the words coming out of my own mouth, being as allergic to confrontation as I had been for my entire life. I blamed my sudden boldness on the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. It's not every day a person nearly gets run over by a couple of yuppies in a convertible. I looked down at my shaking fingers. It was definitely the adrenaline talking.
I bent over and rested my hands on my knees, trying to calm my racing pulse and the trembling overtaking my limbs. I poked at the new hole in the knee of my favorite jeans, trying to decide if I should try to patch it or leave it be. Vintage 501's were not easy to find.
A Trans Am drove by, blasting “Bad to the Bone” from the speakers. Quick as a bolt of lightning, I dove behind the hotel sign so Christian wouldn’t see me. With the day I was having, I’d say something I’d later regret if he tried to hit on me again. The guy just didn’t know how to take “NO!” for an answer, believing himself to be God’s gift to women.
Abuelita’s ringtone! I needed to get back to the restaurant fast. I’d been gone too long already.
Waiting until Christian was out of view, I hobbled down the street, ignoring the stabs piercing my leg every time the coarse fabric of my jeans brushed across my knee.
I was trying hard not to be irritated, so when I saw the Creepy Suits lurking under the shade of an avocado tree two blocks away from Adi's apartment and her first aid kit, I openly glared at them. I practically dared them to approach me about my dog again.
They had more sense than I had given him credit for because they stayed put. Their presence made me determined to find out what I could about them. I’d start with where they lived. I wasn't certain what good it would do to check out their house, but as I had learned from Tia Rosa's remodel, it could contain something important. Of course, they could also live in a boring house that would tell me nothing, but at the moment it was all I had. Anything to keep Lady safe.
The restaurant was within view, and I had just returned my focus in front of me after checking to see if the Creepy Couple were still by their tree when I saw Abuelita step out of the restaurant and pause to catch her breath on the street corner. Her face was beet red and she lugged a dolly behind her.
Adi, who was walking toward the restaurant from the direction of the bus terminal, waved at me as she hastened to Abuelita.
Forgetting my discomfort, I raced to join them.
Adi looked at me in concern. "What happened to you?"
I instinctively smoothed down my hair and ran my fingers over my face.
“You cut,” Abuelita said, pointing at my knee and motioning to a road burn on my arm I hadn’t noticed before. Now that I saw it, it hurt worse than my leg.
"Some idiot tried to run me over. I’m so sorry it took me so long to get back here."
Abuelita’s forehead furled. "They run over you about the investigation?"
I answered confidently, "No. It couldn't be. I haven't met whomever was driving the car. It’s probably just another bad driver," I said aloud. Of which Ecuador seems to have in abundance, I thought to myself. Not that I should judge, having given up my Honda Accord the year before for a bicycle before the Department of Motor Vehicles could take my license away from me.
“You know who kill Sophia?” Abuelita tapped her foot and looked at me expectantly, making me feel like I should have sorted all the clues out by now and handed over Sophia's murderer to General Bolivar — with enough evidence that he couldn't back out of the deal we had made.
"Abuelita, we only found Sophia yesterday. I don't think it's reasonable to expect Jess to solve a crime nobody even knew existed for thirty years in one day. Cut her a little bit of slack, okay?" Adi said.
"No is time for to be patient. Yo
u lose business. Rosa, she finally do brave thing and she be punish. We all be punish." She looked up at Adi, challenging her to deny the truth of her words.
There was no denying them. Unless we could solve the mystery to the general’s satisfaction (not an easy feat given his attitude against me), all of my friends would suffer. As for me, the image of them downtrodden and discouraged would haunt me as I returned to my easy life. There was no way I could leave them like this.
Adi shook her head and rolled her eyes at Abuelita. Pulling out her keys, she continued to the side door leading to the garden behind the restaurant and opened it for me. "First, clean and bandage your cuts. Then, if you can, join us at the bus terminal."
Adi took the dolly from Abuelita and, together, they headed back down the street in the direction of the bus station.
"How will I see you?" I asked before they were out of hearing range.
"Oh, you'll see us." With that reassurance, Adi turned and walked away with Abuelita.
I made sure Lady’s water bowl was full before I went up the stairs to the apartment. It was a hot day and she lay lazily in her shady spot under the water tank, her ears up and her eyes watching my every movement. I briefly considered letting her into the apartment, but then she wouldn't have so much room to move around or any breeze to cool her.
Ruffling the fur between her ears and getting a lick on my wrist as a reward for my attention, I left Lady to prepare for a long day of more manual labor.
Even before cleaning my knee, I pulled out my bullet journal, scribbling every thought … whether it was relevant and important or not … down on the pages.
After a few minutes of frantic writing, I poured peroxide on my knee (Can you say, “OUCH!”?), and scrounged for bandages in Adi’s understocked medicine cabinet. Then I remembered. She kept her Band-Aids with her sewing kit — cuts and jabs being an occupational hazard of a seamstress. I settled for the Hello Kitty Band-Aid I found stuck between the shelf and the back of the cabinet, placing it over the worst of my cut and setting out in search of Tia Rosa.
Bus drivers surrounded a semi occupying most of their parking space. They shouted and gestured between the highway running the length of town and their buses while their fares peeked out of their windows at the heated dispute below them.
In the middle of it all was Tia Rosa.
Chapter 18
"I no think to be so much," explained Tia Rosa. We stood between the cab and the long semi-trailer swallowing up the bus station’s parking lot.
"Why can't the truck park closer to your building?" I knew the answer as soon as I asked the question. The streets of Baños were not built for semis. They were narrow and mostly one-way.
A smiling man with glistening, caramel skin reached his hand out to greet me. "Did you come to help us unload?" he asked, his smile growing wider. Gosh, he was happy … and extremely good at ignoring the complaints of the bus drivers surrounding us.
Tia Rosa grimaced as if the sight of his toothy grin brought her pain.
Mr. Smiles wrapped his arm around Tia Rosa’s shoulders, saying, "Tia Rosa has been my mother's friend for many years. She and Abuelita helped me establish my import business, and now, I don't know how I will ever repay her kindness."
Had I not been watching Tia Rosa closely, I might have missed hearing her groan. She, of course, turned her frown upside down before Mr. Smiles saw she was anything but pleased with their business.
He continued, blissfully unaware of the Tia Rosa’s distress. "Thanks to her generosity, I finally get to take my family for a vacation in Florida. My children are excited to visit Disney World for the first time." As an aside, he leaned toward me to add, "They each drew their favorite cartoon in their ‘Thank you’ notes for Tia Rosa."
When Tia Rosa groaned again as she held up the plastic bag she usually carried with her. Through the plastic, I saw uneven, pink mouse ears.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the melee while the truck driver joined Adi, Abuelita, and Sylvia at the back of the trailer before Tia Rosa lost what control she had.
Hiding away on the other side of the truck’s cab facing the road, I asked, "What's going on?"
Tia Rosa rubbed her hand over her fluffy, purple hair and pushed her glasses up her nose. "He think I pay full amount by the end of the week. Is enormous mistake! And now," she poked at the letters in the bag she held, "I no can tell him I no can pay. I must go to the bank and I pray the loan approve very soon or I disappoint the childrens."
“How much do you owe?” I asked, prepared to contribute what I had, confident she’d pay me back when she could.
Her owlish eyes blinked up at me. “Twenty thousand dollar,” she said, hiding her face behind her hands.
There were no words. I did my best to hide my shock so as not to add to Tia Rosa’s misery. I wrapped my arms around her, because all I could do was offer a hug (and a few hundred dollars — a speck of dust in the bucket) and the sincere wish that everything would turn out okay.
The money was a problem, but so was the semi parked in the buses’ lot. There was nowhere else for it to go, and we had nothing more than a few dollies and our own strength to empty the long trailer. It was a lot more than we had anticipated.
A large, black SUV honked its horn and turned at the end of the block to park along the side of the road marked “No Parking”. Ah, the privileges of a detective. Normally, that car filled me with dread, but today, I was thrilled to see it. Agent Washington Vasquez (or Washo to his friends, which I was so long as I hadn't stumbled across another recently murdered body) left his reflective, aviator sunglasses on as he prowled over to us. His thick shoulders poised in an assertive posture and a scowl emphasizing the scar running across his cheek gave him an imposing image. The growing mob of unhappy bus drivers dispersed within seconds.
"Good. Reinforcements," I said, hoping Washo’s scowl wasn’t meant to include me. He could hardly be angry at me for poking into a cold case. Could he?
Tia Rosa took a deep breath and pushed up the sleeves of her light knit, embroidered sweater. "Okay. Is okay. First thing, we get rid of the stuff, we get rid of the truck. Now no is time for to worry. Is time for to work."
She marched down the length of the trailer, her determination marked with every squeak of her padded, orthopedic shoes. My t-shirt didn’t have sleeves to roll up, so I cracked my knuckles, rocked my head from side to side, and braced my already sore muscles for another round of “How-much-can-she-lift-before-her-arms-go-numb?” It was a game I played a lot lately.
I was thrilled to learn that Washo had, indeed, shown up to lend a hand. He was a cool guy. Of course, it helped that Sylvia had called to ask him for help. Washo looked at her like Luis looked at Sophia’s picture.
The tropical climate conspired against us, depriving us of much needed shade as well as a cooling breeze.
We worked through lunch, stuffing heavy boxes of ceramic tiles, a cumbersome crystal chandelier marked fragile, several glass panes we would have to insert in the wood display cases, as well as every tool of the trade necessary to the mixing, rising, frying, and decorating of hundreds — if not thousands — of doughnuts. It was a pity there wasn't space enough to set up the shop in time for the event on Sunday. My fingers practically itched to put everything to work and see my dream bakery come to life. I just hoped I was still here when it was ready so I could take pictures to show Mammy.
Tia Rosa would not be persuaded to show Mr. Smiles his mistake even though Abuelita insisted she did him no favors by not drawing it to his attention. Her repeated arguments being: How you have twenty thousand dollar by the end of the week? (It was already Thursday.) Why you spend you money to fix the shop when there be a dead body in the middle of the floor?
Those were only some of the arguments I happened to hear, and of which I was certain there were many more.
It took a few hours of back busting, hand blistering labor, but we eventually sent the truck driver happily on his way home to plan his
vacation with his family.
Exhausted, I returned to Sylvia's kitchen. We all sat around the island, too tired to even talk. Tia Rosa poured tall glasses of passion fruit juice. It was the best juice I could ever recall drinking.
Abuelita fished a couple of meaty bones out of the soup pot, putting them in a bowl, and placing them just outside the screened door for Lady.
Sylvia's assistant cook ladled generous portions of rice covered with thick chunks of meat in a spicy red sauce that sent my salivary glands into overdrive. I was so hungry, I didn't even taste the first three bites. Given the silence surrounding the table, I wasn't the only one.
Just as I was about to compliment Sylvia's delicious meat dish, the phone rang. Everyone looked at me.
Setting my fork down begrudgingly, I slid off my stool.
Before the phone could ring again, Abuelita grabbed it, motioning for me to sit back down and finish my meal.
She leaned against the wall and listened for a couple minutes — long enough for me to believe the call wasn't for me and for my mind to wander back to Sophia.
"You no can be her uncle. How you uncle when I speak English more good than you, eh?" Abuelita hung up the phone before the person on the other end could offer an explanation.
"No say ‘more good’, Bertha. You say ‘better’," Tia Rosa corrected.
Abuelita gestured to the wall in frustration. "That man no know the different. These people they call, they estúpido. They think we estúpido and we give them the reward." She looked at me. "I sorry, Jessica. I want for to help, but I make problem."
I couldn't blame Abuelita for trying when there was nothing I wanted more for me and my family than to learn if my Uncle Eddie had really died in the plane crash all those years ago. More than the heartache the calls caused, I loved Abuelita for trying to help me get some answers. "Your heart was in the right place. Thank you for trying."
