by Becca Bloom
With a final, firm squeeze, she turned and walked down the hall toward her room.
Tia Rosa was still talking with the manager, but I needed a break from the hotel. The ceiling fans swirled the tension through the room.
Diana stepped in front of me before the sliding doors could open. She had expertly applied her makeup, but there was no disguising the red in her eyes and the swelling in her nose.
"He didn't do it," she said.
I watched a group of teachers point at her, whispering amongst themselves and widening the distance between themselves and the wife of the man arrested for poisoning Alex and Shirley, and quite possibly killing his ex-girlfriend. Well, at least we didn't have to worry about anyone overhearing our conversation. Their prejudice lent us privacy.
Diana continued, pleading, "Please. I know we didn't get off on the best foot, but please help us. He didn't do it. Any of it."
He may not have killed anyone, but I was peeved at him for his involvement in canceling Tia Rosa's loan. That couldn't have come from anyone but him.
"Antonio has done everything possible to make himself look guilty. Your room is next to Alex's, and do you not find it in the least bit convenient that the same poison used to kill Alex was also used to poison Shirley? How did it end up in your room unless Antonio — or you, for that matter — had something to do with it?"
"I don't know how it got there, but you have to believe me. We didn't do it," she insisted.
On a roll, I crossed my arms defensively and asked, with perhaps a bit more attitude than required, "What do you have to say about his pathetic attempt to revenge himself against two innocent, elderly women who were only trying to help?" Okay, now that was stretching it by a lot, but I continued, "He canceled a loan just to get back at an old woman. What kind of a loser does that against a defenseless senior citizen? And he’s a bad driver to boot."
It felt good to get that off of my chest. I didn't know what kind of a reaction I expected from Diana, but I was ready for it.
"Loan? What loan?” she asked incredulously.
Well, I hadn’t been ready for that.
Diana added, “Look, my husband isn't perfect. A bad decision he made — that I made too — has haunted us for the last thirty years. He's beat himself up enough over it, working doubly hard to prove himself as a sort of punishment for cheating on a test he didn't need in the first place. Did you know that for the past twenty-five years, he’s run a scholarship program for underprivileged kids?”
I hadn’t known that.
Diana continued, “He and Sophia were on the verge of a breakup, but he has never expressed bitterness or anger against her. He tried to find her. In fact, that's what brought us together," her voice wavered. Clasping her hands together and looking down at them, she said, "I miss her. I should have listened to her. Maybe she would still be alive if I had been as good of a friend to her as she was to me."
Either she was an amazing actress or she was absolutely sincere. It was really hard for me to continue to be angry at someone so downcast.
When she looked up from her hands and a tear dripped off the tip of her chin, I didn't have it in me to refuse her when she asked, "Please? Will you help us?"
Now I felt bad for attacking her husband and implying her involvement in the recent crimes committed, but I still had to remain on my guard. If Antonio wasn't responsible, it meant that the killer was still a large, and the best lead I had had since discovering Sophia hadn't answered his phone despite my dozens of calls.
"I'll do what I can," I promised. It was all I could do anyway.
Tia Rosa finally joined me, and we made our way back to the restaurant where a celebratory breakfast of doughnuts awaited us. Only, the closer we got to the restaurant, the less I felt like celebrating. I felt awful. The gala was only three hours away, and I was convinced despite all logic and proof to the contrary that Antonio was innocent.
There's nothing quite so comforting as the smell of fried dough and melted sugar, especially when it was enjoyed with friends (and our honored guests Washo and Luis), but it's effects on me were limited as Washo told us how Antonio had confessed to cheating on the test as well as not paying a few outstanding driving tickets, but he had yet to confess to any involvement in Sophia's murder or the poisonings. He insisted he had nothing to do with it.
Abuelita dismissed doubt with a wave of her hand. "The boy like Antonio they never get in trouble. They think they can do anything."
Washo replied, "That may be so. There is enough evidence against Antonio that if presented in court, he would most definitely be found guilty."
Was it just me, or did Washo not sound completely convinced either? I watched him as I picked through the selection of doughnuts for my new berry crumble creation.
Luis raised his doughnut in a toast. “I’m just glad you got to him before I did, or I’d be heading to jail too. Here’s to justice. It was about time.”
Taking a big bite, I savored the gooey goodness as it melted in my mouth and made my taste buds do the happy dance.
Tia Rosa brightened at the prospect of having the property released, even though she no longer had the funds to purchase it. If I knew her at all, though, she would find a way. And I’d help her.
Still having one more chance to do right by Sophia and my friends, I slipped away to Adi's apartment and tried Marcelo Mendez’s number again.
"Alo?" a deep, smooth baritone answered. He had the voice of a radio announcer, and I instantly panicked. What if he didn't speak English? What if I had dialed the wrong number and I was on the radio? I hadn't embarrassed myself on the news or in a video this week, so I was about due…
"Um, hello? Is this Mr. Marcelo Mendez, the architect?"
He answered, "Yes, I am he. How may I help you, Miss…?"
Oh, duh. I'd forgotten introduce myself. "My name is Jessica James. I'm a friend of the woman who recently purchased the first building you designed and built in Baños."
He chuckled. "I hope your friend fares better than I did with that building. It caused me more grief to finish than any other project I've done."
The conversation was off to an interesting start. "Well, actually, we found a teenage girl buried under the concrete."
I got an image of him gaping wide-mouthed on the other end of the line as the silence stretched between us.
I asked, "You said that the project was difficult. Do you mind elaborating on that a little bit? Any information you can provide us might help us find out who was responsible for putting her there."
"Sure. It wasn't so much the project itself, but one of my workers. He came recommended to me by a trusted friend, so I signed him on as foreman when we began construction. It started out fine. He was a good worker and kept all the other men on schedule. I don't know what happened, but he changed. He started showing up late for work drunk or hung over."
Trying to see some sort of helpful connection, I asked, "What was his name?"
"Angel Solis."
The name sounded familiar. Crossing over to the dining room table, I flipped open the yearbook Mayor Guerra had left with me.
As I flipped through the pages, Señor Mendez continued, "You know, it's odd. I got a call two or three days ago asking about the same thing."
I looked up from the yearbook, my finger on top of the picture of Shirley Solis. "Really? Who called?" My heart started beating faster.
"Mr. Acosta. He said he went to school with Angel’s daughter. I remember the call because that took me by surprise. I didn't think Angel had any children, otherwise I would have tried to keep him on longer."
"Daughter?" I didn't know who was lying. Could Alex have been bluffing, or had Shirley lied about her family? There was one way to find out. "Do you know how I can contact Señor Solis?"
I ran into my room to grab a pen and my journal, but only made it to my doorway when Señor Mendez said, "You can't. He died several years ago. Drank himself to death if you ask me."
I thanked Seño
r Mendez for his time and the information and pulled out my computer to do an Internet search of Angel Solis. After thirty frustrated minutes and way too many hits on my search, I closed my laptop. Not knowing anything other than his name, I had no other way to limit my search. Apparently, Angel Solis was an extremely common name.
The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Angel Solis was an important clue. Shaking with adrenaline as I went back downstairs, I peeled Abuelita away from Washo. She was riding high on sugar and triumph, and was offering her investigative services for a reasonable fee to the department.
Sylvia attended to her customers while Tia Rosa and Adi huddled together, no doubt planning how they could pay for the building without the benefit of the loan while Luis weighed in on their ideas between doughnut bites.
Pulling Washo into a corner, I told him about my conversation with Marcelo Mendez. He was a smart guy, but just in case he didn't draw the same conclusions I had, I finished with, "If Shirley really was his daughter, she has been lying this whole time about who she is and where she came from."
Washo moved his jaw from side to side, then said, "If her father was a construction worker, he would not have had enough money to send her to university. Unlike her classmates, she would’ve needed a full scholarship."
“If she was ambitious enough to lie about her situation, I bet she lied about cheating on the test too. She might have been desperate enough to kill Sophia if she threatened to reveal the group’s secret. She stood to lose everything.” A motive.
If Alex had found out her secret, he could've exposed her as the murderer. It was a lot of "ifs" but too many pieces were lining up and falling into place for us not to consider it a possibility. And we were running out of time.
Still mulling the facts over, Washo said absently, "We need to keep this quiet until I can probe into it further. I have a guy in research who can find out where Shirley is from." He'd already pulled out his cell phone and was tapping at the screen.
I blatantly listened to his end of the conversation, worried the search would take too long.
Securing his phone back on his belt, he said, "I'd better go to the station. If Angel Solis was so much trouble, I bet he has a record that’ll help us identify him.”
Hurriedly thanking Abuelita and Sylvia for the breakfast, Washo left. I hoped we had enough time.
Abuelita, Tia Rosa, and Adi argued in a huddle while Sylvia dealt with the influx of breakfast customers. I joined their group when I noticed that Washo wasn’t the only guest to have gone.
"Where's Luis?" I asked, my stomach starting to churn.
Adi looked around like she’d just now noticed he was gone. "He must’ve left. Strange that he didn’t say anything."
Abuelita looked around, surprised, and my skin prickled all over. Luis had heard me talk about Shirley. Luis, who was bent on justice, who had been unable to save the girl he loved, now had the information he needed to avenge Sophia. Way to go, Jessica.
Abuelita grumbled, "I nice. I invite for to breakfast and he no say nothing. He just leave."
She continued complaining, but I was already running out of the restaurant. There was no time. I only hoped I could stop Luis before he did something stupid — like kill Shirley.
Chapter 29
I ran to the clinic, drenched wet with sweat and humidity by the time I got there and pushing myself to go faster when a stream of screaming patients and nurses burst through the doors. Shouts of "Está loco!" echoed in my ears as I weaved through them.
I didn't have to consult my Spanish-English dictionary to know what that meant. Luis had done something crazy enough to evacuate the four-story building.
The guard was too preoccupied to notice me pushing my way through the evacuating crowd. Climbing up three flights of stairs, my heart feeling like it would burst through my ribs from the surge of adrenaline and lack of oxygen, I had to pause or pass out. I heard voices, but I couldn’t hear anything they said over the gasps of my own breath.
Directly in front of me was an abandoned nurses’ station and the names of their patients with their room number listed on a whiteboard. Shirley was in room 304.
I left the safety of the stairwell and crossed a small waiting room with plastic chairs to go down the hall. I heard Luis’ voice before I saw Shirley’s room number and followed it to them.
Extremely aware of the squeak of my sneakers against the linoleum floor, I slipped them off and inched toward the door to peek in.
Luis clutched a gun between both hands. There was a strange calm about him as he pointed the dangerous end of the barrel at Shirley. Curiosity and not a little bit of terror kept me rooted in place with one eye focused on the interior of the medical suite. It was like when people slowed down as they drove by an accident, hoping not to see any blood but riveted to the scene nonetheless. That was me.
Luis stood in front of the window facing me. Our eyes met and I yelped, ducking behind the door and smacking my hand over my mouth.
Luis said, "Just who I was waiting for. Now that the detective is here, you and me are gonna have a little talk."
I peered forward again. Talking was good. Anything to keep him from firing that gun. Taking courage (but still keeping the bulk of myself behind the casement because I wasn’t estúpida), I took a step from behind the doorway.
Maybe I had watched one too many crime shows, but it didn't seem to be the smartest move for Luis to stand right in front of a window where a sniper could take him out. Then again, a small town like Baños wouldn't have a resident sniper. Or would it? Abuelita had AK-47s in her spare room….
Luis’ eyes never left Shirley as he instructed, "I'm sure General Bolivar would love to hear this." Maybe my intense focus made me see things, but I could've sworn that Luis winked at me. He had a plan.
Oh, how I wished I’d called Washo before barging into the clinic.
I was convinced Louise was up to something, but I wasn't one hundred percent sure he wouldn't kill Shirley then and there. She made an easy target, connected to dripping IVs, tied at the wrists, and as pale as her bedsheets.
Not having much of an option, I hit record.
Luis said, "You killed Sophia, didn't you?"
Shirley pinched her lips into a straight line and kept silent.
"Why did you do it?" Luis persisted.
Again, she didn't answer.
Luis shoved the gun at her, raising his voice, "Why did you do it?"
Shirley must have been as terrified as I was because she finally spoke. "You don't understand. She was going to ruin everything I'd worked so hard for. She was rich and privileged. She had no idea what it was like to be poor, with no means to improve."
So the rich, plantation family from the coast had been an act.
"You didn't have to kill her." Luis’ knuckles tightened around the cold metal of his gun.
"She was going to take everything away from me when my dream was within reach! Do you know how hard it was to hide the fact that I lived in a one-room cinder block house and that my father was nothing but an illiterate construction worker barely making minimum wage? I had to borrow nice clothes from the popular girls without anyone realizing I had nothing to lend to them. I had to show up at everyone else's parties without raising eyebrows when I never invited my friends over to my house."
"Why go to the trouble?" asked Luis.
Her bitterness stood in stark contrast to the bubbly personality she had created for herself. "Opportunity favors the rich. It got me into Miss Matty’s study group and into the best university in the country. Appearances are everything, and I gave no reasons for anyone to doubt me."
In a low voice, Luis said, "Until Sophia threatened to reveal the cheating scheme."
"I needed that scholarship."
"You arranged to meet her at the constructions site where your dad worked?" Luis asked, leading her on.
She scoffed. "Just because I lied about my past and cheated on the stupid test proves nothing. You have
nothing."
Luis cocked the trigger, saying in a level calm that set my anxiety on fire, "I loved Sophia. I've already gone to jail for her once. I have no qualms in going again if it means that I brought her murderer to justice." He turned his wrist and looked at his watch. "You have one minute. I suggest you come clean before I end your miserable life."
Shirley swallowed hard. "Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you, just don’t shoot. Yeah, I killed Sophia. I hit her over the head with a shovel. My dad helped me bury her."
I gasped in shock. I had been right about her, but it still pained me to hear how easily she’d snuffed out a so-called friend’s life.
Luis asked, "And Alex?"
I held up my phone, making sure my fingers were still clear of the speakers.
"I poisoned him when he put two and two together and attempted to blackmail me."
"What about Antonio and Diana? Did they have any involvement in this?"
Shirley scoffed. "No way. They couldn't have handled the pressure. They made the perfect scapegoat, though. Never did like them."
"Miss Matty?"
"She's too much of a do-gooder. She prided herself on her ambitions,” she said mockingly, “but she didn’t understand the true meaning of the word. If I hadn't helped myself, I never would have gotten where I am."
Luis must have read my thoughts, because he said, "In a clinic with a gun pointed at your head? You’re real smart, Shirley."
Laughing at a time like this was completely inappropriate, but I had to bite my tongue and hold my breath to keep from snickering.
Luis opened the chamber of his gun. It was empty. Laying the harmless weapon out of reach of Shirley's tied hands, he said, "If you had half the brain Sophia had, you would have known the gun wasn't loaded. Did you get everything, Señorita James?"
My faith in Luis restored, I finally stepped out from behind the concrete wall just as I heard someone rumbling up the stairs. It was Washo. His disappointment in seeing me at his crime scene was lessened when I rewound the recording to play Shirley saying, "Yeah, I killed Sophia," as plain as anything.
