by Bryn Bauer
Damn, Sofia thought. She had made a conscious effort to keep her expression neutral. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I just have a few negative memories associated with red dresses.” She offered a smile to cover the moment.
“Don’t hand me that line my girl”, scolded Helena. “I’ve seen that look on others before. Whatever memories or associations you have are not merely ‘negative’. Also, Quint tells me you’re a strong woman and from what I’ve seen so far I believe him. So that means you’re not prone to swoon over nothing. Out with it.”
Sofia didn’t want to share this information with a potential employer but what could she do? She couldn’t very well say “It’s none of your business, you busybody”.
Helena radiated kindness, but she meant business and wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. Sofia decided on the truth but offered the short version. “My mother died when I was fifteen. She was wearing a red gown on the night she died. I’ve never worn the color. As you can imagine, I have a bit of an aversion.”
“I see, very understandable. And, forgive me for saying, but I gather it wasn’t expected like from an illness. Heart attack?”
“Suicide.”
Helena patted her arm and gathered the dress to return to the rack. Then casually said, “Quint mentioned that you don’t get on with your father.” Helena turned and gave Sofia a probing look. “You blame him.” It wasn’t a question and Helena didn’t pause for confirmation, but selected the same dress in a beautiful persimmon shade. Sofia went to the dressing room, grateful for a few moments of privacy.
The night came back to her in a flood. Lorena Koury crumpled on the floor of her boudoir, eyes staring. Rayan Koury, standing stern-faced and shooing Sofia out of the room. Her father had never talked about what happened, not to her anyway. Nor did he even seem particularly upset about it. She sighed. Many would consider her former life to be “privileged”. ‘What a perversion of the truth’ thought Sofia. Her family had money, yes. She had clothes and cars and status, but nothing else. Love, purpose, free will, none of those things came with a trust fund. The night her mother died, Sofia vowed to escape her golden shackles and never go back.
Sofia pulled herself together and emerged from the dressing room to look in the mirror.
“Stunning!” Helena raved. Sofia had to agree. While this was the type of dress she wore in her old life, she felt completely different. Looking at herself, she saw none of the old doubt or resentment. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed with the anticipation of adventure. It was an effect which was only highlighted by the vibrancy of the dress. Sofia saw other shoppers in the store admiring her. She realized that far from putting her on display, Helena sought to give her a helping hand at the party. It would be less work for Sofia if people noticed her and sought her out rather than if she had to break into cliquish conversations. And, this dress would certainly draw attention. The clothes she had brought with her were elegant, but none would have had this effect.
“You look wonderful.” Helena said, beaming.
“Thank you. You certainly have an eye for fashion.”
“I admit it’s one of my weaknesses. I never had the opportunity to dress a young woman, so this is a treat.”
“Not even yourself or your family?”
Helena’s smile didn’t disappear but lessened somewhat. “No, we never had children. And I didn’t have any of this type of lifestyle until my early forties. By then my body was considerably further south than this dress would allow.” Helena laughed but Sofia sensed something melancholy behind it.
Changing back into her skirt and blouse, Sofia peeked through the silk curtain to see Helena looking off into space. Sofia noted with sympathy that it was not only she who must kept the past at bay.
Sofia and Helena spent a pleasant day hunting for the rest of Sofia’s ensemble, shoes, jewelry and clutch, a gorgeous peacock green Prada, before stopping for a late lunch at a small Cuban restaurant on Calle Ocho and returning to the yacht.
Upon their return, they found Joe and Quint deep in conversation in the living room. As they entered, Joe began rolling up maps and shutting down the laptop. Quint rose and said, “It looks like you two had a successful trip. Here let me help you with those”, reaching for the bags and boxes in Sofia’s arms.
“Thanks, let’s just put them in my cabin. Helena, I’ll see you in a bit, thank you so much for your help today.” Helena nodded and Sofia turned toward the passageway.
After Quint placed the items on her bed, he turned. “Did you have a good time?”
She rounded on Quint. “How could you have told them about my mother? How did you know she died?”
He sighed, “Look, I’m sorry but these folks are very private and don’t take people on unless they know everything about them, and I mean everything. Family, friends, enemies, everything. I promise that they won’t hold it against you, they just need to know. Everyone has dirty laundry.” Sofia cocked an eyebrow. She briefly wondered about what his dirty laundry would reveal. She forced her mind away from that line of thought. It had been a long day and she didn’t have the energy to contemplate it. She lowered the eyebrow and replied.
“Well, now they really know everything. I was basically forced to tell Helena about my mother’s suicide.” Quint didn’t say anything but he briefly put a hand on her arm sending a surge of electricity through her, at odds with the anger she felt.
She continued her tone softened “Quint, the reason I moved to Charleston was to get away from all that and now I have to relive it.”
He shook his head. “Well, I understand if you want to call it quits with the interview and go back to Charleston, but, I hope you’ll stay through this evening. We really need your help.”
Sofia thought of the freedom she felt earlier. “No, I don’t want to leave, but I want to know what else you told them. I can’t handle any more surprises like that.”
“I think that’s most of it or the worst of it anyway. Are you ready for tonight?”
Sofia allowed the change of subject. “No, but at least I’ll look good while failing miserably.”
He gave a crooked grin. “In two years, I’ve never seen that happen to you.”
She returned the smile. “First time for everything.” Then her face took on a more focused look. “Seriously, what tactics can I use tonight? I feel like I’m going in blind.”
“Sofia, believe me when I say that all four of us are going in blind when it comes to the Caracciola. Joe, Helena and I have some people we need to talk to about funding and operational support, but you know just as much about the car as we do.”
“But…”
Quint cut across her. “Sofia, this isn’t some classroom exam where the professor has the answer key in the desk drawer. This is a real assignment with real consequences.”
“Thanks, and here I thought you were supposed to be here for support.”
“I am, and part of that is being honest with you about the situation. I know you can do this.” His confidence in her soothed her frustration.
“What will be your job tonight? You just said something about funding.”
“Right. When you’ve located the car, we need capital to acquire and transport it.”
Sofia felt utterly ridiculous, of course they weren’t going to drive a priceless, one of a kind car through the streets of Miami and park it at the harbor. They would need a secure transport and a storage facility with very particular climate controls.
Quint continued. “And your job, in addition to finding the location, is to be charming.”
That comment raised Sofia’s hackles again. “You mean I’m there as decoration?”
“Not only decoration, but that can be valuable in itself.” He saw her glare intensify and hurried on. “Look, entertaining clients is part of every lawyer’s job. Do you know how many times I’ve been chosen to wine and dine female donors to secure funding for the law school? I’m not bragging, I’m the only male faculty member under fifty.” She r
elaxed; she knew he was right even if she didn’t like it.
“Better let me rest and get ready then. We have to leave in two hours.”
Cocktails would start at eight and she wanted time to rest and prepare for the evening. Donning a sea green dressing gown, she drew the blackout curtains against the dancing light of Biscayne Bay and despite her apprehension with the task before her, fell asleep.
FIVE
Sofia accepted a glass of crisp Pinot Grigio in the lush courtyard of Brisas del Mar, the 6,000 square foot home of their host, Roberto Aldama. She stood back to get her bearings and observed that this gathering was different than most she attended with her family which were always quiet and serious. Here, she moved through the vivacious swirl of color and light feeling energized by it. The other guests greeted her warmly and greeted each other with cries of hello and kisses on the cheek. Very different, she thought. Sofia saw a number of heads turn toward her, both male and female, with appraising then approving looks.
Quint leaned in at her side. “Tactic number one.” He said it with a significant look at her dress. “It’s already working.” Sofia rapped him playfully on the arm with her clutch and moved off, pleased. Earlier, Joe and Helena recommended that she take a turn around the party to get her bearings before starting conversation and she began to move around the perimeter of the gathering.
Though a large house, most people chose to stand cheek –by- jowl in the courtyard or entryway and Sofia was amazed nobody had yet passed out from the heat though having most guests in a central location made it easier for her to keep track of who arrived. Sofia found herself engaged in several conversations during the cocktail hour prior to dinner. All of them interesting, but none yielded additional insight into the Caracciola’s whereabouts.
At dinner she was seated at a long rough wooden table. Her dinner partner, Felipe Moreno, saw her admiring the wood and said in a Spanish tinged tone, “The wood was salvaged from a pre-war church in Cuba. This wood comprised parts of several of the church’s doors.” Sofia didn’t have to pretend to be impressed. Judging from the size and craftsmanship of this wood, the church must have been very grand.
“World War II?” Sofia asked.
“No, Castro’s revolution. It’s not considered a war for any but those who were there for it like Roberto and myself.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Castro’s new regime was disassembling the church stone by stone to build his residence.”
“It’s beautiful, but how did he get all of this out of the country?” She gestured at the table that seated twenty people, half of those in attendance for dinner.
“His family used it to escape from Cuba. The church was in the middle of the island where there were only a few campesinos, country folk as you say. They and another family worked through the night to take the wood out of the church and build a raft. Fifteen people on this table. So, in this case the word ‘salvage’ refers to the people, not the wood.”
The man on Sofia’s left spoke up. His high Anglo voice cutting across Moreno. “You don’t believe that story do you? I heard he made it up to get sympathy from the old Cuban crowd in Miami.” Moreno’s nostrils flared in disgust.
“Don’t be ridiculous Clarke. Aldama wouldn’t do that. Anyway, his relatives tell the same story and with that many people, it would be virtually impossible to keep the details straight over the years if it were a lie.”
Sofia felt the tension and decided to move the conversation forward. “What a fascinating escape. But, how did they make it ashore without being caught? It seems unlikely that they could sneak out of Cuban waters with that many people.”
Moreno’s face took on an air of excitement. He leaned in for drama and in a hushed voice said, “They rock-hopped.”
Sofia was confused. “Rock-hopped, what is that?”
Moreno continued, “They left from Isabella de Sagua which is in the middle of the northern coast. They stopped at several of the tiny cays off of the mainland dodging Castro’s patrol until they were in open water. Then they were able to stop at some of the smaller Bahamas cays, really no more than a clump of rocks in the ocean. Finally, they landed on Islamorada after about a week.” The man named Clarke interjected his tone doubtful.
“Then, how did they not get caught by the US Coast Guard? They on watch for Cuban refugees during that time.”
“By the grace of God I imagine. That’s the only reason I can think of that they didn’t get caught or hit any storms. Anyway, they saw a group of workers breaking up some old fishing cottages to make room for condos or something. So, they broke down their raft behind the brush screen and dunes, and then fell right into step with the work crew loading up the wood and getting on the truck for a ride back to Miami at the end of the day. The workers took pity, gave them a few dollars, the lumber and didn’t sell them out. Of course the bosses didn’t notice. What’s a few brown faces more or less?
Sofia took a bite of her boliche which she had neglected while listening to the story. It was delicious. As she savored the tang and spice of the meat, she marveled at the courage and desperation it must have taken to make such a journey. The inspirational story seemed to strengthen her own courage to move forward with her life, and more specifically, her challenge at the party.
As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Clarke said, “Speaking of pre-war relics, Mr. Quintis tells me you’re interested in pre-war cars.”
Sofia glanced down the table at Quint who must have overheard the statement. He winked briefly and turned back to his own conversation. Sending a silent prayer of thanks skyward for the entre, she smiled said, “Absolutely, I come from a family of collectors. Cars from that time cast such a spell.”
“Certainly”, said Moreno. “There’s something about that era that harbors such romance and mystery. Wouldn’t you agree?” As he spoke, Sofia felt a large, warm hand slide onto her knee.
Nearly dropping her forkful of chorizo, Sofia turned. It was important not to completely lose her temper as she would like to have done. She needed to find out if he knew anything about the Caracciola. She needed to remain calm. Sofia gave Moreno an innocent smile. “Indeed. I knew you had a romantic streak the moment I saw you. I’m sure that’s one reason Senora Moreno fell in love with you”, then cut a significant look at the third finger of his left hand, still on her knee.
He removed it and cleared his throat. “I apologize. You know how it is to get caught up in the moment.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself. What would life be if we didn’t get carried away once in awhile?”
Unaware of this exchange due to the attention he gave his dinner, Mr. Clarke commented, “What automotive mysteries intrigue you most Ms. Koury?” Sofia pretended to ponder.
“I think most would agree that the whereabouts of the Mercedes Caracciola 500k is the most romantic and the most mysterious. Just think of owning such a legacy.” She paused for effect and then added, “And to think that it’s lurking right here in Miami.” Both men widened their eyes in surprise.
“Miami? Impossible!” said Mr. Clarke.
“Is it? I have it on reliable information that it has been in Miami since 1996.” Sofia conjured her best dreamy voice. “Imagine! To drive that beautiful car just as Caracciola himself did. The feel of a one of a kind machine in your hands, knowing how many records it set.” Sofia smiled to herself; both men looked as though they were indeed imagining themselves in driving goggles and scarf.
Mr. Clarke spoke first. “True, how could someone have that type of car and not drive it?”
Moreno scoffed. “You’ve been in your ivory tower in Coral Gables too long my friend. Anyone foolish enough to actually drive the car would be carjacked within three seconds of getting it on the street. The car probably doesn’t run anyway. It’s likely only a showpiece.”
Sofia nodded but struggled to focus on the rest of the conversation. Something had just clicked. The car may not run, nor would that necessarily be the intent but the owner would still have to call
in a mechanic for insurance purposes. She remembered that her grandfather always had a private mechanic do a workup for his “Italian beauties” as he referred to his collection of antique Alfa Romeos. Sofia sat through the rest of the dinner finding it difficult to make pleasantries. She had enjoyed the food and even the conversation but now she was anxious to be done so she could get the next piece of information. When the last scrap of sweet caramel flan had been cleared from their plates, Sofia bid her dinner partners good evening and quickly exited onto the large terrace that was screened from the rest of the interior courtyard. She pulled her cell phone from the Prada clutch and quickly dialed hoping this man was still awake.
A familiar voice answered. “Sofia?”
“Rick, hi, I’m sorry to call so late.”
“It is you. I saw your number come up and couldn’t believe it. How is law school treating you?”
“It’s going well, thanks Rick. I hope you’re well too?” Sofia was impatient to get to the point of her call but years of training in politeness won out.
“Yes, the business is going well. I wish you would reconsider my offer to have you come on board as one of my lead investigators, or is that why you called?” His tone sounded hopeful and Sofia smiled. After college, Rick McCrory knew that Sofia was anxious to get out from under her father’s thumb and generously offered Sofia a position as one of the lead investigators in his insurance firm. In the end, she opted for a four year break as a counselor in Outward Bound before going to law school, but she had been tempted by the offer. The job was not that of a normal insurance adjuster. This insurance firm insured not homes or businesses but extremely high end cars, antique furniture, art and even wine collections. In fact, it was the same company that conspired with her father’s associate in the scandal regarding a historical military collection. This occurred before Rick had taken over of course. Yes, she had been tempted by his offer, a high salary, research; the ability to work around significant pieces was all very appealing.
