“Give me those,” Kitty whispered and snatched them up.
A snort sounded from across the room. “Oh, come on. Now I have to know what’s so awful. I’ve already seen your German Shepherd underwear, remember?”
Kitty sighed deeply. So much for the black silk slip dress, updo, make-up and heels. The last time they had seen each other, Kitty and Leander had been stuck in an embassy house with the tour group. One night he’d surprised her as she was going to the bathroom to take a shower. It was clearly too much to ask the universe that Leander would have forgotten the way she’d thrown her clean clothes at him in a sad attempt at self-defense.
“I’m trying to keep a little mystique here,” she said. “But I guess it’s useless to pretend. I really am just a Bingo addict who hangs out at the chocolate fountain too much.”
“I didn’t know that bit about the chocolate fountain.”
“Well, I haven’t had a lot of time this trip.” She really, really wanted some chocolate right now, and if Leander weren’t standing two feet from her, she would call room service and order the biggest hot fudge sundae they had.
“So…?” He gestured at the ball of cloth in her hands.
Kitty held it up against herself. “I used to collect Hello Kitty stuff. I don’t anymore. But I still like this nightgown.” It was clearly past its prime. Far past. As in ‘should have been retired ten years ago’ past. The bright yellow background had faded to an ugly mustard color. The flannel was thin and pilled. She’d kept meaning to buy one of those sweater shavers but never had. The pattern used to be a bright and cheerful montage of assorted fruit and miniature Hello Kittys. Now it looked like an old rag that she wouldn’t even give to Chica.
“I don’t see what’s so bad about it.” He shrugged, then gripped his T-shirt and stripped it off. Kitty had a few seconds to take everything in before he turned his shirt inside out, and slipped it back on.
“Then again,” he said. “I was wearing mine inside out.”
Kitty started to smile as she read the faded lettering on the well-worn shirt. Kiss me! I’m Catalan. The yellow and red flag looked rather worse for wear and now that she looked closer, she saw a hole at the hem.
“Quite a let down from the tux, right?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I guess I can cancel the pajama delivery.”
She was still smiling as she headed for the bathroom. So, Leander had brought a book, a bed, and ratty pajamas. He couldn’t be more perfect. Which meant he probably snored.
Actually, what if she snored? All sorts of things happen when a person was asleep, bodily functions that were better left for private moments. Oh, mercy. She needed a cover. Any odd noises and she’d blame Chica.
When she came out a few minutes later, she saw the cot had been delivered and Leander was fixing the blankets. “Do you mind if I use the desk?” he asked.
“Not at all. I usually read in bed.”
He turned on the lamp. “Oh, I also ordered some xocolata calenta, my grandmother’s secret recipe.”
“Hot chocolate? And I thought you said Catalan was so different from Spanish that Spanish speakers couldn’t understand it.”
“We share some words. I thought since you liked chocolate, you might enjoy trying it out.”
“I’m not going to refuse chocolate in any form,” Kitty said. Now she didn’t care if he snored. The man had ordered her some special hot chocolate. She tried not to act as stupidly infatuated as she felt. Sliding into bed, she opened Moby Dick and reread the same page several times.
Kitty turned her head, watching Leander work in the glow of the laptop screen. There was a feeling in her chest that wasn’t altogether warm and cozy. It felt a lot like fear. She’d thought a man was perfect before, and it hadn’t ended well.
Rolling over, she stared out the floor length glass panels. The coast of Cancun was dotted with lights, reminding her of a Christmas display, minus the snow. She didn’t want to be bitter and closed off, but she was afraid to really let anybody in who didn’t have four paws and a tail. There had to be a middle ground. But as far as Kitty could tell, she didn’t know where that was. Friendship was still too close for comfort.
A knock at the door made her jump. Leander went to answer it, and Kitty could see a uniformed officer holding a tray with two small glasses. Leander spoke quietly with him for a moment, and then closed the door.
“They forgot the spoons,” Leander said. “But he said he watched them make it from start to finish. No surprises.”
“Not really a secret recipe now, either,” Kitty said.
“We all make sacrifices.”
Kitty was surprised to see it looked like thin chocolate pudding. Shavings of dark chocolate dotted the top, melting into the surface of the drink.
“Salut,” he said, raising it to her.
“Salut,” she answered. To their health. They would need it.
It was lightly sweet, and creamier than American hot chocolate. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to identify the unique flavor. “Hazelnut?”
“Bona feina. Well done, you know your chocolate.” He cupped his hands around the glass and sat in the desk chair. “Most Catalan food is unimpressive. Calçot, pa amb tomàquet, escalivada.”
“It sounds good,” Kitty said. Or maybe she just liked the way it sounded when Leander said it.
“Grilled onions, crushed tomatoes on bread, grilled vegetables. Not so different from what everyone else has in Spain, Italy, and France. But the desserts…” He smiled. “If I lived there, I’d never eat regular food. Just xuixos, panellets, or nuelles dipped in cava.”
Kitty raised her eyebrows. Now that he’d mentioned them, he had to tell her what it was. Sure, she was drinking the most delicious hot chocolate she’d ever had, but she was a foodie. She needed to hear all the details.
He smiled, knowing he had her full attention. “Xuixos are fried pastries filled with hazelnut crème, with a sprinkling of vanilla flavored powdered sugar on top. Panellets are little candies made with pine nuts, almonds and sugar. They come in different flavors, like orange or strawberry, and in all sorts of funny little shapes. They’re not available all the time. Just around la Castanyada, All Souls Day. It’s a Christian holiday, but the origin of panellets is Jewish, from before the Middle Ages.”
“And ‘noels’?” Kitty asked.
“Nuelles,” he corrected her. “They’re thin little waffles rolled up and baked, then dipped in champagne.”
She laughed. “You had me until the soggy waffles.”
“You can dip them in chocolate, too.”
“Better,” she said. After a few moments, she realized they were simply holding their chocolate and smiling at each other. She drank the rest, and handed him the glass. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He went back to his laptop and she turned on her reading light. The chocolate had soothing effect and her body seemed to take the cue that it was time to relax. Maybe it was the smell of the old book in her hands, or Chica’s soft breathing beside the bed, or the sound of Leander’s typing, but Kitty’s eyelids grew heavy.
It had been a very long and traumatic day, and Herman Melville’s prose was prone to long soliloquies. Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form. Kitty thought of how the killer had gone to great lengths to set up Heather’s death, but then seemed to have shifted that rage to Kitty and Leander. Or just Kitty.
But why? She didn’t have more information than the police. They’d interviewed Luis, seen the messages, contacted Heather’s family, and were digging into Luis’s past. Kitty only had a few conversations with Heather and her friends. Almost nothing really, but somehow she’d become the target.
It didn’t make sense. Kitty laid her head down on her arm and stared out at the lights dotting the coast. There was a reason the killer was after her. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.
/> That was the last thing she remembered until hours later.
Kitty awoke with a start. The room was dark. Leander must have turned off the lamps before going to bed. She tried to remember what had woken her, but the cabin was silent. The door to the balcony was still open and a light ocean breeze flooded the room.
Kitty raised her head and looked at Chica. She could see the faint outline of her ears, and the reflection in her eyes of the safety lights on the balcony. She was awake, too.
“Chica?” she whispered.
Chica didn’t move. She was watching the door. Kitty felt a chill go through her. It was dark, but Kitty could see Leander in the cot, and by the sound of his breathing, he was still asleep.
There was a slight sound, almost too faint to hear. Kitty squinted at the door and could see the metal handle clearly moving. Slowly, very slowly.
Kitty slid out of bed and crawled across the floor toward Leander. Shaking his shoulder, she didn’t take her eyes from the door.
He rolled over as soon as she touched him. He didn’t speak, as if knowing to keep quiet. Kitty pointed at the door and he sat up slowly, careful not to make any noise.
The handle stopped moving. They both watched it closely, but it remained motionless. Leander jumped to the door and wrenched it open. Kitty could hear the sound of footsteps pounding down the hallway and Leander took off after him. Suddenly, Chica pushed past Kitty and bolted out the door like a large, furry bullet.
Not again, thought Kitty.
Chapter Thirteen
“The phoenix must burn to emerge.”
― Janet Fitch
It took her a few seconds to get to her feet and by the time she got to the door, the hallway was empty. Kitty stood there in the cold, bright light and shivered. Maybe there were two killers, and it had been a ruse. A terrible feeling of déjà vu passed over her. The last time Chica had chased after a killer, she’d encountered a jaguar and barely made it out alive.
Kitty hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to leave the safety of the room, or retreat behind a locked door. Why was she always being left behind?
No, she couldn’t stay in the room while Chica was chasing someone who might have another butcher knife up their sleeve. But just as Kitty started down the hallway, Leander appeared, Chica beside him.
He shook his head. Kitty had never seen him so angry. “Unbelievable,” he said. “There had better be footage of it this time.”
But minutes later, Jim McCallister arrived to show them the very un-incriminating shot of someone in a black hoodie and black pants, trying unsuccessfully to open Kitty’s door with a card. Clearly, they had thought it was a master key card, because they seemed increasingly frustrated.
“There’s either something you have, or something you know,” Jim said, his blue eyes red-rimmed with tiredness.
“I know, but I can’t think of what it is.” Kitty slumped into the chair, feeling like a failure. “If I knew what it was, I’d know―”
“Who the murderer is,” she and Leander said together.
“Well, try and get some sleep. There’s not much we can do with this. And you’re headed back to the Cancun station?”
Kitty looked at her watch. It was nearly dawn. “In a few hours.”
“I’ll put a security guard outside the door, just in case they come back. At least we might get a good look at their face.”
“I don’t think they’ll be back tonight,” Leander said. “Don’t take officers away from their regular shifts.”
Jim shrugged. “Okay. But be careful. Stick together. We need to catch this guy.”
After he’d left, Kitty glanced at Leander. “That was three attempts,” she said. Stupidly obvious, but she felt that she needed to say it for some reason.
He nodded. “Three high risk, desperate, and clumsy attempts. Not a professional, but that might even be worse.”
Kitty was almost ready to ask why when it occurred to her. A professional would hit their target. An amateur might injure or kill any number of people around the target.
“Try to get some rest,” Leander said. He lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch her, then thought better of it. He ran a hand through his hair instead, looking frustrated and tired.
Kitty crawled back into bed and lay there in the darkness. She could hear Leander’s steady breathing and knew he wasn’t asleep.
“Chica,” she whispered.
She lifted her head, ears up.
“Come here,” Kitty patted the bed. Chica hesitated. She was never allowed on the bed. Kitty patted it again, and Chica didn’t wait another second to leap onto the mattress. She found a comfy spot after circling a few times and lay down, taking up most of the sleeping space.
Sometimes a person just needed to sleep with her dog to feel safe. No offense to Leander, but he was all the way across the room.
For the next few hours, Kitty went over and over the conversations she’d had with every member of the group, sifting through the smallest gestures and comments, looking for anything that would connect one of them with such a vicious murder.
She stared up at the ceiling as the rising sun light slowly illuminated the suite, touching the luxury furniture and the miniature chandelier over the coffee table with golden rays. She turned onto her side and watched the city of Cancun grow clearer and clearer. Whatever it was she had heard, or seen, she needed to remember it, and soon.
She took her phone from her bedside table and searched for the article Judy and Ralph had mentioned. It was probably nothing. But then she saw the picture, and her heart leaped into her throat. Kitty searched online for Heather’s boarding school and any pictures she could find of the girls together. There were only a few, but what she found brought her suspicions into focus.
All of the events of the last few days suddenly gelled in her mind, taking the shape of one person. It was the definition of a hunch, nothing she could prove. She needed to present the evidence incontrovertible, and hold her ground. As dangerous as the killer was, Kitty hoped she would fold into a blubbering, confessional mess of self-pity when confronted.
Her alarm sounded and Leander sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. Exhaustion shadowed his face, and his expression made it clear that he knew the day ahead was going to be even worse than the last.
Kitty sat up and met his eyes.
“Well, you look happy,” he said, curiosity in his voice.
“I think I know who the killer is,” Kitty said.
***
Chief Sonora was flanked by two officers who looked much more official than the young assistant from Kitty’s last visit to the police station in Cancun. Leander had messaged him before the group arrived, and the chief had requested to interview Reagan, Zoe, and Lacy first.
The room was larger than the last, too, but the table was the same ugly, dented metal construction, and the chairs were just as uncomfortable. A dusty batch of red silk flowers on a windowsill was a sad effort to make the place seem more welcoming.
Reagan smoothed her hair and glared at the chief. She had made no secret of the fact she was suffering from a rather vicious hangover, a souvenir from her night at the club.
Zoe kept her gaze on the table and one hand on Duke’s neck. It was strange, but now that Heather was gone, Zoe had started to look more like herself. Maybe the similarity had been the result of make-up or the way she styled her hair, but every hour that passed, she seemed less and less like the other two.
Lacy fidgeted, her bright green piece of gum visible every second or so as she chewed. She didn’t look any more rested than Reagan. Tink sat on her lap, fairly vibrating with animosity at the assembled police officers.
“This is a more formal interview, and for that reason we’re going to make a recording.” The chief pointed to a video camera in the corner. “If you have any questions, please ask for a clarification.”
As Kitty translated from Spanish to American Sign Language, Zoe nodded but the others didn’t bother to respon
d.
The chief introduced every person in the room for the sake of the video, then began.
“Heather Jousmal was due to be married to your ex-boyfriend?” he asked, looking at Reagan.
She looked surprised. “Yes, but it was no big deal.”
“A boyfriend you had for several years in college and thought you would marry.”
Reagan’s face went pink. “It was never official. We never… He never asked me, exactly.”
“This transfer of ownership, it happened after Heather gave you something very strong to drink.” The chief leaned forward.
Kitty hesitated on the “ownership’ part. Sometimes she couldn’t be sure whether the chief was being sarcastic, or literal.
“You know, he wasn’t that great.”
“And planning the wedding didn’t bother you?” the chief asked.
She laughed. “I want to start a wedding planning business. It was good practice. Unlimited budget, bridezilla, and crazy family.”
Lacy rolled her eyes. “I think you were planning to sabotage it.”
“I was not!” Reagan glared at her. “Just because you were mad about the bridesmaids’ dresses. Not my fault you’re built like a tree.”
Lacy’s face went red. “A tree? I’m strong. I don’t starve myself to death like you and Zoe.”
Zoe hadn’t said anything so far, and didn’t now. She just watched her former best friends argue and clenched Duke’s collar.
“How long did you all know Heather?” the chief asked, looking down at his notes.
“Since high school. We already told you that.” Reagan was clearly out of patience. “We did everything together. Theater, cheerleading, volleyball―”
“Track?” Leander asked.
“Yes,” she answered, giving him a strange look.
The chief pushed a photo across the table. “Please identify yourselves in this picture.”
Death on the Wind Page 11
