by Phoebe Conn
“My sister married Rafael Mondragon, and my family came for the wedding. I’ve extended my stay.”
Ortiz steepled his fingers over his chest. “My wife is also fond of Mondragon. I don’t follow the popular matadors the way she does, but everyone knows your name, Santos.”
“Because they knew my father’s.”
“True, and I want to offer my condolences on your loss. I’d heard Miguel was ill, but he was still young, and his death came as a dreadful shock.”
“Yes, to all our family as well.”
A man in a white jacket brought Libby’s tea on a silver tray. “Thank you.” She’d become used to Julian waiting on her, but there wasn’t a hint of friendliness or humor in this man’s expression. He left as quietly as he had entered. Carlotta passed by him, and her stiletto heels clicked as she crossed the marble floor. She was dressed in a white sheath accented with heavy gold jewelry. She was an exotic beauty with lovely golden skin, and her upswept henna-tinted hair accented her large dark eyes.
“Santos,” she exclaimed. “Orlando told me you were coming today, but I didn’t expect to meet you. You’re even more handsome up close than you are in the ring. Please remain seated. Are you recovering as rapidly as everyone hopes?”
Ortiz left his chair to draw one near for his wife. She smiled as he slid his hand across her shoulders in a gentle caress before returning to his place behind his desk. Libby noted his affectionate gesture, but her new brother-in-law had nothing good to say about his mother.
“I’m making the effort,” Santos said. “May I introduce Libby Gunderson. She’s my sister Maggie’s sister. Perhaps you read Maggie has wed Rafael Mondragon?”
Carlotta’s color flushed lightly at the mention of her son’s name. “Yes, I follow all the matadors in the papers. You men lead such exciting lives.”
“Your life must have its own excitement,” Libby added.
“My husband and sons provide a great deal,” Carlotta replied, her glowing smile aimed at her husband.
Santos leaned forward. “I own a remarkable car, a Hispano-Suiza. Someone followed me last week in a black SUV that belongs to you. Do you remember following me?”
Carlotta’s eyes lit with joy. “Was that you? I just saw your beautiful car. I’d never seen anything like it, and I followed you a couple of blocks. I hope I didn’t cause you any worry.”
“That’s why he’s here, my darling,” Ortiz remarked.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She sat posed on the edge of her chair the way a woman married to Orlando Ortiz would, with the posture of a fine lady who devoted herself to fine arts and culture.
“There have been other incidents,” Santos said, “and it pays to be cautious.”
“Oh yes, we always are,” Carlotta responded. “Orlando, did you invite them to stay and have lunch with us?”
“I’ll do it now,” Ortiz said. “Will you be able to stay for a while? My sons are in school, so it will be just the four of us. Our chef is one of the finest in the city.”
“I’d love to,” Libby said. “Do we have the time, Santos?”
“We’ll make it.”
“My sons have a poster of you in their room. Would you sign it for them?” Carlotta asked.
“It will be my pleasure.” He pushed out of his chair but took care walking with crutches on the slippery marble floor. Libby walked beside him.
Carlotta was a petite woman, and even in platform heels she barely came up to Libby’s shoulder. “American girls are so beautiful and tall. The Olympics were in Barcelona in 1992, and I remember the women on your teams were exceptionally pretty.”
“I love the Olympics too, but regardless of looks, it takes years of hard work to make a team.”
Libby had to bite her lip not to laugh when they entered the private elevator to the penthouse. She didn’t dare look at Santos, but he reached for her hand, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.
The elevator opened to a foyer where a glass-and-chrome table held a tall vase with a magnificent white floral bouquet. “What beautiful flowers,” Libby exclaimed. She moved close to smell a white rose, but it had no fragrance.
“Commercial roses have lost most of their perfume,” Ortiz remarked. “They’re bred for long stems and beauty, but lack a wild rose’s scent, its very soul. Carlotta loves them anyway.”
“Just as I love you, Orlando, without needing a reason.” She moved close to take his arm.
The penthouse was lit by skylights and furnished with modern pieces covered in pale gray upholstery and brilliant abstract paintings hung on the walls. Libby felt as though she were touring an art gallery rather than visiting a private home. She wondered if the boys were allowed to play there, or if a stray block or toy car would upset the sterile ambience.
Just as in Orlando’s office, the front room’s glass wall faced the sea. A cruise ship was entering the harbor, one of the new gigantic vessels that offered so many diversions Libby doubted many of the passengers remembered they were at sea.
Carlotta came up beside her. “Have you been on a cruise?”
“No, but I’d like to sail through the Caribbean where I could be part of the crew and climb the rigging.”
“You long for adventure,” Carlotta observed.
Libby turned to smile at Santos. “I think I’ve already found it.”
“I’ve done my best to keep you entertained,” Santos replied with a gentlemanly reserve and affectionate gaze.
The dining room also bordered the port and with a seafood salad for lunch, Libby felt surrounded by the sea. She was also annoyed they’d learned nothing to help them discover who wanted Santos dead. The conversation was lighthearted, but she caught Carlotta staring at her more than once. She smiled as though she was charmed by her attentions, but she was anxious to leave after taking only a couple of bites.
“I do have investment opportunities that would interest you, Santos. We should meet again.”
“I don’t make the investments for the Aragon trust, but I’ll be happy to listen,” Santos replied, “Thank you for this splendid lunch. Now where is the poster you’d like me to sign?”
Carlotta left the table with him. “Right down the hall.”
Libby followed along. The boys’ room was carpeted in navy blue. There were neatly made twin beds, desks, and bookcases filled with a colorful assortment of fiction for boys. The striking poster showed Santos lowering his cape and calling to the bull. He was dressed in a red suit of lights and so handsome she wanted a poster of her own.
Santos picked up a pen from atop one of the desks, wrote a greeting and signed his name. “I’m sorry I missed seeing your sons,” he remarked.
Carlotta closed the bedroom door. Her expression hardened, and her voice rose to a strident hiss. “Did Rafael send you here to embarrass me?”
Santos straightened to his full height. “My brother-in-law is proud of his Gypsy heritage, but you’re dead to him. We won’t dispute whatever lies you’ve told your husband. We came to ask who followed us, that’s all.”
Her gaze narrowed, but after a painfully long pause, she opened the door and smiled as they stepped out into the hall. She raised a hand to her upswept hair and instantly became a doting wife and mother. “Thank you so much. Our boys will be thrilled to have your autograph.”
She walked them to the elevator, and her husband rode it down with them. “My wife is the joy of my life. I know more about her than she suspects, and that’s something she need never know. Do you understand me?”
“I’ve no interest in blackmail,” Santos responded. “Neither does Rafael Mondragon.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. You must come visit us again, but Mondragon will never be welcome here.”
Libby caught the threat in his voice, but Santos led her from the elevator and out of the building before he gave her a chance to speak. “Carlotta is terrified Orlando will learn she’s Rafael’s mother, and he already knows? So she’s desperate to please her husba
nd, and he soaks it all up,” she said. “I don’t know which of them is worse.”
“He is,” Santos insisted. “He’s made a puppet of her and enjoys pulling the strings.”
“Secrets are toxic,” she mused thoughtfully.
“Tell your parents everything when you get home.”
Libby nodded, but she wasn’t certain where to begin the strange tale of the Aragon family. She couldn’t disclose Maggie and Rafael’s secrets, and her mother and father wouldn’t be pleased to learn she’d stayed with Santos when the danger surrounding him could have easily harmed her. Santos wouldn’t have to know what she’d told her parents, which would be another secret piled on the top.
Manuel waited for them at the curb. “The beach house, or would you prefer somewhere new?”
“Somewhere new,” Libby posed, “if you’re not too tired, Santos.”
“I’m tired of being trapped at home. We’re here at the harbor; let’s take a cruise with the tourists.”
“Will they let you on board with your leg brace?”
“Let’s ask and see. Manuel, please take us to the Golondrinas’s dock. It’s right at the end of Las Ramblas, Libby. You walked down it with your family.”
“That was a wonderful day. There was so much to see, but by the time we’d reached the last plaza, I was too tired to gaze beyond it to the sea.”
She turned to look out the back window, but no one appeared to be following. “I’m sorry, you’re watching for a tail, aren’t you, Manuel?”
“Yes, I am. Always.”
Libby sat back. When Santos turned to grin at her, she continued their earlier conversation. “Carlotta is very attractive, but when she spoke to us in her sons’ bedroom, she was an entirely different person.”
“She let us see her true self. Forget her, and don’t tell Rafael we’ve met her. If she were plotting anything, her husband would know. He’d not allow her to jeopardize his business interests to satisfy her petty concerns.”
“Killing you isn’t in the category of petty concerns.”
“To Ortiz, it might be.”
Golondrinas, named for swallows, were double-decked boats designed for sightseeing around the harbor. Santos was immediately recognized and welcomed on the next boat boarding. They had to take seats on the lower deck, but it was as comfortable as the upper deck and provided more shade. Surrounded by tourists who had no idea who they were other than a handsome couple, Libby allowed herself to relax.
“Thank you, I needed to get away from the house too,” Libby told him.
“What do you mean? I can’t get you to stay in it.” He slid his arm around her shoulders. “If you like, we’ll just stay on board when they return to the docks to let off these passengers and pick up more.”
“That would be so nice.” She liked being a tourist and having no cares as they explored the harbor. “Do you often bring girlfriends here?”
“I prefer to take them sky diving, but…”
Shocked, she sat up. “Sky diving? Are you serious?”
“I’m teasing you. You’re the only girl I’ve brought here since the twins were little, and I took them on outings. Fox wouldn’t appreciate this now.”
She relaxed against him. “It’s all about the company. He’d enjoy a boat ride with Patricia.”
He pulled her closer. “I agree.”
They stopped by Juan Martinez’s office on the way home, and Libby was relieved to find his secretary, Sylvia, was a buxom woman of indeterminate age, no competition at all. Sylvia greeted Santos with an ecstatic squeal, then frowned apologetically as she handed him a folder with the latest fan mail.
They entered Juan’s outer office to read it. Libby saw the drawing before Santos could hide it. This time, the hostile artist had torn a jagged hole in the chest where Santos’s heart would be. The angular handwriting slid off the page. “What does he say this time?”
“Your time to die,” Santos translated for her. He checked the envelope. “This was mailed on Saturday, so he must have thought he’d succeed last night.”
“You’ll have to send it to Nuñez tomorrow.”
“I will, I told him I would last night.” He scanned the e-mails Sylvia had printed out and translated a few of the more humorous ones for Libby.”
“What happened to the woman who wants tighter pants?’
“She’s given up, apparently, or switched her affections to someone new. That’s the problem with being forced to take time off. Fans are a fickle lot and will forget me.”
“Not your true fans,” Sylvia swore. “They’ll love you forever.”
“Wait a minute, why were the police at your home last night?” Juan asked. “Did you have more trouble?”
Santos gave him a brief summary, and adoring him, Sylvia burst into tears and collapsed in the chair at her desk. “What if they can’t catch who’s doing these awful things?”
“They’ll catch them,” Juan insisted.
“Soon,” Santos added. “Is there anything more?”
Sylvia handed him another envelope. “This was in this morning’s mail. It’s a torn-up photo from one of tabloids. I didn’t know if you’d want me to put it together like a puzzle, or if you’d want to do it.”
“Do you have some glue?” Libby asked.
Sylvia handed her a clean sheet of paper and took a bottle of glue from her desk’s bottom drawer. “I’ve always loved puzzles, but not this one.”
Libby sorted the pieces quickly. “The scissor-cut edges face the outside.” She and Santos played with the pieces. He recognized it before she did, and, with a quick shuffle, the photo became clear.
“It’s from lunch yesterday,” he said. “Whoever sent this left the caption. Apparently I’m now dating a popular Swedish model.”
“The people from the ad agency knew my name, and you introduced the reporter at the restaurant, but while my last name is Swedish, no one would mistake me for a model, let alone a popular one.”
“That’s how you looked yesterday,” he reminded her. “This must have been in one of the evening editions and put in the mail last night. There’s no threat enclosed. So maybe it’s from someone who’d like to date me.”
Libby wondered if Ana had followed them and hidden in the restaurant’s decorative foliage to photograph them. The reporter might have taken it when he returned to his table. Anyone in the restaurant could have taken the picture, but the mention of Sweden bothered her. “Someone who heard my name sold this to a tabloid. That shortens the list of suspects.”
“I’ll send it to the detective with the drawing.”
Santos thanked Sylvia for saving the mail, and they were back on the way home in less than thirty minutes.
They came through the front door together. “Do you mind if I rest before dinner?” Libby asked.
“No, I’ll be in the den.” Santos leaned down to kiss her check.
Libby walked up the stairs slowly. She hadn’t liked seeing herself in a tabloid photo and felt sorry for Santos, who had to tolerate their tacky view of his life. She loved having a room with a balcony but was now afraid to step out on it. She moved to her bed and checked her phone. It would be midmorning in Minneapolis, and her father would be at work, so it was too early to call home.
She could call Maggie, though. The impulse struck before she’d thought of what to say, and Maggie answered before anything more than a warm hello came to mind. “How’s the honeymoon going? I’m sorry. That’s a silly question, isn’t it? Where are you, is it still a secret?”
“We’re fine, and we’re dancing with Gypsies in Granada. I love Spain more every day.”
Libby rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I need to get a map. Where is Granada?”
“It’s in southern Spain but not too far from the sea. It has a fabulous history, but you didn’t call me for a geography lesson. What’s happening there?”
Libby bit her lip. If she told her sister the truth, Maggie and Rafael would rush home immediately, and she didn’t wa
nt to ruin their honeymoon. “Santos took me along for the photo shoot for the cologne ads, and I ended up in some of the pictures. I’m hoping they’ll use the ones of him alone.”
“Why? You photograph beautifully, and you’d have an international credit as a model.”
“Please. One shoot was enough. I just called to stay in touch.”
“What aren’t you telling me? Has anything else happened to Santos?”
“God forbid,” Libby replied, revealing absolutely nothing. “Tell Rafael hello. We’ll have to have a party when you come home.”
“Libby, please be careful with Santos. Don’t hope for anything more than a good time this summer.”
“I’m extraordinarily careful,” Libby promised and said good-bye. It had been comforting to hear her sister’s voice, but when it came to Santos, she’d thrown caution to the wind. She reminded him often of how soon she’d be leaving so she wouldn’t forget it herself. She wouldn’t want to leave him, but it would save her the horrible embarrassment of forcing him to tell her to go.
She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, and hours later, Santos knocked on her door. “Are you too tired to come downstairs for dinner?”
She shoved her hair out of her eyes. “What time is it?” She grabbed her travel clock and couldn’t believe her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just meant to rest only a minute.”
“Long naps are fine,” he said from her doorway. “We don’t have a time clock here.”
She loved his quirky smile and everything else about him she wouldn’t admit even to herself. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he’d changed his clothes. “I’m afraid I smell like the port. Give me a minute to take a shower.”
“Take as long as you need.”
He was so thoughtful, but she’d seen how implacable he could be with Ana Santillan. As he turned away, she called to him. “I should have asked you to tell me if I’m behaving like a squirrel-headed twit, if I ever do.”
“I doubt it’s possible, but it’s only fair.”
“We need to be fair, don’t we?”
