by Phoebe Conn
“Thank you,” Santos replied, “but you don’t have to keep me out of it.”
“What sort of advice have you given Fox in the past?”
Chagrined, he shook his head. “Obviously nothing valuable.”
The restaurant was on the coast, and they had a glorious view of the sea from their booth. The seafood on the menu had been caught that day, and while Maggie and Rafael ordered the paella, Tomas made the seafood rice dish so well, Libby wanted something different. “What about the parrillada de mariscos. Is that good?” she asked.
“It’s a variety of shellfish grilled on a barbecue,” Santos explained. “It’s always good, or the suquet. It’s a fish and seafood stew with saffron, wine and tomatoes. Why don’t you order one, and I’ll order the other, and we’ll share?”
“Fine, both sound delicious.” Libby waited until the waiter had taken their orders and served their wine before she spoke to Rafael. “I didn’t have a chance to say how much I admired you for telling our parents about your past. It could have cost you dearly.”
“No, it couldn’t,” Maggie quickly denied. “I would have kept talking until they realized how much I love him.”
Rafael hugged his wife. “Prison time is too important to hide, and I would have kept talking too.”
Santos leaned back and gazed out the window. “Rather than complimenting your honesty, she’s trying to force me to say more than I want to tonight.”
“That’s a stretch,” Libby argued. “I’m not always thinking of you.”
Maggie laughed at them. “If Libby admires honesty, maybe you should reconsider whatever it is you’re not saying.”
“Not tonight. More wine?”
Libby laid her hand over her glass. “I’m fine.”
“Would you come to the restroom with me, Libby?” Maggie waited for Rafael to stand, and slid out of the booth. “I saw the sign when we walked in.”
Libby knew what was coming but went along quietly. The restroom was as handsomely decorated as the restaurant in white and marine blue and had a lounge with padded benches placed in front of long mirrors. Maggie took one and patted the space beside her.
“I don’t care what Santos is hiding. Don’t tell me. He has too much on his shoulders, and being injured in the ring has to be more difficult for him than he’s letting you see. Give him some slack, and it will all work out in time.”
Maggie had no idea how dangerous the secrets were, but Libby understood the concept. “What was it Mom always advised? Let men think they’ve won the argument, but then do as you please?”
Maggie turned to touch up her lipstick. “I thought giving in was more of a way to end an argument for the time being, but we might be thinking of two different things. Santos must see his world as completely out of control. Don’t add to his problems.”
“I’ll be gone soon,” Libby reminded her. “Maybe nothing I say matters to him anyway.”
“That can’t be true, not when I can almost see the sparks flying between you two. Make every minute you’re here count.”
Libby nodded and stood. “I think I already have, but there’s a difference between not wanting to share details of your life with strangers who read the tabloids and not telling your family the truth.”
“I agree, but Santos has a different understanding of family than we do. Let him call for shots for a while.”
Libby led the way out, but Maggie had no clue some of those shots might be real. As they returned to the table, she could see from Santos’s wary glance that he’d expected her to provide her sister with every juicy detail. She just shook her head, slid into the booth and, once he’d retaken his seat, she rested her hand on his thigh. “Maybe while you go to therapy tomorrow morning, I could see more of Barcelona with Maggie.”
“That would be fun,” Maggie agreed. “I want to look for a larger apartment and check out the American schools. I could keep you busy all day.”
“I should be home by noon. You could stay for lunch with us, if Rafael doesn’t need you.”
“I have to be at the university. Now, if it isn’t part of what you don’t wish to tell, did you meet with Orlando Ortiz?”
Santos clamped his hand down on Libby’s. “Yes, we went to see him. Had lunch with him and your mother in their condo, and I signed a poster for your half brothers.”
Rafael looked ready to breathe fire. “They aren’t brothers to me.”
“You’re the one who’s going to med school. Do you want to debate biological fact?” Santos countered.
“How did we leave you two alone?” Maggie asked. “You may enjoy goading each other, but Libby and I’d rather have a pleasant dinner together. Do we need to ask for a separate table?”
“No,” Rafael answered through clenched teeth. “Who was driving Ortiz’s SUV?”
“Your mother,” Santos answered. “She claimed she wanted to look at the Hispano-Suiza. I believe her. Libby was right; it was a coincidence, nothing more.”
Libby made it a point to show the restraint Maggie advised and was proud of herself for not offering a single comment while Santos spoke. She didn’t make it a brooding silence, but instead a calm, thoughtful quiet. The meal was one of the best she’d ever eaten, and she and Santos traded bites with teasing laughter while Rafael appeared deep in thought and replied to Maggie’s remarks with little more than nods and shrugs. It was an odd evening, saved by the crema catalana.
The icy-cold egg custard was topped with a golden layer of grilled sugar and so luscious Libby was tempted to order seconds. “Have you eaten this before, Maggie?”
“Yes, at the ranch. I should learn how to make it. Maybe Tomas can teach us, and you can make it for everyone when you get home.”
Home. Jarred by the word, Libby had to struggle to find a smile. “I should learn how to cook more than desserts, though. But you’re right. We ought to learn all we can from Tomas. Or will that cause him additional work, Santos?”
“Of course not. We’ll just eat your lessons for dinner.”
“If they’re edible,” Rafael murmured under his breath.
Libby giggled at his joke and couldn’t stop until Santos hugged her tight. “I’m sorry. I’ll bet you do that all the time, Rafael. You look so serious and then you’ll say something humorous, and it’s so unexpected it’s twice as funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Rafael insisted.
His innocent expression sent Libby into another fit of giggles, and Maggie began to laugh and couldn’t stop either. After paying their bill, Santos rose and grabbed his crutches. “We better go before they ask us to leave.”
“This was really fun, Santos. We’ll treat you next time,” Maggie promised.
When they reached the beach house, they picked up the wedding presents they’d left there and said good night.
Santos and Libby went into the den. “I’ll never understand what she sees in him,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” Libby insisted. “I should call Patricia and get it over with fast.”
“Fine, but if she balks at slowing things down with Fox, let me talk with her.”
“I will.” She pulled her cell phone from her purse and perched on the arm of the sofa. “It’s early evening in Minneapolis. Let’s hope she answers.”
“Libby!” Patricia greeted her warmly. “Let me guess, Mom’s begged you to convince me to cool it with Fox. Well, I won’t, so tell me what’s happening in Spain. Is Santos as great in bed as he looks?”
Libby closed her eyes and sighed. “Even better, but that’s not the point. Fox is a seventeen-year-old kid, Patricia.” She paused to speak to Santos. “Where’s Fox’s father?”
“He was a photojournalist and killed in Bosnia at the end of the war. Fox was a few months old and doesn’t remember him.”
“Patricia, Fox has lost both of his parents. If he gets too attached to you, he’ll be devastated when you break up with him, and you know you will.”
“Maybe not. He could be the one.”
“Wonderful, I hope he is, but after his senior year, his mother wanted him to go to university and have a career. If he spends next year screwing you, he won’t have the grades to go. If you do care for him, you’re going to have to make some tough choices, but you need to stay on your side of the Atlantic, and let Fox concentrate on school. Give him time to grow up and be the man his parents hoped he’d be, the man he should be.”
Libby held her breath and looked at Santos. When Patricia didn’t immediately respond, she tried again. “Just think about what I’ve said. If you two are meant to be together, then you will be, but don’t make it now when it could wreck Fox’s whole life.”
“All right. I see your point,” Patricia answered softly. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”
“Good, keep thinking about his future. Love you, good-bye.” She ended the call. “Patricia actually seemed to get the idea. I thought it would take half a dozen calls to get through to her.”
“Do you always say, ‘love you’ to her?”
“Sure, we all do.” It was obvious her family was very different from his, and she was so sorry he’d grown up with such scattered love. “Let me pour my own Bailey’s. What do you want?”
He pulled her into his arms and put his whole soul into kissing her. He promised the world in his kisses, and when he pulled away, she had to shake her head to focus her eyes. “Could you put that into words, please?”
“You understood.” He smoothed her hair. “I got a text from Cazares while you and Maggie were away from the table. Rigoberto Avila died this afternoon.”
A sudden rush of terror squeezed her breathless, and she could barely gasp. Someone had the rifle, and they were sure to blame Santos for his death, but there wasn’t a hint of fear in his eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
“Now you really do need a bodyguard,” Libby murmured.
Santos pulled her back into his arms. “Rigoberto caused the accident that killed him, but I understand. Victoria or one of his friends may come after me.”
“Not, ‘may’, will, and we’ve got to be ready and find her first. Did you hear from Nuñez too?”
“Not yet. It’s Sunday; maybe he’s off duty.”
Libby sat back. “If you hadn’t hired Cazares, then we wouldn’t know Avila had died. We might have spent the evening on the patio, where we’d have been sitting ducks. Someone from the police department should have called to warn you.”
“It’s plain Nuñez doesn’t care if I live or die.”
“Well, I do!”
He flashed his killer grin. “Thank you. It’s too late to call Cazares, but I’ll talk to him tomorrow after I get back from therapy.”
“Call him before you go, and don’t drive the same route you’ve gone before. Avila was following us. Victoria could too.”
“Maybe she’ll claim the body,” he offered. “The police could talk to her then.”
“How is she going to know her brother is dead? Maybe she doesn’t even know he was hurt.”
“She has to know he didn’t come home Thursday night. She might have seen the police searching their apartment, and that’s why she’s stayed away,” he replied.
Libby left the sofa to pour herself some Bailey’s and bought him a brandy. “She showed up so often, she has to have a place near here. Maybe rather than hit tourist sites and look at apartments, Maggie and I ought to canvass the neighborhood with Victoria’s photo.”
“Don’t bring Maggie into it.”
“Santos, really. She’d want to help.”
“No, I won’t put either of you at risk. Don’t tell her anything tomorrow.”
“I kept quiet tonight, but it didn’t feel right.” She paced in front of the coffee table as she sipped her drink. “Even if I didn’t tell her anything, she’ll see I’m upset and ask why.”
“Tell her I’m a squirrel-headed twit.”
“I won’t blame it on you. Are you being deliberately dense? That would be a lie to cover a secret I don’t see any reason to keep. I’m going to bed. Do you want me to call Manuel to help you up the stairs?”
“I’ll call him.”
“Fine, good night.” She went up to her room but was far too frightened to sleep. She put on her cat sleep shirt and got into bed but read rather than try to sleep. Unfortunately, Dickens’s involved tale didn’t help. She remembered the book Santos had been asked to write, and while she didn’t want to confront him over it, she was too curious about it not to ask. She went to Santos’s room, but hesitated briefly before knocking lightly.
“Come in,” he called.
He was in bed, wearing a T-shirt, and looked content to spend the night alone. She wasn’t. She closed the door behind her. “Why didn’t you tell Maggie about the book offer?”
He laid his novel on the nightstand. “Juan hasn’t talked to the publisher, and they may not want something other than the inside story I’m not telling. I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Rafael either. He knew only what my father wanted him to see, while I had more than twenty years with him.”
She sat on the foot of his bed. “But you didn’t know about Victoria.”
“Maybe she never met him. She wouldn’t be the first fan who wanted his baby. Her mind could be so twisted she’s actually convinced she’d had his child. We need to find her.”
Libby circled the bed to crawl under the covers. “I don’t want to think about sex tonight.”
Santos leaned over her and whispered, “Don’t think.”
His breath was warm on her cheek, and he smelled so damn good. She raised her arms above her head and giggled. “You aren’t playing fair.”
“I don’t care.” He silenced her laughter with a long, easy kiss and changed her mind before she could take a breath to argue.
Javier Cazares came to the beach house Monday morning. “I’ve been working along the beach, showing Victoria’s photo. Some women remember her from the time she worked at El Sol y La Luna. A couple also thought Rigoberto Avila looked familiar, but couldn’t recall where they’d seen him. I thought I’d continue along the beach houses today, unless you’d rather I do something more.”
“No, that’s fine,” Santos responded. “I haven’t heard from Nuñez, but I’ll call him in a minute. He’s probably waiting for Victoria to claim the body.”
“Was Rigoberto’s name in the papers?” Libby asked.
“It was given with the photos of the accident,” Cazares replied. “If she didn’t see the story, someone who knew them would have told her. There was a brief notice of Rigoberto’s death in one of the papers this morning, but it was in the back pages and could easily have been overlooked.”
“Nuñez will probably claim I should have seen it,” Santos responded.
Maggie looked into the den. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Libby assured her. “We’re trying to find where Victoria lives.”
“Did you ask Patricia? She might know.”
Libby winced and looked at Santos. “Why didn’t we think of something so obvious?”
“Give her a call,” he encouraged. “This is Javier Cazares, a private detective; my sister, Magdalena Mondragon.”
Cazares was standing and responded with a slight bow.
Libby checked her watch. “It’s too early in the morning to call Patricia now.”
“If it’s really important, call her anyway,” Maggie urged.
Santos nodded, and Libby made the call. Patricia gave a groggy hello and then complained, “You don’t need to call me at three in the morning to talk about Fox. I’ll tell him I’m staying here next year.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Libby replied. “When you talked with Victoria on the beach, did she ever mention where she lived?”
“Why are you looking for her at this hour?” Patricia asked through a wide yawn.
“It’s midmorning here, but it’s important, Patricia. Did she point out a house or say anything that would help us find her?”
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“I mentioned Santos’s beautiful vintage car, and she said something about her father being a chauffeur. Maybe he lives at one of the big houses near yours.”
“Thank you. That’s a big help. Love you.” Libby ended the call. “Victoria’s father is a chauffeur. Would Manuel know him? He saw the photo of Victoria and Rigoberto when we gave it to Nuñez, but he didn’t say he recognized her.”
Santos swore in Catalan. “I have the sick feeling he does.” He used his phone to summon the chauffeur to the house.
“I’m lost,” Maggie interjected. “What’s going on here?”
“Libby will tell you later,” Santos promised. “Everyone keep quiet. Let me talk to Manuel without interrupting.”
Manuel stopped at the den door. “Yes, sir, what do you need?”
Santos gestured for him to come in. “Victoria’s father is a chauffeur at one of the homes nearby. Do you know him?”
Manuel folded his hands behind his back and looked down. “I know a few of the chauffeurs, not all of them.”
Santos didn’t raise his voice, but his threat hung in the air like smoke. “You know Victoria’s father, though, don’t you? Why didn’t you speak up when you knew we were searching for her?”
Manuel frowned and, struggling with his response, cleared his throat. “Your father asked me to forget she’d ever been here.”
“Why?” Santos asked.
Manuel glanced toward Maggie and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say this in front of you. Miguel met Victoria on the beach one Sunday when everyone had the day off. She went home the next morning. He said she was lovely, but he’d had enough and avoided her. I’d forgotten about her, and Miguel wouldn’t have wanted me to mention he’d spent a single night with her. When I saw the photo, I’d hoped you’d find her without my having to disrespect Miguel’s memory.”
“God forbid,” Maggie said. “Santos and I know what our father was like, so keeping his secrets is absurd.”
