by Elise Noble
“She said ‘help me.’”
Esther’s eyes sparkled as she shifted to look at me properly. “Then isn’t it obvious?”
“Uh, no?”
“The mystery man kidnapped Isabella and killed another girl in her place.”
Stefan held up both hands. “Wait, wait, wait. Baby, I love you, you know I do, but you’ve got a bad habit of putting two and two together and making seventeen.”
“No, I—”
“Remember what happened with old Mr. Bellingham when we lived in the Keys?”
Esther deflated a bit and chewed her bottom lip. “That was an innocent mistake.”
“What happened with Mr. Bellingham?” I asked.
“Esther here hadn’t seen Mrs. Bellingham for a week or two, so when Mr. Bellingham walked into the house carrying a spade, a saw, and a roll of garbage bags, she thought he’d murdered his wife.”
“What happened? Did you call the police?”
“If only. My darling Esther waited until Mr. B went out, then convinced her friend Jessica to go check out his basement with her.”
“Hey, there were some really strange noises coming out of it.”
“You and your friend broke into his house? Alone?”
“Of course not. He left a window open, so we didn’t break a thing.”
Oh, because that made it so much better. “And did you find a body?”
Stefan shook his head. “No, they found a bookcase. Mr. B thought he’d surprise his wife with a reading nook and a new peach tree when she got back from visiting her sister in Wisconsin, except he nearly died from a heart attack first when he bumped into Sherlock and Watson coming up the stairs.”
“The EMTs said it was just angina.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested.”
“Okay, okay, so I made a slight misjudgement in that instance. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong about Isabella.”
If Stefan had looked any more incredulous, his eyes would have rolled through a portal to another realm.
“The police must have looked into the case, though.” He focused on me. “Right?”
“So they said.”
His gaze softened. “Cora, I’m so sorry to hear what happened to your friend. But there could be any number of reasons why she didn’t tell you about the man we saw her with. Maybe they decided to joke with us for some reason when we saw them, and they weren’t really dating? Or if they were, perhaps she was afraid to jinx it?”
I hated to admit it, but Stefan was probably right. And if Izzy had been having a relationship with Roger/Robert, and it turned sour in Barranquilla, a broken heart might have pushed her over the edge.
“But what about the phone call?” Esther prodded.
“As I said, I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“If it truly was her and she managed to call once, the chances are she’ll call again,” Stefan said. “And if she does, then you can take action.”
“I guess, but what if she’s in trouble?”
Esther folded her arms and stared at Stefan. “Exactly. What if she’s still alive and in trouble?”
“Honey, you need to cut back on the thriller novels.”
“Well? What if? Cora, we should look for this guy.”
Stefan cut in before I could answer. “No, you shouldn’t. Say you’re right and something sinister happened—that Isabella’s boyfriend was involved in her death. That would make him a killer. And if you start digging around, he could come after you too. Both of you.”
“We can’t just ignore this.”
“Cora knows far more about what happened than we do, and if she thinks it’s necessary, she can go to the police. They’re professionals, Esther. You’re a yoga instructor.” He turned to me. “Don’t you agree?”
“Don’t knock yoga,” Esther said.
I needed to process all this. My head had been spinning since I left the house, and now it had turned into a centrifuge with my thoughts stuck uselessly to the sides. Something wasn’t right in Izzy’s disappearance, and for the last few weeks, I’d been too blinded by grief to think properly. Sometimes, I envied my brother and his ability to act like a cyborg. He’d come to the funeral and said the right things, but his eyes were the same two chips of granite they’d always been. People say the eyes are the window to the soul, and Rafael’s soul was dark.
“It sounds a little farfetched,” I said.
“But what—”
“Esther…” Stefan warned. “Cora, we’ll always be here for you. If you need to talk, or cry, or you just want company, come over any time. But you need to take Esther’s conspiracy theories with a pinch of salt.”
“They’re not—”
I didn’t want to cause an argument. “Stefan, you have no idea how grateful I am, and I promise we won’t do anything risky. Perhaps we should just finish the lesson?”
Esther huffed, but when I leaned forward and pressed play on El Secreto de sus Ojos, she grudgingly concentrated on the Spanish, and this time, I managed not to turn into a crybaby. And when she ate half a loaf of banana bread and started planning which movie to watch next, I thought she’d forgotten her hare-brained idea as quickly as she’d thought of it.
I should have known better.
Esther leaned in close as she showed me out the door at the end of the evening.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“But we already have a lesson scheduled for next week.”
“I mean about Roger or Roberto or whatever his name is.”
“Huh?”
“We’re gonna find him.” She gripped my hands. “You didn’t get brainwashed by Stefan, did you? I mean, he doesn’t even believe in extraterrestrials.”
“We don’t actually have any evidence that they exist.”
“Pffft. Seven hundred million trillion planets, and you think we’re alone? That’s even crazier than the idea of faking a suicide. Are you working tomorrow night?”
“Until seven.”
“Perfect. We can go out after.”
“Go out where?”
“To the bar where we saw Isabella, of course. A tall blond gringo in Medellín? Someone must have seen him. And I didn’t want to say it in front of Stefan, but the guy was hot.”
Hot, and potentially a murderer if Esther was to be trusted. Stefan was right—Esther needed to cut back on the thrillers.
And now he walked up behind her. Dammit.
“I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” I said, leaning down to kiss Esther on the cheek.
She winked. “Don’t forget your dancing shoes.”
CHAPTER 2 - CORA
I’D HOPED GETTING out of the apartment would give me clarity, but talking to Esther and Stefan left me more confused than ever. Particularly Esther. Could there be any merit in her crazy idea, the conspiracy theory as Stefan called it?
Because how else could Izzy be alive?
If it had been her who called me, she must be hurt, or lost, or being held against her will. And why hadn’t she told me she was seeing someone? The answer was all too obvious—she thought I’d disapprove if I knew, which meant her so-called boyfriend was bad news.
Izzy hadn’t always had the best taste in men. As well as the mistake with the law student, she’d lost six kilos when she dated a guy who only ate fruit, put all the weight back on again when she got involved with Steroid Santino from the gym, then accidentally gone out with a drug addict. He’d hidden it well for a month or so, then a baggie of coke fell out of his pocket as he climbed into his car, and my brother put him in the hospital.
So was it possible she’d hooked up with a man who wanted to wear her damn skin? Unfortunately, yes.
I thought I’d sleep on the problem, but that plan didn’t work out so well. I tossed and turned for most of the night until eventually, I shoved the sweaty sheets away and stared out the window at the street outside. When we first came to Medellín, we’d lived in little more than a shack on the outskirts of the city, nestled into the mountainsi
de in Comuna 13. District 13. Some people didn’t believe the number thirteen was unlucky, but for me, the name was no coincidence.
In Colombia, neighbourhoods—barrios—were divided according to the estrato system and given a number between one and six. Estrato—estate—six was the best, and you paid accordingly with higher rates for gas, electric, water, and phone services, which helped to subsidise the lower rates in the lower estratos. Comuna 13 scored a solid zero. We didn’t even have a phone.
Although our current apartment in Belén was small, it was clean and comfortable and a vast improvement on what we’d once had. Izzy’s abstract paintings adorned the walls, and Grandma played the old upright piano in the living room every evening. To me, it wasn’t just a cheap apartment in an okay part of town with a view over the street outside. It was home.
A car drove past in the early hours, an old sedan, and I wondered where the driver had been. Where he was going. Work? Pleasure? Did his life have more direction than mine?
When I was a little girl, I’d read countless books, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to be a warrior princess or a world-famous explorer. Then my world fell apart, and my sole goal became survival. And now? I came to the realisation that I’d spent the last few years coasting along, relief at being alive and relatively comfortable quashing any ambitions I might once have had. And if Izzy hadn’t died—or disappeared—I’d probably have kept on doing the same thing until I died of old age or boredom, whichever came first.
But with yesterday’s phone call, everything had changed. I wasn’t the same girl anymore, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to find the man Esther and Stefan had seen, if for no other reason than to understand Izzy’s state of mind when she travelled to Barranquilla.
Which was why, when Esther messaged me after breakfast with the name of a bar and the news that Stefan would be at a seminar on global energy production all evening, I immediately began planning what to wear.
Me: Meet you at 8?
Esther: Te esperaré afuera.
She’d wait for me outside. Good. A little of the tension that had built up inside me since yesterday receded, not because I thought finding Robert/Roger would be easy, but because at least I’d be doing something.
“Do you have a full day today?” Grandma asked as I walked into the kitchen.
“Private lessons from ten until two, then a group from three until seven.”
“So you’ll be back for dinner?”
“Actually, no. I’m going out with the students afterwards. It’s the end of their course, and I promised I’d celebrate with them.”
Why didn’t I just tell Grandma the truth? Well, because Grandma’s friend Rufina’s son worked with Stefan, and Grandma loved to talk—it was how I’d gotten Stefan and Esther as clients in the first place. And I certainly didn’t want news of tonight’s little excursion to get back to Esther’s husband after I’d promised we wouldn’t do anything risky.
“Be careful if you’re walking home alone,” Grandma said.
“I always am. Have you got a busy day?”
“Rufina and Dulce are coming over for lunch, and I promised Dores I’d do some mending.”
Rufina? Yes, I’d made the right decision with my fib. The only thing that worried me was Grandma being home all day, because what if Izzy called back? Part of me wanted to spill the whole story, to get Grandma’s advice because she’d always been my sounding board, but I also knew Stefan was right. The kidnapping theory was just that—a theory—and I didn’t want to burden Grandma if we’d got it totally wrong.
So instead, I stuffed a sparkly necklace into my purse, then smiled and waved as I left the house in my uniform of jeans and a camisole. And pumps. I’d need every ounce of confidence I could muster tonight.
“You’re sure this is the right place?” I asked Esther as we headed into Café Bourbon.
Izzy usually went somewhere cheaper, but if her new beau was paying…
“Definitely. Stefan wanted to eat American-style food that night, and they do the best ribs here. As long as you’ve got a good appetite, that is—the portions are enormous.”
I saw what she meant when a waiter glided past, carrying two burgers with cheese dripping down the sides that had to be six inches high. My mouth watered, although I felt slightly sick at the same time.
Downstairs, the room was split in half, with tables on one side and a dance floor on the other. Stairs led to a balcony with bar-height tables and a few stools, but that space seemed to be filled with couples doing things I’d never done in private, let alone in public.
Esther didn’t seem bothered as she led me towards the bar, leaving me to wonder whether my life until this point had been a tiny bit sheltered. She’d dressed flashier than me as well, in a sparkly black dress and pumps, although I still stood six inches taller.
“What do you want to drink?” she asked me.
“Limonada de coco.”
“But that’s non-alcoholic.”
“I think we need to stay sober tonight, don’t you?”
“We also need to blend in, and nobody at Café Bourbon drinks coconut limeade.”
“Fine. One drink and no more.”
Esther waved at the bartender, and he came over almost immediately. “Dos besos al atardecer, por favor.”
I dreaded to think what was in a “sunset kiss,” but I wasn’t surprised when I saw him reach for a bottle of aguardiente, otherwise known as the local firewater. Perhaps I should have worn flats tonight, although that would have put my chest level with the bartender’s eyes, not that he seemed to need an excuse to stare at my boobs.
Drink in hand, I backed away, searching the room for a blond-haired man who fitted Esther’s vague description, but it was almost dark and I tripped over a guy’s foot.
“Lo siento,” I muttered in apology, but of course he didn’t hear me. The music was loud enough to pop my eardrums.
“Do you see him?” Esther shouted.
“You’re the one who knows what he looks like.”
“Yeah, but you’re taller.”
I accidentally made eye contact with a greasy-looking guy six feet away and quickly averted my gaze in case he thought I was interested. Even if I had gotten sick of the single life, I certainly wouldn’t come to a place like this to find a date.
A flash of light-coloured hair on the far side of the dance floor caught my attention, and I poured half of my drink down my throat so I wouldn’t spill it all over myself or someone else as we tried to squeeze through the crush. Damn, that burned.
By the time we reached our target, I’d had my ass pinched three times, my toes trodden on twice, and been elbowed in the side once, only for Esther to shake her head.
“His face is too round.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Hey, look, there’s another blond guy.”
And another… And another… We even ventured upstairs, where we didn’t find Robert/Roger, but we did get invited to a threesome by a man who gave us a mouthful of abuse when we turned him down. What a charmer.
“This is hopeless,” I said to Esther when we regrouped in the ladies’ bathroom. “He’s not here, and we can’t do this every night.”
“It’s busier than it was last time. Maybe we could ask people if they’ve seen him? The bartender… We should ask the bartender.”
“I can’t even hear myself think out there.”
“He has to go home sometime.”
“So you’re basically suggesting we stalk him?”
Esther shrugged. “Yes?”
“No!”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Not exactly.”
A girl in a strapless red dress tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, are you waiting in line?”
“You go ahead.”
I wasn’t cut out to be a detective. Sometimes, I was barely cut out for putting my pants on the right way around in the mornings. The last decade with all its battle
s and setbacks had left me tired. So tired.
“Okay, how about this…” Esther started, and I knew I wouldn’t like her suggestion. “You order another drink and flirt with the bartender a bit, get his number, and you can call him tomorrow.”
“Are you crazy?”
“He likes you.”
“He likes my cleavage.”
“Then we’re back to the stalking thing.”
“You’re impossible.” But the alternative was to give up, and I’d never been a quitter. A quitter would have died in the rainforest near Leticia eleven years ago. “Fine. I’ll try for his number.”
Esther straightened my necklace and handed me her lipstick. “That’s the spirit.”
Except when we got back out to the bar, I saw the barman we spoke to earlier disappearing out the fire exit.
I grabbed Esther’s hand. “Quick, follow me.”
“I can’t run in these shoes.”
We caught up to the guy as he lit a cigarette in the dingy alley behind the club, and after regarding us through lazy eyes for a second, he held out a packet of Marlboros.
“Smoke?”
“No, uh, thank you. We just came outside for some air.”
Esther nudged me, and I stumbled sideways.
“Air,” she said, “and we’re looking for a friend of ours. His name’s Robert. Or maybe Roger. Blond guy. American.”
The bartender raised one bushy eyebrow. “You don’t know your friend’s name?”
Busted. “He’s not a close friend, more of a…”
“A hook-up,” Esther blurted. “A one-night stand.”
“With you?”
“Hell, no.” She flashed her wedding ring. “I’m married.”
Now he looked more closely at me. Great. I tried for a giggle and choked on my own tongue instead. Dammit, I could hardly back out now.
“Uh, yes, a one-night thing. And he wrote his number down after, but I lost it, and then I realised he left a…uh…a sock behind in my apartment.”
What was I even saying?
“A sock? You’re trying to return a sock?”
When the world seems like it’s falling apart, smile—that’s what my mama always used to say. It didn’t usually work, but I’d been blessed with good teeth, so I figured I had nothing to lose.
