Quicksilver

by Elise Noble

  “Promise you won’t go near him.”

  “But if I spend time with him, he might let something slip.”

  “Or he might bury you in a shallow fucking grave.”

  “No, he won’t. We’re doing this because we think Izzy’s alive, remember?”

  “She does have a point,” Grandma said.

  Good. I had backup. Us women needed to stick together.

  “We’re not using my sister as bait.”

  “If they’re in public, the risk of him abducting Cora is low, and it could help us get to the bottom of this.”

  “What’s he going to do?” I asked. “Carry me out of the restaurant and stuff me into the trunk of his car?”

  “Maybe.”

  “With you spying on me the way you were last night?”

  I had him. If Rafe forbade me to see Roscoe now, he’d be casting doubt on his own abilities, and my brother had a level of confidence that put any reality TV star to shame. No arrogance, just supreme self-assurance. And he’d always been fearless. Even as a child, he’d run through a hail of bullets to save Grandma’s life while I trembled uncontrollably.

  “Fine. Dinner. But it’ll have to be tomorrow because after that, I need to go to Cali for a few days.”

  “I’ll message Roscoe now.”

  Rafe sighed, long and resigned. “I should have become a security guard. Or a cleaner. Or a bus driver.”

  “What do you do for a living, anyway?”

  My brother and my grandma exchanged a look.

  “You don’t want to know,” they both said at the same time.

  CHAPTER 6 - CORA

  ESTHER DIDN’T WANT to get Stefan involved in our devious little charade, at least, not right now. The day before yesterday, he’d arrived home while she was wiping off her make-up from our trip to El Bajo Tierra, and she’d gotten another lecture on the dangers of amateur sleuthing.

  Still, she buzzed me into their building, and I hid in the stairwell for fifteen minutes until Roscoe called to say he was waiting outside. Rafe had installed a tracking app on my phone, and he’d be following along behind.

  “Where are we going?” I asked Roscoe.

  “You’ll find out soon.”

  He’d promised me a surprise, something that left me apprehensive after Izzy’s experience. What had really happened that night in Barranquilla? Surprise! We’re going for a romantic stroll on the beach—hold still while I chop off your hand and toss it to the sharks.

  Even so, with my brother set to follow us, I climbed into Roscoe’s Mercedes and we set off to our mysterious destination. The vehicle still had that new-car smell, something foreign to me since almost nobody drove new cars in Colombia. The import taxes were so high, only the super-rich could afford to. Roscoe made that much money selling trinkets? I was in the wrong line of work.

  “Will you tell me where we’re going now?” I asked as he paused at the end of the street.

  “All in good time.”

  “But we’re going to eat dinner, right? I’m starving.”

  “Not yet. We’re going to make dinner first.”

  “Make dinner?” Like, manual labour? “Where? At your apartment?”

  Because even if he wasn’t a raving lunatic, inviting a girl to his apartment on a more-or-less first date was a bit forward.

  He laughed at the suggestion. “No, at Sushi House. Have you ever made sushi before?”

  “I haven’t even eaten sushi before.”

  “You’re serious?” He groaned. “Oh, no. You hate fish, don’t you?”

  “If you’d been more open with your plans, we could have discussed my dietary preferences.”

  “Shit. Hold on, I’ll cancel the reservation.” He slowed to pull over at the side of the road. “What do you want to eat? Pizza? Everyone likes pizza.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “Got you!”

  “Huh?”

  “I love fish, but your face when you thought I didn’t…”

  “I’m gonna get you back for that.”

  And he did. As we arranged sheets of nori and rice and fish and vegetables on bamboo rolling mats, he held out a tiny spoon with green paste on it.

  “Here, try this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Wasabi. It adds a sweet flavour to the dish.”

  I’d try anything once. Well, except bungee jumping, because I saw a slow-motion video where the person’s eyes bulged when they got to the bottom and it totally freaked me out. I took the spoon and stuck it in my mouth.

  There was a strange moment of calm before my eyes started watering, during which Roscoe’s face morphed into one of those Edvard Munch paintings. Joder, my whole head was about to explode.

  “What the hell was that?” I choked out.

  “I didn’t think you’d eat the whole lot!”

  “Water! I need water!”

  Roscoe ran—freaking ran—to the bar and grabbed a full pitcher. I didn’t bother to wait for a glass before I poured half of the water down my throat. A decorative mirror hung on the wall, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see flames leaping from my mouth and smoke pouring from my ears, but all I got was smeared mascara and wet hair. Roscoe leaned forward and picked a slice of lemon off my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “You said it was sweet.”

  “I was kidding.” He tucked the damp ends of my hair behind my ears. “You’ve really never had wasabi before?”

  “Not once. My g—” Dammit, I nearly said my grandma didn’t use it. “My girlfriends and I don’t go out to fancy restaurants very often.”

  “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll rectify that.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother walk into the restaurant with one arm around a stunning brunette. When he took in the state of me, his free hand balled into a fist at his side. I quickly shook my head. Don’t kill Roscoe. Yes, the wasabi prank had been shitty, but it wasn’t entirely Roscoe’s fault I’d led such a boring life.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’ll have to earn my forgiveness. And watch out, because I’m going to get my own back.”

  He grinned. “Cariña, I’d expect nothing less.”

  Conversation with Roscoe was easier than I expected. Over our slightly wonky handmade sushi, he told me tales of life in California with his two younger brothers, who’d played endless practical jokes on him as they grew up. At least I knew where he’d learned the wasabi trick. In turn, I made up a few stories about my own childhood, then felt guilty for lying, then felt guilty for feeling guilty about lying because I wasn’t supposed to like Roscoe.

  “So you learned to play the flute? Were you in an ensemble?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t that good.”

  In reality, I wasn’t even sure which end to blow into. The only instrument I played was the piano—something else Grandma had taught me, although her musical tastes tended towards the melancholy nowadays. The music brought back memories for both of us, both good and bad.

  “I bet you’d be good at anything you put your mind to, Lina-Catalina.”

  That’s what my mama always used to say too. Oh, how I missed her.

  “Do you play any instruments? The guitar? I picture you as a guitar guy.”

  “Is it the hair?”

  He scrubbed at his sandy mop, and I laughed.

  “No, not the hair. You just seem laid back. I can imagine you chilling out at a big music festival.”

  Which was more than could be said for my brother. Every so often, I snuck a glance over at his table, and he barely talked, let alone smiled. Still, that didn’t seem to bother his date. She gazed at him adoringly, and if the table hadn’t been in the way, I bet she’d have climbed into his lap and stuck her tongue down… Ick! No, I didn’t even want to think about that. And what had he told her about me? Anything? Did she know she was being used as a cover story?

  Truthfully, I felt as though I’d got the better end of the bargain. Roscoe was good compan
y, and the more time I spent with him, the more difficult I found it to believe that he could have been involved in Izzy’s disappearance. He acted like a gentleman to the end, paying the bill at the end of the meal then kissing me softly on the cheek as we sat in his car outside Esther’s apartment.

  “Can I see you again? I promise not to feed you any more wasabi.”

  “Okay.”

  “When are you free?”

  “At the weekend. Sunday?”

  On Saturdays, I always used to eat brunch with Grandma, Izzy, and Dores, and although that tradition had slipped since Izzy’s disappearance, we needed to make the effort to spend time together again.

  “I have to make a trip to La Gitana on Sunday. I’m meeting someone for lunch there. Saturday?”

  “Saturday’s good.” Tradition would have to get put on hold again.

  Another kiss. “I’ll wait until you get inside.”

  Oh, great. I dragged my heels as I walked up the path, then pushed every intercom button until someone took pity on me and buzzed the door open.

  “Adiós,” I mouthed as I waved goodbye.

  Roscoe drove off, and I sagged against the wall inside. This evening hadn’t gone at all how I’d expected, and apart from the wasabi joke, I’d actually enjoyed myself. And now that my mouth had stopped burning, I could even see the funny side of that. My brother had done far worse as a child, like the time he’d replaced my toothpaste with mayonnaise after I left my pet goat in his bedroom overnight. In my defence, I was only seven years old, and I didn’t realise what a mess Humoso would make. At least I’d given my goat a sensible name—Smoky in English. My brother watched too much American TV, and his goat was called Butt-Head.

  Those had been better days. When we moved to Medellín, Rafe had lost his sense of humour, and we’d no longer had our own bedrooms either. He slept on a couch in the kitchen-slash-living room while I shared the only bedroom with Grandma, Izzy, and Dores. Sure, things had gradually improved, but I still missed our true home in the south.

  I’d only been inside Esther’s apartment building for five minutes when my brother pulled up outside in his battered Honda. He’d owned the same car for years, and even though it looked boring, it went faster than usual because he’d modified the engine. Dores always said he’d kill himself driving it, but then he bought a motorcycle and now she crossed herself every time she saw him riding the thing.

  “Who was the girl you were with?” I asked once I’d put my seat belt on.

  “Nobody important.”

  “Does she know that?”

  Rafe shrugged, the master of eloquence.

  “You shouldn’t lead her on. That’s not fair.”

  “And how was your date with Roscoe?”

  My brother’s tone reminded me that I was doing exactly what I’d just accused him of.

  “That’s different. There’s a purpose.”

  Another shrug. Why did Rafael have to be so damn annoying?

  “Did you find out anything else useful about Roscoe?” I asked.

  “Difficult to talk to people when I’m babysitting you.”

  “I’m not a baby!”

  “I wish you’d leave this to me. You looked as if you were enjoying yourself a little too much today. This isn’t a game.”

  Busted.

  “Maybe I’m just a good actress?”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t roll your eyes.”

  “So, Meryl Streep, what did you discover?”

  “Not a lot,” I admitted. “He grew up in California, he wanted to be a rock star until he realised he couldn’t sing, and he doesn’t like avocados.”

  Rafe snorted. “At least you didn’t claim to be a good detective.”

  “Well, I’m going out with him again on Saturday. He couldn’t do Sunday because he’s going to La Gitana.”

  “La Gitana? What time?”

  “He didn’t exactly say, but he’s meeting someone for lunch.”

  “That gives us five hours at least.”

  “Five hours to do what?”

  My brother grinned for the first time in ages. “Break into his apartment.”

  “Break into his apartment? Are you crazy?”

  “Fortunately for you, yes. You can play lookout.”

  This had to be a nightmare. In a few hours, I’d wake up, and Izzy would be making a mess with her paints at the kitchen table while Grandma tried to cook.

  “How can you act so calmly about all this?”

  “Practice. Where are you going on Saturday?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Even though it was only two days away.

  “Wherever it is, you should wear a longer skirt.”

  “Your girlfriend’s dress was shorter than mine.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend, and I don’t care how long her dress was.”

  I’d almost forgotten how impossible my brother could be when he put his mind to it. “Fine. I’ll wear trousers.”

  “Good. Call me with the plan when you find out what it is. Guess I’m tagging along again.”

  CHAPTER 7 - CORA

  LUCKILY, ROSCOE TEXTED me on Friday night telling me to wear jeans for our excursion on Saturday because we’d be spending time outdoors. That meant I didn’t have to incur the wrath of my brother or risk twisting my ankle in pumps either.

  Stefan had gone out to buy a new memory card for his computer—he was into gaming in a big way, which Esther said gave her peace to watch as much TV as she wanted—and so I waited in their apartment for Roscoe to arrive.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to help with the breaking and entering tomorrow?” Esther asked once I’d updated her on our plans. “I’d make a great lookout. We could go in disguise. I’ve got a wig left over from Halloween last year, and a pair of coloured contact lenses. Oh, and you can borrow Stefan’s glasses.”

  “He wears glasses?”

  “Not really. He bought them to make himself look smarter.”

  When it came to Rafael versus Esther in the surveillance stakes, I knew who I wanted my partner in crime to be. “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Promise you’ll tell me what happens?”

  “You’ll be the first person I call.”

  My phone pinged with a message from my brother—he was waiting outside. Before I could put it back in my purse, Roscoe phoned too.

  “I’m downstairs. Shall I come up?”

  “No! I mean, I’m on my way out the door right now.”

  “You’re one of those rare women who’s ready on time.”

  Nearly everyone I knew would disagree, but who was I to argue? “I’ll be there in one minute.”

  Rafe was nowhere to be seen when I ran out the door, but I had to trust he was close. My phone was charged to a hundred percent, so at least he’d be able to track that if he lost sight of me.

  Roscoe leaned across to kiss me on the cheek in a repeat of our parting on Thursday.

  “Hola, hermosa.”

  “Hola, guapo. Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

  “Always so impatient, Lina-Catalina. Don’t you like surprises?”

  “Not really.”

  “Maybe you’ll change your mind about that today.” He reached across to turn the radio on. “Do you like rock?”

  The guitar intro from Bryan Adams’s “Summer of ’69” blared out of the speakers and nearly deafened me. “It’s a bit loud.”

  “Sorry.” Roscoe dialled it down a few notches. “What do you think of the sound system?”

  “Huh?”

  “In your professional opinion?”

  Oh, shit. Why hadn’t I said I worked for a pet-food manufacturer or a company that sold olives? Something innocuous that didn’t require any actual expertise.

  “Not bad. Good bass.”

  “I should hope so. They cost an extra two thousand bucks.”

  Or half a year’s rent on our apartment. “You must be selling a lot of hammocks.�
��

  He smiled as he took a left onto Avenida 37, more to himself than me. “Yeah, a lot of hammocks.”

  A sign for Parque Explora came up on the right, and I pointed at it. “Are we going there?”

  “Parque Explora? No. Why, do you like it?”

  “I’ve never been.”

  “Me neither.”

  “It’s one of those places I always wanted to go, but I’ve never quite got around to it.”

  “Not even as a little kid?”

  No, because when I was a little kid, I’d lived as far south as it was possible to get, hundreds of kilometres away and almost in Peru.

  “My parents were always busy working.”

  “Then how about we go next weekend?”

  “You and me?”

  “Unless you want to invite a few friends as well.”

  Little did he know… “It’s a date.”

  We grinned at each other as he paused at a junction, and when he pulled away again, he reached over to twine his fingers through mine, resting our joined hands on his thigh as he wove through traffic. I got lost in the music as we headed out of the city, through Vereda Potrerito, and all the way up to San Felix.

  The countryside was beautiful, and something I rarely got to see, but what were we doing there? And where was my brother?

  “Are we going hiking?”

  “No, we’re going paragliding.”

  “I’m sorry, for a moment, I thought you said we were going paragliding.”

  “I did.”

  All this time, I’d thought I was the crazy one. Now I knew it was Roscoe.

  “You want us to jump off a cliff with a parachute?”

  “Technically, it’s called a wing. Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Back in Medellín.”

  He got out of the car, walked around the back, and opened my door. “It’s safe; trust me.”

  There he was, asking me to trust him again.

  “Have you tried it before?”

  “Once or twice.” He held out a hand. “There’s nothing like floating among the clouds with the birds flying past, and we’ll be riding tandem with an instructor. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  An instructor? Okay, that sounded better. And really, it was time to let go of the old, boring version of Corazon da Silva. The girl who spent all her spare time at home and never got out and lived.