Dance of Flames

by Janni Nell

  “Probably,” I murmured. “Hey, what’s that smell?”

  “Emilia is cooking lunch.”

  I inhaled deeply. Nice to have something to replace the stench from my dream. I’d even forgive Emilia her snooping if her food tasted as good as it smelled.

  “We’re eating by the pool,” Lily said. I followed her out of my room. She wrinkled her nose. “You’d better change those clothes. It looks like you slept in them.”

  Ten minutes later I joined everyone on the terrace. They were sprawled on sun-lounges and dressed for summer. Mom wore one of those long transparent shirts over her black one-piece. Nearby, my stepfather, Steven, sported a Speedo. My real dad used to call them budgie smugglers. I called them too-much-information.

  Lily’s husband, SJ, was more discreet in board shorts, while she wore a bikini showing off a post-baby body that was only a little fuller than it had been. Mom beckoned me and patted the sun-lounge beside her. Wondering what she planned to bitch about, I perched on the edge, ready for a quick getaway.

  “How was your visit to Professor Chavarria?” She perched her sunglasses on her tastefully streaked hair so she could look me fully in the eyes. “Did he inspire you?”

  “Very much. He gave me lots of information.”

  “About courses? Are you intending to study in Spain? That’ll be difficult considering you don’t speak the language. Why not apply to Steven’s old college. They have an excellent history faculty. He could put in a good word for you.”

  Did she really think I’d allow that? If I wanted to go to college, I’d get in on my own merits.

  “Look, Mom, I know how much this means to you and I really appreciate your offer to pay and all, but I won’t be going to college any time soon.”

  “Then why did you visit a history professor? Is he a new boyfriend?” She perked up. Getting me married and producing cousins for Little-A would be even better than a college degree.

  “Professor Chavarria is over seventy,” I said.

  “Then what—?” Suddenly she got it and groaned. “This is about Consuela, isn’t it? You’re still investigating her nightmares. How could you? We’re on vacation.”

  Over in the pool Lily and Little-A were splashing around, laughing. It seemed a good time to join them. I dived in and came up smiling. The water was warm from the sun. Delicious. Lily scowled at the wake from my dive.

  “Did you have to?” Lily said, shaking water from her hair. “Little-A doesn’t like it.”

  “Really?” I asked, as Little-A chuckled and swatted the waves. “Looks to me like she’s having fun.”

  “Ca ca,” Little-A said and pointed at the sky.

  I couldn’t help looking up, but Casper was nowhere in sight.

  “She keeps saying that,” Lily said. “At first I thought she meant clouds but the sky is totally blue today. What can she mean?”

  “It’s just baby talk,” I said, shooting Little-A an apologetic glance. We both knew who she was talking about and what she wanted to do with him. Lily would skin me alive if she found out her daughter had been flying without a plane.

  “Hold her for me, while I do laps,” Lily said.

  I supported Little-A under her chest and belly. “You want to learn to swim?”

  Little-A splashed her arms in the water. When I got bored of teaching her to swim, I tossed her in the air, catching her as she splashed down. She shrieked and giggled.

  “Love you,” I said, kissing her wet cheek.

  “Ca ca,” she said and pointed at the sky again.

  “Ca ca won’t be around for a while,” I whispered, “and he definitely won’t be taking you flying again.”

  Her lip dropped. Guess babies do understand a lot more than we give them credit for. Or maybe Little-A was just super smart. But I was smarter. I threw her in the air, easily distracting her from thoughts of Uncle Ca Ca.

  Emilia appeared with platters of spiced olives, garlic shrimp and crusty bread. Inhaling the delicious aroma, I climbed out of the pool and wrapped Little-A in a towel.

  Emilia put her platters on the table. “I bring more,” she promised before returning to the kitchen. Lily took Little-A onto her lap. She smeared more sunblock on her daughter’s face and covered the reddish curls with a tiny hat.

  I turned to Mom. “Where did you find Emilia?”

  “The agency sent her.”

  “Are you sure? I found her in my room at dawn.”

  “So early. I’m impressed.”

  “She was snooping through Consuela’s stuff.”

  “Well, I did tell her to get rid of all the rubbish.”

  Is that what she’d been doing? Could I have been mistaken about the snooping? I’d been up all night, punchy and in need of sleep.

  “She’s good, isn’t she?” Mom selected a shrimp and nibbled, pinky raised. “Not only is she a great cook, but have you noticed the indoor plants? So shiny.”

  “Does she use Pledge or Endust?”

  “No need to be snarky. There’s nothing wrong with a woman taking pride in her work.”

  “It’s a shame she doesn’t take more pride in her appearance,” Lily put in. “She’s actually quite pretty but she’s not making the most of herself. Those glasses do nothing for her. And that wig. I mean seriously, she needs a complete makeover.”

  Wig? Okay, I’m an investigator so I should’ve noticed, but I’d been more interested in Emilia’s actions than her appearance. Still, I should have noticed. Even though it was a really good wig. The kind only a fashion-conscious woman like Lily would notice.

  Her comments about Emilia made me wonder whether the new maid was really a fashion tragic or simply a smart operator in disguise. A thief? That would explain her snooping.

  “Has anyone noticed anything missing?” I asked. “Money? Jewelry?”

  Lily blinked, still far away in makeover land, but Mom immediately rushed off to check her jewelry. When she returned, she assured me that nothing had been disturbed. “You’re imagining things, Allegra.”

  Maybe I was. When Emilia returned with paella and a whole baked fish, I tried to see her as nothing more than a very efficient maid and cook. When she produced pitchers of sangria I was prepared to believe she was a national treasure. But I didn’t like the taste of her secret family recipe. She noticed I wasn’t drinking as fast as the others.

  “You taste sangria. Is good,” she said.

  I pretended to take another mouthful, barely wetting my lips. “Very nice.” I got the feeling she wanted to hang around, making sure her family recipe was properly appreciated, but she couldn’t really do that, what with Mom shooting what-are-you-still-doing-here glances at her.

  I held Little-A, giving Lily a chance to eat in peace. My niece pulled my hair and locked teething gums around a crust of bread. I didn’t even mind when she drooled on me.

  “This food really is good,” Lily said. “The sangria is amazing. Top up my glass, SJ.” It wasn’t long before everyone was refilling their glasses for the third or was it the fourth time?

  Lily rested her hand on SJ’s thigh, giving him a seductive glance as she sucked an oyster from its shell. Their sexy expressions made me want to puke. Get a room, people. Oh, right, they’d already done that and the result was sitting on my lap blowing raspberries.

  I’d always envied Lily’s relationship with SJ. Not her choice of partner, you understand, but the team they’d become, which had only been strengthened with the arrival of Little-A. I guess it helped that Lily had someone to do her housework and a willing supply of babysitters in Mom and me.

  When Emilia returned with more pitchers of sangria, Mom complimented her on the food.

  She beamed shyly and said, “I happy you like.”

  Lily, who was more than a little drunk, said, “We love. We should ta
ke her home with us, Mom.”

  Emilia ducked her head as though the compliment was too much for her, collected our dirty plates and hurried away. Steven and SJ had stopped discussing golf and were yawning widely. Almost siesta time.

  Before everyone fell asleep, I asked, “Has anyone checked on Consuela?”

  Mom lifted an eyebrow. “There’s no need. Nigel said she was doing fine. I sent flowers on behalf of our family.”

  “What about her things?” I asked, thinking I should get them out of the house before Emilia threw everything in the trash. “Is there an address we can send them?”

  “Consuela’s brother—I think his name is Felipe—he’s going to collect them.”

  “When?”

  “Emilia has the details.”

  “Then why was she going through Consuela’s stuff? She knew it wasn’t trash.”

  Mom yawned. “I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to her.”

  “Honestly, Mom, I think we owe Consuela a visit.”

  “We probably do,” Lily put in. “She was injured in our villa.”

  “There’s no need for you both to go. Allegra can visit if that’s what she wants.” Mom turned to me. “Emilia will have Consuela’s address or at least a phone number. Now I’m going inside for a siesta. This sun is so enervating.”

  After handing Little-A back to Lily, I headed for the kitchen. Emilia startled when I entered and almost dropped the plates she was loading into the dishwasher. She stared at me, waiting, I suppose, for an explanation of what I was doing in her domain. For the first time I saw her through Lily’s eyes. Definitely pretty with those fashionably full lips and wide cheekbones, but her eyes, in fact her entire body language, indicated extreme shyness.

  She asked anxiously, “Something wrong?”

  Trying to put her at ease, I said, “Sorry to bother you, I need Consuela’s address.”

  She seemed relieved that I wasn’t planning to complain. “Consuela do not give address. I have phone number.” She rummaged through a drawer and handed me a scrap of paper. One phone call later I had Consuela’s address.

  After changing my swimsuit for regular clothes, I headed for her brother’s apartment, where she was staying until she was fully recovered. I climbed the stairs to the second floor of the small building. The apartment was across the hall from a dance studio. There were no classes in progress so nothing to distract me from knocking immediately on the apartment door. It was opened by a seriously gorgeous man, who made up for his lack of height with a svelte body and a movie star face.

  “Felipe?”

  “Sí.”

  “Is Consuela in?”

  “A moment, please.” His accent was thicker than his sister’s and a whole lot sexier. He released a stream of Spanish into the farthest reaches of the apartment. A female voice answered and a moment later Consuela appeared. She seemed pleased to see me, smiling despite the sling on her shoulder.

  “How are you?” I asked from behind a huge bunch of yellow roses.

  “Not so bad. Felipe helps me.” She formally introduced me to her brother. We shook hands and I gave him the flowers.

  “These need water,” I said. Then, “I’ve brought Consuela’s things from the villa. The boxes are in my car. I could use some help unloading them.”

  Consuela interrupted, “Sí, sí. Later. You come in now, please. I give you drink. Hot? Cold?” When she saw my glance at her shoulder, she said, “Felipe will make.”

  Before he headed off to the kitchen, I gave him the chocolates I’d bought for Consuela. “You’d better put these in the fridge.

  “I take those.” She whipped them out of his hand.

  Felipe laughed and said something in Spanish.

  “He tell me I get fat. But I do not care. I do not need the dancer’s body like Felipe.”

  Be still, my heart. “He owns the studio? Does he teach flamenco?”

  Consuela exchanged a smile with her brother and pointed out several trophies he’d won. “You like to learn flamenco? Felipe is the good teacher. We arrange a lesson for you.” Now I was smiling too. “Please sit down,” she said and offered me a chocolate. We munched in silence. Then she said, “The villa has new maid now? She clean the plants?”

  “For the record I never noticed the plants were dusty.”

  “Is okay. I happy I no more work at the villa. My brain go crazy. Too many bad dreams. They stop now.”

  “I’m glad,” I said and asked whether she knew Emilia.

  “Sí, she work for the agency. Very long time.”

  “How long?”

  “I think ten years or more.”

  Gee, I’d have sworn Emilia was no older than her early twenties. That meant she’d begun work in her early teens. Not impossible but unlikely. This wasn’t a third world country.

  “How old is Emilia?” I asked.

  Consuela didn’t seem bothered by my blunt question. She answered without hesitation. “I know this. I attend her birthday. She is forty-seven.”

  “Is there anyone else at the agency called Emilia?”

  “I think no.”

  So who the heck was Emilia—I mean our Emilia—and why had she come to the villa? My theory about her being a thief was gaining credibility.

  “I can’t stay,” I said, gulping my icy lemonade. “I have to get back to the villa. I’ll call again. Promise.”

  I hung around long enough to help Felipe carry the boxes upstairs. There weren’t many and we soon had them all in the apartment. As I delivered the last of them, I found Consuela on her knees searching the contents.

  “I look for black rock,” she said.

  “It’s not there?” I replied, playing dumb.

  “I cannot find. Is very beautiful for me. My brother give it to me.” When I shot Felipe a glance, she said, “My other brother. He find on a building site for a new hotel. You look in villa, please. I would like to have.”

  “Sure,” I said, hating that I was lying to her. Then I bolted down the stairs and floored it to the villa. The first thing I heard was Little-A screaming. Strange. Lily never left her daughter crying. I sprinted inside.

  Little-A was in her cot smelling like a dung heap troll. A feeling of apprehension clawed my belly and it had nothing to do with the prospect of changing her diaper. Lifting her out of her crib, I called, “Lily,” but there was no answer from my sister.

  My feeling of apprehension grew as I carried Little-A to her parents’ bedroom. There was no answer to my knock. I pushed open the door. Lily was sprawled on the bed. Her bird’s nest hair covered one closed eye. Tangled around her legs, her sarong was splattered with what appeared to be sangria. Beside her SJ snored loudly. His chest was tanned from the Spanish sun and, though I hadn’t noticed when we’d been on the terrace earlier, he seemed to have a few more muscles. Must’ve been working out in the villa’s gym.

  Crossing to Lily’s side of the bed, I gave her a good shake. She failed to respond. I bent down and said right in her ear, “Your hair is a total mess.” She groaned but didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t even respond when Little-A said, “Mumm, mumm, mumm.”

  “Mommy’s sleeping,” I said. “Mommy’s very drunk.”

  “Dunk, dunk, dunk,” Little-A said.

  I headed to Mom’s room. She and Steven were also sprawled on their bed. Mom was on her back snoring softly, a gloss of drool on her lips. Steven lay facedown. His Speedo had ridden up, exposing one white cheek. Ew. Averting my eyes from his semi-naked butt, I tried to shake Mom awake. Waste of time. She was as comatose as the others. That sangria certainly packed a punch.

  “Emilia,” I called, as I left Mom’s room. I suppose I should’ve looked for her first, but discovering the condition of my family seemed more important than preventing Emilia from stealing our valuables. Mom w
ould kill me for even thinking that but possessions can be replaced.

  When Emilia didn’t answer, I headed to the kitchen. Dirty pans littered the counter. Splatters of food covered the stove and sink. The dishwasher stood open, bulging with unwashed dishes. Salad dressing dripped from a bowl joining the grains of rice on the floor. Emilia was nowhere in sight. My worst suspicions were confirmed when I entered her room. Drawers: empty. Closet: empty. Emilia: gone.

  With Little-A bumping around on my hip, I hurried to check the villa’s safe. I opened it, and gaped in surprise. The jewelry was still there. All of it. So far as I could tell anyway. Maybe Emilia wasn’t a thief. Maybe she’d just got bored with polishing the indoor plants.

  Little-A squirmed in my arms and began whimpering. This was one time I wouldn’t be able to pass her over to Lily for a change. If I’d had a peg I’d have clamped my nose as I peeled away the diaper. She was such a mess I decided bath time could be brought forward a few hours. She happily splashed around with her squeaky toys until I hauled her out and dressed her in fresh clothes and a clean diaper.

  “You smell nice,” I said. She blew a raspberry at me. “But your manners suck.” She grinned and grabbed my nose.

  I took her into the living room and sat her down with her toys. She didn’t stay still for long. Crawling around putting disgusting things into her mouth was more fun than anything store-bought. I let her go for it, drawing the line only when she began munching on a dead cockroach. As I scooped it out of her mouth, her eyes welled with tears.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said bribing her with a piece of banana.

  Little-A was happily squashing the fruit in her plump fist when I heard someone throwing up. Minutes later Lily staggered into the living room looking for her daughter.

  “Thank God,” she murmured, and scooped Little-A into her arms. She didn’t even mind when Little-A squished banana in her hair.

  “I couldn’t wake you,” I said. “Some siesta.”

  “The shrimp must’ve been off. I feel awful.”

  “I ate more shrimp than anyone and I’m fine. I think it was the sangria.”