by David Sal
Mystery by the Sea
By: David Sal
Spanish version © 2014 David Sal
English translation © 2015 Katrina R. Steffes
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Cover photo: © Artesiawells | Dreamstime.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic, photocopying, recording, or any other methods.
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events described herein are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For my queen and my princess
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 1
Another beautiful night passed by in front of his eyes and, as usual, it was the best night ever for Lorenzo. From his perspective, everything was in its rightful place: the sky was particularly starry and the waves murmured in a swaying rhythm while he took in every second from the balcony of his house by the sea. He never could have imagined that, not too far from there, events were unfolding that would change his life forever. It was actually going to be an unforgettable night, but not one he would have wished for.
Dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, he had spent the last hours of the day alone with his thoughts. Negative thoughts, followed by positive thoughts to offset the negative ones. He had spent months in his house without lifting a finger. Since leaving his job, he had not truly tried to find another one. Fear paralyzed him. Fear of failing. Fear that another life would be harmed because of him.
A direct consequence of his inaction was seeing himself transformed into the househusband while his wife, Doris, became the family’s breadwinner. Although he knew it was nothing to be ashamed of, deep down it tormented him. A 32-year-old male should be at the height of his productivity, yet he had spent the last few months stuck inside the house or going for strolls on the beach. Not exactly the picture of a productive citizen.
On top of that, he had noticed that the pointed remarks and insinuations directed at him daily by Doris were loaded with a certain malice with the sole objective of hurting his wounded pride. “How did you do looking for a job today? There’s work for those who want it. You can’t be picky,” she frequently remarked. While Lorenzo understood that, to a certain degree, they were valid observations, he simply did not feel ready. The visits to the psychologist were helping a little, but sometimes they made him feel defective, like damaged goods. There were times when he left his appointment feeling worse than when he went in.
At least he had his house by the sea. It was not a mansion. It was a simple three-bedroom concrete house built on columns with one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. The design allowed the ground underneath the house to be used for parking or for entertaining guests. The structure was basic but functional. Oh, and the balcony! How he loved to look out at the sea from the balcony, feeling the saltwater breeze! Fixing his gaze on the horizon, everything else seemed so small. His mind cleared and he relaxed with each session. That was the therapy that Lorenzo felt did him the most good.
That and food. Lorenzo had never looked to alcohol to forget his problems. It always affected him the second it touched his lips. Headache, bad mood. Why add pain to shame? he reasoned when he was faced with an offer from some well-intentioned person. But food was something else entirely. And he could already see the result in his weight. But how could you pass up the pleasure of a delicious dessert when it lifted your spirits? He was aware of the changes he needed to make in that department, but they were very low on his list of priorities for right now, or better yet, at the very end of a long list of things to change or fix.
Lorenzo was so lost in his thoughts that he had not noticed the time. It was past ten o’clock at night when he realized that Doris had not yet returned from work. Usually, she returned home around seven at night. However, he remembered that over the past few weeks her arrival time had been somewhat irregular. When he really thought about it, her behavior had been somewhat strange as well.
She had been spending time locked up in the bathroom, outside on the balcony, or in the basement of the house making phone calls, which was not like her. She was also spending more time glued to social media, something which she herself had categorized as “nonsense” not so long ago. Normally, they both enjoyed good food, too. As long as he had known her, she had always maintained a healthy weight and figure, which he continued to admire. But for some time now, on multiple occasions, she had declared that she was not hungry. She ate little or missed meals. Such an inadequate diet, like the one she had been eating, would surely have negative repercussions on her health.
Something else that Lorenzo questioned but did not want to ask himself was if she still loved him. An analysis of Doris’ behavior over the last few months would serve as a barometer to answer that question. She woke up very early to leave for work and took off without saying goodbye. She did not call him during the day, and she was uneasy when Lorenzo called her during work hours. “I can’t right now, I’m really busy,” was her favorite response. When she returned to the house the conversations between her and Lorenzo consisted of trivial matters of little importance or questions that she answered tersely. There was no doubt; their relationship was falling apart. But he refused to think that she could have been compromising the integrity of their relationship. Lorenzo wanted to think that there was still love in her heart. They were still intimate, not as often as before, but they were. After ten years of marriage, one could expect a certain decrease, right? And with the problems they were facing, things could have been much worse.
Should I call her? Lorenzo wondered to himself while looking at the time on his cell phone. What should have been an easy question turned into an in-depth analysis given the reaction she had the last time Lorenzo called her because she was late. On that occasion, Doris blew up at him, accusing him of not trusting her and launching a full-on attack at him. Lorenzo had no desire to take that same medicine tonight. He just wanted to be sure that everything was all right. Besides, what good would it do him to be full of doubts and suspicions? He did not think he had the moral strength to be demanding, either, when he knew full well that he himself had spent months in neutral and she was bearing the economic responsibility of their household.
His reflections were interrupted when the familiar sound of Doris’ car joined the delightful beach symphony. The halo of light produced by the car’s headlights momentarily illuminated part of the beach before it returned to darkness. Lorenzo quickly entered the living room, closing the sliding door behind him. He sat down on the armchair facing the TV, which was turned on, while closing and slightly lowering his eyes, hoping to give the impression that he was sleeping. Although he felt ridiculous doing it, he convinced himself that it was necessary. He was curious to see how she would react believing that he had fallen asleep watching TV.
Lorenzo listened as the door opened and closed in rapid succession. He immediately heard the click of Doris’ heels walking past him and then qui
ckly fading away down the hallway before reaching the bedroom at the back of the house. Lorenzo straightened up and leaned forward to try to better hear her movements in the bedroom. The next thing he heard was the slamming of the bathroom door. Either she didn’t see me when she came in or she didn’t care if the noise woke me up, he thought.
Then Lorenzo heard what sounded like whimpering or crying. Is she crying? he wondered, worried. He stood up and walked slowly down the hallway, paying special attention to not make even the slightest noise with his steps. He positioned himself in front of the bathroom door and very carefully placed his ear on it. He could tell that Doris was crying or very upset; he had no doubt. The noise from the shower, however, kept him from scrutinizing the situation any further. But something had definitely happened to her.
Once the flow of the shower water stopped, Lorenzo scurried back to the living room on tiptoe and sat down in the armchair again. The bathroom door opened and, immediately afterward, the bedroom door closed. Lorenzo waited for a few seconds until he could not wait any longer. He had to know what had happened to Doris and why she had gotten back at this hour. And he did not want to know just for the sake of knowing. He genuinely wanted to help her in whatever way necessary and wanted her to know that he was here to support her.
Lorenzo returned to the bedroom, which was completely dark. Nevertheless, he did not have a difficult time locating the bed in the middle of the room. He sat down on his designated side, the left side, while Doris lay on her side, her back to him. He tried to get a reaction from her, wiggling the bed a little more than usual when he leaned back. Nothing.
“Doris, how are you?” Lorenzo asked quietly.
“Asleep,” she answered, faking sleepiness. Lorenzo did not fall for it.
Lowering his voice to the volume of a whisper, he asked, “But are you okay?”
“Fast asleep,” Doris answered without moving. Lorenzo sat up on the bed to use a more direct method.
“I mean, I’m asking why you got home at this hour when you get done at five…”
“I went to a movie with the girls,” she shot back, hoping to end the interrogation.
“Oh, I see, yeah. But you didn’t say anything to me. You didn’t call. Maybe I would have wanted to go, too,” answered Lorenzo, lying down again.
Without looking at him, Doris explained, “It came up at the last minute. Next time I’ll let you know. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry. I understand.” Lorenzo looked at the ceiling for a few seconds. “What movie did you see?”
“Lorenzo, please. I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow,” snapped Doris, irritated, while trying to get comfortable.
“It was a simple question, sorry. Goodnight,” he said apologetically.
Now Lorenzo was positive; something had definitely happened. But maybe it was best to leave it alone for the time-being. In the morning, with a calm head, he would surely be able to get it out of her, or she would give it voluntarily, or maybe it would not be important to him anymore and they would continue distancing themselves from each other. But something else forced Lorenzo to break the evening silence once again.
“Listen...”
“Lorenzo, please,” she groaned, annoyed.
“Did you hear that?”
“You being annoying? Yes.”
“No, a noise. Like footsteps,” added Lorenzo, moving his eyes from side to side while sitting up in bed.
“It could be a neighbor,” suggested Doris, minimizing the matter.
“We don’t have any neighbors.”
“Maybe it’s a cat, then. Go to sleep already.”
Just then, another noise, louder and more obvious than the first, made Doris sit up, too. With wide eyes and a wrinkled forehead, she said, “Okay, now I heard it.”
Forcing himself to ignore the signals his nervous system was sending to his body, Lorenzo got out of the bed to slowly peek out the window. He moved the curtain and twisted the wand of the aluminum Persian blinds, careful not to make any noise that might alert the intruder. He opened the blinds enough to make out a ray of light resembling the light of a lantern and the unmistakable shadow of a person in motion.
“It’s definitely not a cat,” reported Lorenzo while sliding his feet into his flip-flops.
Watching Lorenzo head to the door frightened Doris. “Lorenzo, don’t go. Don’t be a hero. It’s better to call the police,” she begged without giving up her place on the bed.
“Well...I left my cell phone in the kitchen. But thanks,” answered Lorenzo, feeling a certain degree of relief given the situation, noting that Doris was worried about his well-being.
He left the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him, and slowly walked down the hallway until he got to the kitchen. From there, Lorenzo was better able to distinguish the shadows that moved across the windows and walls, giving the impression that ghosts were invading their privacy. He guessed that there must be more than one intruder. He grabbed his cell phone, which was connected to the charger on top of the cabinet, and ignored a strong impulse to look out the window to confirm his theory before returning to the bedroom. Upon entering the bedroom, he saw Doris standing next to the window and he began dialing.
“Lorenzo, look!” interrupted Doris, careful not to raise her voice. Lorenzo joined her, listening and peering out the window. The deafening silence of the nighttime beach surrounded them for a few moments. “It looks like they’re gone. They didn’t do anything,” said Doris, relieved.
“Or they took off because they already looted our cars. Better to call the police anyways,” said Lorenzo, dialing the numbers on his cell phone. But he stopped when an unlikely noise puzzled them both. There was a knock at the door.
“Could it be a robber?” whispered Doris with wide eyes.
“Um...I don’t think so,” he replied. “Stay here,” he ordered, squeezing her arms. Doris closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as Lorenzo opened the bedroom door and left, closing the door behind him.
What started out as a friendly knock on the door instantly turned into banging. It sounded as though the person were trying to knock it down. Thinking more about ending the annoying noise than about his own safety, Lorenzo yanked open the door to find two men dressed in jackets and ties, wearing somber expressions accentuated by the nighttime shadows. One of the men was bald in front, slim, and looked about 50 years old. The other, who stayed a bit farther back, was younger—close to 40—heavier, and had a full head of hair.
“Good evening, how can I help you?” greeted Lorenzo in the most hospitable tone possible, as if it were seven o’clock in the evening.
Both men flashed their identification badges while the older man answered, “Good evening, I’m Detective Zayas.” Then, signaling behind him, he said, “Detective Lieutenant Gómez is with me. Is this the home of the Almeida family?”
Police? But I haven’t even called them yet, thought Lorenzo, confused.
“Yes, it is. I’m Lorenzo Almeida,” he answered without hesitating.
Zayas and Gómez entered immediately upon hearing the confirmation, leaving Lorenzo in the doorway. Their eyes scoured the house for every detail.
“We’re looking for Mrs. Doris Almeida. Is she here?” Zayas asked.
“What’s this about? What do you want?” asked Lorenzo, worried.
“Answer the question, please,” returned Zayas.
“She’s sleeping,” Lorenzo answered back without stopping to think that he was lying to none other than the police.
Zayas stopped in front of the sliding door that went out to the balcony and looked outside. “Wake her up,” he ordered.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Doris from the hallway, causing all three men to turn their heads. Her face lacked any expression. No worry, no nerves, no surprise… nothing. Like a statue. That was what really rattled Lorenzo’s nerves. He felt nauseated, dizzy, and his legs trembled. This was a completely new side of Doris for him. And that could only mean one thing: probl
ems…very serious ones.
Zayas went straight to the point. “Mrs. Almeida, were you at the residence of Mr. Armando Pedroza this evening at about nine o’clock?”
Doris opened her mouth, taking in a deep breath before answering, but nothing came out. Her eyes shot a glance at Lorenzo, who was still unable to make sense of the question. Armando Pedroza, somewhere in his 60s, was the owner and president of the financial services company where she worked. Since Doris did not answer, Lorenzo came to her rescue.
“Doris, this is ridiculous. Don’t answer. There must have been…”
“I was…at the movies,” she finally stated, interrupting her husband.
“It seems that there are three or four witnesses who say otherwise,” said Gómez, consulting his notebook.
“Witnesses? But what is this?” demanded Lorenzo, losing his composure.
Doris breathed through her mouth, her chest rising and falling in a clear rhythm. She passed a quick glance at Lorenzo, then at Zayas. “Yes, I was there,” she confessed. Lorenzo’s jaw dropped abruptly. Doris had lied to his face. He started to feel as though his marriage was not just falling apart; it no longer existed.
“Very well, Mrs. Almeida, I must ask you to accompany us to the station,” requested Zayas with formality.
“The station? For what?” inquired Lorenzo, bewildered.
“To question her in relation to the murder of Mr. Armando Pedroza.”
“What?” shouted Doris as Gómez positioned himself at her side.
“You may go change, please,” instructed Gómez.
Lorenzo stayed in the room, completely silent. Thoughts crowded his mind without making any sense. He could not organize his doubts and questions, much less express them. It felt like a sudden and painful punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
Lorenzo remained motionless as Zayas recommended, “You may follow us if you’d like. If you have an attorney, call him.” Then, when Doris returned in new clothes, Gómez took her by the arm and led her toward the door. A few tears appeared, rolling down her cheeks, but she did not make a sound until her gaze fell upon her husband’s.
