Chaos
in Cuba
All rights reserved. © 2017 by Mercer Lake Publishing House, LLC
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
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Murder at the Mayan Temple, Book One
Death on the Wind, Book Two (September2017)
Danger at the Dive Shop, Book Three (October 2017)
Chaos in Cuba, Book Four (November 2017)
Sabotage on Solitude Bay, Book Five (December 2017)
A Scandal in Spain, Book Six (January 2018)
Nightmare Under the Northern Lights, Book Seven (March 2018)
Terror at the Turtle Sanctuary, Book Eight (April 2018)
Death in Dubrovnik, Book Nine (May 2018)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Dear Reader,
Recipes
BIOGRAPHY
Excerpt from Murder at the Mayan Temple
Chapter One
Chapter One
“If you die in an elevator, be sure to push the up button.”
― Sam Levenson
Kitty Swift lifted the hot Cuban espresso to her lips, took a sip, and was uncomfortably aware of the moment the caffeine made its way from her mouth to her brain. Chatter from the locals seated around her at the little street café sounded louder and faster. The candy-colored buildings that lined the streets of Old Havana took on a technicolor hue, and the early morning December sun burned brighter than before. Chica, her German Shepherd service dog, nudged Kitty’s knee as if to ask whether she was enjoying her heart palpitations, or if Chica needed to call for help.
“I’m not quite sure,” Kitty murmured. “But I’m awake now.”
Fatigue wasn’t a common experience for Kitty. Translating for the deaf community on luxury cruise ships usually included Bingo, a chocolate fountain, and all the virgin strawberry margaritas she could handle. Now she was on the sixth day of a seven day tour to Cuba and she wondered if there was enough espresso on the island to keep her awake.
Her tour group was enjoying a closer look at Havana during the Christmas season and had reserved three nights on land while the cruise ship was moored offshore. Permission to visit Cuba always hinged on the itinerary being full of educational activities, like visiting museums and listening to political speeches, but they still managed to sneak in quite a few opportunities to act like regular tourists. The large, four-story home was a few blocks from the main square, La Plaza Vieja. The first night had gone well despite the mattress being a little firmer than Kitty liked and the traffic a little louder than she’d anticipated. Around five in the morning, the head housekeeper had begun her daily chores, which included stomping into bedrooms and rattling her tin mop bucket like the Ghost of Christmas Past. Perhaps she’d thought since it was a hearing impaired tour group, nobody would notice, but in reality every service dog in the building had immediately alerted its owner.
Kitty had approached the household staff with a request not to disturb the guests until at least seven, but despite being fluent in Spanish, she’d been blatantly ignored. She’d then asked Sabrina, their official government provided tour guide to intervene. Sabrina had assured her that the housekeeping staff had been apologetic and understanding, but the sight of old Señora Delores and her mop bucket in the early morning half-light told Kitty that the issue was not at all settled.
All of which now brought her to the little street café at an hour when she was usually just beginning to contemplate rolling out of bed.
She reopened the little leather book that she’d let fall closed. Treasure Island was one of her favorite adventure novels, but she hadn’t made much progress on it during the cruise. As busy as she’d been, she was starting to fear that poor Jim Hawkins was going to be stuck on the island forever.
An older couple and a black lab turned the corner and headed into the wide open square. As they walked toward her, Eldrick and Betty Hereford waved in unison and both signed greetings. Chica sat up straight, nudged Kitty, and pointed with her nose as she was trained to alert her to anyone signing in the vicinity.
The Herefords were the last people Kitty would have imagined yearning for a trip to Cuba, but here they were. Retirees from Iowa, they’d been to Europe several times to tour the French Alps and taste the fine chocolates of Belgium, but had never ventured closer to the equator. Betty was about fifty pounds heavier than Eldrick, but seemed to have twice his energy, most likely from imbibing in the Cuban espresso. She kept her gray hair cut short and her conservative outfits were a nod to her decades as a church secretary. Eldrick was balding, tall and thin, with a penchant for striped polo shirts that made Kitty think of the Where’s Waldo books.
Kitty smiled. “Good morning.”
“Morning. What are you reading?” Eldrick peered at her book. “Ah, I see. Getting in the mood with a little ‘Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum’?”
“More like a gallon of espresso,” Kitty said.
“Courtesy of Señora Delores and her mop bucket?” Eldrick asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. I think I was first on her list. Probably because I complained so loudly yesterday. And you?”
“About thirty minutes ago. I never knew a room needed so much cleaning, especially when we’re hardly in it.” Betty sank into the seat across from Kitty and covered a yawn with her hand.
“Maybe she’s allergic to dogs,” Kitty suggested.
“That’s a possibility.” Eldrick pulled a chair over from another table and Thor settled at his feet, not bothering to touch noses with Chica. Thor was a good-natured dog, but he knew better than to greet Chica while they were both on duty.
“Brooke thinks she’s trying to show us how clean La Casa Rosa is.” Betty wiped her forehead and readjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat. Although it was still early, the air was humid and hot.
Brooke Marino and her sister, Katie, were in their early twenties and were fulfilling their grandfather’s dream to return to Cuba. Unfortunately, he had passed away before tourism reopened for the isolated island nation, but the two young women had inspired the group as they shared their family history and pointed out familiar places they had seen only in pictures.
“She’s probably right,” Kitty said. “They know more about the Cuban culture than I do. Maybe it’s a sign of their hospitality.”
“I wish the Cuban culture included a little more sleeping in,” Betty said, motioning to the waiter.
Kitty translated their orders and considered having another espresso. Chica nudged her knee, as if to say she shouldn’t even think about it. As the waiter disappeared toward the kitchen, Kitty smiled. Most people thought Chica was very intelligent, and some had even seen her saving a life once or twice, but Kitty knew Chica was also a touch psychic. She had the uncanny ability to alert Kitty to danger before it appeared and had helped catch three murderers so far.
So far. Kitty grimaced inwardly at her own word choice. Three murderers, end stop. The three tragic and brutal slayings had brought Leander Estornell into her life, but aside from that wonderful addition, she was ready to leave murder and mayhem behind her. She didn’t need a dead body to call up the handsome American Embassy attaché now. Their friendship was moving toward something more
, but she didn’t waste time trying to define or label it. After the crushing experience of a broken engagement and the broken heart that went with it, Kitty was perfectly happy to let their friendship unfold as slowly and as gently as it needed to.
The fact that his name meant ‘Starling’ in Catalan was a delightful coincidence. They were birds of a feather in many ways: cautious, tender-hearted, loved classic literature, and on the move most of the time. Outwardly, they were quite different. Kitty was shockingly unremarkable with her slightly curly brown hair and perpetually sunburned nose. Without Chica, she looked like any number of women in their mid-thirties. Leander attracted stares from across the street. He bore the characteristic white forelock and mismatched eyes of a person with Waardenburg’s Syndrome. Combined with a natural confidence and wicked sense of humor, he stood out like neon sign.
Somehow, she still wasn’t sure how, they had found each other. Or he had found Kitty and Chica, because they were a package deal. Leander’s first gift had been a charm for Chica’s collar: a silver swift in flight with an inscription on the back declaring her an honorary attaché to the American embassy.
Kitty was happy, and that was such a new experience that she was content to bask in the glow of … whatever it was without questioning it too deeply. Someday she might have to tell him about her life before she worked as a tour guide, but she wasn’t going to worry about it until then.
“Kitty?” Eldrick signed.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Kitty felt her cheeks go warm. She’d been daydreaming and she was tempted to blame it on the lack of sleep.
“The itinerary says we’re headed to the historic center this afternoon after lunch on the river. Do you know their policy on service dogs?”
“The official guides say we will all be allowed inside. Also, I have the papers from the embassy and from the cruise ship.” Kitty understood his nervousness. The United States was quite progressive when it came to allowing service animals into public places, but the rest of the world didn’t always follow those rules. “Sabrina assures me that everything will go smoothly.”
Of course, she’d also assured Kitty that they wouldn’t be seeing Señora Delores before the sun rose, either.
“Do you run into much trouble in…” Betty searched for the name of the town where Kitty lived.
“Mérida,” she finger spelled for her. “It’s a colonial city in the Yucatan Peninsula. And no, not much. Maybe because I’ve lived there for several years and they all know us.” She smiled down at Chica. “Maybe because it’s more international than most cities in Mexico. It has a lot of European history and quite a few American expats.”
“Is that where they live?” Eldrick pointed behind Kitty.
She turned, and grinned at the sight of Penny, Elaine, and Toto headed toward their table. Toto, their service dog, wore a straw hat with a large sunflower pinned to the top. The two elderly women were dressed in matching white caftans layered with heavy beaded necklaces and white fabric head wraps decorated with enormous silk flowers. All they needed was two large cigars clamped between their teeth to complete the picture.
If anyone else had dressed in the garb of the local Santería religion, people would be offended for a myriad of reasons, but Penny and Elaine always seemed to get by with a wink and smile. They enjoyed the freedom that came with age, saying what they wanted, when they wanted. Kitty had been their tour guide five times now and adored their sense of humor. As for the others in the group, Kitty tried to remember that Penny and Elaine were an acquired taste.
“Good morning, all.” Penny settled herself at the next table and wiped her brow with her sleeve. “It’s not even seven in the morning and I feel like I’m standing in the hot breath of Satan himself.”
“Not very Christmas-y,” Elaine agreed. “In Miami, people keep the AC cold enough to store corpses. Here, we’re lucky if we get a fan.”
Kitty caught Betty’s expression at the mention of Satan and corpses, and rushed to say, “Did you know that Christmas wasn’t a holiday in Cuba until 1997? Castro believed it interfered with the sugar cane harvest.”
“Interesting,” Eldrick said. “So what changed?”
“Maybe he missed having a tree. I don’t understand people who don’t have Christmas trees,” Betty said. “Can you believe all the children who have grown up without a Christmas tree? It’s just not right.”
“Unless they’re Jewish.” Penny smiled at her benignly, but Kitty knew her well enough to know she had edited out several other comments.
“Because of Pope John Paul II’s trip, I think,” Kitty hurried on. “It was a gesture of goodwill.”
“How nice,” Betty said. “I just think Christmas makes everybody happy.”
“Or Hanukkah,” Penny said, the same gentle smile pasted on her face.
“Yes. Of course.” Betty fiddled with the strap of her purse and looked chastened. The waiter arrived at that moment to deliver Betty and Eldrick’s breakfast, and Kitty translated for Penny and Elaine.
As the two Iowans focused on their coffee, Kitty slid a look toward Penny and Elaine. She loved them dearly but they weren’t ones to mince words. As a human being, she enjoyed their biting wit. As a tour guide leader, she wished she had a little control in the matter.
“So, what are we going to do about the Unamopper?” Elaine asked. “She needs to exercise some decorum.”
It took Kitty a moment to realize she was talking about Señora Delores. “Um, well, plan ‘A’ was to speak to the staff. Plan ‘B’ was to have Sabrina speak to the staff. And ―”
“And that’s the end of your alphabet.” Penny blew out a breath. “Kitty dear, you know I’m not afraid to be petty. If I see that woman and her tin bucket today, I will be reading her the bylaws of my vacation time. I do not rise before the sun except for previously approved extra-curricular activities.”
“I understand and I agree. I’m dragging a little myself.” Kitty peered into her empty espresso cup. Maybe she could manage to sneak away after dinner and crawl into bed. “I’ll talk to Sabrina again when we see her later this morning.”
“She seems very nice.” Betty looked as if she were trying to say something positive and inoffensive.
“Yes, she does.” Kitty made a superhuman effort not to look at Penny or Elaine, and failed. Both had cocked an eyebrow, something Kitty still had not mastered.
‘Nice’ wasn’t the first word Kitty would choose to describe Sabrina, or even the twentieth. In a city where beauty was prized, Sabrina seemed to take her appearance more seriously than most, and her attire was more formal dinner party than casual Friday, or even dress-up Wednesday. She always seemed as if she were on her way somewhere important, and the tour group was not it.
“I bet she’s filling in for another tour guide,” Penny said.
“That’s a good theory,” Elaine said.
Kitty didn’t respond but inwardly agreed. Aside from the tight skirts and high heels, Sabrina was completely disinterested in her job. She was perpetually late, made no effort to be hospitable, and paid more attention to her cell phone than the tour group. For a government employee, Kitty thought she was rather unprofessional.
Kitty looked up as Victor and Lola Barrio wound their way between the tables toward the little group. The middle aged Cuban-American couple was celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary with a dream visit to Havana, and the way they held hands made Kitty feel a bit wistful. How lovely to have found true love as high school sweethearts and still be in love as they sent their own kids off to college. Their service dog, Twinkle, was nearing double digits in age and was perhaps the mellowest golden retriever Kitty had ever met. Her name didn’t seem to fit her personality, but maybe she had been more of a Twinkle as a puppy.
“Is it all right if we sit down?” Victor signed, gesturing to a free table next to Penny and Elaine.
“Of course,” Kitty responded, and the group quickly shifted the tables until they were all visible to each other.
That was one drawback to a large group of hearing impaired people in a public space. Sitting in a circle wasn’t always possible, but if they couldn’t see each other, the conversation was stilted. On the upside, they didn’t have to yell over the loud music being piped over the sidewalk speakers.
Lola rested her head on Victor’s shoulder. “I’m so tired,” she signed.
“Ah, the revenge of Señora Delores.” Penny nodded knowingly.
“She came into our room just as the sun rose,” Victor said. “I was embarrassed to get out of bed while she was there, but I couldn’t sleep while she mopped around us, either.”
“I’m starting to think there are five of her. They all wear that ratty old shawl, faded red apron that comes to her knees, and those old black boots, but I know they’re all different people,” Elaine said. “How can she be coming into every one of our rooms at sunrise?” She held up both hands. “Wait, wait. She’s a ghost. La Casa Rosa is haunted! That explains everything.”
“Yes, especially the fact that housekeeping promised they wouldn’t let her in, but there she was.” Penny’s eyes were wide.
“That makes sense. Cuban women are notorious for haunting their families.” Victor leaned closer. “My grandmother comes to visit my mother on her birthday. She wakes my poor mamita up in the night and tells her all the things she did wrong that year.”
“You really think Señora Delores is a ghost?” Betty asked, turning pale.
“No, not really.” Kitty didn’t need panic spreading through the tour group. “She’s very much alive.”
“How do you know?” Penny asked.
Kitty sent her a sharp look. “Because Chica would never allow a ghost to wander around my bedroom.”
The group considered that, and then they all nodded. Dogs weren’t keen on the supernatural.
“Well, something needs to be done,” Lola said, yawning. “I’m not going to be able to do my Christmas shopping when I’m this exhausted. I’ve got a list a mile long.”
“Me, too.” Betty pulled a sheaf of papers from her purse. “I’ve got orders from half of Dubuque. I know we’re supposed to be doing educational things all day, but I’m glad we get a chance to do a little shopping.”
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