“Which one do you like?”
“I’m not sure yet, but not one of Maya. That would be too odd. What would I say to Perry’s kids, James and Rebecca, if they came down? ‘And that’s Maya. She’s the one that killed your daddy.’ I’ve put the piano picture away for a while too, but I’ll put it back when the dust settles. Perry always loved that picture.”
“Are the kids likely to come down?”
“No. James, the older one, has never quite gotten past the divorce. He’s always thought I had something to do with it.”
“Did you?”
“Now darlin’, you don’t really think that! I was only 19 when I married him.”
“You must have been really something at 19.”
“Honey, I still am. You’ll see some day. We still have to finish that picture.”
We walked along the row of pictures for a time, not speaking. She held my hand, then stopped and turned to me. “I’m lonely now. I go through his coins like he used to do, and I found a tray of jewelry I hadn’t seen before, in that rosewood cabinet. Emerald crosses, crude gold chains. Shipwreck stuff, I suppose. I’m frustrated, emotionally, sexually. I’m used to a little more fulfillment than I’ve been getting.” I hugged her closely in sympathy, my hands moving on her back. It was all I could do.
Later Cody and I met at the refreshment table. I poured us each a glass of champagne and handed one to him. He sipped his thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe it’s time we sprung Delgado. He got busted in late January, now it’s the middle of June. That’s a long time to spend in a Méxican jail.”
“Especially if you are a cop.” Maya appeared beside us. “He must have a family, too. What about them?” Around the gallery men were nudging each other, looking at the pictures and then looking at Maya. She smiled at them. Other men were looking at Barbara. She smiled too.
“Maybe cousin Luis with the ice cream truck is taking care of them,” I said. The gallery owner walked over to the long wall and put red dots on two of the Maya pictures.
“Well, anyway,” said Cody, “I think it’s time to let the guy out. I have a certain sympathy for cops that get set up, even if they’re not quite straight.”
“You know that I owe him one for trashing that picture. Don’t you think that was serious?”
“Yes, I do, but maybe four and a half months in prison is enough. All we have to do is send a note to the archaeology police and suggest they x-ray those ceramics. They’ll see the coins right away. Maybe time served is enough for the theft of 11 fake pots.”
“I agree with this,” said Maya. “Let him go. He has a family and he is not a bad man. He was not a killer, for example.”
“How about Valentin Guzman? If he’d been a little smarter I might be dead now.”
“He can stay where he is,” said Maya, “but maybe Barbara could help his family while he’s gone. Here in México employers feel a little more obligated than in Gringolandia. Paul, why not say something to her?”
Later, Cody and Barbara and I met again at the champagne.
“You’re doing well,” Barbara said to him, “but I feel I should apologize to you.”
“I’m OK, but thank you,” he said. “I just had to buy a longer bathing suit to cover the scar. No more Speedos for me now.” I was imagining a rhinoceros in a Speedo. She took his hand and held it in both of hers. “I’m just glad it wasn’t four inches to the right,” he continued.
“So am I,” she said.
“I’m feeling rather foolish that he even got a shot at me. I took the chance that in the distraction of Rodriguez pounding on the door I might be able to wing him, if I could just get a shot past Marisol. He’d still be alive if it had worked.”
“But Perry never could have gone to prison, especially here. That wasn’t his style.”
I took her by the elbow and led her off a bit. “Maya asked me to say something to you about Valentin Guzman’s family. I’m sure the police told you the story.”
She touched my cheek and then took a sip of champagne. “You’re sweet, but it’s all taken care of, darlin’. His wife is still on the payroll. She will be until he gets out and gets on his feet.”
That could be a while, I thought.
* * *
We closed the gallery at nine and left a gratified Francisco Ortiz totaling up the sales while we walked over to Plaza Santa Lucia for a beer. On a bandstand on Calle 59 a quartet was playing Yucatecan boleros. The sky was black and the stars were dim over the Mérida lights. I had sold all but two of the pictures. We’d be able to eat for a while but I didn’t know what I’d be painting next. That was OK. Something always came to me. DO MORE PICTURES Delgado had said. It was good advice.
Barbara had selected the first picture in the series, one with a folk dancer girl I had especially liked. She had posed for me one morning in the bright sun of the Plaza Hidalgo. She was only 17, and she was shy and uncertain of what else I might want from her, but her eyes had widened when I told her what I’d be paying her. We only had time for one session, so I focused on her face and just roughed in the rest of her body. I gave her 200 pesos and for the first time she smiled. Later that day I bought a dancer’s dress in one of the shops and I used Maya in the dress to finish the body two weeks afterward in San Miguel.
Maya sipped her Negra Modelo. She was more relaxed than she’d been in a long time. I knew she had spent months stewing over Perry’s death. Besides, the period leading up to a show can be hectic and she had spent a lot of time posing for the last of the series. From the way she sat, her skirt had moved up her legs and I suddenly noticed the midnight blue choker on her left thigh, just above her knee. She had reclaimed it and was wearing it like a garter.
As for the 40 centavos, I had the two coins framed under glass and hung them in my studio, in the way many business owners frame their first dollar. My first earnings as a detective. Maybe some day I’d make bus fare. It could happen.
Twenty Centavos: A Mystery Set in San Miguel de Allende Page 25
