by Becca Bloom
Jake scrambled to the kitchen, and Sylvia tried to pry the hose away from Abuelita. Adi stepped on the hose to stop the water, but all that did was make it spring leaks that sprayed water all over the inside of the dining room.
Still in shock, I stood rooted in place. Yeah, I’m really good in an emergency like that.
Finally, the water stopped, and Jake came out from the kitchen looking like he had taken a swim in the river. He did not look happy.
Adi kicked the hose and glared at Abuelita. “You couldn’t find an older hose to use?” she asked sarcastically.
Tia Rosa pushed her glasses up her nose. “I no have older hose.”
Adi rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Never mind.”
I went over to the door to see the protesters running away. Señora Cabrera waved her soggy sign in the air. “I will be back!” she threatened.
Okay, Terminator.
Once the crowd cleared, it was easier to see Gus. He stood, dripping, in front of the restaurant door. He glared at Abuelita.
Taking advantage of my slow reaction, Abuelita shoved the hose into my hands. I dropped it, and how else with the hose land but right on the nozzle? Gus was spared, but Abuelita and I got a blast of cold water right in the face.
I grabbed for the nozzle, blindly pulling the handle back to stop the water.
Tia Rosa’s owlish eyes blinked at me. “You need my coat?” she asked.
I looked down and pulled my wet t-shirt away from my body. “It’s a little late now.”
Gus was mad. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, “What am I supposed to do with you? They would have marched until it got too hot, then they would have gone home. Instead, you assault them!”
Abuelita pressed her hand against her heart. “Me? No is assault. Is clean. I good citizen. I clean the street. No is my fault they in the way.”
Tia Rosa nodded her head energetically. “See how clean is the street?” She raised her finger as if a brilliant idea had struck her, adding, “You wait here! I get the soap!”
She turned to leave, and Gus shouted after her, “Stop! Just stop.”
Sylvia balled her fists on her hips and turned to face her mother. “You have absolutely no tact, do you?”
Abuelita jutted out her chin. She did not much like it when other people used words she didn’t know. “What is tact?” she asked, looking at Tia Rosa, who shrugged her shoulders in reply.
Sylvia waved her arms into the air. “Everything you do is too big. It’s too much.”
Abuelita’s eyes widened as she understood. “Ah. You want me do small?”
Sylvia exclaimed, “Yes!”
Abuelita tsked. “Why you no say before? Now, you have the big mess in the restaurant.”
Tia Rosa grumbled, “Kitchen is worse.”
Sylvia pointed her finger at her mother. “You made it. You clean it.”
Abuelita and Tia Rosa grumbled, their boots and rain-wear squeaking as they complained all the way back to the kitchen.
“Is too big, Rosa. That the problem. Next time, we do small.”
“If is Carnival, everyone laugh,” Tia Rosa agreed.
Gus pointed inside the restaurant, addressing Sylvia, “Please keep those two out of trouble.”
Sylvia pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Maybe now that the marchers are gone, we’ll have enough business to keep them occupied.”
My mind was still on Tia Rosa’s comment about the carnival. I asked Adi what that was about. If there was an occasion where people sprayed each other with hoses, I’d plan to stay home and read that day.
She explained, “The whole country is a big party during Carnival. It’s only one day, but they stretch it out a week. People toss water and spray confetti at each other. It’s a lot of fun, but Abuelita uses it as an excuse to get even with all the people she doesn’t like. Last year, she went through fifteen cans of confetti spray.”
“When is Carnival?”
“It usually falls in February.”
Good. That gave me plenty of time to buy full rain gear and goggles.
Chapter 8
The protesters were more determined than we had given them credit for. They returned with a vengeance, doubling in size by noon and covering the sidewalk in front of my shop and Sylvia’s restaurant.
Unwilling to admit defeat or end the day with a ton of leftover doughnuts I wouldn’t be able to sell, I went in search of my favorite candy girl. Domenica sold candy on the streets. She avoided any question that might reveal anything useful to know about her, so I could only guess her to be anywhere from ten to fifteen years old. She was small and skinny, and I had no doubt that in a contest of survival, she’d come out on top. While I sometimes saw other kids hanging around her, I didn’t know if she had any family. She wouldn’t take money from me unless she earned it, but she never refused food.
Lady adored her, and I’ll admit I had a soft spot for Domenica too. She was the reason I almost always had something to eat with me on the chance I saw her during the day.
Domenica didn’t know what to think when I offered dozens of freshly made doughnuts for her to sell on the street. She would get a lot more for them than the candy she usually sold. But when I showed her the marchers preventing customers from entering my shop, she accepted them happily on the condition that my basic costs were met. She wanted to ensure our partnership was profitable for her without putting me under and ruining her new revenue stream. Smart cookie.
I sent Martha and her crew home, deciding it would be better for everyone’s morale if they got a day off than if they had to listen to the slanderous chants of Señora Cabrera and her mob outside our front door.
Abuelita and Tia Rosa spent all morning cleaning their mess. As soon as I had gotten everything squared away at the shop, I helped. Adi, Jake, and Sylvia did too. There was nothing else we could do.
After a couple of hours, Abuelita and Tia Rosa disappeared. We weren’t too worried. They couldn’t go far. Adi’s old apartment above the restaurant hadn’t been rented yet, and there wasn’t much in the backyard they could do to get into trouble. I had brought Lady down from her terrace, so she could be closer to everyone.
Tired and sweaty, we gathered around a table with a clear view of the sidewalk. It was an amazing group to watch. I had to wonder how they could be so passionate in shouting against Jake when I was equally adamant he couldn’t have done what they shouted he did. Sure, he hadn’t been in my company the absolute entire time we were at the lagoon, but I knew he hadn’t done it. There was nothing guilty in his manners, and I saw his expression when he found Christina’s body in the back of his Jeep. I knew there were things he wasn’t telling me, but they probably had more to do with his past than the present. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. What if Jake wasn’t the guy I thought he was?
Adi interrupted my musings before I started pondering worst-case scenarios where Jake was a duplicitous fiend who used his job as a cover to get away with all sorts of sordid crimes. She pointed outside while I reined in my imagination, feeling guilty for the dark turn of my thoughts.
“She’s got style,” she said.
I looked out, wondering how I was supposed to find one stylish person in the masses of people milling on the other side of the window.
Just when I was about to ask where to look, I closed my mouth. I saw her.
She wore a power suit with sharp lapels and a cinched waist. Despite the humidity, I doubted I would see any creases or sweat stains. She wore stilettos and aviator glasses. Her smooth hair was slicked back into a perfect high ponytail, giving her a bit of a Lara Croft air. Her red lipstick matched her steel-tipped heels, in which she walked confidently.
I agreed with Adi. The woman had style. Ladies like her made me feel every one of my inadequacies. I hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to her.
The crowd parted to allow her through, and she breezed into the restaurant, pulling out her badge and flipping it open in one fluid motion. “I’m Agent Sanchez
. You must be the Jimenez family.” A gun harness peeked out from under her blazer.
Washo could have at least hinted that his replacement was female. All he’d said was that she was a competent jerk. Not a lot to go on, and certainly not enough for me to prepare myself psychologically. I bet she could smell fear.
Agent Sanchez took off her glasses, looping them over her white button-down shirt. Her eyes settled on me, sizing me up.
I stood as tall as my shrinking self-esteem allowed me to, hating how the mere presence of this woman made me feel inferior and wishing I could slink away. I forced my chin up and made eye contact. No fear here. Nope.
After what seemed like an eternity trying not to wilt under her scrutinizing gaze, she said, “And you must be Jessica James. I’ve heard about you.”
The way she said it didn’t sound like she’d heard anything good, so I kept my mouth shut.
Unfortunately, Adi didn’t. Looping her arm through mine and pulling me up until I almost had to stand on my toes, she said, “Then you’ve heard how many murder cases Jessica has helped to solve.”
Agent Sanchez wasn’t impressed. She didn’t offer a smile of congratulations or acknowledgment. Without losing a beat, she said, “I heard how Miss James spent a night in jail when she trespassed on an innocent man’s property, and I’ve heard of several instances when she obstructed justice with her novice sleuthing skills. Let me give you a word of advice, Miss James. If you’re so keen on solving mysteries, read a book.”
Adi gasped, but she closed her mouth when I squeezed on her arm.
Ignoring Agent Sanchez’s snarky tone and my own discomfort, I asked, “Do you have any other suspects?”
Agent Sanchez looked at each of us, saying, “To me, you’re all guilty until I prove otherwise.”
Adi whispered under her breath, “What a jerk.”
On top of her superior intimidation skills, Agent Sanchez had excellent hearing. She zoned in on Adi. “I become whatever I must to get the job done. You will think me a great many things before I am done, but I will catch the murderer.”
At that, she gave Jake a long, hard look.
He returned her look. “Then we won’t waste your time here when you have a job to do. Is there anything you need from me?”
She cracked a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be around. I have interviews waiting for me in Ambato, but I expect you to be here when I get back. We need to talk.”
If she had interviews, then maybe she had another suspect. Anybody besides Jake. I asked, “Who are you interviewing?”
Her eyes snapped to me. “General Bolivar warned me about you. Since you think you're a detective, let me give you some clues. I have three interviews lined up. One is with Christina’s best friend, another is with a colleague, and the last is with a coworker with whom she spent a great deal of time. If you’re half the detective you think you are, you’ll know who I’m talking about.”
She looked at me as if she expected an answer.
I had no clue who she was talking about, and it made me angry at myself that I didn’t know. I should have done some digging around last night, but I’d trusted that Washo would handle things better than me.
Agent Sanchez put her sunglasses back on. “Just like I thought. You don’t have a clue, do you?”
I felt like an absolute poser, an incapable amateur. She hadn’t been on the case for one day and already she had interviews lined up. What did I have? Nothing.
Stubborn determination overcame my crushed morale. I didn’t know who the suspects were … yet. Thanks to Agent Sanchez, I knew there were three of them, and I knew their relationship with Christina. It was a promising start. Agent Sanchez could threaten me all she liked, but I didn’t trust her and nothing would prevent me from finding out how Christina la Cabra had ended up in the back of Jake’s Jeep.
The agent paused outside of the restaurant, allowing the crowd a chance to clear a path for her to pass through. She had almost reached the streets, when we heard Abuelita and Tia Rosa shout, “Bonsai!”
I looked out in time to see a water balloon burst on a sign beside Agent Sanchez’s head. When the agent turned around, a water balloon splattered on the front of her white shirt, leaving a brilliant red stain.
Sylvia ran to the door. “Oh no! Oh no!” she repeated.
Adi made a noise like something between a laugh and a gasp. “They’re using red ink! Awesome!”
Wrenching the door open, Sylvia ran outside and onto the sidewalk with her hands raised over her head. “Mom, stop!”
I followed her, Jake and Adi right behind me.
Abuelita and Tia Rosa stood on the balcony of the second floor, armed with water balloons. Abuelita cackled and let another water balloon fly to burst on a sign, covering Jake’s picture (and whoever happened to be standing nearby) with red splatters.
Sylvia tried again. “Mom, that’s the agent that replaced Washo.”
I looked behind me at Agent Sanchez. She had pushed her sunglasses down her nose, staring at Abuelita and Tia Rosa over the rims.
Pulling a notepad out of her pocket, she wrote something down, then turned on her heel and left. We had not heard the last of her. We’d probably get slapped with a fine.
Abuelita and Tia Rosa did not appear scared. They waved the water balloons in the air, shouting, “Yay! Is Carnival! We celebrate!”
It was a nice try, but getting off on the wrong foot with the agent heading the inspection into Christina’s murder did nothing to help Jake.
Agent Sanchez was already three steps ahead of me and now her impression of us was anything but favorable. We were sunk.
Chapter 9
I spent the rest of the day scouring Christina’s social media profiles, YouTube videos, old broadcasts left in archives, and every mention of her on the web page of her workplace’s news channel, AmbatoVision.
She was an active public figure, and there was a lot of information to sort through, but after a few hours, patterns emerged. The same people stood around her and were tagged with her in pictures. The list I made in my bullet journal showed promise as three names rose above the rest.
I didn’t get a lot of sleep. I was too wired.
After helping Martha with a few dozen doughnuts — enough to survive the day and keep Domenica busy — I went back upstairs to get Lady and grab my research.
The sidewalks were empty when I went outside, but it was early yet. I was pretty certain the protesters would show up as soon as we tried to open for business.
Sylvia’s restaurant was on a corner lot and had a side door that led to her backyard. I went through that, leaving Lady in the yard for her to run around while I went into the kitchen. Sylvia, Abuelita, Tia Rosa, and Jake were there already.
“Where’s Adi?” I asked.
Jake answered, “She has a zillion crystals to stitch on a dress. I don’t want her to lose her clients because of me. She’s worked too hard to get where she is.”
Adi lived design. Her dream was to create a line of everyday vintage wear for all body shapes, but she needed the money the pageant gowns earned her to fund her passion project. She had a special talent for flamboyant design, and she was trying to get a firm foothold in the pageant crowd.
I pulled out my journal, eager to show my finds. “Yesterday, Agent Sanchez said she had three interviews: Christina’s best friend, a colleague, and a coworker.”
Jake asked, “It’s been bothering me why she would distinguish between a colleague and a coworker. Why not just say two coworkers or two colleagues?”
I had thought the same thing. After looking at hundreds of pictures, though, I think I had an answer. “Because while one is a coworker, the colleague is — er, was … sorry — a little more special to Christina.”
I opened my journal and turned it around to them, explaining as they looked. “Christina’s best friend is actually a coworker too. She’s a makeup artist at AmbatoVision, but I saw a lot of pictures of them together outside work. Her
name is Carolina Castro.”
Sylvia asked, “What about the coworker?”
I leaned forward, pointing to another name next to my caricature of a skinny guy with long hair holding a camera. “That would be Hugo Tusa. He was Christina’s cameraman. I’m guessing they must have been friends besides workmates, because whenever she did an interview outside of the station, it looked like he was always the one to accompany her. She tagged him in almost all of her pictures on Facebook, but he wasn’t always in them.”
Jake said, “So, she wanted him to see the picture, or he was the one to take it.”
“Exactly. Hugo was probably with her at the lake the day Christina was murdered,” I said, pausing to let that sink in.
Abuelita’s eyes narrowed. “He know something.”
That’s what I thought.
Jake nodded his head. “He might. If he was there, he could have seen something. And if he was always around Christina, he would know who else would have wanted her dead.”
I’d saved the best for last. Pointing to the final name on the list, which was no indication of the level of guilt I had assigned to him, I said, “That just leaves the colleague. It turns out, Christina was dating another reporter at AmbatoVision.”
Jake read the name aloud, “Daniel de la Calle.”
I asked, “Does that really mean Daniel of the street?”
Jake answered, “It’s actually a common last name.”
Sylvia added, “He’s used it in his favor. Daniel’s known as the voice of the people. He likes to do interviews on the streets, asking passersby for their opinions on hot issues. People like him because he makes sure they’re heard. He’s not afraid of live interviews. In fact, he seems to thrive on them.”
I shivered. “Let’s hope he stays away from here. He’d get an earful.”
Abuelita, who had been silently stewing on the results of my research, said, “Daniel de la Calle do it. He kill Christina. I feel it in the gut.”
