by Becca Bloom
Martha and Fernanda came in the side door along with Tia Rosa and Abuelita. I looked at the wall clock. It was too early for the sisters to be here.
Abuelita explained without me asking, “I no can sleep. I need for to work.”
I’d been right about her sleeping in her makeup. Aside from a touch of raccoon-eye, she still looked lovely.
Tia Rosa said, “I no can sleep too. I watch Bertha for to see she no do nothing estúpida.”
Abuelita’s face scrunched up, then she gave up her offended protest with a shrug. “Is true. Rosa the good sister.”
I bit back my smile, heartened to see they were still getting along.
Tia Rosa stared at my box and backpack. That was a problem. How was I going to get out of here without them insisting on accompanying me? Agent Sanchez had clearly threatened me not to continue investigating, and what I planned to do went directly against her orders. I wasn’t about to involve anyone else in my scheme if I could help it. Especially Abuelita and Tia Rosa. They got into enough trouble on their own. They didn’t need my help.
As casually as I could, I said, “Well, I have a large delivery to make, and I might be gone most of the day. Do you think you can handle the shop?” I asked the senior sisters.
Tia Rosa brightened. “Today, we the boss?”
I grinned. “Yep. Today, you’re the boss.” She was my business partner after all. My shop was on her property. Besides, she’d done a fantastic job on Abuelita’s makeover. Maybe Tia Rosa had more surprises up her sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to place a little more confidence in her.
Tia Rosa smiled. “I have the idea I think Martha like.”
Martha looked like she had mixed feelings about our exchange, but she knew my reasons for not wanting the troublesome twosome to come with me. She said, “And I have many delivery for to keep other helpers busy. No worry, Jessica. We be fine.”
Abuelita narrowed her eyes as she looked at the box. I needed to leave before she asked where I was going.
Fernanda looped her arm through Abuelita’s, saying, “I thought of a new flavor I’d like to try out. Maybe you’d like to sample it? Tia Rosa can make sure it’s aesthetically pleasing.”
It was the perfect suggestion.
Abuelita pulled her eyes away from the box of cupcakes. “If we no very busy, Rosa do the makeup. She is amazing artist. She paint us beautiful. Is good for business.”
Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes at Abuelita. I didn’t trust all of her compliments, but she looked happy. For Martha’s sake, I was grateful the sisters were getting along. Normally, they just bickered.
Seeing my chance to leave, I grabbed my box and headed toward the door. “Great! I’d better get going.”
Two more steps and I was out the door. Fernanda lunged forward to open it for me.
Abuelita’s snappy voice stopped me in place. “Where you go?”
Had I kept going, I could have pretended I hadn’t heard her. But I stopped.
Estúpida.
Chapter 24
Tia Rosa shook her head at her sister. “You too curious, Bertha.” To me, she added, “I see Lady okay. I take her to the park.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking another step toward the door. If I kept going, maybe I could make it outside before Abuelita asked anything else. The urge to dash outside was strong, but then she’d know I was keeping something from her.
I cringed when Abuelita repeated, “Where you go?”
Again, I forgot to pretend I hadn’t heard. It was still too early for me to learn anything, I guess.
Not wanting to lie, I said, “To deliver these. I made a few extras. If you like them, we can add them to the menu.”
If there was one way to distract Abuelita, it was with sugar. Setting the box down, I went back into the kitchen and brought a plate with four cupcakes. “For you,” I said.
Fernanda raised her eyebrows. “The breakfast of champions?”
“Hey, life is too short to overlook dessert.”
“Are you calling this one ‘Pretty Please With a Cherry on Top’?” she asked.
I widened my eyes at Fernanda. That was exactly what the cupcakes were — a plea for the news station to make an exception to their privacy policy and tell me who had given them the footage they’d aired and beg them not to air the video they probably meant to show today so I could keep an innocent guy out of jail and restore peace to my town. Now, that’s a mouthful — a mouthful I didn’t want anyone else to know about. Not until I got back.
Abuelita took a bite. I knew she liked them when she closed her eyes and her chewing slowed. “Is delicious!” she mumbled between her fingers covering her mouth.
Fernanda teased, “I’ll have to hide these from her or she’ll eat them all before the customers have a chance to try them.”
My first thought was: What customers? But I kept it to myself, instead saying, “I like your positive thinking.”
Fernanda looked at me seriously, her eyebrows bunching together. “I like it here, Jess. I feel like I belong. I’m contributing to something worthwhile.”
“You contribute for to make me fat.” Tia Rosa plucked the cherry off the top of the cupcake and popped it into her mouth.
Fernanda rolled her eyes, her usual sarcasm coming back. “I just don’t want you to lose the shop or have to leave. Baños is a cooler place with you in it.”
Knowing how hard it was for the teenager to express approval of anyone or anything, I nudged her in the arm. “You’re cool enough for ten of me. Now, keep these ladies in line.”
“Impossible. But if you need me to stay all day, I can skip school this afternoon.”
That got her mother’s attention.
“Don’t you dare. They won’t be that much trouble, and the second I hear you’re skipping school, I’ll end your apprenticeship here,” I said in my best boss tone.
I shivered at how much I sounded like Jessenia and determined not to use that voice again if I could help it.
Fernanda held up her hands. “Okay, okay.”
Martha nodded at me. “What she say. No school, no doughnuts.”
Abuelita swallowed her last bite, patting her ribs in satisfaction. “No sugar, I no happy.”
Truer words were never spoken.
I took one last look around the shop and, deciding all would be well in my absence, I got my box and left for the bus station. The sugar had done its trick with Abuelita, but it wouldn’t last forever.
When I got to the station, I was relieved to see it was the same bus driver from the day before. It would take longer to get to the city, but me and my cupcakes would arrive intact.
The bus was scheduled to depart in ten more minutes, so I snuggled into my seat with my box on my lap and my backpack squished between. I could have put it up in the open bin above my seat, but I was still paranoid from all the stories I’d heard and I wasn’t about to risk losing my e-reader by making it easier for a thief to swipe.
I pulled out my book and read a couple more chapters of Persuasion. If I had to choose a Jane Austen favorite, Persuasion was my choice. That Captain Wentworth — he sure knew how to write a letter.
It was slow going getting out of town as the driver stopped to pick up more passengers. Soon, the bus filled up. When all the seats were occupied, people stood in the aisle. So this was what sardines in a can felt like….
Once the bus was packed to the point no one else could squeeze in, the driver stepped on it. He weaved through traffic, honking his horn as he rounded a blind corner in the oncoming lane — for all the good that would do.
I held my breath to keep from hyperventilating and said a silent prayer. My heart leapt into my throat when the driver turned another corner and met with a dump truck heavily loaded with gravel.
Time slowed, and all I could think about was the family I’d leave behind. I should have called them last night. They needed to know how much I love them. It was too late to give them a final farewell now.
The grave
l truck flashed its lights and honked — just as the bus had done. It was a battle of wills; a game of chicken I prayed the bus driver would lose.
He honked again, unwilling to yield.
I closed my eyes. This was it. I was going to die in a smelly bus surrounded by strangers and mangled cupcakes. I ducked behind my box, making myself as small as I could in my seat and wondering why nobody else in the bus complained or seemed as terrified as I was. Nobody screamed.
The bus swerved, and despite my better judgment, I cracked my eyes open. A poor little car was sandwiched between the guardrail and our bus, nothing but a steel sheet separating it from the cliff’s edge. The gravel truck passed us so close on the other side, I got a good look at its driver. He was texting on his phone and eating a banana.
As soon as the truck passed, the bus swerved back into the oncoming lane. I was beginning to think the driver thought he was in England or something for all the time he spent on the other side of the road.
Still, no screams. No worried chatter or concerned glances from my fellow passengers on this highway to an early death.
The people standing in the aisle simply swayed like they were pro surfers. Like this was normal.
Maybe it was for them, but panic burned my throat and shortened my breath. Never would I ever attempt to drive in this country, nor would I use public transportation again. Anywhere I needed to go, I’d walk.
Yeah, fear made me practical like that.
Bracing myself, I tightened my hold on my precious cargo when we rounded a particularly sharp curve. Every muscle in my body engaged to keep me from diving to the other side of the bus.
And still nobody screamed. Nobody complained. The only noise I heard was something rumbling above my head. Then, a loud thunk before my vision went blurry and black.
Voices mumbled around me, but it took a few blinks before I could see anything, much less focus on my surroundings. Where was I?
A man waved his fist and shouted at a woman who sat opposite, pointing between me and the watermelon she held like a baby in her arms.
I shook my head, and the bus tilted and whirled like The Gravitron at the fair. Jessamyn insisted she could handle the twirling vortex ride, but she always ended up getting sick … usually on me. Oh, good! A memory!
Taking a deep breath, I tried to remember the important things. My name is Jessica James. I’m riding a bus to Ambato to help Captain Wentworth before he’s wrongfully accused of murder. I mean, Jake.
The angry man grabbed the watermelon from the woman’s arms, threw open the window, and hurled the fruit out of the bus where I could only hope it didn’t land on someone’s windshield.
Turning to me, the angry man said, “Estás bien? You okay?” He kept looking at the top of my head.
Understanding dawned. The rumbling noise had been the watermelon! I touched the tender spot above my forehead with my fingertips and winced. No wonder my head hurt. It wasn’t every day a girl stopped a hurdling watermelon with her head. I would’ve laughed at how ridiculous that sounded, but it would hurt too much. I’d save it for an episode of Jungle Jane’s adventures on public transportation.
A wave of panic that had nothing to do with my aching melon set my pulse racing. My cupcakes! Brimming with anxiety and dread, I looked into my box and breathed a sigh of relief. Was it stupid of me to be grateful the watermelon had landed on me instead of my bribe to get into the news station?
I did my best to reassure everyone staring at me that I was okay, but I had taken so long to answer the man’s question, I could see that they didn’t really believe me.
Watermelon Lady commented that it was a good thing it had been a small melon, and that I apparently had a hard head.
Thanks.
She earned several glares for that and got another chewing out from several of the bus surfers who’d witnessed the whole ordeal from their position in the aisle. After several minutes, she probably wished the watermelon had landed on her. She offered me a piece of candy as a sort of peace offering, waving it around to make sure the passengers saw her act of goodwill.
Yeah, lady, you’re generosity personified.
I was just happy I wasn’t seeing double anymore. The daze brought on by my brief unconsciousness wore off by the time we reached the outskirts of the city in record time. What should have been an hour-long bus trip took half an hour — the longest thirty minutes of my life. I didn’t know whether to thank the bus driver for making a miserable trip so short, or to slap him for being the one to make the trip miserable in the first place. It was a lose-lose situation no matter how I looked at it.
Finally, blessedly, we reached the bus station in Ambato. My legs were wobbly from the adrenaline coursing through me. Had I not been surrounded by people still concerned about the hit I’d taken, I’d have dropped to my knees and kissed the solid ground. I seriously considered walking back to Baños.
Chapter 25
Walking all the way from the bus terminal to downtown Ambato proved to be harder than I thought. It soon became apparent to me that pedestrians had no more right-of-way here than they did in Baños. My reflexes weren’t quite recovered yet, and my box of cupcakes got heavier with every step I took. It was get run over or take a taxi.
The cabby drove like a bowling ball racing down a lane. Pedestrians jumped out of his way and cars swerved to let him by as he honked his horn and flashed the car’s lights, waving and smiling and talking on his CB radio. He even waved his radio to two cops in their car as he ran a red light.
They waved back.
Apparently, red lights were more of a suggestion than a hard and fast sign to stop.
When I saw SierraVista’s bold logo on the side of a tall building, I asked the taxi driver to let me off. It would be a kindness to my nerves to walk the rest of the way.
I studied the building as I walked toward it. It could have been AmbatoVision’s twin — except its other floors were occupied solely by lawyers.
The front of the building was glass, and when I got to the front, I set my box down and checked my reflection in the windows. Smoothing my hair and retouching my lipstick, I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, grabbed my box, and thanked the guard who opened the door for me with a large smile.
Pretending that I belonged there, that I had no reason for them not to welcome me warmly, I set my box of cupcakes down on the top of the receptionist’s desk. I pulled out a container of gorgeous Chocolate Cherry Cupcakes and set them before her.
The bus and taxi had been hard on me, but the cupcakes were perfectly untouched.
“Good morning, I’m here to see Maria Escobar. I’m Jessica James.” I handed the secretary the card Maria had given me with her personal cell phone number written on the back.
The secretary’s eyes shot up to me. “Maria gave you her number?”
I nodded and smiled like we were best buddies. “I was in the area and thought I’d bring the folks here a treat. Should I leave these with you, or do you have a break room I could take them to?” Anything to get me inside the station.
The secretary frowned. “Maria’s in a meeting with the producers…” she said, looking at the cupcakes and licking her lips. “Let me give her a quick call.”
Cupcakes for the win. I was glad I’d stayed up late making them.
She picked up the phone, chatted for all of five seconds, then hung up with a large smile. “Let me help you with that box. We’ll drop these off at the break room, then I’ll take you to Maria’s office. She said I could let you in if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes. Her meeting is almost over. You won’t have to wait long.”
I popped open the container I’d set before the receptionist and left a cupcake beside her phone, saying, “In case they disappear too fast. I wasn’t sure how many to bring.” I grabbed another from the container, handing it to the guard. He thanked me repeatedly until I had replaced the container in the box and the doors of the elevator closed behind me and the receptionist.
&nb
sp; We left my sweet cargo off at the break room, and I followed her down a marble hallway with white walls and fluorescent lights. It was a barren echo chamber.
Raised voices reached us, growing louder as we passed the closed door from where they proceeded. It sounded like two men and a woman. They spoke so fast, their words mingled together into unintelligible gibberish.
The receptionist looked at me apologetically. “Sounds like the meeting isn’t going so well.”
I hooked my thumb in the door's direction. “That’s Maria’s meeting? I hope everything is okay.”
“She’s such a professional and so helpful to the newbies in the business. It’s probably nothing,” she suggested.
It occurred to me that maybe the receptionist might know something. I commented, “Maria told me she’d mentored Christina Cabrera.”
As I had hoped, the receptionist was willing to talk. “She did. It was awful what happened to Christina. Maria doesn’t say anything, but she took the news of Christina’s death hard.” She stopped in front of the door and opened it to let me in. “She’ll only be a few more minutes. Thank you for the cupcakes!”
Before I could ask anything else, she left.
Maria’s office was modest in size, and I was impressed with how tidy and organized it was. Against the left wall was a file cabinet with a scenic picture above it. Against the right wall was a corner desk with two chairs in front. I walked between the file cabinet and the desk to look out of the giant window overlooking the city.
Yellow taxis dotted the streets. Men and women in business suits glanced at their watches and rushed down the sidewalks while housewives pushed baby strollers with bags of fruit and vegetables hanging off the handles. University students strolled by in groups, laughing and chatting as if they had all the time in the world. On every street corner, a vendor sold candy, water, and newspapers.
