Murder in Cuba

by Dianne Harman

  “Okay, I think I understand the influence these other countries had on Cuban food, and I can certainly see it in some of the dishes. Now please ask him what foods would be considered common in Cuba.”

  The large affable chef gestured broadly when he was talking, and Kelly wished she had a video camera she could use to record his movements. His dark skin against the white uniform that he wore, his large brown eyes, and a face that was seldom without a smile made him a very appealing subject.

  “He says a typical meal usually consists of some rice and beans prepared either together or separately. They have different names based on the method of preparation. The main course would usually be pork or beef, and because Cuba is an island, the Cubans eat a lot of fish and seafood. He said there are a lot of tubers such as yuccas, potatoes, and malangas…”

  “Sorry, but I’m completely unfamiliar with malangas. What are they?”

  “I don’t have to bother him with that, since I know. It’s like a potato, just not as common.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Plantains are quite common along with tropical fruits, such as mangoes. He said when the embargo started many years ago, and Cubans could no longer get orange juice, mango juice became the common breakfast drink.”

  “I didn’t even think of that, but now I’m curious. Would you ask him how the embargo affected the way Cubans eat?”

  Carola asked the chef and made notes as she listened to him. When he was finished she said, “One of the biggest things was that Cuba Libres, the popular drink invented in Cuba, which consists of rum, coke, and lime, and means “Free Cuba,” had to be changed, because Cuba could no longer import Coca Cola, since it’s made in America. He said Cubans now use a cola made here in Cuba, but personally he doesn’t think it’s as good as Coca Cola.”

  “I’ve never had a Cuba Libre, so I wouldn’t know the difference, but I guess the reverse would be true as well. I don’t think Cuban rum is imported into the United States, so even in the United States, the drink wouldn’t be authentic.”

  “I’ve written down a number of other things he says can’t be brought into the country from the United States. I’ll give the list to you later. I don’t want to take too much of his time. What else would you like to know?”

  “Thank him for granting us this much time. I’d like to know where he got his training and why he was hired as the chef here at the resort. Lastly there are some recipes I’d like to have that are dishes prepared and served here at the hotel.”

  Again, Carola and the chef carried on an animated conversation while Kelly watched, fascinated by how much body language and gesticulating each of them used while they were talking.

  “He has wealthy relatives in Paris who offered to pay for him to attend the Cordon Bleu Culinary Arts School there and live with them, which he did. He says when he returned to Cuba he worked in a number of restaurants, but they barely paid a living wage. He heard that this hotel was looking for a chef, and he applied for the job. He says he’s free to make whatever dishes he chooses, and for a chef, it’s probably the best job one could have in Cuba. One of his favorite things is when he gets to prepare special meals for the honeymooners who rent the cabana outside the restaurant for a romantic candlelight dinner.”

  “Please tell him that the food here is some of the best I’ve ever eaten. I have five recipes that I would like to have. Tell him I own a coffee shop or a small restaurant in Oregon on the West Coast of the United States. I would love to serve the dishes there, and I would give credit to him for the dishes.”

  When Carola translated Kelly’s request to the chef, he smiled broadly at her and spoke rapidly to Carola. “He wants to know which recipes you want.”

  Kelly looked at the Spanish names of the dishes she had written down, and said, “I would love to have the recipes for Arroz con Pollo, Arroz con Leche, Albondigas, Moros y Cristianos, and Pastel de Tres Leches. If he could give me these, I would be very happy.”

  Before Carola could even translate, the chef was smiling and nodding his head, clearly understanding the Spanish names of the dishes Kelly had requested. He spoke to Carola for a moment.

  “The chef says to tell you he personally made changes to those five dishes when he became chef, and the ones being served are his creations. He will gladly give you the recipes. The chef says he will tell his assistant to have them copied, and an envelope containing the recipes will be waiting for you at the front desk tomorrow morning. He said he would do it now, but his assistant is on a break until dinner.

  Kelly stood up, smiled broadly, and said, “Muchas gracias, Chef Fuentos.” Turning to Carola she said, “I think we need to leave. I wish I could say more to him, but hopefully he’ll know how much I appreciate his time and information.”

  Carola spoke to the chef for several more minutes and then walked over to him and kissed him on each cheek. She turned to Kelly and said, “He says he’s enjoyed his time with us, and although many people have thanked him for his cooking, no one has ever taken the time away from their vacation activities to ask him the questions you did, and he’s honored.”

  “One last thing,” Kelly said, “tell him I’m the one who is honored.” She smiled at the chef and walked out of the room, Carola following a moment later.

  “Thank you so much, Carola. I am so excited to get those recipes, and I definitely plan on serving them at my coffee shop.”

  “So what you’re saying is that if I get hungry for authentic Cuban food, all I need to do is take a trip to Kelly’s Koffee Shop?” she asked mischievously.

  “My friend, you are always welcome at the coffee shop or in our home. We’d love to have you.”

  “Might just take you up on it,” Carola answered.

  CHAPTER 8

  Stewart had been on several fly fishing trips with Dudley to various parts of the world and had told Dudley he would go on this trip under one condition. He would pay Dudley an extra thousand Euros if Dudley would agree to fish with him on the first day and help him catch the three types of fish needed to qualify for the Grand Slam Club. Stewart had told him how he'd read about the Grand Slam Club, and since no Englishman had ever become a member of it, he wanted to be the first to qualify.

  The next morning a van picked up Dudley's group, along with Philip, Jack, and Mike, from the hotel at 8:00. They drove the short distance to the marina and divided themselves into groups of two with a guide assigned to each group and prepared to go to the zone assigned to each of the boats. There were five fishermen plus Dudley in his group, Jack and Mike, plus Philip and his guide. Within minutes they’d put on their sun-protection gear and were on the way to their assigned zones. That way one particular area wouldn't be overfished, and it gave each of the fishermen an equal opportunity to qualify for the Grand Slam Club - and with it bragging rights for the rest of the fisherman’s life!

  “Dudley, remember, I paid you a thousand extra Euros for you to fish with me today so I could catch the tarpon, bonefish, and permit I need to catch to qualify for the Grand Slam Club,” Stewart said.

  “I will do what I can, but I can't cast for you, and you know that's always been your downfall. Did you listen to the guide explain about casting to the clock? Remember, when he gets us to where he thinks the fish will be, he'll tell you to cast to eleven o'clock, or three, or whatever. Once you have a fish on your line, I'll tell you what to do, but remember, I can't cast for you.”

  At 12:30 the guide told them it was time to go to a small islet where they’d meet the other boats in their group and have the lunch each of them had packed from the breakfast buffet. Dudley looked at a grim-faced Stewart and said, “Do you have any idea how many fish you could have caught if you'd just learned to cast properly? The chances for qualifying for the Grand Slam Club were all there, but with your casting you couldn't get hooked up to one.”

  Even though their guide, Stefano, wore sunglasses and a full mask to protect his face from the sun, Stewart could tell he was laughing at him. Dudley didn't ev
en help Stewart out of the boat when the guide eased the boat onto the beach. Dudley shook his head disgustedly when one of his group from another boat asked, “Did your boat have any luck this morning, Dudley?”

  “You mean could we have or did we catch anything? We could have caught a lot, but with Stewart's lousy casting it didn't happen, so no, we didn't get anything, and you, any luck?”

  “It was a great morning. We each got two bonefish, I got a tarpon, and Christoph caught a permit. We've both got a chance to become the first Englishman to qualify to become a member of the Grand Slam Club."

  “Well, good luck. Don't think there will be any competition coming from my boat,” Dudley said, nodding his head towards where Stewart had stepped into the bushes to commune with nature. A few moments later Stewart emerged with a sour look on his face. They sat under some pine trees that provided a cushion of soft pine needles on the ground and threw pieces of bread from their sandwiches to the iguanas who had greeted them as soon as they’d come ashore. It was obvious the iguanas had learned to rely on food from fishermen rather than scavenging on their own as their ancestors had done for eons.

  Rested, the fishermen and the guides returned to their boats. “Good luck, Stewart, Dudley,” Christoph said.

  “We'll need it,” Dudley replied. Stewart glowered and didn't answer Christoph.

  He's the reason I'm not catching any fish, but I need him for the rest of the afternoon, Stewart thought. He's the best fishing guide in England, and I'm certainly paying him enough to help me. He's ruined my self-confidence. The only thing I've gotten for my money is he let me fish all morning, rather than us taking turns. If he'd gotten the three fish and qualified for the Grand Slam Club I think I would have killed him. I'll see what happens this afternoon.

  Stewart’s afternoon went no better than his morning had gone. No matter what number on the face of a clock the guide yelled out as he stood on the tower while he poled the boat, when Stewart cast in that direction, it never resulted in a hook-up. Finally at four that afternoon, Dudley turned to Stewart and said, “That's all. You've had more than enough chances to be the first Englishman to qualify for the Grand Slam Club, and you've blown every one of them. Let me show you what a real fisherman can do. Stefano, get up on that tower and call out the numbers to me.”

  To Stewart's utter dismay, one hour later Dudley’s photograph was being taken with first a tarpon, then with a bonefish, and finally with a permit. Dudley Samms would be the first Englishman to qualify for the Grand Slam Club. When they returned to the marina at 5:15, Stewart watched the other fishermen congratulate Dudley on making English fishing history. All he could think about was how it could have been him if it wasn’t for Dudley's voiced and unvoiced criticism of his casting ability. He seethed with anger, knowing his blood pressure was far higher than it should be. He made a mental note to take a couple of blood pressure pills as soon as he got back to his room at the hotel.

  CHAPTER 9

  The van ride back to the hotel was even worse. Philip, Mike, and Jack congratulated Dudley on his achievement, and although none of them particularly liked Dudley, they felt duty bound to honor his fishing prowess.

  “Thanks,” Dudley said. He looked at Jack and Philip and said, “Guess you two can say goodbye to your hopes of becoming the official representative for any United States fly fishermen that want to come to Cuba. When the people at Bartolo hear what I've done today, they're definitely going to want me to be their exclusive representative for booking trips for American fly fishermen. I need to start making plans to open a couple of offices in the United States. Don't want to step on either one of your toes, but the Pacific Northwest and Florida are the natural places for them. The bulk of American fly fishermen come from those areas. I'm thinking maybe I'll pay you a small referral fee for any clients you send me. We'll work out the details once I get the go-ahead from Bartolo.”

  Mike looked at Jack and couldn't believe what he was hearing. Jack simply smiled and nodded. Out of the corner of his eye Mike noticed that Philip looked really angry. Although his face was red, and his fists were clenched, he didn't say anything.

  “I didn't know when I came here it would be so easy to do,” Dudley bragged in a loud voice, “I don't know why some other Englishman hasn't become the first member of the Grand Slam Club. I guess I really am the best fly fisherman in England. Too bad Stewart Bond wasn't first, but if you're not any good at casting, you can't catch fish. Simple as that, right, Stewart?” Stewart stoically stared out the window of the van and refused to answer him.

  After the short trip from the marina the van pulled up in front of the resort, and the men carried their equipment into the reception area. Mike had just started to head for his room when he heard Kelly's voice calling to him. “Mike, I'm meeting Carola in the bar. Why don’t you join us for a beer before you go to the room? I want to hear all about the day’s fishing.”

  Carola walked up at that moment and said, “So do I. Mike, do you know if Jack already went to our room?”

  “Yes. He said he wanted to take a shower and then go for a swim in the ocean before it got dark. He said he'd meet us at the restaurant at eight. Although I could use a shower, a cold beer sounds better at the moment. This heat and humidity is really something.”

  They walked over to the open-air bar and sat at a table at the back of the room. They chatted casually, filling each other in on the events of the day as they sipped their cold beer. Forty-five minutes later they heard a siren. Mike cocked his ear and said, “If we were in the States, I'd say that was an ambulance, and it seems to be getting closer. I wonder what's going on. Stay here. I'll be back in a minute. I know it's a sheriff thing, but I can't hear a siren without having it arouse my curiosity.”

  “I wonder what’s going on,” Kelly said fifteen minutes later. “Mike's been gone for a long time. Stay here, Carola, and hold our seats. I'll see if I can find out what’s happening.”

  She walked down the path that led to the reception area and saw some flashing blue and red lights coming from an ambulance. Mike was standing in front of it talking to the ambulance personnel and a man who looked like he was a policeman. Several hotel employees were there as well. She made her way through the gathering crowd and stood next to Mike as the ambulance attendants put a body covered with a white sheet in the ambulance.

  He looked down at her as she asked, “What's happened?”

  “It looks like Dudley went for a swim in the ocean and drowned. A couple was taking a twilight walk along the beach and found his body. It must be an incoming tide because his body washed up on shore almost immediately after he died.”

  “Is there anyone on the island who can determine the cause of his death?”

  “No. The island’s so small there’s no coroner, so they're flying one over from the mainland. The hotel’s house doctor did a quick examination of the body and from what the people around me said, he thought Dudley probably had of a heart attack and then drowned. The coroner’s coming here in the morning, and he’ll do an examination of the body. The hotel doesn't want the slightest hint of any possibility that there was foul play. Looks like my shower will have to wait because the constable wants to talk to the fishermen Dudley was with today to see if anyone can shed some light on the cause of his death. The doctor did say he thought it was very unusual for a man in his early forties to die of a heart attack.”

  “I'm no expert, but I’d have to agree. That does seem very unusual,” Kelly responded.

  “Kelly, I haven't had a chance to tell you about it, but Dudley was really belittling Stewart, the guy he fished with today. That's not all. He was acting like a first class jerk. He told Jack and Philip, the guy from Florida, that they could forget about being Bartolo’s exclusive representative in the United States, because he was bound to get the position since he was the first English fisherman to qualify for the Grand Slam Club. He even said he was going to open offices in the Pacific Northwest and Florida since that's where most of the Cuban f
ly fishing business comes from. At the time I thought it was a real insulting slap in the face for both Jack and Philip. Philip looked furious, but Jack, as is typical of him, simply smiled. If it turns out Dudley didn't die of natural causes, it might be worth taking a look at this guy Stewart. He was practically smoking he was so angry at Dudley.”

  “Yeah, well I haven't had a chance to tell you about the conversation I overheard about the fight Dudley and his wife had last night as well as the conversation Carola had with her,” Kelly said. She related the two conversations to him.

  He raised an eyebrow and said, “It will be very interesting what the coroner has to say about the cause of death. If it turns out it was foul play, it looks like there are already a couple of people I’d be inclined to think of as suspects. I suppose Jack would qualify to be one as well since he’s interested in getting the Bartolo contract, but I can’t believe he’d have anything to do with it. Why don’t you go on back in the bar and tell Carola what's happened? Looks like most of the people who were with Dudley today are here now, and the constable is motioning us into a room. I don’t see Jack, so I’ll give him a call. It shouldn't take too long, but then again I've never been questioned by Cuban authorities. See you in a little while.”

  “You were sure gone a long time,” Carola said when Kelly walked back to the table where she was sitting. “What's happening?”

  “This is really quite shocking, but evidently Dudley Samms’ body washed up on shore a little while ago. The resort doctor was called and thinks he probably had a heart attack while he was swimming, but he also said Dudley seemed too young to suffer cardiac arrest. Mike told me the coroner is flying to the island tomorrow morning from Havana, which is as soon as he can get here. He told me a few other things that may make it interesting if it's determined Dudley didn't die from natural causes.” Kelly went on to tell her what had happened in the van on the way back from the marina.