“This is big, detective. You need to get over there. We got in, and out, fortunately.”
“Where’s your cousin, Haasi?”
“She’s waiting for me back at the hotel, hoping Emilio will call.”
“Good idea. You are full of good ideas.”
“And here’s another one,” said Blanche. “That woman. La Escandolera. Emilio talked about her. She might be set up in that lab. You can’t let this go.”
The detective looked weary. He ran fingers through his hair and shook his head. “That woman. No end of trouble there. She thinks she’s a doctor, even acts like one. She’s patching up those gang members of La Capa Plata.”
“Well, I think she also has a talent for making mummies. Lalia Solis Iglesia, for one. You’ve got to see the odd stuff in that lab. And remember when you said those ancient artifacts have gone missing? Don’t you think it’s kind of strange, the thievery, and the mummy business are happening altogether?”
“Maybe. We haven’t gotten anywhere with those thefts at the Palacio, and now other sites are reporting losses.”
“Just seems super strange to me.”
“We’ll look into it. Pronto.” He came around the desk, tilted his head at Blanche. “Hasn’t been much of a vacation for you chicas. How about you and Haasi come over to our house for some pozole? You need a proper welcome to Mexico, and my Sylvia makes the soup of the gods. With all the trimmings.”
“That would be great!” Blanche jumped up, eager not only for soup but a lockdown on getting the detective’s help. He needed work.
“I’ll call you,” he said. “Enough of this mummy business for you two. For now. I’m glad you’re safe. Just relax. I’m the detective here.”
“You won’t forget about Emilio? Call out to Tepequito, check around? Right away?”
“Blanche, it’s only been hours. But, yes, I will. Let’s hope he turns up.”
Chapter Nineteen
POZOLE
Detective Cardenal didn’t waste time extending the invitation for dinner. He called Blanche that afternoon and asked if she and Haasi would be free that evening. Haasi was delighted, while she was constantly calming Blanche’s fears about Emilio: “If we got away, bet he could, too.”
Blanche was glad for the invite but had less interest in eating and more interest in what Cardenal was doing to locate Emilio. It all seemed tied to the bad business at the Palacio.
They took a nap to sleep off the travails of their adventure in the lab and then set out for the detective’s home around eight o’clock.
The Cardenal family lived on the outskirts of San Angel, a neighborhood, or colonia, of Mexico City. The neighborhood was sleepier than the Zocalo, and happily residential. After the taxi swung off the Paseo de la Reforma, the colonia soon greeted Blanche and Haasi with cobblestone streets, pastel houses, and bougainvillea blooming over arches and walls. Detective Cardenal had told them to make arrangements for a cab through the hotel’s concierge desk. At times, the local sitios, or taxis sitting randomly on street corners took tourists for a ride, literally, but the hotel cabs were generally trustworthy.
Blanche wore a short skirt and a stretchy top that read “Santa Maria Island” on the front and “In Your Dreams” on the back. Haasi had slipped into a plain gold sheath. She looked like an Aztec princess.
The taxi pulled up to a residence typical of the colonia, one of many attached houses tucked on a narrow street where all the front entrances had wrought iron gates and an abundance of flowers and greenery. It was still light out. Blanche picked up the aroma of cooking, a lovely mix of onions and garlic, rice, chiles, and beans, and though this wasn’t home, it felt like it. It seemed all of Mexico stopped when it was time to eat. In the middle of the day, if workers and residents couldn’t get home for la comida, they were seen swinging the white boxes in plastic bags, headed for the park, a restaurant, or office lounge to eat, rest, and visit.
The detective came bursting through the carved front door and headed for the gate. “¡Bienvenidas, bienvenidas a nuestra casa, señoritas!” As always, Blanche was amazed that a policeman could be so jolly. She clutched the spray of mums and lemon leaves for Señora Cardenal and smiled. Haasi held a box of chocolates in two hands, ready to thrust it at their hosts. Before she ate them. Blanche had seen the look on her face in La Chocolatera when she selected the caramels and bonbons. Haasi loved all food and treats. She said she’d even give in and try the bugs and grasshoppers—should the opportunity hop onto her plate.
The entrance of the Cardenal home was dark and cool, terra-cotta tile and white stucco walls. A candle flickered with a scent of pine on a heavy wooden table. “Ven, ven,” he said. They followed him to the back of the house where the sun lit the bright, long room, a kitchen to one side and a comfortable salon to the other. Sofas lined the walls and an enormous coffee table in the center was loaded with antojitos, which Blanche learned meant “yummy bites.” Here were platters of red, green, and yellow peppers, olives, cheeses, breads, slices of cucumber and jicama, radish roses, and curly fried pigskin. The detective directed them to sit and brought them beers. Haasi helped herself to a napkin full of olives, peppers, and cheese. Blanche gazed out at the patio garden where a bird was splashing in a tiny birdbath.
Sylvia came bustling out of the kitchen, arms extended. “¡Mucho gusto!” She was a striking woman with black wisps around her face and startling dark eyes that crinkled with welcome. “Señoritas. ¿Como están?”
“We are very well now,” said Haasi, balancing her olives and extending a hand. “¡Gracias!”
“You will be much better once you eat the cooking de La Reina,” said the detective. “She is truly a queen of the kitchen.” He helped himself to a fistful of pigskin and jicama.
In the dining room, a table was set with an embroidered cloth and bowls of sliced avocado, chopped green onions, shredded cabbage, radishes, bits of fried tortillas, strips of pigskin, oregano, and chopped cilantro. Señora Sylvia emerged from the kitchen with a steaming tureen of the pozole, a soup of hominy and pork shoulder, and placed it before the detective, who did the honors.
“How do you say it?” He held the ladle like a baton. “Dig in.”
The detective took a bite and stared at the ceiling. “Divino, mi amor.” He smiled at the señora. Blanche topped her soup with a little of everything. It was delicious, a regular adventure in flavors. Haasi seemed to be off in another dimension of enjoyment.
Their host lifted his Tecate. “You know,” he said, “originally, pozole was a celebration among the Aztecs after human sacrifice. In fact, he, or she, became the next meal.”
“Really?” Blanche held the spoon halfway to her lips.
“They believed eating the human flesh after tearing the heart out gave them strength and pleased the gods.”
“¡Felix, por favor!” La Reina was incensed. She straightened in her chair. “I assure you, this is pork!”
He threw his head back and laughed, nearly tipping over in his chair. “Just a small history lesson, mi amor.”
Haasi and Blanche looked at each other. And although Haasi’s appetite did not seem dimmed by the news of the ancients, Blanche considered the chunks of pork floating in the soup. She took a hearty slug of the Tecate.
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Haasi and Blanche sat on the detective’s patio at the back of the house. Blanche was somewhat relaxed after the soup and beer. Cacti, jade plants, and other succulents, potted marigolds and lantana, flowering vines of every sort flourished in the patio paradise. Small, compact, and citified. A high wall shut off the outside world, and despite its location not many miles from the Zocalo, it was remarkably quiet. The patio stones were white and worn, the furniture also worn but comfortably outfitted with bright orange cushions. The detective brought out a tray with shot glasses, a pitcher of tomato juice, salt, limes, and a bottle of tequila. The festivity reminded Blanche of the night she met Emilio. “What have you found out, detective? About Emilio,” said Blanche.
/> He sighed. “No news. Yet. Carmen is checking at the clinic in Tepequito. He was supposed to be there today.”
Blanche sat on the edge of the cushion. She had the awful deep-down feeling Emilio would have contacted her—had he been able to—and somehow he had not been able. “I don’t feel good about this business.” Now Blanche was on her feet. Haasi was on the edge of her seat, and Cardenal’s eyebrows shot up. “We should have heard something by now. Did you go over to the lab and look around?”
“Yes, I sent someone over there, but the place was clean. Now, Blanche …”
“Clean? No chemicals? Weird bed of ceramic pipes? Diaries?”
“Nothing like that. Nearly empty.”
How had they cleared out the lab so fast? Blanche wondered, but they’d had a good day to do it after discovering them snooping around.
Cardenal filled three shot glasses with the tequila and three with the tomato juice, or “sangre.” He sat down and motioned for her to do the same. He spoke quietly. “We’re looking into this. Trust me.”
He offered her the bowl of limes. She took a wedge without looking at them. She studied the detective. “Are you putting me off?”
Haasi visibly stiffened. She reached for her cousin’s arm, and Blanche relaxed. Slightly.
“I don’t want any more trouble.” He smiled. “You helped identify the problem at the Palacio. Invaluable. And this morning you were particularly warm and consoling to Amparo about her daughter’s terrible death. I appreciate it, and I know she did, too. Terrible business.” He grabbed the tequila bottle by the neck. “But, officially, you are not a witness to the crime, and there’s nothing you can do at the moment to find your friend. You need to step back from this and let us handle it. We may be slow, but we will arrive.” He lifted the shot glass and downed another.
“Please. You need to stay on this. I know they did something with him.”
He shook his head wearily. “Blanche, we have little to work with.” He leveled a hard look at her, and she returned it. “I’ll see what I can do. I promise.” He still held the bottle like a truncheon. He poured the shots of tequila and tomato juice and threw back one of each, took a pinch of salt, and sucked the lime. They followed his lead. “Ah, bueno. To mark your visit to Mexico.” He clapped the shot glass on the table. “Sin problemas. Or, at least, without more problems.”
Blanche felt sad. Where is he? She clutched her glass. She wanted to have a couple more of these excellent tequilas, but she figured that would not be advisable. Especially with Haasi sitting there staring a hole through her. She needed focus. She finished off the tequila, but she wasn’t finished with the detective.
“There must have been something in that lab.” The tequila warmed her and sparked questions. “Did you find out anything more about that woman doctor? Did you contact Emilio’s academic advisors?”
Haasi sat with her legs crossed, seemingly entranced by a cactus on the other side of the patio. One foot went up and down. She sighed and gave Blanche a rueful smile that read Blanche would not let this go. And if Blanche wouldn’t, Haasi wouldn’t either.
“In answer to your questions, yes, we are working all angles. On all the cases.” The detective downed another shot of tequila, not bothering with the tomato juice. Blanche’s wheels went round and round. She just hoped the room didn’t start spinning. She kept an eye on Cardenal.
Ah, yes, Señor Detective, get nice and toasty and loose-lipped. Please. She had the feeling he knew more than what he was letting on. He tried to derail them with smiles and tequila and placating. She wasn’t having it. She could feel the words forming, about to shoot from her mouth.
Sylvia appeared with a tray of coffees and a plate of delectable-looking, spongy rolled cakes. Haasi immediately lost interest in the cactus. Blanche moved over on the sofa so that Sylvia could join them. “What mischief are you stirring up, Felix?” She had a merry look in her eyes as she poured very dark coffee into demitasse cups and passed them around.
“I’d say the mischief is sitting right here. Direct from Florida, USA,” he said.
Blanche’s knee was bouncing. She leaned forward her hands clasped into a knot. “Detective, sir, please remember that I brought the whole thing up when I discovered that body in the floor.”
Cardenal downed a shot. Sylvia frowned. Her eyes opened wide, and she looked from her husband to Blanche. “¡Qué cosa!”
Haasi hunched her shoulders and sat back. She didn’t seem inclined to enter the discussion—after two tequilas, a slice of cake, and a cookie. She balanced the demitasse on one polished knee.
“¡Pobrecitas!” Sylvia straightened up. Her husband visibly shrank under her reproachful look. “Felix, you must help them. What is going on here?”
“Mi amor. It’s complicated. The señoritas are involved, to be sure. Involved in this murder, but peripheral-al-ly.” The word came out with an extra syllable. “Señorita Blanche also overheard some talking, some argument. She thinks, quizás, there is a connection between the death of this poor girl in the mummy exhibit and the thefts of art from the exhibit. And now her friend is missing.”
“Bueno. Felix, you must help.” She pointed to her eye. “Ojo. Sharp talent you have here.” She patted Blanche’s arm.
He threw his hands up. “I can never argue with this woman. She is always right.”
Hope flickered and caught. Cardenal was nicely lubricated, and thanks to Sylvia, primed, so Blanche pounced. “Do you know anything else about this team at the Palacio? The director, that woman? Anyone else? There are others involved, you know. They didn’t take us out of that lab and lock us up for nothing.”
“¡Por Dios!” Sylvia clutched the gold crucifix on her necklace. “Felix, this is horrible. What welcome is that to Mexico? How can you help the señoritas?”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s a whole cast over there at the Palacio. And beyond. We’re running them down.”
Blanche sensed more was coming. He was poised to go on, and she read the hesitation on his face like she was looking at a map she intended to follow.
“What else, Señor Cardenal?” Blanche asked, quietly. Haasi hadn’t moved, except for that sideways look, as penetrating as an arrow.
“There is more. Someone else is in the picture. Someone called El Patrón. We know now that he is head of the operation—a major plan to steal art objects all over Mexico City. What’s happened so far is just the top of El Popo, you might say.” He shook his head. “Smoking and ready to explode.”
With a straight face, Blanche nodded. It was the confirmation she was hoping for: El Patrón. The “boss.” She was already planning what she was going to do with this bit of information.
Chapter Twenty
WRITE A WRONG
“Blanche, don’t be ridiculous,” said Haasi. The day after dinner at Detective Cardenal’s, the two were sitting in the Alegría Hoy coffee shop near the Zocalo. Despite the name of the place, she didn’t feel much “Happiness Today.” The whoosh of the espresso machine and the aroma of fresh ground beans filled the air. Blanche was stabbing a piece of raspberry cake. The place was definitely a hipster destination; skinny dudes in tight jeans, girls with faces studded in silver buds and loops, hair that defied description, and that seemed to be the point. Haasi’s eyes lazed around the small cozy shop. A delectable, sugared confection hovered close to her lips. She turned her attention to the donut, rather than dwell on Blanche’s suggestion.
“Well, why not? I can’t hold it in any longer, Haas. I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Blanche pushed the cake aside and cradled her latte, a bit of foam on her cheek.
“Blanche, you’re foaming at the mouth.” Haasi finished the donut and got up to buy another. Blanche watched her walk toward the counter. It was a miracle of genes and humanity that she weighed so little and managed to be the healthiest person Blanche had ever met.
Blanche turned to the mirrored wall and checked herself. Wiped the foam off her face. She sipped the hot coffee, and winced.
Haasi plopped down with more goodies.
“If you don’t want to go, I will understand.” Blanche sounded just a bit petulant.
Haasi laughed. “You know damn well you’re not going out there by yourself.” She bit into the donut and red jelly oozed onto her fingers. “Ah, sangre. Blood seems to be everywhere you look.”
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Detective Cardenal was standing at the vending machine. Kicking it.
“Now, I’m going to have to arrest you for that. No beating up the vending machine. Punishable by a fine of a thousand pesos.” Blanche stood back, out of his kicking range, hands on hips.
He turned. “¡Señorita Blanche! ¿Qué pasa?
“Still no word from Emilio. Did you hear anything?”
He resumed perusal of the candy bars and chips as if the display behind the glass was a prized exhibit. “No, not yet.”
“Not yet?” Blanche had a temperature that could go from normal to boil in about one second, and she was perilously close to the boiling point. She followed him back to his office. “Can we talk?”
His glance cut to her. “How did you get up here?”
“Well, I had to surrender ID at the desk and promise to donate my kidney, but they let me past. The señora down there is a real sweetie.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Cardenal ripped open the candy bar and bit off half. Blanche thought of a Rottweiler, though a benign one.
She made herself comfortable in the padded metal armchair and determined to sit there until she got what she came for. The detective acted like she wasn’t there. He shuffled a couple folders on his desk, checked a pile of yellow message slips, and then after a barely audible “¡Carajo!” or two, he sat down. The rest of the candy bar was rolling around in his head and his glazed expression was directed past Blanche and out the window.
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