'How do you know?'
He stabs at the newspaper. 'Just a guess.'
A shrewd guess at that. It never occurred to me that those missing papers and the paintings were in any way connected, and I suddenly feel stupid. The whole week I've felt thrown, this way and that, by those ruddy paintings.
Celestino shifts in his seat. 'Redoto's planning to build an illegal eco-resort.'
'Near La Quemada,' I say quietly.
He looks at me strangely. 'What's going on?'
'I'll explain in a moment. I thought Pedro must have had those documents. And whoever killed him must have thought so too. Their place was trashed.'
'Who else knew about the documents?' Bill says.
'No one.'
'That isn't true,' I say. 'Olora did.'
Celestino's face remains firm. 'She'd never betray us. It's all she lives for.'
'Then someone must have found out.'
'Indeed,' Celestino says grimly.
'We need more coffee,' Bill says, getting up.
My mind whooshes back to the mill house and I'm creeping up those patio stairs, picking my way across the landing. I shiver. Celestino reaches for my hand.
'I think someone has been following me,' I say weakly. 'Someone in a black sedan. Oh, Celestino, I think I led him to Pedro's house.'
'Sh. It's not your fault. What happened?'
I describe my week in the briefest way possible. He listens attentively, his frown deepening with every sentence. 'I had no idea who was behind it,' I say, summing up with a growing knowledge that I can't avoid mentioning Shirley much longer. 'I wanted to search for you but I didn't know how, beyond asking your friends. And then when the first painting turned up…'
'On Monday, wasn't it,' Bill says, cutting in from over by the stove. The coffee percolator begins its hiss and gurgle.
I catch Celestino's gaze and hold it, determined to make him understand the facts. 'I only discovered last night that the supposed victims of this crime were the three judges for the La Mareta commission. Until then, it was a mystery.'
He takes a moment, searching my face. Then he stands and goes to the window. I wait. In the background, I hear laughter and music. Angela has switched on the television. Celestino has his back to me. I have no idea what is in his mind. He opens the door and steps outside. The wind tousles his hair. He walks over to the far end and eyes the cut and paste montage Bill made with Gloria's help. He picks it up and carries it inside.
'This shouldn't be left out. It's good. I like the face.'
'Gloria's masterpiece,' Bill says.
'Yours, Dad. Really.'
Celestino leans it against the dresser and sits back down.
'Someone is setting me up,' he says darkly.
There's nothing for it. I have to tell him the whole truth. He'll find out soon enough and it might be easier with Bill present. I brace myself and say, 'It's my fault they know those are your works too. I let it slip to Lolita Pluma.'
'Lolita Pluma! Where in god's name did you meet her?'
'In her office.'
'DRAT.' He all but spits and in a surprising show of annoyance he brings a hand down hard on the table. There's a clatter of crockery. I hope Angela didn't hear it.
'Steady on,' says Bill.
'This is crazy. I'm not understanding how you came to be in her office.'
'I was so overwhelmed,' I say defensively. 'I've been on my guard all week. Shirley told me it was a bad idea,' I blurt, wincing as I say it.
'Shirley?' Celestino swings around to face me, nearly knocking out of Bill's hand the fresh pot of coffee he's carrying to the table.
'Now take it easy, Celestino,' Bill says, putting a hand on his shoulder as he sets down the pot. 'Paula's been tearing her hair out trying to make sense of all this. Shirley was being a good neighbour, I believe.'
'A good neighbour? She can't be trusted.'
After the events of the week, I'm inclined to agree.
'It was Sunday and I'd gone to look for you,' I say by way of explanation. 'I went to Pedro's to see if he'd seen you. Shirley came in as I was leaving.'
'And offered to help.'
'She didn't. She joined me briefly and then left. The next day she called round to see if I was okay and invited me to lunch to take my mind off things.'
'Good for her,' Celestino says sarcastically.
'Celestino, this isn't helping,' Bill cautions.
'The woman is a leech.'
'Your dispute with her is a long time in the past. Ancient history. People change.'
'Not that much.'
'She's my neighbour too,' I snap. 'Or can't I have a life.'
I breathe deeply, shocked by my outburst and regretting it straight away. Yet it has an effect.
'Okay,' Celestino says, backpedalling. 'I'm sorry. This is a lot to take in.'
Bill pours the coffee. A silence descends.
After a short while I break it with, 'That's how I found the first painting.'
'Which one?'
'The solar panels on a beach.'
His smile takes me by surprise. I make a mental note to speak my mind more often. I'm about to continue when Gloria comes running in with Angela not far behind, cradling Tibbles in her arms.
'Daddy,' Gloria says and climbs onto his knee. He winces and leans around her for his coffee. I push it closer.
'We need to go back to Haría,' he says.
'It's safer here,' says Bill.
Celestino turns to his father-in-law. 'Can we leave Gloria?'
'She's been here all week. A little longer won't hurt.'
I catch the expression of forced tolerance on my mother's face as she sets down the cat. I want to tell her it won't be for long and I'm annoyed I even think I have to.
Celestino drains his cup. 'Come on,' he says, setting Gloria down.
I fetch my sunglasses, bag and keys and follow him outside, leaving Bill to explain things to his wife.
A Matter of Latitude
We drive in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. As we approach Haría, I keep a lookout for a black sedan but don't see one. I turn into the lane at the back of the house and park my car in the garage. I try the door then remember it's bolted from the inside. I have to race around to enter the house from the front.
In the kitchen at last, I reach out to Celestino and say, 'I thought you were dead. Or you were tied to a chair somewhere. Or you'd gone into hiding to hatch a mad plot. I didn't know what to think. I was worried sick.'
'And I thought you'd left me. I saw the note on the table instead of mine and that's what I thought.'
'I'd never…'
I draw close. He holds me for a few moments before pulling away.
'We don't have time,' he says, and I know he's right. 'That man who killed Pedro works for Redoto. He won't rest until he finds those documents.'
'Then we shouldn't be here.'
'Agreed. Go and pack some clothes.'
The urgency in his voice jolts me and I run upstairs and throw clothes at random into a suitcase. Opening the wardrobe door, I recall his necklace that I tucked away in a shoebox. I retrieve it and slip it into my trouser pocket. I'm back downstairs in minutes, rummaging through Gloria's things, taking what I can.
I leave the case in the hallway and find Celestino in the kitchen, reading over my note. In a flash, I think to ask a question all but forgotten in the drama.
'Which way did you go when you left for Mancha Blanca?'
'Which way? Arrieta, of course.'
'And what time? Do you remember?'
'Twelve. I got the call not long after you left. I wish I'd phoned you. But I was convinced I'd be back for Gloria's party.'
Unease fills me. Shirley said one thirty. She was adamant about it. Maybe she got the time wrong. But not the direction.
He leaves the kitchen, brushing past me in the doorway and mounting the stairs in twos. He returns with a battered old address book.
'Pass me the phone.'
&n
bsp; I hand it to him and leave him alone to make the call.
In the living room, I sit on the second-to-last tread of the stairs and extract his necklace, rolling the stone pendant between my thumb and finger, then idly inspecting the broken clasp. With my breathing shallow, I can hear him speak. Then I hear the soft clunk of the kitchen door latch and his voice fades away.
A quick rap on the front door and I all but leap out of my skin. I'm about to answer it, then hesitate, half expecting the bald-headed man in leather to be standing on the doorstep with a pointed gun. I walk lightly across the room and peer through the window. Shirley is standing out in the street looking absurd in a lemon-yellow silk jumpsuit. Anger ripples through my belly. I go to open the door, not knowing whether to step outside or usher her in.
Shirley presses forward the moment the door is ajar, so I hurry her into the living room.
'Celestino's back,' I hiss.
'That's terrific news,' Shirley says with a wary look and an overly broad grin. She stands there in the middle of the room looking like a fake sun, the yellow pendant earrings she has on resembling moons that come wildly into orbit around her face as she moves. 'You must be so relieved,' she says, her eyes darting about the room. 'Now you can get on with your lives. Has he explained why he swapped the paintings?' She said it like a quip.
'He was in Tenesar the whole time.'
'Is that right?' Shirley says casually.
How can she be so blithe? She might not have known where Celestino went but she's certainly led me astray. To what end? Perhaps she's losing her faculties. Or is she simply malicious, as Celestino would have it? I struggle to hold onto an ounce of loyalty that is vanishing rapidly in her presence.
'Shirley, this is serious. This isn't some stupid prank.'
'Of course not. You've been missing him terribly.'
'That's not the point,' I say with sudden impatience. 'Pedro's been murdered.'
'Who?'
'A friend of ours. A market trader. I found the body, or rather I found his wife and children with the body. He'd been stabbed.'
My final word slices through the atmosphere. A look of fright comes into Shirley's face. She fixes her gaze on the floor, the fake smile she wears wavering about the edges.
'When?'
'Yesterday. I swung by before delivering you your car.'
'I thought something was odd. You were in too much of a hurry. You should have told me.'
'I had to get to work. Besides, why would you need to know?'
Shirley backs away towards the door. Recalling her riffling through that pile of magazines in the kitchen, I move forward and block her exit. I look at her with intense interest. Has Shirley been snooping for those papers? She's friends with the others. How involved is she in their scheme?
'We think whoever killed Pedro thought he was behind those painting swaps,' I say, anticipating a reaction. Of all the little lies I've told this week, it's the most calculating. And it has the desired effect.
A look of alarm appears in Shirley's face. 'I never meant.'
She edges sideways, reaching behind her, feeling for the sofa. She touches the armrest, takes another step and collapses in the seat.
Upon entering the room and seeing her there, Celestino says with a snarl in his voice, 'Never meant what?'
'I only wanted to…' Her voice trails off. She buries her face in her hands. Her earrings jiggle to rest beside her thumbs.
'Celestino, get her a glass of water.' He doesn't look as though he'll move, so I add, 'Please.'
'Shirley,' I say once we're alone. 'How could you!'
'It was just a bit of fun,' she says weakly. 'Seize the day, don't they say.'
'Seize the day! I've been through hell and you just stood by and watched.'
Celestino returns and shoves a glass brimming with water at her, the contents sloshing on her jumpsuit. She takes hold of the glass in both hands and has a few sips.
The room is heavy with her silence. Celestino crosses the floor and turns his gaze to the window.
I back into the corner, as far from them both as it's possible to be. My head spins, the events of the last week demanding fresh evaluation in the light of Shirley's complicity. All of my assumptions and speculations are thrown into chaos. All I know for sure is Celestino is right about our neighbour. Worse, Shirley has played with my distress as a cat would box a toy, worrying, mauling with that strange fascination of the feline species.
We wait. Shirley just sits there.
'Explain yourself, mujer.' There's a bitter growl in his voice I have never before heard.
I watch Shirley cower, but hers is not the reaction of a woman scared. As Shirley shrinks back she sucks in her cheeks and purses her lips. Her eyes darken, and when she raises herself up her demeanour is that of a spite-filled shrew. She takes a large breath and speaks.
'Lolita told me you'd applied for the La Mareta commission,' she says, addressing Celestino. 'That you were in fact set to win.' She turns her gaze to me. Hatred burns in eyes narrowed to slits. 'And I knew what he was like. With all his anti-corruption work.'
'How did you know about that?' Celestino says, shooting me an accusatory look.
'She's a snoop,' I say, hoping that would cover it. I glare at my neighbour.
Shirley shifts to the edge of the seat, pointing a bent finger up to Celestino. 'You won't stop ruining the lives of good people like my husband, will you? How could I let you win knowing what you've been up to?' The hostility in her voice takes me by surprise.
Celestino clenches his jaw. He's demonstrating enormous restraint. I can see the instinct to lash out building in him.
Shirley crouches forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, holding onto her glass with two hands. With her face pointing forwards, she takes on the appearance of a ghoulish banana.
'I got a little drunk one night, and a film I was watching gave me an idea. I knew Gloria's birthday was coming up. It was the perfect time to take those paintings.'
'My paintings?'
Shirley pointedly ignores him. Directing her gaze at me, she says, 'At the time I thought any paintings would do the job. But those particular works suited perfectly. I had no idea just how perfect they would be. It was as though he'd painted those works especially for my little prank. I could hardly believe my luck.'
'How did you get in?' Celestino asks.
'She works in real estate.'
Shirley straightens to reach into her pocket, extracting the large bunch of keys she carries around with her. She emits a short and flippant laugh. 'I have access to half the island.'
I don't want to look at her but can't take my eyes off that withered, mean-looking face.
'I hardly think this is funny.'
'You don't like my little ruse?' She gives me a blank, wide-eyed stare, her face quickly contracting back to what I decide is the true Shirley.
'You must have known you'd get found out.'
'Not really. It was all so easy too. I waited for you to leave for the party.' She speaks directly to me as though Celestino isn't present. 'Then I saw him come back and head off in a rush. I thought he was running late. So I went to the studio and took the three paintings. When I came back I noticed that your front door was ajar. He mustn't have closed it.' Her face contorts as if in spasm. 'If you're looking for someone to blame, Paula, then look no further. Call me a weak-willed woman if you must but the temptation was too much.' Then she raises her eyebrows and her shoulders, her face sinking into her neck. She's astonishing to watch. Her earrings have no idea where to put themselves. She looks in that instant almost tragic. 'I couldn't resist going inside. I found the note and I took it.' The note of triumph in her voice is grating. She sits there now all puffed up. I want to throttle her.
I step forward. In a low voice I say, 'You took his note?'
'I know. I'm sorry.' Her face breaks into an apologetic smile. She looks more grotesque than ever. 'But it was enormous fun.'
'At my expense. I never thought
you could be so callous.'
'Once I started, I couldn't stop. It became a mission. Redoto was easy. Like I said, I have keys to everywhere. Same with Yaiza. Although Bentor's portrait was a little hard to get out without being seen. I had to pay a friend to help me. Lolita's was even harder. I had to grease the palm of a contact at the Cabildo to remove the original painting.' She gulps her water before going on. 'I planted the original works in Celestino's studio that morning. Then my car broke down. I thought my final gambit would be scuppered. I had to get that third painting hung. So I put it in my shoulder bag and paid the same contact to hang it while we were having tea.'
As Shirley speaks, I run through my own experiences in my mind, astounded at the pretence she maintained throughout. How she kept a straight face while she speculated on possible suspects at Redoto's restaurant, all, it now transpires, for my benefit. How she managed to march right past that money-spewing volcano as though she never saw it. How she pretended to be angry when I let slip to Lolita that Celestino was the artist when she was leading me to make that divulgence all along.
'The only part of the whole escapade I couldn't be sure of was that you'd spill,' she says as though reading my mind. 'I was quite prepared to prod you if I had to, but you did it anyway.'
'I can't believe you'd go to such lengths.'
'It's just a matter of latitude.'
'You mean you wanted to see what you could get away with?'
Shirley shrugs. 'No harm done.'
'Get out!' Celestino roars.
Shirley doesn't move.
'I didn't want you to win!' she shrieks. 'You don't deserve it.'
'Just get out!'
Shirley flinches like a terrified rodent. She all but scuttles from the room. I see her out, resisting slamming the front door behind her. I never want to encounter the woman again. Impossible, considering we're neighbours. To make things worse, she committed no crime, or at least not one the police would bother with, so there'll be little comeuppance.
'Thank goodness you had the presence of mind to take those documents,' I say upon re-entering the living room.
'If I'd left them there,' Celestino says grimly, 'Pedro would be still alive.'
And what about me? I think but don't say. Was it just good luck that I wasn't home when that intruder came by? It isn't something I'm inclined to pursue. It would sound too egotistical.
A Matter of Latitude Page 26