by Becca Bloom
“First things first. Are you hungry?” Sylvia pulled out plates and piled them with fluffy, white rice, steamed vegetables, and a piece of chicken with a red sauce that smelled like Heaven. Sprinkling chopped cilantro over the top, she placed a plate in front of me. “This is called seco de pollo. It’s chicken in a sauce made of tomatoes, onion, garlic, cumin, beer, and a few local spices. I hope you like it.”
I took a bite, and a moan escaped me before I could stop myself.
Abuelita said proudly, “Is my recipe.”
“It’s delicious!” There was nothing insipid about this chicken, and I attacked my plate with gusto. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in over forty-eight hours, and I hadn’t realized until my first bite how hungry I was.
Tia Rosa put six mugs on the table and poured coffee into them. I reached for my cup gladly. It had been a long day. The longest day of my life.
Jake and Adriana did another pass through the dining room. When they joined us, Sylvia asked, “Okay, spill it. What happened at Maria’s?”
“She murdered,” said Tia Rosa before Abuelita could open her mouth.
Abuelita, not one to be bested, added, “She murdered in car with machete.”
Sylvia, Jake, and Adriana unanimously set their coffee mugs down. “What?!”
Tia Rosa started her narration from the time she left her art class, including our encounter with Lady. From there, Abuelita took over, telling about her friendly chat with the policeman and our visit to Martha. She conveniently left out the small detail of her and Tia Rosa’s break-in to Maria’s garage. I didn’t want to get them in trouble, so I didn’t mention it either.
Jake furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would someone kill Maria?”
“She mean. People no like her,” said Abuelita.
“You mean. People no kill you,” said Tia Rosa.
“That’s not reason enough to kill someone. People haven’t liked her for years. Why now? Why her?” he insisted.
I could help here. “Fernanda told me she thinks her aunt was into something dangerous. She couldn’t justify how José and Maria were able to buy a new car and all the electronics they have.”
“I guess I’d never thought about it,” said Adriana. “I just assumed they’d saved.”
Jake explained, “Cars are expensive here because of import taxes. Maria’s new car probably cost them around thirty thousand dollars. With minimum wage being just over three hundred dollars a month, it would take forever to save that amount. Even with both of them working.”
I almost choked on my coffee. “Three hundred dollars a month? How do people live on that?” Even with the lower cost of living here, it would be nearly impossible to manage on so little. No wonder Martha looked so tired. She probably had to work several jobs just to keep her five kids fed and clothed.
“Is hard,” acknowledged Abuelita. “Ah, before I no remember, I want give food for Martha. She need help.”
“I’d be glad to send lunches for the next few days. She works so hard and has all those kids.” Sylvia wiped her hand across her forehead. “Without Maria’s help, she’s going to have a harder time.”
Adriana asked in a soft voice, “You don’t think she could have done it, do you? Maybe out of jealousy or something?”
“I no give food to killer!” said Abuelita angrily. “She no have reason to kill sister. I think José kill wife.”
That’s where I’d put my money too. Or maybe it was the bar owner. “He didn’t act like a man who had just lost his wife. However, Fernanda didn’t say as much, but I think she suspects Dario Vega. There’s something strange going on there.”
“Why was he there?” asked Adriana.
“He found Maria’s body and called the police.”
“Where was José?” she asked.
“I don’t know, and he was too busy playing video games for me to ask. He acted like nothing had happened.”
“Could it be he was in shock?” suggested Jake.
“More like he didn’t care, but I don’t know him well enough to say. What I do know is that I was more affected by her murder than he seemed to be — and she was practically a stranger to me. That’s just not normal.”
“Shouldn’t he have been talking to the police?” Adriana asked.
“They wait special detective,” answered Abuelita.
“Maybe that’s why he was acting strangely. The police wouldn’t want him talking to people until the agent got there for his statement,” suggested Jake.
Sylvia tapped her fingers against her lips, pausing to say, “When I called over there earlier this afternoon, Maria answered the phone. I heard two men fighting in the background. That must have been right before she was killed.”
“You know who was it?” Abuelita asked.
“I assumed one of the men was José, but I couldn’t hear well enough to identify anyone with certainty. Nor did I hear what they fought about. Maria got off the phone too quickly. Just to think that may have been her last phone call…” Sylvia’s words trailed off.
“Maybe it Dario,” suggested Tia Rosa.
We hovered around the island in silence. It was like a scene from an Agatha Christie mystery where all the friends and family of the murder victim get involved to bring the killer to justice with the help of an observant sleuth. Except I was no Miss Marple. Just the thought of blood made me queasy. No, I was here on vacation and I aimed to hit every souvenir shop in the morning, lay in a hammock like tourists are supposed to do in tropical climates, and finish off the day at the pub Jake and Adriana had told me about. I would be a proper vacationer and leave the investigation to the professionals.
Picking up the empty plates, I thanked Sylvia for the yummy food and washed the dishes. I’d had more than enough excitement for one day. I needed to take a picture of Lady, plug my phone in to charge, and fall into bed as soon as I’d talked to my family.
Tia Rosa bumped me away from the sink with her hip. “You tired. I wash.”
Thanking her, I dried my hands before picking up the charger. “Thank you for remembering this. As soon as I get my stuff from Maria’s trunk, I’ll return it.”
“Keep it as long as you need it.” Jake had a dimple in his right cheek. Had he no flaws?
“I’m going to take a pic of Lady and see if my family can make their call earlier,” I announced to let anyone who cared know my plans.
Sylvia pulled me into an embrace. “You’ve had an eventful day, haven’t you? Rest well, Jess. Let us know if you need anything, okay?”
She released her hold and Abuelita startled me by stepping between us. Seriously, personal space was a foreign concept in Ecuador.
“You tell family about murder?” she asked.
My answer was immediate. “Absolutely not.” Why give them reason to worry when they were thousands of miles away and could do nothing but regret their unanimous decision to send me away on an adventure? I bet they didn’t have this in mind!
Adriana exhaled deeply. “Oh, good. We were so worried you’d be on the first flight back to Oregon.”
Abuelita reached up and patted my cheek. “Is good you stay.”
I didn’t feel awkward, even though everyone in the room looked at me. They really seemed to want me there. Even Abuelita. A strange sense of comfort wrapped its arms around me just as they so often did. I had only met the Jimenez family that afternoon, but they had already managed to make me feel like I belonged with them. That they wanted me, not for what I could do for them, but just for me was really nice.
“Tomorrow, you bake me sugar treat?” asked Abuelita.
Okay, well maybe they weren’t entirely altruistic.
Chapter 7
I woke the next morning to sunshine warming my face through the window overlooking the side street. I’d been so tired and it’d been so dark the night before, I’d forgotten to close the curtains. Roosters crowed and dogs barked. Unlatching the window, I pushed it open to let the daylight wake me up. Inhaling the fresh morning air, the comfo
rting smell of baking bread filled my lungs. My stomach grumbled. I must have slept late. Not unusual for me. I never had been an early riser.
Padding barefoot out to the kitchen, I saw Adriana sketching in a notebook, a look of intense concentration on her face.
“Good morning,” I said softly, wanting to be polite without interrupting what she had going on.
“Wow, you’re up early. I thought for sure you’d sleep in.” She pointed to the coffee maker. “Want some?”
Early? I looked outside. It was most definitely daytime, and from the looks of things, had been for some time.
She laughed. “You’re completely turned around, aren’t you? It’s six thirty right now. That would be, what, four thirty in Portland?”
“Six thirty? I never wake up before eight, and even then it’s only after slapping the snooze button at least four times.” I was the only night owl in a family of morning larks. They’d get a kick out of hearing that I’d gotten out of bed so early my first morning of vacation in Baños.
Adriana ran her finger down a list of scribbled notes by her sketch.
“What are you doing up so early?” I asked.
“I’m perfecting my drawing before I start cutting into fabric. My dream is to design retro-inspired clothes for women of all shapes and sizes, but there’s more money in bridal and pageant gowns. I’m determined to dress one of the Reinas in next year’s Festival.”
“Reinas?”
“It means ‘Queen.’ It’s what they call the beauty contestants during Carnival. It’s a big deal down here and it would mean lots of exposure and publicity for me.”
“Impressive. What is this sketch for?” It was something I’d wear. An A-line, tea-length gown with a fitted, straight neckline. Very classy.
“Some design ideas for bridesmaid’s gowns. A friend of mine is getting married soon and she asked me to give her a hand. There’ll be sequins littered all over my clean floor next week. It’s a small price to pay for my dream.”
Her dream. I wasn’t brave enough to go for my dream. I’d checked into it and the list of licenses and permits needed to open a simple bakery was enough to send me to the community college for web classes. It wasn’t my dream, but it paid a decent wage.
Adriana closed her notebook. “Anyway, that’s enough about me. I saw you eyeing my KitchenAid….”
“I promised Abuelita I’d make her cake. My grandma sent some of her favorite recipes with me, and I thought I’d give one a try. She specializes in baked and fried goods. Given the extra humidity and heat here, I think I’d better start with something simple.” The perfect recipe came to mind. Goofballs! Bite-sized doughnut holes, fried and dipped in chocolate frosting.
“Sounds fantastic! Poor Abuelita suffers so much. She’s the only one in our family with an insatiable sweet tooth. The rest of us prefer salty treats. I could eat a family-size bag of Doritos all by myself.”
“All this talk of food is making me hungry.” My stomach growled loud enough for her to hear.
“We’d better do something about that then. Mom will be in the kitchen with fresh-baked rolls from the bakery.”
Changing my clothes and tossing my hair up into a ponytail in record time, I opened the front door to a tail-wagging puppy. She danced on her hind legs when she saw us.
“What a lady! She’s too polite to jump all over us like most dogs. Doesn’t she have the cutest little brown face and the biggest, darkest puppy eyes? She even wears eye liner,” said Adriana, dropping down on her knees to scratch Lady behind the ears. The happy puppy flipped onto her back. Like her face, her stomach was brown while the rest of her body was black. Her pink collar caught between the planks of wood and Adriana had to pull it loose.
“That reminds me … is there a place I can print off a bunch of pictures so I can post them around town?”
“There’s a print shop across the street, but they won’t open for another couple hours.”
Abuelita met us as we were going down the stairs. She had a bowl of water in one hand and a bowl of what looked like porridge with chunks of meat, bones, and cartilage floating in it. Not so appetizing for anyone but a furry friend Abuelita insisted was a pest.
Lady came down the stairs behind us and I witnessed Abuelita pat her on the head when the puppy looked up at her thankfully before licking daintily at a bone sticking out of the bowl.
Adriana leaned in to whisper. “I almost hope nobody claims her. She didn’t make a mess of the garden and she didn’t bark all night. She’s not much of a guard dog, but it might be nice to have a pet back here. Even Abuelita has taken a liking to her.”
It would be the perfect solution. Lady would have a good home here. I noticed the fluffed pillow set out for her under the wash tank as we walked past. She must have spent all night on the stairs, preferring to be close to Adriana and me than to food.
The kitchen smelled heavenly. Like coffee and bread.
Abuelita, Tia Rosa, Sylvia, and Jake sat around the island, a giant bowl of bread surrounded by strawberry jam, white cheese, and hardboiled eggs.
Sylvia held up a pitcher. “Pineapple juice?” she asked.
“Yum!” I replied.
“How was your call last night?” she asked, filling everyone’s glasses.
“It was nice to see my family. They were happy to know I finally made it here okay.”
“Why did you get here a day late?” asked Jake.
After a night’s rest, my trials of the two days before didn’t seem so horrible. Especially after what had happened to Maria. So, I gave them a humorous retelling of most of the events of the previous days. It struck me as funny how my backpack, which I had defended tooth and nail at the airport, had been left carelessly in the trunk. They were appropriately impressed with Jessenia’s forethought in writing lists of packed items and how it had helped me get my stuff back. I sighed at the loss of my e-reader.
“You like to read?” asked Jake.
I sighed again. Like wasn’t a strong enough word. Powell’s book store had been my second home. It was the reason I’d rented an apartment in the Pearl District when rent was cheaper elsewhere. “I love to read.”
“Really? What’s your favorite genre?” he asked.
“Do I have to choose? It depends on my mood, I guess. I like memoirs and self-help books in the morning. They help me start my day off in a better mood. For public transportation, I read the highly acclaimed literature so I can look smart while getting lost in beautiful prose. For the park, I prefer romcoms. The lightheartedness suits the atmosphere. It’s a little contradictory, but I like to read mysteries and thrillers at night so I can spend the next hour too scared to sleep. I take my reader with me everywhere in case I have to wait. It’s old and has a crack in the bottom right corner of the screen, but I can’t replace it because it’s my friend.” Maybe it sounded a little pathetic, but it brought me happiness.
“That’s cool,” he said. “You should go to Casa Hood. They have a library of English books they’re constantly trading with travelers passing through and looking to swap novels.”
“That is the best news I’ve had all day! I was planning on looking around the shops this morning. I want to buy gifts for my family, and figured now is as good a time as any. Is Casa Hood close?”
“I’ll give you directions.”
Awesome! My day was off to a promising start.
Three hours later, I returned to Adi’s apartment with three books from Casa Hood’s library, a bag of dog food small enough for me to lug home, and an assortment of souvenirs. I’d found the coolest outdoor market tucked between busy streets where they sold handwoven scarves in bold colors, hammocks, jewelry made out of tagua nuts, and painted figurines carved from balsa wood. I also bought pulled taffy in assorted fruit flavors. Jessenia would hate how sticky it would make Jayden, but he would love it. I dumped my treasures on my bed and went downstairs to see about giving Lady a bath.
I went into the kitchen to ask Sylvia if she had a wash ba
sin I could use for Lady. A man with a buzz cut and the kind of thick build only one who knew how to use weights could have stood with his booted feet hip-width apart. He wore a black polo shirt with a pocket. In his hands, he held a notepad and pen. A scar from his ear to the corner of his mouth told me he was not a stranger to violence.
"Miss James?" he asked in almost perfect English.
"Yes," I answered, feeling silly when I realized that I stood at attention.
He held out his hand for a handshake, which I took with a nervous glance at Sylvia. "I am Agent Washington Vasquez from special investigations. I understand you were one of the last people to see Maria alive. I have some questions for you."
Sylvia smiled reassuringly at me. “Might I suggest you use one of the tables in our dining area? I’ll make some more juice and bring it out to you in a moment.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jimenez.”
“Please, Agent Vasquez, call me Sylvia. Mrs. Jimenez is my mother or my aunt.”
“Both of them are Jimenez?” I asked, puzzled.
“They married brothers,” she explained quickly. Agent Vasquez was not the kind of guy one kept waiting.
He nodded curtly and we went out to the dining room. Adi sat behind the register and, when Agent Vasquez stopped in front of her, clearly wishing she’d get up and leave so he could intimidate me in peace, she smiled and waved. “Is there anything I can get you, Agent Vasquez?”
He turned with a grunt, and I mouthed, “Thank you,” to Adi. With a wink, she rested her arms against the counter and settled in. She wasn’t going anywhere.
The questions began before my bum hit the hot pink and gold upholstered cushion of the pine chair. "Miss James, I understand you spent a few hours with Maria Guzmán yesterday. What was your business with her?"
"She drove me and her husband, José, from the Quito airport.”
“What time was it when you arrived here?” he asked, pencil poised over the paper of his notepad.
“It was around four in the afternoon.”
“One of my officers said you later went to Señora Guzmán’s home. Why?”