Murder on the Equator Box Set

by Becca Bloom

  Hmm. She had made it sound like more of a mutual decision. On the other hand, if my original assessment of her character was correct, I could see why she was a prime suspect. Dump the young brother for the richer, older one only to have the ex-boyfriend inherit everything only months later? Ouch.

  Roberto’s phone beeped and he grimaced when he looked at the screen. “I’m sorry. I need to take this.”

  He waved and resumed his pacing, leaving Lady and me free to make a large loop around the edge of town while I rearranged the pieces of Victor’s murder in my mind, trying to see things from different angles and make sense of what was nonsensical.

  Roberto had a motive in revenge, but in the few times I’d seen him with Victor, I’d never felt any bad feelings between the two. He also had a sound alibi.

  Vanessa also had motive, but I hadn’t thought to ask where she’d been when Victor was murdered. It would be easy enough to find out.

  Chapter 12

  Vanessa wasn't at work and, by the time Lady and I returned to the restaurant, we were both overheated and thirsty. The equatorial sun was as intense as a tanning bed (of which I knew from my one visit to the salon. I still blamed Jessenia for my resulting sunburn and raccoon eyes, but the fact remained that I’d been the one foolish enough to listen to her when I had never in my life been able to “toughen up” my skin with a layer of tanned sun damage.).

  The park burst with activity. The mayor had several of his minions in yellow vests and hardhats measuring and marking off the areas for the booths they'd set up tomorrow for the food section on the following day.

  I helped Sylvia mix up more of the filling for her empanadas, writing down the recipe to take back to my family. They'd rave over them … although I'd have to make a gluten-free version for Jessenia and a carb-free one for Jessamyn. I helped myself to another delicious empanada without a care as to its effect on my curvy hips. Hey, I'd walked a lot that day and had probably sweated off a couple of pounds.

  I was happily chopping up a pile of boiled eggs when Sylvia joined me. Looking around us cautiously, and making certain Abuelita was busy at the stove, she whispered, "I have a plan."

  Looking at Abuelita and lowering my voice, too, I asked, "For what?"

  "I'm going to break into her spare room and we're going to bring the mixer here for you to use. Jake will help us and you're strong. I think we can lug it here between the three of us, but we'll have to be careful."

  Abuelita looked over at us, her eyes narrowing. Like all mothers, she had that special ability to sense when her children were up to no good. I tried to imagine what life would have been like for Sylvia growing up with Abuelita for a mom. It made me appreciate my family all the more and respect Sylvia for achieving an admirable level of normalcy.

  I continued chopping eggs, dumping them into the bowl so Sylvia could mix them. We were the picture of innocence.

  Clucking her tongue, Abuelita turned back to the stove. She was onto us.

  Leaning in, Sylvia said, "We have to make our move tomorrow night. Wear something dark and have Adi lend you a hat." She joined Abuelita at the stove before her mom's suspicions were confirmed, leaving me to wonder why she wanted me to dress like a burglar when she had a key to the front door. Curiouser and curiouser.

  Had it been Abuelita to suggest such a thing, I would’ve balked. But Sylvia was the level-headed one. She wouldn’t ask me to do anything that could land me in jail. Or would she?

  The following morning, I asked Adi if I should be worried.

  "Mom lives with Abuelita, but not even she has access to the secret room. When Jake and I were little, we made up all kinds of stories to explain what she hides in there. Buried treasure, a time machine, a dead body. Really, your guess is as good as mine. Tia Rosa doesn't speak of it either, although we all think she knows what's in there."

  "I still don't get why we need to break in when Sylvia has every right to go to her own house."

  Adi shrugged. "I'll stay here and keep Abuelita busy with the new cook while you guys get the mixer. If you're caught, she'll make you all pay. She'll know you entered the forbidden room."

  "She'll know anyway when she sees the mixer here."

  "Which is why it can't happen before tonight. The mixer is ancient and heavy. It'll be a challenge to get it here, but Abuelita won't be able to move it back until you've used it for your doughnuts. After that … well, let's just focus on the positive."

  I made myself a mental note to set aside a couple dozen doughnuts for Abuelita (on top of what I’d let her taste test today). I didn't mind if she took out her anger on me, but I couldn't allow her to avenge herself against her daughter when Sylvia was acting in my benefit. That just wasn't fair.

  Tia Rosa peeked out into the dining room for the tenth time since I’d entered the kitchen.

  I nudged my chin in her direction. "What is she up to?"

  Adi shook her head. "No clue. She's acting stranger than normal, though. Has she said what she plans to do for her booth?"

  "She hasn't. I was thinking of giving her the doughnut hole samples if she didn't have anything."

  "Oh, good. I was thinking of putting together some sandwiches and lemonade, but your idea is better. I just don't want to see her humiliated."

  I felt the same way and I wouldn't let it happen if I could help prevent it. However, I also couldn't involve myself in her feud with Abuelita, so I would stay out of it until the last possible moment. "From her recent comments, I think she has a plan, but I don't dare ask about it right now."

  Adi's phone rang and I could tell it was Vanessa who called from the one side of the conversation I could hear.

  "Find out where she was when Victor was killed," I whispered to her, turning back to the doughnut ingredients I'd lined up a dozen different ways while I waited for Fernanda and her mom to arrive.

  Adi nodded, then groaned when Vanessa must have given her some bad news.

  I tried not to listen in, but Adi stood next to me and touched my arm, repeating, "She's gained ten pounds in two weeks? And your other bridesmaid has lost the same? Wow. Yeah, I understand." She listened. "It can't be helped. I'll just have to go to Ambato tomorrow afternoon. Depending on the amount of work involved, I'll stay the night."

  That got everyone's attention. Sylvia, Abuelita, and Tia Rosa stood in a circle around us, concerned expressions on their faces.

  The call ended and Adi tucked her phone back in her pocket, taking a deep breath. "I knew this could happen, but I was hoping I'd be a bigger name in fashion when it did. Then, I could insist that my clients come to me. As it is, I have to accommodate everyone until I get my feet off the ground."

  "When do you have to leave?" asked Sylvia.

  "I'll help out here until after lunch. But then I really should go to Ambato. If what Vanessa says is even half true, I have a long night of seam ripping and tucking ahead of me. The fitted design of the dresses she chose will make the work difficult, but I can do it."

  "Where you sleep?" asked Abuelita.

  "Vanessa said I can stay in her old room with her parents. Oh, and she said she was at the clinic picking up some exam results," she said to me. "You don't think she could have done it, do you? I'll admit, as far as motives go, she has a doozy."

  "Money makes people do crazy things, but I'm not sure she'd be willing to throw away everything she has going for her out of revenge. I'm not sure what I think, but it can't hurt to make sure she has a solid alibi. Especially if you're going to be in close contact with her over the next few days. We'll feel better knowing you're safe."

  "Vanessa no is murderer. Is Mafioso." Abuelita pointed next door and tapped her toes against the tile floor. "He already hire Wilson."

  Everyone except me looked taken aback, making me ask, "Who's Wilson?"

  Tia Rosa answered, "He carpenter. He build and fix house."

  Sylvia added, "He's just as skilled with woodwork as with concrete. Whenever I have a project I don't want Jake to take time off from w
ork to do, I always ask for Wilson's help. He'd make quick work of a remodel if that's what Hugo is interested in."

  Perhaps I should ask where Hugo was that morning. Starting a remodel before buying a property went way beyond gutsy … it was unethical. "He has a morning class. It should be easy to see if he was busy teaching that morning or if he could have slipped out of the apartment in enough time to kill Victor."

  One of the waitresses opened the dining room door to let Fernanda and Martha in. The color of the week was evidently purple. Fernanda’s black hair was streaked with chunky, purple stripes. Her fingernails, as usual, were painted black except for her pinky nail. It was neon green. Her whole ensemble demanded that people notice her, at which she’d defiantly challenge them not to stare at or judge her. She was a rebellious punk who gave her poor mother fits of worry, but Fernanda was nothing if not genuine.

  We hadn't even exchanged greetings when Fernanda asked me, "Have you figured it out yet?"

  As if I was actively investigating Victor's murder. As if I was capable of solving such a difficult puzzle when the last one had merely been a happy, albeit scary, coincidence.

  Adi looped her arm through mine. "Not yet, but she's on it."

  I glowered at them. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm keeping out of this one. Agent Vasquez is perfectly capable of solving this mystery on his own."

  Martha said something in Spanish. Sylvia translated. "Martha's nephew works behind the reception desk at the police station. He said that Victor was poisoned to death."

  Martha nodded her head gravely. "Yes. Poison," she repeated in a thick accent.

  "Poison?" I asked.

  Sylvia continued translating. "Martha says that there was evidence of an injury to Victor's head. It would have disoriented him long enough for his killer to shove him into the freezer, but it was the carbon dioxide gas from the dry ice in the freezer that killed him. The mortician estimated he died within minutes of being locked inside the freezer. He couldn’t breathe."

  My stomach lurched. It was bad enough to get struck on the head, but it added another level of evil intent to know Victor had been asphyxiated to death.

  In her factual monotone, Fernanda said, "Whoever put him in the freezer either knew the dry ice would poison him or they only meant to buy themselves some time, not kill him. They would have known someone would have found Victor before he froze to death. I wonder how long that would take?"

  She would wonder that. With her hair the color of a deep bruise, her black fingernails, and powdered, pale skin, her musings often bordered on the morbid.

  “That could narrow down the suspects. How many people know that about dry ice?” I suggested. “Did your nephew say if an arrest has been made yet?” I asked Martha, trusting Sylvia to translate.

  Another knock on the kitchen door followed by the booming voice of Agent Vasquez answered my question. “We have not, though we have some promising leads. I hope, Miss James, that you limit your interest in my investigation to this conversation. My warning stands. I will throw you in jail.”

  Of all the times he could swing by, he chose the very moment that most incriminated me. I was quick to reassure him, “I’m too busy making doughnuts for tomorrow to chase after a killer. I was only asking an innocent question.”

  “See it remains that way,” he said levelly.

  To Sylvia, he said, “I apologize for barging in like this. I was in the area and wanted to ask Miss James for a favor.” He moved to the side when a waitress came up behind him.

  He and Sylvia smiled at each other like a pair of teenagers. If he wasn’t so determined to put me in jail, I’d encourage them. As it was, I needed to lay low until it was time to return home. I would rejoice from a distance when I’d hear that they’d decided to date. From the crooked smile on Adi’s face, I could see she approved as well.

  Abuelita smacked her kitchen towel, getting our attention with the resounding snap it made. At least no one had been on the receiving end of the towel, but it was a powerful reminder of her presence. “You in the way. Sit and eat.” She set a breakfast plate in front of him and pointed to the stool under the island.

  Evidently, Abuelita didn’t completely oppose the idea of her daughter and Agent Vasquez dating. Otherwise, she would have hit him over the head with a stack of menus and dumped a pitcher of ice water over his head. That was the good thing about Abuelita. You always knew where you stood with her.

  Vasquez dug into his scrambled eggs and chorizo hash with gusto, only pausing to say, “Jessica, you said you have Victor’s computer?”

  “That’s right. I’d love to hand it over to you.” I’d been so busy, I’d forgotten about it.

  “It needs some repair work?”

  “Yes. But the pieces I’ll need, if what I suspect is right, are expensive.”

  “I’ll see if my department will cover the cost. If they do, how soon can you have the laptop up and running?”

  “If it’s just a RAM issue, all I’d have to do is get the piece and replace it. It’d be a matter of minutes.”

  “Good. Keep your phone on you. I’ll give you a call. We have other leads, but I don’t want to leave any stone unturned on the chance it contains something important. Don’t spread it around what you have … just in case someone’s looking for it.”

  “Sure. I’ll swing by the computer store after my Spanish class this afternoon to see if they have what I need.”

  “Thank you. And Señora Jimenez, thank you for a delicious breakfast,” he said, standing up from the stool.

  “You no eat. You inhale,” criticized Abuelita. “You want more?” she asked, plopping another serving of chorizo hash on his plate before he could answer.

  Leaving Abuelita to take care of Agent Vasquez, I turned my attention to Fernanda, Martha, and the mountain of doughnuts we’d have to fry and dip in gallons of glaze early tomorrow morning.

  Chapter 13

  Having Martha was a huge help. She understood dough thanks to her job at the bakery, and Fernanda turned out to be an artist with the toppings.

  They left, ready for tomorrow, and I went to my Spanish class with Hugo and Esmeralda. I preferred the night class, but with Sylvia's plans for the evening, I'd asked if I could join an earlier one.

  I walked past the front of Victor's shop. It was still taped off — a sad reminder of what had happened only two days before.

  I was partway up the stairs to the second floor when I heard a loud boom. Instinctively, I ducked, but when I heard disgruntled shouts of "Not again!" from inside the school, I realized what had happened. The electricity had gone out yet again. I passively accepted it … until I thought of the electric mixer I'd need in the morning. There was no way I could knead that much dough by hand. My arms would fall off.

  Mammy would say, "Why worry when there's nothing you can do to fix it? Worry helps nothing." To which I would reply, "I know. I know," and continue in my fretting only to have everything work out in the end anyway and feel angry with myself for wasting so much of my energy on negative thinking.

  With a deep sigh, I tried to take Mammy's wisdom to heart. Who knew if the power would return soon? Maybe it was just a quick inconvenience.

  Hugo greeted me at the school door. "Sounded like a transformer this time. That'll take forever to fix."

  He was not helping my worry-free resolve.

  Esmeralda, who sat at a small, circular table with her group of students, bolted up from her chair, running to the kitchen. "My ice cream!"

  She ran to the opposite end of the apartment where a counter separated the kitchen from the rest of their school set-up.

  "Don't worry, my dear. The dry ice will keep it frozen for a while. Just keep the door closed and your beloved rum raisin will be safe," chuckled Hugo.

  Esmeralda rolled her eyes. "You'd think that after all our years here, I'd know the drill when the power goes out. But I still panic."

  "At least you have your priorities straight. First, save the ice crea
m!" I teased, trying to beat my melancholy at the mention of the dry ice.

  They laughed and invited me to join them at the table where three other students sat comfortably. They didn't have bruised tailbones.

  I contemplated the white, plastic chair. I hadn't even tried to sit since my visit to Dr. Montalvo's office and I was nervous to try now. When I took so long, I was drawing curious looks, I clamped my lips tight and gave it a try. Slowly lowering myself, I explained, "I'm a bit injured."

  One of the students, a girl with curly hair and head-to-toe tie-dye, said, "My legs are so sore from all the hiking I've been doing, sitting has become painful. Getting up is even worse!"

  Sure, that's exactly what I'm suffering from. I wasn't about to tell them about my accident. One could only take so much humiliation. "Tell me about it," was all I said.

  Fortunately, Hugo said nothing. Maybe he didn't remember? Quite possibly, he hadn’t even noticed with everything else going on the day of Victor’s murder. One could hope.

  He winked at me conspiratorially. He remembered.

  I only suffered the initial stabbing pain as my bum connected with the plastic, but once I leaned forward as Dr. Montalvo had suggested, I was able to pretend I felt just fine. I could manage mild discomfort for the hour my class took. Then, I vowed to never sit again.

  With one more student yet to arrive and five minutes left before starting time, I took the opportunity to thank Hugo for getting rid of Christian the morning of the serenade.

  He chuckled, wiping his bald head and taking his place at the whiteboard on the wall opposite us. "Think nothing of it. I raised three beautiful girls and have more than enough experience getting rid of unwanted Don Juans."

  "Do your girls still live in New Jersey?" I asked. I didn't really know much about the Santorinis, except that they were retired high school teachers who had been living in Baños since their retirement two years before.