“Sorry, little guy, but I’m not supposed to feed you.” He flipped his tail feathers before waddling off, leaving me to wonder if Stella had seen the same bird. I watched him join a larger group of birds. Seeing that he wasn’t alone on such a beautiful afternoon brought me a glimmer of happiness.
I flinched when Adelmo touched my shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I can stay no longer, but I promise to let you know what I discover.” He gave me a card with his contact information. “Please go now with Prez to see Eva. But be very careful about discussing your sister with anyone else. And stay away from Wilcott. Also, do not believe everything you hear while you are with us in Montañita. It is a place of lies and deception.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my palm, lingering before releasing it. “But there is one truth you may count on, Grace Burnette. I will find out why our Stella did not come home to her family, and I will set things right.”
His eyes no longer blazed with intensity. Instead, they were cold. Cold enough to make me shiver in the warm sunlight.
Chapter 23
Prez and I stayed until Adelmo disappeared inside the restaurant. Then we proceeded to the jeep, where he explained Eva’s was on the way back to the hotel.
My companion wasn’t his chatty self, leaving me to wonder what they had discussed while I had been conversing with the booby.
As we cruised along, I replayed my conversation with Adelmo. Other than confirming he and Stella were lovers, the only surprise was Stella’s five-month absence. I couldn’t understand why they had spent the time apart. But why would he lie? Had he given me a clue when he warned me not to believe all I heard in Montañita?
Prez proved true to his word, and in about ten minutes we turned onto a one-lane gravel road that dead-ended in a clearing. Chickens scratched around the front yard of the square house set on cement blocks. When we pulled up, they scattered. A few roosted on the thatched roof, clucking angrily as we passed. A bear-like creature charged from underneath the steps.
As he closed in on us, I backed up and bumped into Prez, who seemed unconcerned about the beast.
“Hey, there Bruno, my man.” He held out his arms, and the dog leaped into them.
“Bruno!” Someone called from the doorway. “No, no! Perro malo!”
“No problemo, Señora Eva.” He pushed him aside. “It’s okay. You’re a big baby. Aren’t you, boy?” Bruno ambled alongside us as we proceeded on the smooth dirt path.
A woman with skin the color of creamed coffee stepped out. She was shorter than me, maybe five three or four. Her long, dark hair, parted in the middle, accentuated her slender face. Gold-rimmed glasses gave her a scholarly demeanor. She wore a simple peasant blouse and a bright red and yellow, ankle-length skirt.
“Buenos dias,” she said. “This must be Grace.” She held out her hand, and I took it. “I am Eva. So pleased to meet Stella’s beautiful sister.” Smiling, she led us to her doorway. Prez stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“I’ll wait out here, so you can have some privacy.”
The air in the front room was cool and almond-scented. Floral curtains were closed, and it was several seconds before my eyes adjusted. When they did, the first thing I saw was an intricately patterned tapestry, separating the room into two spaces. Interwoven shades of blue and green reminded me of the ocean view from Stella’s home. Eva drew back the drapes, and sunlight dappled the thick white rug that covered much of the floor. Two delicately carved wooden chairs with leather seats sat on either side of a matching table.
“Please.” She motioned toward a chair. “Sit. I will bring limonada.” She glided through the tapestry opening with Bruno at her heels, leaving me alone in the simple, but spotless home. A crucifix held the position of honor above the small fireplace, and family pictures adorned whitewashed walls. There were several spots where it looked as if she had removed photographs. Perhaps she, too, had lost someone she loved, and the sight of his or her smiling face had been too much to bear.
She returned with a tray, two glasses of lemonade, and a plate of snow-powdered cookies.
“Polvorones.” She pointed to the platter. “We make them at Christmas with ground almonds and sweet milk. Please, eat.” She sat beside me with Bruno at her feet.
Despite my heavy lunch, the sweets smelled too good to pass on. “Thank you.” I bit into one and moaned as it melted on my tongue. “Oh, my God. This is the best cookie I’ve ever tasted.”
She smiled. “They were also a favorite of your sister. She would eat them straight from the oven, covering her mouth and chin with the powder of the sugar.”
Stella always had a sweet tooth. When we were little, Gran banished her from the kitchen because she ate the cookies as fast as we baked them. I dropped my half-eaten cookie onto my plate, not realizing I was staring at it until Eva spoke.
“I cannot think how you must miss her.”
My throat closed, and I erupted into a coughing fit. She suggested a sip of lemonade.
“I’ve missed her for so very long. But I always thought there would be plenty of time to fix things, to stop missing her. I can’t accept I’ll never see her again. That’s why I came. I have to find out what happened, why she’s gone.”
She ran her fingers through Bruno’s fur. “I’m afraid there is very little I can do to help. I was not with her these last months. Señor Wilcott set fire to me.”
I sat up straighter, then remembered what Adelmo had said about Ben letting Eva go. “He fired you?”
“Yes. Not such a problem, not working for him. But I hated to leave her alone with that hijo de puta.”
My Spanish was rusty, but I recognized puta.
“I’m sorry to say, but your sister’s husband is an evil man.”
“Don’t be sorry. I couldn’t agree with you more. Do you believe he is responsible for her death?”
“I cannot say. I know he was rough with her, but I never saw it myself. Sometimes she had terrible marks on her arms and legs. Once, even on her neck. But she refused to admit it was him.”
Ben would have been too clever to let anyone see him abuse Stella. But there was no other explanation. Still, it was a stretch between knocking her around and killing her in cold blood.
“She told me things were not so pleasant between you. She did not explain why, only that she had done something terrible and was afraid you could never forgive her. She wanted to make things right. I urged her to return to her home.”
I wiped my eyes. “You said Ben let you go. Did he give you a reason?”
Before she could answer, Bruno jumped to his feet and began growling. An engine roared and tires ground on gravel. She rushed to the front of the house.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“Mierda! It is that ass-hat police captain, a friend of Señor Wilcott.”
I laughed. Ass-hat had been Stella’s “go-to” insult. Her high school biology teacher for failing her, her boss for insisting she be on time, a policeman for ticketing her—all ass-hats.
“We cannot talk in front of this person.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” I walked to the porch where I saw a uniformed man leaning on Prez’s window. Prez was gesturing wildly. I hoped he’d left his stash at home. Leaving Eva and Bruno standing in the doorway, I moved toward them.
“Can I help you, officer?”
He turned to me, his enormous belly threatening to burst out of his shirt. “I am looking for Señorita Grace Burnette.” Echoes of five-year-old Stella in the grocery store announcing the woman behind us in the checkout line was the fattest lady she’d ever seen came to mind. “You found her,” I said.
“Señorita Burnette, I am Officer Ricardo Ramirez, and I have an order to detain you on charges of assault.” He handed me the paper and unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “I would ask that you come peacefully.”
At some point, Prez slipped out of the car. He stepped between me and the police officer and took the document from my shaking hands.
After a quick glance, he spoke in rapid Spanish. Ramirez shook his head and spat out several sentences while pointing at me. I checked to see if Eva was watching, but she and Bruno had disappeared behind the front door. I hoped I hadn’t brought trouble to the one person who seemed to have cared for my sister without wanting anything in return. The men continued to argue. The officer threw up his hands and stomped to his car.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded. “Am I under arrest?”
“Not exactly,” Prez answered. “It’s more complicated here than in the US, especially with tourists. The warrant requires you to go to police headquarters, so he can make a formal charge. He was going to take you in himself, but I explained how that might not look so good for him to be seen dragging in a helpless American woman who just lost her sister. I got him to agree to let me drive you to the station.” He took my elbow and began leading me to the jeep.
“Wait a minute!” I stopped. “You mean you’re taking me to jail?” I pictured being locked up with scantily clad hookers.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make some calls. The worst that happens is you sit in a detaining cell for an hour, maybe less. We’ve got to get out of here before Ramirez changes his mind and takes you in himself. Trust me; you do not want to ride in the back of that squad car.”
We followed the police car for several miles before Prez got a signal. Once again, he spoke in Spanish. He hung up and dialed another number before I could question him. The second call lasted over ten minutes.
“Okay,” he said after disconnecting. “We’ve got a plan. A lawyer friend of mine will be waiting for us. You let him do all the talking. I mean all of it. Don’t admit to anything. If they ask questions, play dumb.”
I leaned my head against the window frame and closed my eyes. Only a few days ago, I’d been safe inside my tidy life, far away from this strange place. I had a job I liked and my sister’s dog, who tolerated me. I wouldn’t say I was happy, but I wasn’t a felon. Now here I was, thousands of miles from home on my way to jail.
After about twenty minutes, we pulled into a gravel lot near a whitewashed building with a triangular roof and POLICIA written on the awning. There were only three other vehicles. Ramirez got out and waited by his car.
“You will walk in with me, Señorita.” The officer grasped my upper arm and guided me inside. Prez followed, and a slender, white-haired man greeted him.
“My good friend, Preston Allen!” They shook hands and patted each other on the back while I stood by the unmanned reception desk. Ramirez barked out something unintelligible and stomped away. Prez introduced me to Charles Douglas, attorney at law. With his silver hair and thick, matching mustache, he looked like a TV star in a courtroom drama. He assured me there would be no problem, and I was not to worry. Then his cell rang. He excused himself to answer it.
“I’m heading out now,” Prez said, patting me on the back. “You’re in expert hands. Nobody here knows about that jury tampering thing in the States.”
“But I thought you were staying.” I inhaled a deep cleansing breath before the rest of Prez’s statement registered. I lowered my voice. “Wait, did you say jury tampering? Wouldn’t they disbar him for that?”
“Relax. As far as anybody here’s concerned, he’s still a full-fledged attorney.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m not so popular with the local police, though. Me being here isn’t much of a bonus for you. But don’t worry. McElroy’s on his way to post bail.” He scurried out just as Ramirez reappeared accompanied by an older officer with a much calmer demeanor.
The men spoke to my lawyer as if I wasn’t there. Ramirez shouted and shook his fist in my direction. I pretended to study the wanted posters on the bulletin board while watching out of the corner of my eye. The second policeman put his hand on Ramirez’s back and whispered to him. Mumbling to himself, Ramirez strode away. After another few minutes of chatting, the others approached me.
“We have come to what I like to call a gentleman’s agreement,” Douglas said. “Or in your case, a gentle woman’s agreement.” He chuckled. “You will be escorted to the holding area to appease the honorable Officer Ramirez while I fill out some paperwork. It won’t take long. By the time I’m finished, your friend should be here, and you may return to your hotel.”
A younger man came through the doorway and motioned for me to follow him. We shuffled down a short hallway where he unlocked a heavy metal door and ushered me in. A narrow passage ran through the center of the long, dark corridor. We passed three individual cells on both sides. My jailer stopped at an open enclosure smaller than my walk-in closet at home. A chill came over me as he clanged the door shut, leaving me alone in my cell.
Chapter 24
A cot with a grungy mattress was shoved against one wall, and a rust-stained sink next to a toilet without a seat took up the other. The air was dank and stale, with the tang of disinfectant and urine clinging to it. If there were other prisoners, I couldn’t see or hear them. The thick silence was more frightening than being surrounded by angry hookers.
I had no cup to rattle against the bars, so I sat on the edge of the cot. Some other poor captive had drawn a heart with the name Raul in the center. The artist had stuck a dagger between the “a” and the “u.” I remembered an article claiming most women in US prisons were there for committing crimes connected to either men or drugs, often both. I suspected this wasn’t only an American phenomenon.
I decided I had two options. I could sit on this miserable mattress and feel sorry for myself, or I could try to figure out why I was sitting here and what I could do about it.
Option one felt good, but it was also too familiar. Hadn’t I been wallowing in my pain ever since I caught Ben and Stella frolicking in the shower? True, they had betrayed me in the worst way, but hadn’t I exhausted my share of self-pity and bitterness? I now had a healthy serving of guilt on my plate for not forgiving her before her death. No, I’d spent more than enough time festering in my own sorrow.
I chose option two. I would sort out events since my arrival to determine what they might tell me about how and why my sister died. The problem was Ben. Our last visit hadn’t pleased him.
Ever the gamesman, he expected to charm his way into my heart—and various other body parts—while blaming his wife for their bad behavior.
He believed we would pick up where we were before he married my sister. I wished I could have dismissed this idea as ridiculous. What self-respecting woman would take back a man who cheated on her in such a demeaning way? But if I were being honest with myself—something about sitting in a jail cell encouraged unfettered reflection—I would have to admit the old Grace might have considered rekindling our romance. Not so much because I loved the bastard, but because losing Stella had left a gaping hole in my heart—one I was terrified I would never fill.
So, it wasn’t crazy for him to imagine a reconciliation. And it wasn’t illogical that when I hadn’t followed his script, he went berserk. I pictured him struggling up, eyes inflamed from the blast of Mace, and how furious he must have been knowing I won that round. But he would never concede the game so easily. No, he would plan his next move.
That’s when it hit me: Ben was having me followed. He knew I’d met with both Eva and Adelmo. He had been the one who sent the sheriff to arrest me. And if he had enough pull to do that, it wasn’t a stretch to believe he had manipulated Stella’s investigation to go h
is way.
I had to get out of this stupid cell and do something.
Before I could determine what that might look like, footsteps sounded in the corridor. The same guard who locked me up released me.
Justin and Ramirez stood behind the reception desk. Justin’s mouth was set in a thin, grim line. I could almost hear his teeth grinding.
“You are free to go for now, Señorita Burnette. But you are forbidden to step within one hundred feet of Señor Ben Wilcott.”
I gave Ramirez what I hoped was a disdainful glance, brushed past the men, and sashayed into the warmth of blinding sunlight. It had been less than two hours since I’d entered the local jail, but it seemed much longer. I sucked in deep gulps of freedom.
Justin passed me without speaking. I followed him to the rental, and he started the ignition before I was inside, barely giving me the chance to shut the door before he gunned the engine. His tires squealed as he cut the wheel and sped onto the main road, sending gravel spraying in our wake.
After we were on the main road, I gave him a side-eyed glance and saw the muscles in his jaw twitching. Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but the crease above the bridge of his nose was deeper than usual.
I cleared my throat. “I appreciate you—”
“Do. Not. Speak.” He pressed his foot on the accelerator, snapping my neck into the headrest.
Clumps of wildflowers and shrubbery blurred as we flew toward the villa. I wondered what had happened with Justin. Had Prez’s contact given him any real information, or had he wasted his entire morning? By now, I was sure he was aware both he and Harry had been sent on fools’ errands. Shit! I’d forgotten about Harry.
I remembered the expression on Luis Cordoza’s face when he told us there were no pictures in Stella’s file. If it was procedure to photograph the body, why would my sister’s case have been different? I suspected there had been photos and somehow Ben had gotten possession of them.
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