Cappuccino Twist

by Anisa Claire West

  “He was her boyfriend. But my aunt was 26 when she was murdered. That was 52 years ago, so she would be 78 if she were alive today. How could that man have been her boyfriend? He was born around the time she was murdered.” I figured the math as my head throbbed.

  “Okay, obviously that Jorge Canton is not the same one who your aunt dated. Maybe he could be the son? Jorge Canton, Jr.?” Eduardo reasoned as a lightbulb switched on in my head.

  “Jorge Canton, Jr. That makes perfect sense!” My thrill at making the connection was short-lived as deep dread circulated through my blood. “If that Reptile Eyes really is Jorge Canton, Jr., then it hasn’t been my imagination that he’s been singling me out. He must have a reason to be giving me those evil looks and he must be the one behind those notes.”

  “I think so too, Marlena. I got a very creepy feeling from the guy when I was talking to him. He was looking at me yet sort of looking through me. I can’t explain it. We need to go back to the police with those notes and see if they can trace any DNA evidence on them.” Eduardo pulled into the parking lot of the inn and regarded me gravely.

  “But the notes have been exposed to all sorts of things that could have corrupted the DNA. Probably the only DNA on them at this point belongs to me.”

  “Well, we at least have to try. In fact…” Before I could protest, Eduardo was jerking the car into gear and cruising out of the parking lot.

  “Are you taking me to the police station?” I asked wearily, dreading another fruitless exchange with Officer Calderon or one of his uncaring colleagues.

  “Yes. Look, if the Jorge Canton who signed my petition really is the son of the man who dated your aunt, then we have a prime suspect on our hands.”

  “Not a prime suspect for my aunt’s murder! Unless you’re trying to tell me that a baby committed the act!” I protested as Eduardo chuckled humorlessly.

  “Of course not. I meant that he’s a prime suspect for being the writer of those notes. And his father may have been somehow linked to the crime. What I don’t understand is how he knows who you are. You’ve never spoken to him, right?”

  “Never,” I confirmed as Maria Elena’s words rang in my head. You know you look like that whore Silvia. Except she was prettier than you. “I’ve been told that I resemble my Aunt Silvia. Maybe he’s seen pictures of her and put two and two together. There were so many newspaper articles published about my aunt after her murder. And there was an obituary. And now some of the articles might be available online in news archives.” I thought of the images I had seen of Aunt Silvia in Nana’s photo albums and had to admit that there was a strong family resemblance.

  “Okay, you need to explain all this to the police. From the beginning. Come on, let’s go.” Eduardo parked the car in the police lot and gave my hand an affirming squeeze. Our romantic tapas dinner seemed billions of miles away as I braced myself for another exasperating session with law enforcement.

  “Ah, didn’t I see you here the other day?” The dispatcher asked as I walked ahead of Eduardo into the station.

  “Yes. I need to speak with a police officer. Anyone but Officer Calderon. Please,” I entreated as she gave me an amused look and paged for an officer.

  “I can’t promise you who will answer my page,” she said snootily.

  To my relief, an older police officer came to the front of the station and immediately led us to a private room. “I’m Detective Mendez. What seems to be the trouble?”

  Detective? I wanted to leap up and give the man a huge bear hug. Glancing over at Eduardo for an infusion of strength and finding it in his gentle gaze, I cleared my throat and unloaded the whole complex story. I wasn’t sure if it was because the officer was older or because I had a man with me, but he seemed to take me far more seriously than Calderon had. There wasn’t a trace of humor in his features or sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. “Do you have the notes with you?”

  “Yes, I think they’re in my purse.” Against my will, my eyes began to water with gratitude for finally being taken seriously. Trying to rein in my tears, I passed the note across the table, surprised when Detective Mendez refused to touch it.

  “This is evidence, Señorita Falcon. It can’t have my fingerprints on it.” Slipping on a pair of gloves, the detective grasped the papers in his hand before sliding them into individual plastic bags. “There. No one else’s hands will touch these. They’re going straight to the crime lab.”

  “So you’re actually going to help me and not turn me away?” I asked as some of the pressure released in my temples.

  “Of course I’m going to help you. That’s my job. But besides, I’m very familiar with the murder of Silvia Falcon. It’s a case that I’ve tried to get reopened over the years, but no one has been in my court. This homicide needs to be solved once and for all. If we let it go another 50 years, there won’t be anyone left to bring to justice.” The detective spoke passionately, stirring my emotions even more.

  “But even right now, we might not be able to bring anyone to justice. My aunt’s murderer may very well be deceased,” I pointed out. “You still want to reopen this case even if there’s no one to prosecute?” I held my breath until the detective replied.

  “Absolutely. The actual perpetrator may indeed be deceased, but there could be people still alive who have kept secrets all these years when they were legally obligated to share information with the police. If that’s the case, those people can be prosecuted for conspiracy,” Detective Mendez said confidently.

  At that point, someone really should have restrained me because I was a heartbeat away from clobbering the detective with affection. “Okay, so what do I need to do next? How can I help?” I asked eagerly.

  The detective gave me an avuncular look and said softly, “You don’t need to do anything now, Señorita Falcon. Leave everything to me and my team of professionals. What you did by knocking on people’s doors and basically accosting them for information was very dangerous. Stay in the background now and let the police do all the heavy lifting.”

  The detective’s advice was undeniably wise, but I’ve never been the type to sit still and be passive. I couldn’t just go back to the inn and wither away watching Spanish sitcoms until there was a break in the investigation. I needed to play an active role in solving the crime. With a rebellious upturn of my chin, I argued, “But I really want to help. And I need to know if you think our theory is right…that the man who’s been staring me down is really Jorge Canton, Jr.”

  “Oh he certainly is,” the detective confirmed as I flinched with surprise.

  “How do you know for sure without researching it?” Eduardo interjected, equally surprised by the detective’s certitude.

  “The Cantons are a wealthy and influential family in Barcelona. Not only is there a Jorge Canton, Jr., but there’s also a Jorge the third. That family practically has a dynasty running around Barcelona,” the detective revealed.

  “But how do you know the man who signed my petition is part of that family? Couldn’t he be somebody else?” Eduardo pressed.

  “Not likely. Jorge Canton, Jr. is known to troll around coffee shops in the city. And not just coffee shops. Bars too. And movie theaters. People usually assume he’s homeless. We’ve gotten quite a few calls at the station about the ‘homeless guy who won’t go away.’ People have no idea how loaded he is. The guy’s got nothing better to do than waste his days sipping espresso at Dario’s shop.” Detective Mendez rose from his chair, carrying the two plastic bags in his hand. “These are on their way to the crime lab,” he announced with satisfaction.

  “But you’re going to look into Canton’s history no matter what the lab results are, right?” Eduardo checked.

  “Absolutely. And I’m also going to look into the Falcon family history in Barcelona. When the murder occurred, everyone assumed it was one of Silvia’s lovers who had committed the act. No one ever looked into whether Silvia’s family had any enemies in Barcelona.”

  “You mean that the murde
rer could have been someone with a vendetta against my family and not Silvia personally?” I clarified.

  “Perhaps. I’m keeping all doors open right now. But the door I’m going to open the widest is the one that leads to the Canton mansion,” Detective Mendez assured.

  “I think I was at that mansion the other day when I tried to interview Jacinta Canton,” I said, recalling how she had refused to open the door to me. Maybe she hadn’t been afraid of intruders. Maybe she had recognized my face and didn’t want to be subject to my interrogation.

  “Yes, Jacinta is the granddaughter of Jorge, Sr. And Jorge, Jr. is her father,” Detective Mendez explained the lineage that was becoming more complicated by the second. In my mind, I sketched a family tree and saw the branches blowing wildly in the wind.

  Chapter 10

  “I guess we can go,” Eduardo said softly to me as I was still mentally compiling a family tree. “I think the case is in good hands now.”

  “Thank you, young man,” Detective Mendez said with a modest bow of his head. Yes, the investigation was in the best hands it had been in for half a century. I felt sure of that.

  “Thank you so much, Detective Mendez.” Taking a slip of paper out of my purse and scribbling some digits on it, I requested, “Please call me on my cell phone as soon as you find out anything. Even the tiniest detail. I want to know about it.”

  “Keep that ringer on high. I will definitely be getting in touch with you. Even if I don’t have much to report, I’ll be in touch within 24 hours just to touch base,” the benevolent detective promised.

  “I really can’t thank you enough,” I said solemnly.

  “Well, I hope you’re going to have real reason to thank me soon. I’m going to make it my business to get this case cracked once and for all.” He assumed a peacock stance, and I could tell that Detective Mendez’s male ego wouldn’t let him abandon the case until every detail had been deciphered. “By the way, don’t go back to work at the coffee shop right now. Just lay low while I’m investigating Jorge Canton, Jr.’s connection to all this,” he advised firmly.

  “Okay, I was supposed to work tomorrow, but I won’t go…”

  “Don’t go back there at all right now. Just heed my warning on that,” the detective’s tone turned paternal as I softened and nodded.

  “I won’t go back there,” I assured. So what if I would have to dip into my savings to support myself? With a competent investigator on the case, I estimated that I might only need to spend about a month’s worth of savings until I could fly back home to New York. Or at least that’s what I hoped.

  The detective shook my hand and Eduardo’s as we turned to leave. “Should I take you back to the inn now? Or did you have a change of heart about lunch?” Eduardo asked once we were out in the fresh air.

  “You’re very sweet. And persistent.” I grinned at him. “But I’m beat.” It was true, although I didn’t know which type of exhaustion I felt more: mental or physical.

  “No problem. I should get back to the office and enter the new petition signatures into the computer,” Eduardo said with a groan.

  “You have an office?” I joked. “You mean you don’t just roam the streets of Barcelona like a nomad with a clipboard?”

  Chuckling, he replied, “I wish I did. Being at the office is such a drag. What I’ve really always wanted to do is open a coffee shop. Green, of course. Solar powered. With recyclable cups and the whole deal,” Eduardo revealed as my eyes brightened with surprise.

  “Wow, really? Do you make a good cup of coffee?”

  “The best,” he bragged charmingly. “I would just need a business partner to handle the financial end of things.”

  “Then maybe we should go into business together,” I drawled. “I was a sales VP back in New York, you know.”

  Eduardo looked at me intently and said, “Then we would make a great team.”

  “I was just joking, Eduardo! I love my coffee, but the last thing I want to do is run a business where I have to wake up every day while the moon is still out!” I laughed as Eduardo half-heartedly joined in. Did he really think we would make a good team? We hardly knew each other, although I did have that inexplicable déjà vu sensation with Eduardo that I had heard people talk about but had never personally experienced. Wryly, I thought to myself how awful it would be if Eduardo turned out to be some long lost Spanish cousin.

  When we arrived at the inn, Eduardo seemed reluctant to let me go. Slowly, he turned the engine off and unclicked his seatbelt. “Let me walk you inside.”

  “I’ll be okay. It’s broad daylight…”

  “I’m walking you inside,” he asserted as I shut my mouth and let him come around to the passenger side to open my door.

  Passing by the reception area, we waved simultaneously to the owner who reciprocated with a wide, knowing smile. He probably assumed that Eduardo and I were lovers, which was exactly what I wanted if I were being truthful with myself. But it was much too soon for that kind of intimacy. Besides, we could be cousins, right?

  At the door to my room, Eduardo lingered, towering over me and drawing closer until his lips were hovering centimeters above mine. Oh, how much sweeter it would be to kiss him now than after those potent garlic chili shrimp. This was the perfect moment, and the chemistry crackled so fiercely that I knew there was no way he could be anywhere in my bloodline.

  “I guess I should go,” Eduardo whispered as his breath touched my face.

  “Not yet,” I ordered softly, standing on my toes in an open invitation for a kiss.

  Tenderly, deliciously, and much too briefly, he kissed my lips. Crackling chemistry turned explosive in the fleeting moment that our mouths touched. Just as I was twining my arms around his neck to bring him closer, he started to pull away.

  “I better let you get some rest,” he said reluctantly. “How about breakfast tomorrow?”

  “I would love that,” I breathed.

  “Good. I’ll come by around 8:30. Sleep in a little bit.” Eduardo placed a hand over my cheek and stroked my skin softly before hesitantly walking away.

  ***

  Two hours later, I awoke from a well earned nap, stretching and yawning in bed. That brief space of unconsciousness had been necessary for me to refresh and not think about the investigation. Not think about anything. But now I was wide awake and wired even without a caffeine jolt. Grabbing a spiral notebook and sharpened pencil from my suitcase, I jotted down the names of the three prime suspects in my aunt’s murder. Next to their names, I recorded my gut instincts about their involvement in the crime.

  Marcelo Sanchez. Sad old man, bitter, lonely, dejected. Not likely the perpetrator. Jorge Canton, Sr. Highly suspect. Shady family. Detective Mendez, please do your job and figure this family out. David Garcia. A wild card. As a cheating married man, he had more motive than anyone else. But did he do it?

  All roads seemed to lead back to Jorge Canton, Sr., but I couldn’t establish a motive. Yet. Then my line of thinking shifted to other possible suspects. The murder hadn’t been overly violent or gruesome. The weapon of choice had been a pillow. Perhaps that meant that the smothering had been carried out by a woman who might have been squeamish about the sight of blood? But I wasn’t sure if that theory held much weight. After all, how squeamish could a murderer be? Supposing the murderer had been a woman, though, opened up a whole new Pandora’s Box of suspects. David Garcia’s scorned wife could have been the murderer. Perhaps Jorge Canton, Sr., had been dating multiple women and one of them had become enraged with jealousy over his relationship with Aunt Silvia.

  I sighed in massive frustration, feeling like I was a hamster running around on a wheel that wouldn’t stop. Ripping the page out of my notebook and crumpling it up, I leaned back against the pillows and stared listlessly up at the ceiling. As I was contemplating how to spend the rest of the long, lonely day until nightfall, my cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand.

  “Hello?” I held my breath, hoping to hear Detective
Mendez’s voice on the other end, and I wasn’t disappointed.

  “Señorita Falcon? This is Detective Mendez.” His voice sounded deeply troubled.

  “Yes? Do you have any news for me?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I’d like you to come down to the police station so we can talk in person,” he replied mysteriously.

  “Why? You can’t tell me anything over the phone?”

  “I think this discussion would be better face to face. Can you be here in half an hour?”

  “I can be there in 15 minutes! Let me just go grab a cab! I’m on my way!”

  If I had glanced in the mirror, I would have seen the telltale signs of a nap railroad tracked all over my face. But I didn’t have any time for vanity. I could barely contain myself as I wondered what information Detective Mendez could have unearthed in the short hours since I had left the station with Eduardo. It was too soon for the notes to have come back from the crime lab. That process could take weeks even when expedited. What could Detective Mendez possibly have learned in three hours that no one else on the police force had been able to uncover in 50 plus years?

  Exactly twelve minutes later, I handed a wad of Euros to the cabbie and dashed into the police station. Detective Mendez came out to greet me immediately, a stony expression chiseled into his features. “Come with me, Señorita Falcon. We need to talk.”

  My heart was beating madly and my throat felt scratchy. Sitting across from the detective at a wobbly round table, I grabbed for a glass of water and sipped. But the water did little to tame my throat, and nothing could soothe my nerves until Detective Mendez explained why he needed to talk to me.

  “Please, Detective Mendez. Please tell me what you found out,” I begged as he opened a file folder and then closed it again, driving me to the brink of insanity.

  “To your knowledge, has anyone in your family traveled to Barcelona since your aunt was murdered?”

  The detective’s question caught me completely off guard. What did my family have to do with anything? Certainly, he wasn’t insinuating that any of my relatives could have murdered Silvia? Defiantly, I replied, “No. Not to my knowledge. As for me, this is my first time ever in Spain. And my grandmother could never bring herself to come back after her sister was murdered.”