Again I pointed to the upstairs apartment. “Even if you have time to get the handle fixed, there’s a bullet hole in the wall up there. Rolando is going to notice.”
She shook her head, forcing her dark waves of hair to dance around her neck. “Andy! I’ll take care of it.”
“You’re hiding something.”
“You’re crazy.” She reached the bottom of the stairs. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Why should I? I’m crazy, remember?”
She came back up the stairs, her emerald eyes shining as big as a cat’s. She linked her arm through mine and used gravity to pull us both towards the bottom.
“Let me tell you a secret. The two bullies that were here last night? I know why they were here. I owe money back home. They came to collect it.”
I leaned against the railing. I hadn’t expected the response, so I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“Back home?” I asked, stalling for time.
“In Vegas.”
“Why don’t you pay them?”
“I gave them everything I had. When I couldn’t give the full amount, they got rough.”
“Why would you owe money to anybody? Surely Rolando—”
“It’s a personal debt. It doesn’t involve him. Or you. Come on, Andy. Help me out.”
“Usually debt collectors demand their money before they start shooting.”
“Usually they haven’t already given a couple of warnings.”
“Two? They gave you two warnings, and you didn’t do anything about it? If they don’t get the money from you, they’ll go after Noche Azul!”
“Andy! I don’t have time to go into details. I’ll tell you everything later. But for now, help me get through this. Okay?”
“If they close down the restaurant, I’m out of a job! Do you get that?”
“I get it, I get it. But they’re after me, not Rolando. Now hurry up.”
I didn’t have time to think for myself, so I followed my boss’s wife back into Noche Azul.
The two young cops waited at a table by the front door. They introduced themselves as Dexter and Rockford. Their manner was professional, and they were so new on the job that they still kept their short-sleeved uniforms fresh and ironed.
Yiolanda extended her hand. “I am Mrs. Díaz.”
“You’re the manager?” asked Dexter. He was lighter in complexion than his companion. He had a small red mark below his left nostril where he’d nicked himself shaving.
“I am the owner.”
“The sole owner?” asked Dexter.
“My husband and I own this establishment together.”
Rockford turned to me. “You are Mr. Díaz?”
“Andy Veracruz. I’m the bandleader.”
Rockford looked me up and down. “Ah. So that’s what they call it these days.”
“How dare you….” Yiolanda started, but her voice trailed off into the air.
“Please sit down,” Rockford said. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
We did as we were told.
“I suppose you know why we’re here,” Dexter finally said.
“Last night we—”
Dexter raised his hand to cut me off. “Think back several nights.” He pulled a picture from his shirt pocket. “We want to know what you can tell us about this man.”
Yiolanda and I viewed the photo. Marco Antonio Gutiérrez smiled at us from the driver’s seat of his car.
“I have never once seen him,” Yiolanda lied.
“Never?” said Dexter.
“No. I’m sure.”
“And you?” Rockford asked me.
I acted puzzled. “I don’t know. He looks a bit familiar.”
“Only a bit?”
“I can’t say for certain. You have to realize that a lot of customers come here. I don’t always remember their faces even after they’ve talked to me.”
“That’s logical,” said Dexter. “Many people watch you perform. But you, Mrs. Díaz, do you remember the man now?”
“I told you. I’ve never seen him.”
“Right,” said Rockford. “Let’s talk outside, shall we?”
The pair herded Yiolanda into the foyer where Dexter turned to his partner. “I’ll cuff her. You get the car.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You can’t—”
Dexter dragged shiny metal handcuffs from his pocket. “Can’t take in a suspect for questioning? I believe we can.”
“No,” said Yiolanda sharply. “I’ll go with you. Don’t embarrass me in front of my customers.”
Dexter studied her pale eyes before returning the cuffs to his pocket. He put his hand firmly on her shoulder. “All right, then.”
“But she doesn’t know anything,” I said.
“Wake up, genius,” said Rockford. “And don’t tell me you believe everything she tells you.”
“Mrs. Díaz has never been in any kind of trouble.”
Dexter herded Yiolanda towards the door. “You’re out of your league. Don’t feel bad about it. We see this kind of thing all the time.” With his free hand, Dexter brought more pictures out of his breast pocket and spread them on the cashier’s desk. They showed Yiolanda with Gutiérrez in three different cafés within the Squid Bay area. In two of the photos, Yiolanda and her buddy were holding hands. Yiolanda scanned the pictures before closing her eyes and turning away.
The officer pointed to Gutiérrez’ picture. “This man was murdered around the corner from here a couple of nights ago.”
“Yiolanda knew the victim,” I said. “That means nothing.”
“She lied about knowing him. That’s significant.”
“You have no right to march in here and bully your way around.”
Dexter pushed Yiolanda out the door. “Don’t worry. We’ll bring your girlfriend back in a few hours.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Whatever.”
Dexter strong-armed Yiolanda towards the car, her small black purse bouncing off her hip. I watched as they drove off.
Dennis caught up with me as I returned to the dining area. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Yiolanda went to talk to the police.”
“The police! Did they find information about the robbery?”
“They were vague. Something about routine.”
“It’s about time they did something.” He went to seat new customers.
I returned to the stage in a trance, joined mid-song, and promptly forgot to play my solo.
“Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?” Pablo asked.
“Maybe he bit off more than he could chew!” said Sergio.
“I might as well tell you.”
“Especially since we already know!”
“The police know Yiolanda was chummy with Gutiérrez.”
“How chummy was that?” asked Hernando.
“Close enough to be using his toothbrush,” Pablo said. “But so what? I’m sure Rolando knows about her little escapades.”
“But the guy was murdered,” said Sergio.
“Right,” I said. “And she denied knowing him.”
“It’s not a crime to lie to the police, is it?” asked Sergio. “Unless you’re in court?”
“I don’t know what the law is, but they didn’t give her any choice. They took her down to the station.”
Sergio stroked his jaw. “Damn! It’s too bad Rolando didn’t come back tonight. He could have cleared this up.”
“Maybe it’s better that he’s not here,” said Pablo. “Even if you know your wife is screwing around, you don’t want everyone to know you know.”
“Who cares if she slept with the dead guy anyway? It’s not like she killed him!” Sergio laughed at his own joke.
Pablo’s eyebrows rose. “Surely the police don’t think she did?”
I shrugged.
“Yiolanda is about sex,” said Sergio. “I mean, isn’t she?”
Dennis walked over to us,
his usual, purposeful step exaggerated. “We have a problem. There is a man at the door asking for the manager.”
“You can talk to him,” I said. “Yiolanda might not be back for a while, and you’re as much the manager as anyone else.”
“Andy, come with me.” Dennis rocked from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again. “Please.”
Sergio and Pablo watched me expectantly. I was hardly ready for another crisis.
Dennis rocked again.
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
***
The man in the foyer wore wrinkled black pants and a white shirt that smelled like coffee. Reading glasses sprouting from his breast pocket suggested middle age. He held a limp suit jacket over his shoulder.
“Hello, Mr. Veracruz,” he said, shaking my hand. “Shall we sit down?”
I sat with him in the foyer as a mob of customers poured in.
“Andy!” An old schoolmate gave me a hug, as did his wife, his brother, and his sister-in-law. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Where’s Rolando?”
“Out of town. Baptism for Liliana’s granddaughter.”
“I remember when Liliana was in grade school! Imagine that!”
I had to exchange pleasantries about the passing of time before they trooped inside and left me with my new guest. “How may I help you?”
The man took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead. “I’m afraid this is a delicate matter, and I understand the manager is out of town?”
“Rolando—he’s the owner—usually manages things. We’re expecting him tomorrow.”
“I can come back in the morning, but we’re working under a time constraint, so anything I can find out now would be useful.”
The man’s calm chilled me because he was contradictory: The matter seemed urgent and yet he spoke without rushing; he sounded completely serious, yet when he looked up at me, he winked.
“This isn’t about a bad meal or a mistake on the bill, is it?”
“Forgive me for not making myself clear.” He got out an ID card. “I’m Sergeant Innis from Squid Bay Police Department. You may not have realized it, but there was a murder the other night right around the corner from here.”
I sat back. “We heard all about it. Your men were just here. I guess you’re right—there’s no time to lose. They took Yiolanda—-that is, the owner’s wife—down to the station for questioning. They left not fifteen minutes ago.”
The sergeant sprang to his feet in a sudden movement. “This is incorrect. I am the only one assigned to this case.” He took a couple of steps in one direction and then a couple of steps in the other as if he couldn’t decide which direction were better. Then he sat down, back under control. “Did they show you badges?”
“They had badges on their uniforms.”
“Right. What did the uniforms look like?”
“Sky blue shirts and pants.”
I suddenly felt worried.
The sergeant pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number with one button. “I’m down at Noche Azul. Are you sure nobody else was sent here, perhaps by accident?” He nodded. “Has anyone been taken in for questioning tonight?” He clicked his tongue. “Thanks.”
He snapped the phone shut. “The men who came—what did they look like?”
I told Sergeant Innis what I could. As the truth sank in, I felt increasingly stupid. “They weren’t policemen, were they?”
“No. There’s almost no chance of it.”
I kicked myself. I should have sensed something was wrong. “I should have asked to see their IDs up close.”
“They probably had fake ones. Anyway, it’s a common mistake.”
My empty stomach churned. “They acted official.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Do you think they kidnapped her? If they ask for a ransom, Rolando would want to pay.”
The experience of a long career had made Innis patient. “We don’t know anything yet. Hope for the best.”
“How can I help?”
“Accompany me to the station. We can review some photographs.”
I made up an excuse to the other musicians and accompanied Sergeant Innis down to the station. I went over the whole incident half a dozen times. He hoped to trigger me into remembering something new, but I couldn’t think of anything that was important. I explained that Yiolanda had taken out a questionable loan, but the men hadn’t acted as loan sharks.
When the sergeant asked if Yiolanda were happily married, I, admitted she wasn’t.
We called San Carlos, but Rolando was out with his brother-in-law. Liliana expected them soon, but since they’d gone out drinking, she couldn’t be sure. I explained that a Mr. Innis needed to talk to Rolando about the restaurant, but that the matter could wait until Rolando returned from San Carlos.
The sergeant nodded his approval of my half-truths. There was no reason to alarm my boss, especially if he weren’t sober. Instead I sat with Innis pouring over mug shots. Yiolanda’s captors were not among them.
***
Usually I found the deep quiet of pre-dawn restorative. Tonight my balcony chair was uncomfortable, and my feet couldn’t find a niche along the railing. Worse, every few minutes, my mind replayed the panic of hearing gunshots.
In the next apartment, Mrs. Sfirakis turned on a reading lamp. My elderly neighbor had moved in three months ago after losing her husband, but she seemed to be getting along. Each day she wore faded dresses that looked like housecoats but went about her business in a cheerful way, doing her marketing, petting her rug of a cat, and occasionally inviting neighbors over for coffee. When she stumbled out onto the adjoining balcony, I coughed so that I wouldn’t startle her.
“Andy?” For once, her fluffy white hair wasn’t tied in a bun. “I can only hope that’s you. I don’t have my glasses on.”
“Then you better not get too close to the edge of the balcony!”
She sank into her lounge chair. “I won’t!” Shadow lived up to her name by flopping alongside. Her loud purring competed with the buzz of the streetlights.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“What?”
I scooted my chair closer to her side of the balcony so she wouldn’t have to strain to hear me. “Why are you up so early?”
She fanned herself with the edges of a lightweight robe and jerked her finger towards her bedroom. “I guess I should have sprung for the fancier apartments on the other side of town. I can’t sleep in that sauna of a bedroom of mine.”
“Try taking your clothes off!”
“Young man, I know you’re not a Peeping Tom, or you’d realize I already tried that. I must see about getting a better fan.”
“I have a deluxe model, but the cord ripped. I never think to get it fixed during the day.”
“No, of course not. But you’re not out here because of the heat. You’re worried about something.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have something stuck in your throat.”
I cleared it, twice. “The boss is out of town.”
“Ah. Dissent among the troops.”
Shadow stretched, belly to the sky.
“Not really. Bad luck. Remember the break-in I told you about? That set us all on edge. Then tonight, cops came to ask about the guy who was killed over there on Mills Lane.”
“Do the police have a suspect?”
“They’re following leads.”
“Was the victim a frequent customer at Noche Azul?”
“He was a fellow mariachi player. He played with Las Cometas. I’d known him for years. All of us had. He used to stop in from time to time to say hello. In fact he visited the restaurant a couple of nights before he was killed.”
With effort, Mrs. Sfirakis adjusted her lounge chair to a more upright position. “How about giving me one of those cigarettes, Andy? I’m out.”
We lit up as if smoking were a mission, our orange tips darti
ng about like lasers.
“Do the police have any theories?”
“I don’t think so. Gutiérrez wasn’t too bright, but I can’t think why anyone would murder him.”
Mrs. Sfirakis nodded silently until I thought she’d fallen asleep. “When I was growing up, I knew the grocer who lived down the street,” she said. “He seemed like the nicest man—gave little candies to the children, spotted customers if they ran out of money. One night he was murdered. It was a scandal, of course. His wife’s family spent a small fortune on detectives. They didn’t find anything.”
“The mystery went unsolved?”
“Eventually the wife died. When the son started going through the papers, he discovered that his father had been cheating one of the suppliers. For years. The supplier found him out and demanded a million dollars in back pay.”
“Then what?”
“I can only assume the grocer refused.”
“What did the son do?”
“Nothing. He didn’t want anything to do with the whole mess other than to forget about it and be thankful the supplier hadn’t come after him.”
“Were these people friends of yours?”
“I used to baby-sit for the son and his wife. I happened to be at their house the day they found out. They were too upset to think straight. I’m sure they hadn’t meant to tell me, but it spilled out.”
In the distance, a truck rattled over a pothole.
“You’re trying to tell me that people are murdered for a reason.”
Mrs. Sfirakis made another attempt to fan herself with her robe.
“No. There’s always an exception.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The following night, Rolando and I adjourned to his office as soon as the customers cleared out. He’d stopped to see Sergeant Innis on his way into town, so we hadn’t had a chance to talk. By the time he arrived at Noche Azul, he had to troubleshoot. Corinna had panicked that they’d run out of peppers and Dennis that they’d run out of change for the cash register. An insurance agent stopped in to ask about the robbery, and all the regulars who knew about Rolando’s jaunt south wanted to ask him about it. I watched as he addressed one situation after another, amazed at how well he took everything in stride.
We sat at the table, a bottle of Brandy Presidente between us.
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