by Phoebe Conn
“How many of us are there going to be?” Peter asked.
“All of us, plus Rafael and a doctor friend who’ll be his best man. Our aunt Cirilda and her ex-husband—she’s marrying him again.” She glanced toward Santos.
“I’ve invited a few guests. Don’t worry, Tomas always prepares more than we can eat, and we never run out of champagne. I meant to offer to provide the musicians. They can play in the house if not on the beach. What about strings, maybe with a flute, something very elegant, perhaps a guitar if you’re inspired to dance flamenco.”
“I’d love to see you dance,” Linda said.
Maggie took a sip of tea. “I’ll ask Rafael to dance with me.”
Peter paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “He dances?”
“Yes,” Santos answered. “That’s why Maggie likes him.”
“It’s more than his dancing,” she assured him, “but he is spectacularly good.”
“I bet he’s spectacularly good at everything,” Patricia posed under her breath. “Why do we have to wait until Saturday to see you two dance? What’s wrong with tonight?”
“I suppose we could,” Maggie admitted, but she’d downplay her role as she had at Bailaora.
“What about flowers?” Libby asked.
“We’ve got them,” Santos said. “We have a florist who does our parties, and Maggie’s already talked to them.”
“Some couples are freeze-drying the bridal bouquet,” Linda remarked. “Can you do that here?”
“I don’t want a fancy bouquet,” Maggie insisted. “I’ll have a corsage for you, and boutonnieres for the men. Libby, Patricia and I will carry roses tied with a satin bow.”
Linda laid her fork on her plate. “I suppose there’s a lot to be said for economizing on wedding expenses when it’ll all be gone in a single day.”
“Rafael didn’t give you a ring?” Peter asked.
“No, I want only a wedding band. It’s the marriage that’s important, not the ring.”
Linda sighed. “You have always been such a practical girl, but I wish we could do more with your wedding.”
Libby focused on her lunch and didn’t contribute much to the conversation. She knew more than she dared share, and it was difficult to keep the Aragons’ dark secrets hidden. Eager to escape the house, she offered a suggestion. “This might be a good afternoon to visit Gaudí’s Sagrada Familia cathedral. It’s too spectacular to miss.” She turned to Santos, and he responded with a mere quirk of a smile. “Will you come with us?” she asked, but he didn’t appear eager to go.
“I doubt we’d all fit in the Hispano-Suiza.”
“Yes, we will,” Patricia argued. “If you ride in front with Manuel, we’ll all squeeze into the backseat.”
Santos hesitated a long moment. “I suppose we could give it a try.”
Libby left her chair before he could think otherwise. “Manuel drove Maggie and me by the cathedral, but I want to stop and see as much as we can. It looks like a gigantic drip castle made by the sea.”
As Maggie left the table, she bent down to whisper in Santos’s ear, “Did you tell Libby about your mother?”
“I did, but the rest of your family doesn’t need to know.”
She kissed his cheek. “We’re going to have to give everyone coming to the wedding a program with what they can and can’t say.”
“We’ll tell the musicians to play louder if there’s a problem.”
“Think of a signal. I’m afraid we’ll need it.”
They did all fit in the luxury sedan, but they hadn’t driven more than a couple of miles up the coast when Santos spotted a black SUV trailing them. Manuel also saw the car in the rearview mirror and sent Santos a questioning glance. He raised a fingertip to his lips and said in Spanish, “Try another route.”
Libby rode behind Santos, where she could also see the side mirror, and caught sight of the suspect SUV changing lanes behind them. She didn’t want to witness another attempt on his life with her whole family in the car. He may not have wanted to frighten them, and neither did she. “It looks as though one of Santos’s fans is trailing us. I hope their enthusiasm doesn’t cause an accident.”
“Pull over,” Santos ordered, and Manuel steered the big car into the first open space at the curb. The black SUV shot by them and turned right at the next corner. Libby rummaged for a slip of paper in her purse and wrote down the license plate number.
“Does this happen often?” Peter asked.
“I’m embarrassed to say it does,” Santos replied. “I should have had Manuel drive the Mercedes sedan.”
“How many cars do you own?” Patricia asked.
Santos glanced over his shoulder. “There’s this car, the Mercedes my aunt and grandmother sometimes use, and my SUV. I should have known I’d be recognized and not brought us out in this moving parade float. Take us back home, Manuel, and we’ll switch cars.”
Manuel swung into a parking lot to turn the car around and headed back down the coast. “There’s plenty of time,” Santos turned to assure the Gundersons.
The Mercedes sedan was nearly as roomy as the Hispano-Suiza, and they were soon on their way. Libby kept a close watch on Santos’s side mirror, but there was no sign of the black SUV. Her heart still remained in her throat, however. Javier Cazares hadn’t identified who had held the mirror, which meant Santos, and all of them with him, were still in danger. She wished she’d thought of that earlier. When they reached the magnificent Sagrada Familia, Santos offered his knee as an excuse to wait in the car with Manuel. Maggie had her tour book in hand, ready to be an enthusiastic guide, but as the rest of them left the car, Libby hung back to speak with Santos.
“Are you sure you’re safe sitting here?” she asked.
“This is sacred soil, so I doubt I’ll be bothered.”
The enormous cathedral attracted tourists by the thousands, which would make it ideal for someone to move close to attack Santos and hurry away unnoticed. She handed him the wrinkled paper with the license plate number. “Call Javier and have him find out who owns the car.”
“I memorized the plate, but thank you. I’ll call him now. Go on with your family, and stop worrying about me.”
“If you weren’t so damn self-centered, you’d realize we’re all in danger when we’re with you.”
Shocked she’d insult him with a valid point he’d completely overlooked, he offered only a reluctant nod. She walked away with a long, confident stride, and he hated not being able to keep up with her. Manuel got out of the car to lean back against it and keep watch. Santos called Javier, got his voice mail and left a message. Now sorry he’d come along, he rested his head against his seat and fell asleep before the Gunderson clan returned to the car.
Linda carried a thick book on Antonio Gaudí she’d purchased in the gift shop.
“I don’t understand how a man could have imagined such a surreal place more than a hundred years ago, or that so many others could have devoted their lives to building it.”
“I wonder if any of us will live long enough to see it finished,” Patricia asked.
Peter shifted to make more room in the backseat. “I’ll make a point of it. Is there someplace else we ought to visit this afternoon, or should we call it a day?”
“Let’s go on to the Casa Mila,” Maggie suggested. “It’s a finished structure, and the mosaic chimneys alone are worth a visit.”
Linda checked the index of her new book and found it. “We definitely have to see this. Who else would have thought of turning chimneys into huge tile sculptures?”
Libby kept her eyes on the side mirror as they made their way through traffic, but they weren’t being followed. Santos was being awfully quiet. Spanish women probably never dared speak a cross word to him, but she had better things to do with her life than pamper a man who was already so badly spoiled.
Rafael returned to the house in late afternoon and took Maggie down to the shore. “I talked to your father this morning. Did he tell y
ou?”
She pulled him to a halt, her eyes wide. “You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did, and he didn’t fly into a rage. He wasn’t pleased, and he doesn’t want your mother to know you’re marrying an ex-convict. Is that all right with you?”
She leaned against him. “Of course, as long as we don’t get caught in our own tangled web of secrets.”
He smoothed her hair. “We don’t keep secrets from each other. I want you to trust me.”
“I do.”
Libby called to them as she approached. “Santos has some news from his detective he wants you to hear.” She waited until they reached her to report that Cazares hadn’t found any good leads from the women Santos had dated or the protesters.
Santos was out on the patio, pressing a cool beer bottle to his cheek as though he had nothing more important to do than watch the sunset. “An SUV followed us for part of the afternoon. It’s registered to Orlando Ortiz. Have you met him?”
Maggie turned pale, and Rafael swore a particularly inventive string of expletives, all in Catalan only Santos understood. “No, I don’t know him, or want to,” he finished in English.
“Who is he?” Libby asked, certain his negative reaction meant there was far more to the story, as there seemed to be with everything there.
“He’s one of the richest men in Spain,” Santos explained. “I don’t know why he’d follow me. Maybe he wants to make an offer on the Hispano-Suiza. I’ve never heard he was a fan of bullfighting. My father never mentioned him, but he could have easily paid everyone in the arena to hold a mirror with his pocket change.”
Maggie swallowed hard. She turned to Rafael, but he shook his head. “It’s your story, not mine, but I can see a motive, can’t you?” she asked.
Rafael faced the sea and thrust his hands into his pockets. Anger rolled off him in nearly visible waves. “I thought my mother was dead, but she’s married to Ortiz. She abandoned my sister and me when were little kids. The bitch had no interest in me until I walked into Barcelona’s bullring wearing a suit of lights. She wouldn’t know I’ve retired, and might want Santos dead to further my career. Then she’d brag that she’d done it for me.”
“I’m going to be sick.” Maggie left the table at a run, but, equally stunned, Libby couldn’t move.
Julian appeared to take drink orders, but Santos waved him off. “Does Ortiz know you’re her son?”
Rafael shrugged. “I doubt she’d admit to being a Gypsy, or being old enough to be my mother, so it’s unlikely.”
“But he could know,” Libby offered. “What are we going to do?”
“We?” Santos scoffed. “After the wedding, Rafael and Maggie are leaving on their honeymoon. You’re going home with your family on Sunday. I’ll decide what to do on Monday.”
“If you’re alive to do so,” she shot back at him.
Rafael turned toward them. “This is the only wedding Maggie and I will have, and I don’t want anything to spoil the day for her.”
“A dead brother would surely do it,” Libby complained.
“Why don’t you go in and check on Maggie?” Santos suggested. “Rafael and I will handle this.”
She regarded the two men with a darkly skeptical glance and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t trust either of you to handle things calmly. All we know for certain is that someone was on the bull’s side last Sunday, and today someone followed us in a SUV belonging to Orlando Ortiz. Just because we can imagine a connection doesn’t mean there actually is one. Do you plan to call Ortiz and make an appointment to inquire who was driving the SUV?”
Rafael laughed. “Yes, we can do that. He’ll recognize Santos’s name if not mine.”
Santos stared at her a long moment, his mood deadly serious. “Did your father raise you to think like an attorney?”
“Logically rather than emotionally? Yes. It’s like playing chess. You have to see your opponent’s moves before she makes them. You two might be used to staring down a bull, but people are a whole lot more complex and unpredictable.”
Rafael took a step toward the door. “I’m going to find Maggie. Let’s plan strategy later.”
Santos let him go. “Cazares didn’t find any trace of Rafael’s mother, and now she turns up as Ortiz’s wife? I told you we didn’t know enough about Rafael, and he’s just proven it.”
Libby rested her arms on the table. “That’s beside the point, Santos. Maybe whoever followed us really did only want a look at the Hispano-Suiza and nothing more. It’s not a car you’d see on the road every day. Maybe the driver’s intentions were far more sinister. We’re, excuse me, you’re going to have to be more careful wherever you go.”
“You’ve convinced me. Do you want to be my bodyguard? I pay well and offer excellent benefits.”
Unwilling to answer his ridiculous question, Libby got up and left. As she passed through the kitchen, she picked up a glass of iced tea and carried it up the back stairs. Mrs. Lopez met her at the top.
“Guests are expected to use the main staircase, never the servant’s stairs,” she cautioned sternly.
“Thanks for the tip,” Libby replied on the way to her room. She went out to the balcony and focused on the comforting sea view. She couldn’t understand how Santos could be so damn flippant about protecting his own life. Maybe he didn’t care if he made it to Saturday’s wedding, but she certainly did. He could be an annoying SOB, but he was too appealing to dismiss outright.
“Get over it,” she scolded herself and meant it.
Rafael and Maggie danced before dinner that night, and while their small audience applauded enthusiastically, Libby understood Rafael had again taken the aggressive lead while Maggie played the graceful counterpoint. She caught Santos’s eye, and he nodded, but her parents and Patricia weren’t such knowledgeable fans of flamenco they understood how muted Maggie’s performance truly was. It was very late before they all went up to their rooms, and, exhausted, Libby climbed into bed and fell asleep before Patricia finished brushing her teeth.
Santos hoped Libby would come to his room, and when he got tired of waiting, he gathered the energy to walk down the hall and knocked lightly at her door. Patricia swung it open and covered a wide yawn. “Visiting hours are over,” she whispered.
“Sleep in my room,” he answered. “I’ll stay here.”
She looked over her shoulder at the bed where Libby hadn’t stirred. “No, I don’t think so. If Libby wanted to see you, she’d still be awake.”
“Libby?” he called.
She didn’t move.
“You see,” Patricia replied with a teasing shake of her curls. “She has very high standards.”
“You don’t think I meet them?”
She gestured toward the bed. “Apparently not.” She eased the door closed. “Try again tomorrow.”
Peter looked out in the hall and saw Santos standing outside the girls’ room. “What’s going on out here?”
Santos shifted his stance on his crutches. He had on a T-shirt and shorts and didn’t apologize for it. “We were making plans for tomorrow. I’m sorry we bothered you.”
Peter was still dressed and came out into the hall and closed his door. He crossed the distance between them with an easy stride and spoke in the low, insistent tone that worked so well to impress juries. “I thought we’d be better off in a hotel. Don’t give me a reason to move.”
Hunched over his crutches, Santos felt at a disadvantage, but he thought better of telling Maggie’s father he did what he pleased in the family home. The Gundersons would be gone on Sunday, and he’d probably never see any of them again, so he let it go. “I understand, sir. Good night.”
Peter waited in the hall until Santos closed his bedroom door. Still suspicious he’d interrupted more than sightseeing plans, he returned to their room and questioned his wife. “How old is Santos, do you know?”
She was already in bed and fluffed her pillow. “He has to be younger than Maggie. Why?”
“I d
on’t want him hanging out in the girls’ room.”
“Don’t we have a big enough problem with Maggie’s taste in men? Let’s not look for others. Libby’s responsible, and she’ll take care of Patricia. Now come to bed.”
Peter unbuttoned his shirt. Santos had a spooky resemblance to Miguel, and the instincts he’d learned to trust in a courtroom made him wary. He’d keep a closer watch on his daughters tomorrow, all three of them.
Chapter Six
Santos was already seated on the patio when Libby left the house Thursday morning to run. She would have walked right on by him, but he called her name. “I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have asked you to be my bodyguard.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“That’s what I just said. I have a better idea.”
She rested her hands on her hips and remained on the opposite side of the table. “Is it something you truly believe I’ll want to hear?”
“I hope so. You said you work as a personal trainer. I don’t expect you to handle physical therapy for my knee, but I do need to stay in shape, or I won’t fit into my suits when I return to the bullring. You could work for me the rest of the summer, have free room and board and save money for college. I’ll write a reference. My name might mean something even in the United States.”
If he hadn’t looked so damn sincere, she would have laughed and walked away. Maybe it was simply too early in the morning for his smirk to form. “I’ll think about it.”
“Decide today. You’ll have to change your plane ticket and—”
Libby circled the table, put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him hard. When she broke away, he looked so startled, she kissed him again. “There’s more than one way to stay in shape,” she advised and sprinted away.
Santos sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if she’d just said yes or told him to spend the summer in bed with someone else to keep fit. He’d thought he was fluent in English, but they really weren’t communicating. He didn’t want to sit there looking like a fool until she returned, so he got up and went back to bed. When he got up the second time, Maggie had taken her family and gone to tour Las Ramblas, where they could sightsee, shop and have lunch.