by Elise Noble
If only Izzy had talked to me. Not just during the mysterious phone call, if indeed that had been her, but before she went to Barranquilla. Why had she shut me out? Was it because Roscoe was older? He hadn’t told me his age, but he was definitely in his late twenties. Did she think I’d disapprove? I’d never felt so alone in my life, and the pressure to make the right decision weighed heavily on my shoulders.
And that load didn’t lighten when I walked into the kitchen and found my brother sitting at the table, tucking into Grandma’s huevos pericos—scrambled eggs with tomatoes and scallions.
“What are you doing here?”
“Eating breakfast.”
“Exactly. You never eat breakfast here anymore.”
And rarely lunch or dinner either. Grandma said Rafael stopped by in the afternoons to visit sometimes, but I didn’t see him. In the eight years that had passed since he moved out, my brother had become a virtual stranger.
“I came to see you.”
Grandma wheeled past me in her chair. “You were back late last night, Cora.”
“I lost track of time, that’s all.”
“How was dinner?”
Non-existent. “Really good.”
“How many arepas do you want with your eggs? And do you want coffee or hot chocolate?”
“Hot chocolate.” My answer was automatic even though the butterflies in my stomach weren’t hungry in the slightest. “And just one arepa.”
Rafe, as I’d nicknamed him when I was a toddler because I couldn’t pronounce his name properly, was drinking coffee, the same as he always did. Black, and so strong you could stand the spoon up in it.
And now he locked his gaze on me, the same dark eyes that my father once had. I’d inherited them too, but while I tried to lessen their intensity with smiles and eye make-up, Rafe had been cultivating his death glare since childhood.
He just didn’t usually turn it on me.
“What have I done?”
“Why were you talking to Marco Garcia yesterday?”
“You followed me to a freaking nightclub?”
“I was already there.”
Where? I’d been at El Bajo Tierra for two hours, and I hadn’t seen him. My brother was a damn ghost.
“I spoke to Marco Garcia for about two minutes, and I’d never met him before. Happy? He just wanted to know if I liked the club.”
“You need to steer clear of him, Cora. And El Bajo Tierra.”
“How dare you give me a lecture?” Especially with Grandma listening. “Until today, you’ve never taken the slightest interest in my life. You don’t have a clue who my friends are, and you’ve got no idea what I do in my spare time. Do you even know where I work?”
“You work at La Escuela de Idiomas Gomez. Juan Gomez is forty-five years old, married, and has no criminal record. You currently have sixteen regular students.” My brother ticked off the points on his fingers. “Herman Krantz was convicted of manslaughter in his early twenties, but he doesn’t appear to have reoffended, and since you teach him at the language school rather than in his own home, it’s probably safe. You don’t have many friends, but you’ve been spending time with Esther and Stefan Corbin. Esther moved to the United States as a refugee at thirteen years old and met Stefan in Orlando, Florida. Stefan got a DUI five years ago, so I’d avoid getting in a car with him. Your hobbies? You watch too many telenovelas, you go to the gym, and you occasionally made jewellery out of beads with Izzy.” He reached out to touch today’s necklace the same way Roscoe had done last night. “This is one of hers, isn’t it?”
I ignored the question as my jaw dropped. “You’ve been background-checking my clients? My friends? You… You…”
“You’re my little sister. I care.”
“I’m twenty-two years old.”
“You’ll always be my little sister. And that other guy you were with last night? Roscoe? He’s only going to hurt you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he never keeps the same girl around for long.”
“You know him?”
“Never saw him before yesterday, but I asked around.”
I was torn between being mad at Rafael for invading my privacy and curious because he seemed to be a lot better at finding out information than I was. In the end, the need to help Izzy won out.
“What else did people say about Roscoe?”
“Not much. That he showed up three years ago and spends more time partying than working. That he’s never short of pretty girls. You’re too good for him, Corazon.”
“You don’t run my life.”
“Why were you in El Bajo Tierra, anyway? It’s not your kind of place.”
I was about to retort that he wouldn’t have a clue what my kind of place was when I realised he’d probably reel off a list of everywhere I’d visited for the last six months. My brother was a freak. I’d always figured he was into some messed-up stuff from the bruises he came home with as a teenager and the way he cut me off whenever I asked what he’d been doing. And now? He’d become smoother, more polished, with an expensive watch that didn’t match his cheap clothes, but he hadn’t changed. Rafael would always be my brother, and I loved him, but I didn’t know him anymore.
“Life should be an adventure,” I told him.
“No, Cora. Your life should be safe and easy.”
Then why did it feel so damn difficult?
“Okay, so how about we do a deal? You check into Roscoe’s background more thoroughly, and if you find anything concerning, I’ll stop seeing him.”
Not only would my brother be happy because I’d listened to his concerns, he’d also do my dirty work for me. And if it turned out Esther’s suspicions about Roscoe were unfounded, I might even enjoy seeing him again. I smiled to myself, pleased with my idea. What do you know? I did have a devious side lurking under the surface.
Rafe didn’t look quite so thrilled, but he nodded once.
“Fine. But stay away from El Bajo Tierra, okay?”
“Why?”
“Because there are plenty of other clubs in Medellín that aren’t owned by criminals. Pick one of those instead.”
“Okay.” I managed to relax a little. “And Rafe? I’m glad you visited. I’ve missed you.”
Finally, I got a smile.
“Missed you too, Cora.”
CHAPTER 5 - CORA
WHILE RAFAEL DUG into Roscoe’s history, I took a bus ride to El Centro and bought a cheap prepaid cell phone. I’d watched enough TV to know that bad guys could track you through your phone signal, and I didn’t want Roscoe finding out that I lived in Belén and not Conquistadores as I’d claimed.
Then I sent him a message.
Me: Nice meeting you last night. Lina.
Wouldn’t it be a joke if he’d given me a fake number?
But he hadn’t. Right after my first lesson, ironically with Herman Krantz, where I spent the whole hour and a half wondering exactly who he’d killed, and how, and why—thanks, Rafe—Roscoe replied to my message.
Roscoe: Me too. I was worried you wouldn’t contact me. You made quite an impression, Lina-Catalina.
What kind of impression had Izzy made?
Me: You’re not an easy man to forget.
Roscoe: How about I give you something else to remember? Dinner?
No way was I agreeing to meet him again until I heard back from my brother. How much time would a background check take? I could avoid replying until this evening, then put off dinner for a few days after that, but any longer and I risked Roscoe losing interest. And I didn’t want to chase Rafe too hard in case he grew suspicious.
Esther called in the afternoon for an update, and I could tell she was disappointed about the delay.
“What if he’s got Isabella chained up in his bedroom?”
“That’s not helping.”
“Just saying.”
“We need to do this slowly, okay? No big risks.”
And when I got home in the eveni
ng, Grandma only had more awkward questions.
“Cora, did you give out our home number to anyone new?”
“No, why?”
“I had a strange call today. Two, actually.”
My heart stuttered. Had Roscoe somehow found out where I lived? Was he checking up on me like I was checking up on him?
“What kind of calls? Was it a man or a woman?”
Grandma fussed around making herself a drink before she answered, and I forced my hands to relax. They’d curled up into fists at my sides all of their own accord.
“The first one, I’m not sure. Nobody spoke, and then somebody screamed but the line went dead halfway. I thought it was a prank until the second call came.”
“And somebody spoke that time?”
“A man. He asked who I was, and when I said I wouldn’t answer that question until he told me who he was, he hung up.”
“Did you recognise his voice?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He spoke Spanish?”
“Yes. But I don’t think he was from around here.”
“Why not? His accent?”
“Partly. And partly because when he hung up on me, I called my friend Consuela who works at the phone company, and it turns out the number was registered to an American cell phone. One of those prepaid SIM cards. And the call came via an American network.”
America? My knees went weak, and I collapsed into the chair opposite Grandma.
“Really? An American phone?”
“And when I called the number back half an hour later, it was out of service. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And do you know what else is strange?”
“What?”
“That same number called the day before yesterday.”
Not for the first time, I’d forgotten how smart my grandma was. Her legs may have withered away, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. She’d proven that time and time again. Soon after we moved to Medellín, I’d been bullied by a girl at school. I never told a soul, but Grandma found out somehow and invited her over for dinner one baking-hot Thursday evening. I’d nearly died of fear. Fernanda Moreno sat in the very chair I was sitting in now, swinging her legs while Grandma dished up her famous bandeja paisa and explained what it was like to live life in a wheelchair. Every so often, one of Fernanda’s feet connected with my shins, but I didn’t dare to say a word.
And at the end of the meal, Grandma had leaned forward, elbows on the table as she smiled sweetly, and I still remembered every word she said.
“Fernanda, if you ever call my granddaughter another nasty name, or kick her once more with those little pink tennis shoes your mama worked so hard to buy, you’ll be the one in a wheelchair. Do you understand?”
Fernanda’s eyes had bugged right out of her squirrelly face.
“Do you understand?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“Good.” A knock sounded at the door. “Your mama’s here to pick you up now.”
Fernanda had never spoken to me again, and her horrible friends had given me a wide berth too. No, it didn’t pay to underestimate my grandma, and now she watched me over the rim of her brightly coloured mug as she sipped her coffee.
“I…I might have taken the call.”
She nodded. “And?”
“It was a woman. She asked for help. And…”
“Go on.”
“And I thought it might have been Izzy. Which is crazy, I know, because she’s dead, and the police found her hand, with the ring, but…I still think it was Izzy.”
I screwed my eyes shut for five seconds. Ten. Opened them again. Did I mention that my brother and my father inherited their eyes from Grandma? She’d fixed me with that same dark gaze.
“Does your visit to El Bajo Tierra have something to do with this?”
“Grandma, I don’t want to burden you.”
She leaned across the table and took both my hands in hers. “Corazon da Silva, I may be seventy-two years old, but I’m not a porcelain doll. And if I’ve learned one thing in my lifetime, it’s that a problem is better shared. Look at what happened when we all came to Medellín—we worked together and achieved more than any one of us could have done alone.”
“But—”
“Just tell me, Cora.”
“A friend of mine saw Izzy with Roscoe before she died.”
“Died, or disappeared?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Don’t dismiss your gut feelings, chiquita. I also had my doubts, but until now, we couldn’t find any evidence to suggest Isabella hadn’t just lost her mind.”
“‘We’?”
“Your brother and me. He travelled to Barranquilla.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And we never did find the witness who claimed to have seen Isabella in trouble in the sea. The idea that she would take off her clothes and leave them on the beach with her purse while she went for a swim in semi-darkness? That girl did some silly things in her life, but nothing so utterly stupid as that.”
“Why did you discuss this with Rafe and not me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you.”
“Well, it didn’t freaking work, did it? And what did you just say about sharing problems?”
Grandma smiled, almost to herself it seemed. “Looks as though you do have a hint of the da Silva fire, after all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were always the sweet one.”
“Well, being bitter is like holding onto a snake and hoping it bites someone else.”
“That’s very true. But, Cora, you can’t go running off after Roscoe by yourself. If he did have anything to do with Isabella’s disappearance, he’s a dangerous man.”
“He was perfectly polite to me in the club.”
“And Pablo Escobar could be very charming when he wanted to be, I know that from experience, but he still killed thousands of people in cold blood.”
“You met him?”
My grandma baked polforosas and alfajores and taught local kids how to read. She didn’t consort with drug lords.
“Several times. Did I trust him? Not one iota.”
Wow. How many other secrets were being kept by people close to me? On second thoughts, did I really want to know?
“Promise you won’t rush headlong into anything stupid,” Grandma continued. “Let your brother look into Roscoe first.”
“I planned to do that, but I’ve got no idea how long that’ll take, and Roscoe wants to have dinner with me.”
“Did you agree?”
“I haven’t said yes or no yet. He only asked this afternoon.”
“He called you?”
“Texted. I bought a second phone this morning, so he doesn’t have my regular number.”
Grandma nodded approvingly, and that worried me a little. Who the hell was Marisol da Silva?
“And does he know your real name?”
“I told him I was called Catalina, and when he asked about my accent, I said I studied in England.”
“Good.” She nodded once. “Your brother will be back for dinner. We can decide on the next step then. Would you prefer bandeja paisa or tamales?”
“I’m not sure I can eat anything at all.”
“Tamales, then. Your brother would live on those given the choice. But I’ll need some banana leaves.”
Banana leaves? How could she think about banana leaves at a time like this? I had so many questions, about my past, her past, our future. But they stuck in my throat, and instead, I nodded in agreement.
“I’ll go to the store.”
It was nine o’clock by the time Rafe turned up, and the tamales were overcooked and drying out in the tamalera.
“Something smells good.”
“Why are you so late? What did you find out?”
He bent to kiss me on the cheek. As always, he looked effortlessly stylish, even with a day’s worth of stubble and we
aring the battered boots he’d owned for at least three years.
“Good evening to you too.”
“Well?”
“Why so impatient?”
“We had a talk earlier,” Grandma told him. “Cora also has doubts over Isabella’s death.”
She explained about the phone calls and my messages with Roscoe, and my brother groaned.
“Izzy, what did you get yourself into?” he muttered at the floor, then straightened. “If you get any more strange calls, do me a favour and let me know sooner rather than later.”
“Okay, fine, but what do we do now?”
“‘We’ don’t do anything. You carry on going to work and eating lunch in those little cafés you like, and leave the questions to me.”
“But what about Roscoe?”
“Forget you ever met him.”
“No way. I can help with this. What should I tell him about dinner?”
“Cora, did you not hear a word I said? Tell him no.”
“Don’t you dare cut me out again. It seems like you’ve been doing that for my entire life, you and Grandma. Did you know she once met Pablo Escobar?”
“Yes. Look, I can’t search for Izzy if I have to spend my time checking up on you.”
Checking up? What an asshole! I was an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.
“Then don’t check up on me,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to take any stupid risks.”
“Then you’ll stay away from Roscoe?”
“Did you find out something bad about him?”
“Not specifically, but he’s dated at least six different women so far this year, and only one of them has been seen since.”
“There are four other women missing besides Izzy?”
“I don’t know for sure. I only know that I haven’t been able to find any of them yet.”
“Esther reckons he has Izzy stashed in his basement, but five people?”
“Esther? Your student?”
“She went to El Bajo Tierra with me.”
“Cora, you need to keep other people out of this. And Roscoe doesn’t have a basement. He lives in a sixth-floor apartment.”
“Perhaps a spare bedroom?”
Rafe just stared at me.
“Okay, I’ll admit that sounds farfetched.”