Since he was far from ugly, I smiled back. "Thank you. Melissa Ricada. I have a reservation."
"Reservation," he repeated, more to himself than to me. After glancing once up, once down behind the counter, he found what he was looking for and produced a small card from the R-section of an open index card file. "Yes, Miss Ricada," he said, pushing the card, which was empty except for my name, toward me. "If you could please fill in the rest and give me a credit card and ID."
I obliged, noticing as he returned my cards that he had nice looking hands.
"Breakfast is included," he said. "There is a pool in the back, plenty of restaurants within walking distance. You're in room 24, second floor." He handed me the key, and I had to smile as I realized that this was truly a boutique hotel as it was still a real key and not one of the programmable key cards I'd gotten used to on business trips.
"Thank you." I looked up, surprised, as he stretched his other hand toward me.
"Valentín Cardona," he said. "Nice to meet you. I hope you'll have a great stay."
I shook his hand, awkward as it was across the counter. "Likewise and thank you, I hope so too."
Declining his offer to haul my suitcase upstairs for me, I made my way around the back to where a small second key opened the side gate. A young mother and child were splashing in the pool, not even looking up as I went by and up the stairs.
My room was comfortable. It was simple, with two twin beds and a small kitchen with two chairs and a bistro table. A TV sat on a chest of drawers underneath the wide window blinds. There were no glass panes in the window, only screens. Not uncommon for Puerto Rico. The thick metal blinds, painted a clean white, needed to be tilted only millimeters to let in bright sunlight. Two ceiling fans rotated lazily above the beds and I lay down on one with the suitcase still sitting on the floor between them.
There was no denying I was tired. No sleep last night and perhaps two hours of less than restful sleep on the plane were taking its toll. But I was afraid to close my eyes, of returning to the woods. My eyelids didn't obey me for very long though and under the hypnotic movement of the wooden blades circling overhead, I dozed off against my wishes.
There were none of the sounds that came with the forest – the sweet melodic chanting high above our heads, the rustling of leaves from insects scurrying to hide from our presence or trying to take a curious look. There was instead a steady breeze coming from a northwesterly direction. It was difficult to focus, to discern the shapes of people walking through the dark streets. They were speaking in hushed voices, not because they had anything to hide, but because it was late. The skies above were littered with stars, the moon only a sliver.
There were two couples, the men in uniform with bayonets by their side, the women in ground-sweeping dresses that seemed very cumbersome to me. One of the men carried a lit torch that kept the circle they travelled in lit. I looked around. Behind me. Ahead of the couples. Along the obscured path that led from what appeared to be a military base at the point of the peninsula into the small group of houses huddled close together. Where was he? I knew I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Rafael, so he had to be here somewhere.
One of the women laughed, soft and dainty, behind a raised hand. I saw the spirals of her dark hair bouncing as she moved. From the corner of my left eye I noticed a silent movement along the wall of a building. But I was distracted from it as in the torch light I noticed something sliding down from the woman who had been laughing. She seemed unaware as the object traveled along the ample folds of her skirt, gliding into the dirt just as the four of them reached the cobblestones that began to echo with the men's boot heels.
I hurried to see what she lost, but had to jump out of the way as the two figures I'd noticed from the corner of my eye rushed forward and scooped it up.
Rafael! I felt a surge of anger pulsating through me. Why did he insist on hanging out with Juan Luis Aragón? This guy got into more trouble than I could count, and I hated when he dragged Rafael into it with him. Unlike Rafael's father, Juan Luis' parents were affluent, and money and influence definitely kept saving his hide time and again. His smile blinked in the darkness as he pulled Rafael by the shirtsleeve, his other hand cradling the found object.
"Come on," he hissed, "before they turn around."
Too late.
"Hey you two!" The soldier's voice bellowed loudly. "Stop right there!"
They didn't, of course. How did I know they wouldn't! For a moment it looked like Rafael had second thoughts, but Juan Luis proceeded to drag him along, looping northward toward the cliffs. They weren't as sure-footed as the two soldiers who ran after them, stumbling along rather awkwardly.
"Rafael!" Juan Luis flung the object at Rafael, who caught it out of reflex. Another torch, stuck into the ground like a prehistoric lamp post, briefly illuminated his face, and I noticed the pained expression it held as he looked at the necklace in his fingers.
"Don't be stupid," I yelled at him, "drop it. Drop it now!" But he couldn't. It was a beautiful, intricate piece that he as his father's apprentice could appreciate better than someone as knuckle-headed as Juan Luis, who whooped and hollered in drunken amusement as he zigzagged to evade the soldier close on his heels.
Rafael couldn't drop it. He had doubled back into one of the cobblestoned streets and he knew the precious stones would shatter if he let go. So he stopped, chest heaving, staring toward the breathless soldier who was after him and extending his arm with the necklace.
The man was more agile than I would have imagined, given the regalia he wore and his high boots. It was such a smooth movement – his pulling the necklace to safety and running two more steps until he was half behind Rafael – that it took me by surprise as much as Rafael when the tip of his boot landed squarely in the back of his knee. Rafael buckled, his face twisted in agony as he crashed knees first onto the bulbous rock pavement.
"Don't even think you won't have to pay for this little stunt," the soldier huffed, his bayonet drawn and pointed between Rafael's shoulders blades.
I dropped to the ground in front of him, my eyes focused on his face. He looked so much like Guey as he stared silently at the pavement, still struggling to calm down. Yet as he tilted his head and the shadows painted the outline of his profile, I saw Manuel in his features. His father. I cringed. Had Manuel not succumbed to the infection of a machete wound several months ago, this would have left him sorely disappointed. But without him, there was nobody who would do Rafael's bidding before the judge.
Perhaps it was silly, but I felt that this situation was somehow my fault. Watching some necklace fall was not important. I should have concentrated on the movement I'd noticed, especially since I knew Rafael had to be here somewhere and I had not spied him yet. Perhaps then I could have stopped this from happening.
Juan Luis' laughter drew nearer as the other soldier marched him toward us, blade between his shoulders and Juan Luis' hands clasped on top of his head. "Come on, guys," he said, his tongue heavy, "it's not like we stole if off her neck, she'd lost it anyway. Besides, you got it back, so no harm done." He stretched out his hand to help Rafael to his feet, amazingly and blissfully unaware of the concern etched into his friend's face. "Don't worry, compadre," he said, "it'll be fine. Let's get some shut-eye in the stockade." He still laughed as if all of this were a tremendous joke.
I rose to my feet, walking by their side as they reversed their path and headed back to the military outpost. "I'm so sorry," I told Rafael, "I should've paid more attention. Maybe I could have helped you avoid this." Yet that little fistful of anger still inside of me couldn't be completely silenced. "Of course," I started, "you could just try to do a better job at choosing your friends. How many times does Juan Luis have to get in trouble before it gets into your thick skull that he's not particularly high quality friendship material? And neither one of you is a kid anymore. You should both know better."
There. I said my peace. Not that it fixed anything, but I felt better. We conti
nued in silence the rest of the way, everyone lost in their own thoughts and Juan Luis finally getting too tired to keep joking around. I listened to the monotonous rolling of waves at the base of the promontory, concentrating on it until Rafael and the others disappeared into the darkness without me.
Chapter 5
The sun was coloring the sky outside of my room in orange and red streaks as I woke up. I stretched comfortably, letting bones adjust as they snapped and crackled with each movement. To allow more of the soothing afternoon light into the room, I tilted the blinds as far open as I could, then searched for my mobile phone.
"Haskins and Warren Marketing, Elena Montacruz, how may I help you?"
"If your sunset looks as beautiful as mine, you should be outside, enjoying some fabulous crab dish at Smith and Wollensky's in South Beach instead of slaving away at the office," I said, grinning.
"Seems a friend of mine left me with extra work that requires a few more hours of dedication," Elena replied. "Good to hear from you, Mel. I was wondering if you'd let me know that you arrived safely. How are things?"
"It's beautiful, Elena," I said. "It was like coming home."
"Ah." My friend chuckled. "Lots of heat and humidity then."
"Not like that. Not like being in Miami," I explained. "Although yes, it is hot and humid here as well, as was to be expected. But it's like I arrived home, you know. Truly home. As if I always lived here and just had forgotten how much I missed it."
Elena was quiet and I wondered if that sounded bizarre to someone who didn't feel it. How much crazier than my reason for coming in the first place could it possibly be?
"Does it look like in your dreams?" she finally asked.
"Some of it," I answered. "It's a bit more…built up." As far as understatements went, this was a big one. There obviously was a mighty gap between last night's stroll across the open space leading up to the military camp on the peninsula's tip and the trimmed lawn now lining the path to the mighty fortress of El Morro. But I didn't think now was the time to bring that up. "Look at the bright side, I slept like a log. That alone was worth the price of the ticket."
A soft hissing sound came through the line. "Fine," Elena said and I could easily envision the knowing grin on her face, "tell me the details when you're good and ready. What's the plan for tomorrow?"
Plan seemed a rather big word for the vague ideas I had. "Renting a car probably," I said. "Rafael was in a place called Otuado. The taíno word is actually Otoao, meaning inbetween mountains. There is a town named Utuado in that area. I figure I'll drive over there and see if I find anything useful. It's inland. This might take me closer to the forest we keep running around in." I found it hard to imagine being able to tell one plant from the other, and the mere thought of seeing another Wandering Spider made me shudder, but it seemed like a good a place to start searching.
We chatted about a few work projects, Elena promised to water the lone bamboo that I'd managed to keep alive, and then I finally unpacked and stored my belongings before venturing outside in search of food. My stomach was beginning to make embarrassing noises.
The Palmera Inn was located off Calle de San Francisco, in the heart of Old San Juan. I strolled slowly along the narrow road. There was a lot more of the cobblestone pavement here than what I'd seen last night. Much of what surrounded me looked like an amplified and beautified version of the few houses I had seen – with less exposed wood and more plaster finishes and fresh, bright coats of paint. But the ambiance felt familiar and comforting. Everything had been lovingly restored. Many of the buildings had wrought-iron or wood banister balconies on the second floor and thick walls to keep out the heat of day.
I turned into Calle del Cristo, my eyes drawn to the exquisite medieval architecture of San Juan Cathedral. It wasn't a building I recalled from any of my dreams, yet seeing it made my heart spin like a whirling dervish, and not in what I would call a good way. The air appeared hotter and stickier here than it had been just around the corner. My legs trembled and all of my instincts told me I didn't want to be here. So then why did I find it impossible to turn away? It's just a pretty church, I told myself. Seen them before and never found anything wrong with them. So why would this be any different? While my head tried to argue in favor of the holy structure, something akin to a fist dug deeper into my stomach. I placed one foot on the first step toward the towering center door, tears welling up in my eyes. I can't! This is not good. I can't be here.
"It closes at four," a man behind me said.
With a yelp, I turned toward the voice. Valentín Cardona smiled bemused as his hand shot forward to stop me from toppling backwards onto the stairs. "Ave María, Miss Recada," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you." The smile broadened into a grin. "Hadn't pegged you for the religious type, but you look like you were only a few seconds away from doing a pilgrimage on your knees right down the cathedral's aisle." He released my arms once I stood steady in front of him.
"I…I like old churches," I muttered, surreptitiously wiping at what I hoped appeared like sweat around my eyes. My words were followed by a malcontent grumble emanating from the empty pit of my stomach.
The single dimple on Valentín's face deepened as he pointed with his lips toward my stomach. "Sounds like at least part of you would be more interested in seeing the inside of a restaurant. I'm on my way to grab a bite myself. Care to join me?"
"Sure, sounds good," I hurried to say, happy to change the subject to anything but me and the church. "And, um, no need to call me Miss Ricada. Melissa is fine. Mel."
"I like that much better." He laughed softly, tilting his head up the road. "There's a nice little restaurant at the corner. You like Puerto Rican food?"
"I'm more familiar with Cuban," I said, "but I'm willing to try it." I took one more look over my shoulder at the elegant church, its flat steeple now completely engulfed in the evening's shadows.
"It's been here for centuries," Valentín said, amusement still lacing his voice. "I'm sure it'll still be here tomorrow."
"No doubt," I said, managing a haphazard smile. "So what kind of local cuisine do you recommend?"
He talked me into trying mofongo with shrimp filling. The ground-up fried plantain and pork rind mixture that made up the ball-shape on my plate melted on my tongue.
Valentín laughed and nodded, content. "Yeah, I thought you might like that. It's refreshing to watch a woman eat with a nice appetite."
My cheeks reddened.
"No, no, that's a compliment," he hurried to say. "I can't tell you how annoying it is to go out with a woman just to watch her order something and then have her put her fork down after two bites or only nibble on the decorative lettuce leaf below the actual food."
I grimaced. "Not much chance of that happening with me. I haven't really eaten anything since I got here."
"You came over from Miami."
I nodded. "How did you…?"
"Cuban food." Valentín grinned.
I toasted him with my glass of malta. "Very observant."
"I could say it comes with the job," he said, returning the toast. "I'm a police detective. But truth be told, I also read your filled-out card at the hotel."
The shrimp on my fork went back down to the plate as I stared at him, mildly confused. "So…you moonlight at the hotel reception desk?"
He laughed, appearing charmingly embarrassed. "Can you keep a secret?"
"Better than you can imagine." I scooped up the shrimp again.
"My sister is actually the one working at the hotel. She had to go run a few errands and asked me to hang around the desk in case anyone checked in." He helped himself to another tostón, one of the smashed flat, deliciously crunchy fried plantain disks I already learned to love in Miami's Cuban restaurants. "Her boss wouldn't be too happy knowing she left me in charge, given that I don't work there. But fortunately you were the only one who showed up, so I didn't have a whole lot of opportunity to cause any damage."
"No worries," I said, "you
r secret is safe with me." That at least explained the not-so-hotel-like how-do-you-do across the counter.
"So what brings you to Puerto Rico?" Valentín waved the waitress over to order some tembleque coconut pudding for both of us.
"Oh, you know…" I let out a casual breath. "I haven't been on vacation in a while and since I'd read up about the island, I figured I'd come over and check it out."
His intense eyes focused squarely on me as he leaned forward on his elbows, watching me down the rest of my malta. "So it's your first time here?"
More or less, I thought, keeping the glass up longer than I needed to. "Uh-huh."
"What do you plan on seeing?"
"Tomorrow I was thinking of heading to Utuado," I said.
Valentín raised his eyebrows and I bit my lip. Had I said something stupid?
"Wow," he replied. "That's…unusual. For a first-time tourist I mean. Not exactly the hot bed of activity that most people flock to."
I smiled gratefully at the waitress who came to clear our plates and bring us the creamy dessert. It bought me the quick second I needed to formulate a logical sounding answer. "I'm not sure I want to do all the typical touristy things," I said, "thought I'd take more of an off-the-beaten-path approach."
"If that's the plan," he said, studying me a bit longer than I felt comfortable, "you're off to a great start." Valentín checked his watch. "My time's up, I've got to go to work." He pulled cash out of his pocket and placed it on the table. "I've got this."
I shook my head. "You don't have to pay for mine."
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