Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities (A Happy Hoofers Mystery)

by McHugh, Mary

No. My instincts were right. The look of hatred on her face when she talked about Shambless was real.

  “I guess it sounds a little, uh, weak,” I said. “But I know I’m right. Jonathan, her tea smelled exactly like that bag of leaves Hawkeye found. Even the inspector believed me. He told me to be careful. He thinks Dora will try to harm me again.”

  “Why are you still on this train?” Jonathan asked. “If I thought someone was trying to kill me, I’d be on the first plane home.”

  “Good question,” I said. “I must be crazy.”

  “Why does she think you know that she’s the killer?”

  “Because I wouldn’t drink the tea.”

  “But why would she try to give you poisoned tea in the first place?” Jonathan asked.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s something to do with my finding the ring and returning it to her. She went bananas when she found out that I had opened the ring and seen the picture of her daughter. She yelled at me that I had no business opening the ring.”

  “Why?” Jonathan asked.

  “The only thing I can think of is that there was something else inside that ring that she didn’t want me to know about.”

  “Like?”

  Then I got it. Of course. The reason she didn’t want me to look inside her ring was that there was some residue of oleander powder inside. I remember thinking the picture was dusty. She must have opened her ring and emptied the poison into Shambless’s wine at the restaurant when he was signing her menu. Why didn’t I think of that before? Steve must have taken some footage of her with Shambless while he was filming the documentary. Maybe the film showed Dora putting the poison into his wine. She couldn’t take a chance, so she stole his camera and then killed him too. That’s it!

  “Jonathan!” I said. “I’ve got it. I know how she killed Shambless and Steve, and why she’s trying to kill me. I’ve got to find the inspector and tell him.”

  “Gini, are you sure?” Tina asked.

  “Positive. I don’t have time to tell you the whole thing now, but I’ve got to find the inspector. Sorry to rush off, Jonathan, but I gotta go.”

  I heard Tina say to Jonathan as I rushed off, “That’s our Gini. When she gets an idea, she acts.”

  I found Eduardo talking to some of the passengers near the bar. I ran up to him.

  “Eduardo,” I said. “I have to find the inspector. Now. Do you know where he is?”

  “He went back to headquarters in Ribadeo,” Eduardo said. “Some kind of emergency at home. I don’t think he’ll be back until tomorrow. What is it, Señora Miller? Can I help you with something?”

  “I don’t think so, Eduardo,” I said. “I really need to talk to the inspector.”

  Before I saw her, I felt Dora’s eyes boring into me. She was talking to some people a few yards away. I knew she had heard what I said.

  “Do you want to call him?” Eduardo asked. “Use my phone.”

  “Thanks, Eduardo, I think I’ll go back to my suite and call him.”

  I ran back to the room and called the number Javier had given me.

  There was no answer. It was late. The inspector must not be answering his phone. I left him a message to call me as soon as possible. “It’s urgent,” I said.

  Gini’s photography tip: Don’t e-mail pictures

  of yourself in your underwear to anybody—

  they could end up on the news.

  Chapter 14

  Champagne In The Morning

  I was fast asleep the next morning when Carlos knocked on our door. I made some kind of noise that sounded like, “Yes. Who is it?

  “Restrictions have been lifted, señora,” Carlos said. “The tour of Oviedo leaves in an hour,” Carlos said. “I thought you might want to get something to eat before you go.”

  I muttered something that was an approximation of “Thank you, Carlos.”

  Tina had already left for breakfast, letting me sleep.

  I had forgotten all about Oviedo. I picked up a copy of the day’s schedule that Tina had put at the foot of my bed. “Visit to Oviedo in the morning to see cathedral and pre-Romanesque monuments on the Naranco Hill. Lunch at Restaurante El Raitán. Visit to cave in Covadonga in the afternoon.” Sounded like a busy day. I thought of the photo ops I’d be missing if I didn’t go.

  I sat up, stretched, rubbed my eyes, and jumped into the shower.

  An hour later, dressed, coffeed, and fed, I showed up at the tour bus where most of the passengers were already seated. I looked around for Javier, but he was nowhere in sight. As I climbed on the bus, I froze. Dora was sitting in the first row. She didn’t say anything to me, but her face was hard and menacing. I moved to a seat farther back next to Tina.

  I whispered to her as we sat down. “She scares me.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Nothing can happen to you with all of us around you.”

  I relaxed. She was right. What could Dora do anyway? She couldn’t force me to drink tea on the bus.

  The coach started up and Rafaela spoke into her microphone. “Let me tell you a little bit about Oviedo. It’s a really interesting place. I want to fill you in on its history.”

  We all quieted down to listen. Rafaela always had good things to tell us.

  “Oviedo was originally a small city built around a Benedictine monastery in the eighth century by Fruela the First,” she said. “The Muslims destroyed it and Fruela’s son, Alfonso the Chaste, rebuilt the town.”

  “Sounds like a fun guy,” Sam said, winning a laugh.

  Rafaela soldiered on. “His successor, Ramiro, built a summer palace on Monte Naranco in the ninth century. We’re going to see that today. It’s amazing. What was called the audience chamber still remains and is now the Church of Saint María. There is no steeple. It’s a perfect example of pre-Romanesque architecture—a total contrast to the superb Gothic cathedral built in the town in the fourteenth century, which you will also see. There is a plaza and a lovely town with some shops you might want to investigate. Best of all is the El Raitán restaurant where we’ll go for lunch so you can enjoy the superb cuisine of Asturias—lots of hearty bean stews and marvelous apple cider.”

  Cheers went up from all sides of the bus. Rafaela laughed, “True art lovers, all of you heathens.”

  The coach stopped in front of the cathedral in the center of Oviedo. “Go explore on your own,” Rafaela said. “Meet me back here at noon for lunch. After that, we’ll go to Covadonga.”

  I entered the cathedral, which was breathtaking and elaborately Gothic, with magnificent rose windows and an altar carved with scenes from the life of Christ. Each of the small chapels on either side of the church held sculptures of saints. In one, there were statues of twelve musicians. The tombs of the kings of Asturias were in these chapels. We gasped at a Cross of the Angels made of wood, studded with jewels, a golden Cross of Victory with precious stones, and a silver-plated casket.

  I walked down the main aisle of the cathedral and looked at the figures of Christ carved into the altarpiece. The morning light shone through the tall windows onto the altar. I felt totally at peace.

  Outside, I took out my camera and took shots of the cathedral from all sides. I was photographing the carvings on the door, when it opened and Mark and Sam came out.

  “Getting some good shots, Gini?” Mark asked.

  “I could spend the whole morning taking pictures of this cathedral,” I said. “The lighting is different on every side.”

  “Why don’t you come with us to the Naranco Hill monument?” Mark asked. “We have something special in mind. We want you to take some pictures for us.”

  “Isn’t it like two miles up there?” I asked.

  “Yes, but you’ll love it,” Sam said. “You’ll especially appreciate what will happen there.”

  “Give me a hint, Sam,” I said.

  “I can’t,” he said. “We want it to be a surprise. Please come with us. How often do you get to see something built in the ninth century?”

>   “Not much in New Jersey,” I said, and slung my camera bag over my shoulder and followed them up the road to Naranco Hill.

  After our two-mile hike with lots of stops to sit down, we reached what is now called the church of Santa María del Naranco. It’s made of sandstone and marble and is a soft beigy color. There was no steeple. There were three arches in the middle of the building, separated by columns. The lower level was a crypt. To get to the main church on the upper level, we had to climb up a stone stairway on the outside of what was Ramiro’s summer hunting lodge back in 848.

  The inside of Santa María was decorated elaborately with medallions of birds, grapes, weird animals, and a Greek cross, which was the emblem of the Asturias monarchy. There was goldwork everywhere, sculptures, a fascinating combination of pre-Romanesque, ninth-century architecture with fourteenth-century Christian religious symbols.

  I was admiring the carving on the altar, when Mark said to me, “Gini, would you be our witness?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “We were going to get married when we got back to New York,” Mark said, “but we thought it would be really meaningful to exchange vows here in this building that started out a palace and now is a church. It suits our sense of the strangeness of life.” He looked at Sam. “You sure you want to do this? It probably is more a marriage here than back home.”

  Sam looked at his partner with a love that I could feel in my own heart.

  “There will never be anyone else for me but you, Mark. You know that,” Sam said.

  “I’d be thrilled to be your witness,” I told them, my voice choked up.

  Mark and Sam stood facing each other in this holy place, the light streaming through the windows as if it were blessing them.

  “Do you, Sam Thompson, light of my life, take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  I could see the tears in Sam’s eyes as he said, “I do.” He continued, his voice full of emotion, “Do you, Mark Fuller, my dearest friend, take me to be your lawfully wedded partner?”

  “With all my heart,” he said. The two men kissed in this ninth-century church in the middle of Oviedo, Spain.

  “I’m not sure you’re allowed to kiss in a cathedral unless you’re getting married,” Geoffrey said, coming up behind us with Danielle.

  “Oh, but we are getting married, Geoffrey,” Mark said. “Sam and I just exchanged vows. You and Danielle and Gini are the first to know.”

  “Congratulations, you two,” Danielle said, embracing each one. “We have to celebrate,” she said. “Geoffrey, let’s take them to that café in the plaza and celebrate with champagne.”

  “Danielle, it’s only ten-thirty in the morning,” I said.

  “I know,” she said, “but tea won’t do it. Come on. We’re in Spain, not New Jersey.”

  “Let’s go for it,” Mark said.

  We left the church. Outside in the warm air of northern Spain, I cherished the thought of these two friends who sanctified their love on this day.

  We found a little café in the middle of the square, and Geoffrey ordered the most expensive bottle of champagne they had. We were raising our glasses in a toast to love, Spain, and whatever happens next, when our friends descended upon us, all talking at once.

  “Champagne in the middle of the morning? What’s going on here?” Tina asked. “And where’s my glass?”

  “Gini, what’s happening?” Pat asked.

  “We’re celebrating Mark and Sam’s exchange of vows in the church up on the hill.”

  “Is drinking in the morning the custom in Spain?” Mary Louise said. “If it is, I’m all for it.”

  Geoffrey ordered several more bottles. When everyone had a glass of champagne, he said, “Here’s to Mark and Sam, who have joined hearts and souls with each other for life, and to whom I wish the same happiness Danielle and I have enjoyed for the last twenty years.”

  “God bless you both,” Danielle said, raising her glass.

  My friends all talked at once.

  “Is it legal?” said Pat, our voice of reason, sipping on a glass of sparkling water.

  “For us, it is,” Mark said. “But when we get home, we’ll make it legal in the state of New York.”

  “To the state of New York,” Pat said. “And to your happiness forever and ever.”

  Little by little our group grew. Denise ran up to toast us. Tom congratulated his friends and shared a glass of champagne with Janice.

  “Where’s Sylvia?” she asked him.

  “She’s shopping in one of those little stores,” he said. “Where’s Javier?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought he would join us on this trip, but something must have come up. Cheers, Tom.”

  “Cheers, Jan,” he said, clearly happy to be with her.

  Rafaela, wondering where her American tourists had disappeared to, found us drinking and celebrating.

  We told her about Mark and Sam’s exchange of vows in the church and she was thrilled. “This has never happened to me before,” she said. “I am so happy for you. Are you willing to continue this wedding reception at our restaurant, El Raitán? I know the owner will want to prepare something special for you. Everything there is good, but he’ll want to make something just for you. Bring the drinks with you.”

  All of us slightly tipsy—except Pat, of course—raised our glasses one more time. We followed Rafaela to the restaurant—small, and inviting looking, with a green awning over the tables outside.

  When she told the owner of El Raitán about us, he congratulated Mark and Sam and led them to the head of a large table that accommodated all of us.

  “We will make for you today, for this very special day in your lives, our most famous dish—fabada.”

  “Wait until you taste this,” Rafaela said. “It’s incredibly good.”

  “What’s in it?” Mary Louise asked.

  “It’s a kind of stew made of sausages and beans.”

  “Nice light dish,” I said. “I’m starving. Bring it on.”

  The owner treated us to six courses, each one delicious and much more than I could eat, but I tried each one: the fish soup, the fabada, some other kind of stew with kelp and vegetables, a potato filled with pork, and an onion stuffed with sausage, all served with white and red Spanish wines, and then desserts—a little cake, a crêpe, a cannoli.

  Tina said, “We’re supposed to dance tonight. I can’t walk, much less dance.”

  “I think we’d better skip dinner,” Pat said.

  When we finally staggered out of the restaurant, we thanked the owner for the feast and for making it such a spectacular wedding reception.

  Mary Louise managed to snag the recipe for fabada.

  “May your days always be as blessed as this one,” the owner said to Mark and Sam.

  We still had time before we had to get on the bus again. I’m not really a shopper, but I saw a little boutique that sold pottery.

  Janice, the champion shopper of our group, was already paying for something at the counter.

  “What did you find, Jan?” I asked her.

  “Look at this sangria pitcher, Gini. It’s really beautiful. I’d never be able to find anything like this at home.”

  She held up a pitcher decorated with flowers in vivid shades of red, yellow, orange, and green.

  “It’s beautiful, Jan. Will you invite us all over for sangria when we get back home?”

  “First I have to learn how to make it,” she said.

  “It’s easy,” I said. “Just pour a bottle of good red wine in there—Rioja is excellent—add around three ounces of orange juice, about two teaspoons of sugar—careful, you don’t want it to be too sweet. Put in an ounce of triple sec. Add some ice. Stir it all up and drink it.”

  “You have to tell me again when we get home,” she said. “I’ll never remember.”

  “Count on it,” I said.

  I walked around the shop, trying to pick out a pitcher. They were all so unusual, it was
hard to choose. I finally decided on one that had blue flowers on a white background. Blue is my favorite color.

  We left the shop and were just about to get on the bus when we heard bagpipes. We turned toward the sound and saw Mark blowing away on one.

  “Mark, you play the bagpipes?” I said. “Is there no end to your talents?”

  “I couldn’t resist, Gini,” he said. “This part of Spain has a very strong Celtic influence. They have their own bagpipes called gaitas. I’m of Scottish descent. I learned to play when I worked at a resort in Scotland one summer. I have one at home, but I loved this one when I saw it and decided to buy it.”

  “You going to put up with that, Sam?” I asked.

  “I’ll make him play it outdoors,” Sam said. “Way, way, way outdoors.”

  We got back on the bus where Tina showed us the exquisite handmade lace tablecloth she had found in another shop.

  “Your daughter Laurie will love that,” I said.

  Recipe for Fabada

  1½ lb large white beans soaked overnight

  1 lb salt pork

  1lb ham hock

  ¼ tsp black peppercorns, ground

  Pinch of saffron

  ½ tsp paprika

  2 tbsps. olive oil

  1 bay leaf

  6 garlic cloves, minced

  1 lb chorizos

  1 onion

  1. Put beans in a large pot of water and bring to a boil.

  2. Add salt pork, ham hock, ground pepper, saffron, paprika, olive oil, bay leaf, and garlic. Simmer for an hour and a half.

  3. Add chorizos and onion, peeled. Simmer for another hour to an hour and a half until the beans are soft.

  4. Discard onion.

  5. Slice the salt pork and the chorizos. Take the meat off the ham hock and cut it up into pieces for the stew.

  6. Mix the beans and the chopped meat and serve.

  Gini’s photography tip: Get vertical once

  in a while instead of horizontal.

  (Good tip for your life too.)

  Chapter 15

  Guess Who?