I said, "Yeah. And I'm not sure I like the looks of the guest list."
We stepped out of the car and, with Mike, walked up the wide front steps of the house. It wasn't really a house. It was more like a villa. The front porch was broad and deep with a massive light in wrought iron that was suspended by four thick chains. The floor of the porch was covered in large terracotta tile with some smaller bright blue and green tiles inlaid at the corners in a diamond shape.
From there, we walked a few more steps up to an open door. Someone was playing a piano, a Cole Porter song, amid the sounds of chatter and laughter.
I stopped and said, "Does this look like the house of a state employee?"
Mike said, "If your state is New York and it's 1885. Then, yeah."
I replied. "Exactly."
As we were walking up the steps, the captain appeared. He was wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo and smoking a Cuban cigar. He smiled and said, "Welcome my friends."
Obviously this wasn't going to be a nice little dinner with the wife out on the patio with steaks. This was a formal affair.
I stepped forward and extended my hand. "Good evening, captain."
He shook my hand and pulled on it aggressively. "Good evening, Mr. Williams. Won't you please call me Nacho? All my friends do."
"Then, you'll have to call me Nick." I turned around and said, "You remember Carter."
"Yes, Mr. Jones. Welcome to my home."
"Call me Carter. Quite a place you have here."
"Thank you. It was my father's. And this must be Lieutenant Michael Robertson of the San Francisco Police, no?"
Mike extended his hand. "Call me Mike and I'm a former Lieutenant."
"Ah, yes. It's not good to be friends with someone who pokes a bear like George Hearst." He looked at me, grinned, and then actually poked me in the stomach with his free hand. It was oddly erotic but also more like the first punch in a fight than anything else.
"But, when you're rich, you can do anything, no?"
I smiled and asked, "And your wife?"
That veil came down across his face like it had this morning. "She is doing her part as the hostess tonight for our friends."
We were still standing on the steps. He stepped back and motioned for us to come into the large entryway. The main room where the piano and the guests were located was to our right. I looked in and saw that the men were all in tuxedos and the ladies were in their New York and Paris best. Quite a crowd of local swells, including that weasel Maldonado, who saw me and raised his drink in my direction.
I turned back to the captain and said, "Maybe this isn't a good night. I would hate for us to intrude on a party."
I got the "You're talking high hat, son," look from Carter. He gives me that look when he thinks I'm talking too pissant elegant. I just smiled at him.
"But, Mr. Williams, Nick." The captain looked mildly offended. "This party is in your honor." He looked at Carter and Mike. "Yours and your friends. We are so humbled by your presence in Ensenada."
I looked down at my trousers and said, "I wished you'd told us it was a formal affair."
The captain laughed. "Most Americans would have shown up in swimming trunks, no?"
I thought, "Yeah, if they'd been told it was a weiner roast." But I just smiled and said, "Well, thank you. Now, please introduce us to your wife. She must be charming." If it was a formal affair, then I would talk in my high-hat tone, even if I didn't dress the part.
The captain took this as the veiled insult that it was. He seemed to want his cake, his own little entourage of homosexuals, and eat it, too. He wanted to have everything. And I wanted to make sure he knew that he couldn't. He couldn't be a respectable married man and also flirt with any homosexual millionaire that happened along his path. And, I figured, he cultivated homosexual men.
This was confirmed when we walked into the larger room. In the back, I saw Ben and Carlo, also attired like ourselves, with two Americans in tuxedos. This must have been the dinner party Ben mentioned in his note.
There were about fifty people, all told, mixing and mingling in the room. This party could have been almost anywhere: Biarritz, Rio de Janeiro, New York. The men were all handsome. The women beautiful. The piano was now playing a Gershwin song.
An elegant woman emerged from the crowd and came up to us. She looked at the captain and said, "Hello, darling." Her voice was pure Vassar. She had a light brown complexion, like her husband, with dark eyes, and upswept black hair held into place with an array of pins. She wore a dark navy gown that was in the style of the New Look and fit her very well. As a doll, she was perfect. And, I imagined that, when she wasn't needed for functions, she was put back in a box somewhere.
She extended her hand, the absolute tell of a Seven Sisters graduate, and said, "Mr. Williams, I am so glad you were able to join our little party tonight." I smiled and said, "It's a pleasure." I was still at sea as to titles, not to mention the fact that I refused to massacre the Spanish language by trying to pronounce any of it. So, I just waited and let her tell me what to do next.
"Please call me Rosa."
I smiled, "I will be happy to. And, you must call me Nick."
Her eyes sparkled. "I will, Nick. Now, who are your tall friends?"
I watched Carter handle the offered handshake with a bit more ease than before. After names were exchanged and agreements made to use first names only, darling, she said to him, "You are much more handsome in person than your photograph. Much more." She turned to me and said, "You are a lucky man, Nick."
I thought, "Well, aren't we all just a bunch of free love nuts here in Greenwich Village?"
I nodded and smiled. I decided not to stick it back to her by commenting on how lucky she was. That just wasn't fair.
Mike had on his happy monster face, which was always unusually attractive and unexpected compared to when he was unhappy. She took him by the arm and said, "There's someone I want you to meet. I think you will like him very much." He smiled down at her and let her take him over to the far corner of the room where two Mexican fellows, both very attractive, were standing and watching Mike's approach like two well-behaved kids whose mommy was bringing them their most favorite thing. They were brimming with anticipation.
I looked around and wondered about this place. On the one hand, there were plenty of married couples. There was at least one highly corrupt official, in the person of Maldonado, along with his three pistoleros, who were handsomely turned out in tuxedos. Handsome maybe wasn't the word. But they did look good.
I heard the captain say to Carter, "I hope you like the poker. I want to have a game tonight, just the boys." It was possibly the most lecherous thing I'd ever heard which, having spent a few nights at the Black Cat in North Beach, was saying something.
Carter laughed and said, "Sure. But you have to watch out for Nick. He has a great poker face."
"A poker face?" asked the captain. Then, he got it. "Yes, I see. Like a stone, no?"
Carter replied, "Yes." I watched the captain who was now flirting with my husband. He seemed to be enjoying it. He looked down at me and his eyes were dancing.
. . .
Dinner was a casual buffet. Casual, that is, if you call piles and piles of caviar casual. This was the kind of food that I'd seen when I was a kid growing up in that pile of rocks on Nob Hill. This was what my mother served at her galas and functions, when she was still around. Most of what was laid out on Rosa's table was unfamiliar to me, but there were some dishes that I remembered from the good parts of the bad old days.
However, it looked like Carter might starve. The captain, who had taken it upon himself to serve as a tour guide, leading Carter through the deep jungle of haute cuisine, had taken my husband away to try to lure him into eating something new for a change. For myself, I liked lump crab meat with lime juice, oysters covered in hot sauce, and mounds of caviar and hard-boiled egg white with thin crackers. They brought back one of the few happy memories of my childhood.
At one point I noticed I was all alone. I was standing near the piano listening to the man play a Hoagie Carmichael tune and watching the captain practically feed Carter by hand over near the buffet. I had to admit, the visual image was appealing even if it what it meant was not.
Suddenly, Rosa was at my elbow. "I see you like caviar."
"Your buffet reminds me of the ones my mother would have at her parties."
"And how is your mother?" It was the kind of question that I always found off-putting, even though I knew it was meant well.
"I don't know. I haven't heard from her in almost twenty-five years."
Rosa looked sad. And I didn't think it was an act. "I am sorry. Perhaps we can talk about happier things. What do you think of my husband?"
If I didn't have such a good poker face, as Carter had said, I would have spit out the champagne I had just taken a sip of. Instead, I simply swallowed it and said, "I think he's a very good policeman."
"Nick. I know the score." I looked at her. The dialogue coming out of her pretty mouth was amusing.
I smiled. "Really?"
"You must know about these kinds of marriages. Your friend Taylor was about to do the same thing." She paused and looked around the room. "I have several close friends I knew at Bryn Mawr." So, not Vassar. But a good guess.
I nodded. "I hear it's a great school for making friends like that." She laughed. "Yes, it is. My friends come to see me from time to time. Sometimes they stay for months. We go to the beach, take trips to Mexico City, or Paris, or wherever she wants to go. We have a lovely time."
"No one local?"
"These things are best if they are not local. Too many messy entanglements."
I looked at the captain's brother, who was watching us. "And how do you like your brother-in-law?"
Her face closed over. "He is family."
I nodded. "I understand."
That really seemed to unnerve her. "Well, enjoy the party. It's all for you." And, with that, she sailed off to chat with a woman who had been waiting by a nearby window. I suddenly realized that this might be one of the Bryn Mawr friends. I saw Rosa's face relax into a genuine smile as she turned to look at her guest. She leaned towards the woman, said something, and they both laughed as only lovers do.
I had only briefly talked to Ben and Carlo earlier. They had introduced their L.A. friends, James and Roger, who both worked on the production side of movies. In about thirty seconds, I was reminded why I hated the southland and had moved away.
Considering that I was supposed to be the guest, or one of the guests, of honor, I had been honored very little. The captain was trying to seduce Carter by feeding him. Rosa was flitting around but not making any introductions. And, the rest of the group seemed to steer clear of me. I couldn't blame them. As a Victorian-era great-aunt of mine (one of Paul's harridan sisters) had once said about a woman who had made her money on The Barbary Coast, "She isn't nice to know."
That was my position here. I was on stage, to be seen, but not to be approached. So, I stayed close to the other performer, the pianist, an older American man. When he took a break, I asked him where he was from. Des Moines was the answer. Jonathan was his name. And he was living off a small inheritance from a distant cousin and never planned to return to Iowa. I offered to bring him a drink. He asked for a gin and tonic, so I brought him one.
When I returned, he was flanked by Maldonado and the pistoleros. They weren't talking to him, but he looked nervous. I handed him the drink across the front of the captain's brother. He took it and drank it thirstily.
I looked up and saw Maldonado looking at me. I asked, "And, how are you tonight, Mr. Maldonado?"
"I am well, thank you for your interest, Mr. Williams."
"And your friends?" I looked at the assembled three.
"They are also very well."
I said, "Why don't we let Jonathan get back to playing the piano?"
I walked away. The brother grabbed me by the shoulder. Maldonado said, "I think we need to have a talk."
I pulled my shoulder away and said, "I'm kinda busy right now."
"You seem to be quite alone, Mr. Williams."
I looked around and noticed I was. The other party guests had been giving Maldonado and his pals a wide berth, as well. Carter was nowhere to be seen. Actually, none of my buddies nor the captain were anywhere.
I said, "What do you want to talk about?"
"Please. Let us go outside."
I nodded and followed. I was hoping that by moving around, I could find someone. But, as we passed into the entry hall and down the front steps to the big porch with the massive light, no one was to be found.
The three pistoleros stayed up on the steps, between us and the door. The wind was picking up and the smell of rain was in the air.
I looked at Maldonado and wondered what this was all about.
He stood there, looking at me, as though he was assessing me. "You said to me last night that you have no interest in buying the hotel."
"Yes. None whatsoever."
"Then why are you having long conversations back and forth to the States?"
Was he really this stupid?
"Perhaps you don't know that, early this morning, a friend of mine was murdered."
He looked at me like I was telling him how water is wet. "And, so?"
"And, so, I have been talking to a client about that murder." This wasn't exactly true. Eddie was definitely not a client. But I didn't want to say that I was investigating a murder in order to make sure the police knew it wasn't Jeffery. Or any of the rest of us.
"Why do I not believe you? Why else would you come here? You obviously were not prepared to be here." I felt like I was falling through the looking glass. Could he really be this obtuse?
I looked at him closely. And then, I realized, he might very well be this stupid. He had some sort of passion for that property. So, I tried a different tack.
"What is your interest in this property?"
He looked at me. "I will be owner of it. That is my interest."
"But you don't want to buy it?"
"I will be owner."
How did this man get into elected office? How was he expecting to be elected governor? Was he relying on intimidation? It would have to be terror, not strategy or brilliance.
"So, you plan to expropriate the hotel? As governor?"
He preened. Oh, for Pete's sake.
"Yes."
"Well, I'm sure you won't have any trouble with that."
"Not as long as some American millionaire stays away."
"But, I thought foreigners couldn't buy property in Mexico?"
"They cannot."
"Then what's your worry?"
"Your friend. The tall one. He is making love to Doña Rocha."
Oh, for the love of Mike!
"No. He is being friendly with her. To help her out. That's all."
At that moment, through some happy divine intervention, a very bright lightning strike happened, followed quickly by a clap of thunder and darkness everywhere as the lights in the house went out. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the change. Several people were talking loudly in the house. The piano continued to play, which was a nice touch, I thought.
I watched Maldonado's shadow as he walked back up the steps to confer with his buddies. I stayed where I was, hoping the lights would come back on while knowing I wasn't getting back in the house the way we'd come out. Not right away, at least.
After about a minute more, I heard a diesel engine roar to life outside the house and then the lights slowly came up. When I looked towards the house, Maldonado and company were gone. I walked back in and began to search for any of my company.
Chapter 20
Home of Captain Ignacio Esparza
Tuesday, May 26, 1953
Later in the evening
I stood in the entry hallway and, to be honest, I was angry. I'd been abandoned. And I don't like that. Ever.
I looked int
o the big room. The party was back in swing, thanks to the generator. Jonathan was back to Gershwin.
I looked down the dark hallway. I saw a door on the right that was closed but there was a light creeping out underneath.
Walking up to the door, I paused and listened. I could hear several male voices. I wondered if they'd started the poker game without me.
Being the gentleman that I am, I knocked on the door. The voices all got quiet. I knocked again.
"Who is it?" It was an American voice, but not one I recognized.
I decided to just walk in.
And, when I opened the door, what I saw was surprising and entertaining. It involved Ben, Carlo, their two friends from L.A., a room full of discarded shirts and trousers and socks, a billiard table, and not much else.
I quickly closed the door but not before I noticed that Ben's reaction was embarrassment and Carlo's was defiance. I liked that about Carlo. But I had to wonder why the hell they didn't lock the door.
I turned around and moved back into the big room with the party. I wondered where Mike and Carter could be. This time I saw Rosa talking with an older woman, who had a grande dame look to her.
I walked up to Rosa with a forced smile. She saw me and left her guest to intercept my approach. After all, I was just not nice to know.
"Hello, Nick." She smiled brightly.
"Hello, Rosa. Do you know where I might find my friends?"
"Did they not invite you to the poker game?"
"I guess not. Do you know where that might be?" I was getting real sore.
"Certainly. They are in the study. If you go through here." She gestured towards a door next to where the buffet was laid out. The offerings had been changed to dessert since I'd last seen the table.
I said, "Thank you." I don't like being left out of a party. And this was now twice in a row. I had the very strong feeling that the captain was getting in his revenge for my pointed remarks about his wife earlier. Of course, if I had known how convenient this marriage was, then I would have laid off. But this night was topsy-turvy and nothing, so far, was as it appeared to be. The cozy get-together with steaks on the patio was caviar for fifty. The guest of honor was not honored. The scary, corrupt politician was an idiot. The elegant wife had a girlfriend.
The Amorous Attorney (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 2) Page 13