by K C Ames
Doña Ledia Wallace, the owner of the bed and breakfast up the pathway from Dana’s property, showed up.
They had only met once, and she hadn’t been very friendly towards Dana, who didn’t know why. The owner of the bed and breakfast had looked at her with a noticeably stern visage and said “Sorry, no walk-ins, we’re full.” Even after Dana had explained she wasn’t a guest but her neighbor, there to introduce herself and say hello, Doña Ledia practically shooed her away, saying she was too busy with guests, and that had been the last she had seen of her until the day of her pop-up.
Dana had made the effort to be neighborly, so she was fine with that. She had done the same thing at the Pancha Sabhai Institute, a world-class yoga retreat established fifteen years ago by a well-known yoga teacher and guru from upstate New York who went by the name of Jai Das but his real name was Vincent Marino. Jai had been the complete opposite of Doña Ledia. He welcomed Dana to their “little patch of land” and invited her to attend one of his events, for free. He seemed thrilled that she had dropped by to introduce herself as the new neighbor.
Being from San Francisco, Dana was used to enlightenment-seeking people like Jai Das.
Doña Ledia walked up to Dana’s table set-up and looked around. “You’re not supposed to sell on the sidewalk without a permit,” she said with contempt.
“I didn’t know that, thanks for letting me know,” Dana said smiling.
Doña Ledia stood there for a moment or two but Dana wasn’t moving.
“Have a muffin, they’re delicious,” Dana said.
“No, thank you,” she said curtly and walked away.
And now, as if having Doña Ledia’s antics weren’t bad enough, the annoying tourist book collector Chris Smith who had been practically stalking her came barreling through a few folks that had congregated by the table and were chatting with Dana and Courtney.
He grabbed a muffin and filled a cup of coffee without asking or thanking Dana. “Any updates from the police?” he asked as he chewed on a muffin.
His rudeness knows no bounds, Dana thought, watching him scarf down the muffin in three bites.
“No updates,” Dana said.
He took a look at the books she had on the table, but they must have not interested him. He grabbed a second muffin and walked away.
Courtney looked at Dana, puzzled.
“I’ll tell you later about that guy,” Dana said rolling her eyes.
Just then the Gossip Brigade of septuagenarian and octogenarian busybodies showed up. Dana smiled. She found them endearing and annoying all at once. The entire brigade was there: Doña Amada, Doña Chilla, Doña Luz, and Doña Marta, a group of widows that had known each other for over fifty years and bickered and argued like an old married couple. Dana figured if anyone had any updates on the case, it would be these ladies.
They came on like a hurricane. Loud. Arguing with each other. Hugging and kissing Dana and telling her how sorry they were that her grand opening was ruined. Then they complained about what a royal pain Barry Shy had been in life and how Detective Picado was just as bad. But they didn’t have any new information to share with her. The Gossip Brigade had come up empty.
Freddy Sanchez, the motocross-riding police officer, showed up twenty minutes later saying that someone—Dana was sure “someone” was Doña Ledia—had called the police to complain about an illegal sidewalk sale.
“What’s going on?” Freddy asked suspiciously as he eyed the gathering.
Dana explained what she was doing there and assured him that she was not interfering with the OIJ’s crime scene, or as Dana preferred calling it, my bookstore.
Freddy looked around and checked on the yellow police tape. Since everything seemed in order, he nodded at Dana his okay with what she was doing.
“Any updates on the case?” Dana asked.
“Not that I’m aware. Detective Picado went up to San José yesterday to go over the findings with the forensic team and the medical examiner.”
That explained why he didn’t come around to force her to leave, Dana thought. Good timing.
After about twenty minutes of guarding the scene and after having eaten two muffins and downed two cups of coffee, Officer Freddy left, thanking her for the muffins and coffee, but warning her to keep out of the bookstore. He jumped on his motocross bike and roared away.
An hour later, all the muffins were gone, as was most of the coffee, so Dana and Courtney decided to wrap it up.
She sold only two paperbacks. Sue Grafton’s "K" is for Killer—and no, the irony was not lost on Dana or the customer as the awkward transaction was made—and James Michener’s Caribbean, one of his thoroughly enjoyable doorstopper novels.
But more importantly to her was that she was there to greet visitors, even the annoying ones like the rude bibliophile tourist and the snotty Doña Ledia.
She was able to let them know in person that she would be opening her bookstore as soon as the OIJ allowed it.
She was also able to chat and bond further with her Ark Row neighbors. Dana had gotten to know Big Mike well since she had moved to town. His surf shop was located next to hers. On the other side was an empty retail store. Next to the empty location was Pacific Realty. Next to Big Mike’s Surf Shop was Gavilán Tours, owned by Bill Kingman, an expat from Florida who owns the Gavilán fishing boat. He arranged deep-sea fishing trips for tourists. He had stopped by to introduce himself and to share his own Barry Shy horror story with Dana.
“Barry hated me. He was a militant vegan and didn’t like that I took out tourists to go fishing for marlin, snook, and sailfish. He said I was complicit in a fish genocide. He was quite the character.”
At the end of Ark Row was a small jiujitsu and CrossFit gym owned by Frank Reyes, a Costa Rican martial arts expert who had represented Costa Rica in the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. He didn’t earn a medal in judo, but he made the country proud, being one of the first Costa Ricans to make it to the Olympics. He was short, with a shaved head, and soft-spoken. His voice reminded Dana of Mike Tyson’s voice. But like Tyson, he gave off an aura that let you know that he was not a man to be messed with. Dana had worked out at his CrossFit gym, so she knew Frank well, and she was happy that he had stopped by to let her know he had her support. He also shared his story about being harassed by Barry Shy—martial arts expert or not, Barry got in his face for teaching violence. “Obviously you don’t know anything about the martial arts if you think it promotes violence,” Frank would tell Barry Shy.
At the other end of Ark Row was Ernesto and Dora Castro’s corner shop—a small grocery store, known as pulperías in Costa Rica.
Dora came over to say hello, explaining that Ernesto was manning the store, so he couldn’t come. Dana had shopped in their pulpería plenty of times since moving to town. It was a quick trip from Casa Verde when she needed a gallon of milk or Diet Coke. Dora didn’t seem to be as warm and friendly as she had in the past. Dana wrote it off as the circumstances surrounding her arrival to town and now being at the center of two different homicides might cause anyone to be a bit standoffish around her.
Hopefully when the murder was solved, she would come around, Dana hoped.
Dana and Courtney climbed into Big Red. “I’m glad we did this,” she said.
“It turned out well. Good thinking. Sorry I was being a Debbie Downer about this before,” Courtney said.
“No apology needed,” Dana said, firing up Big Red and driving back to Casa Verde.
“Slow… slow! Like you have coffee and muffins in here again,” Courtney pleaded as she clutched the sidebar handle.
Nineteen
The next morning, Dana was sitting on her favorite lounge chair on the veranda, reading a book and drinking coffee. Courtney was still asleep.
Ramón was already outside, working his machete on the yuca plants. A pile of yuca roots was stacked on the ground, making Dana crave garlic yuca fries. She made a mental note to herself to go fetch a few roots to fry up for later tha
t night.
She was lost in thought with Wally coiled by her feet, sleeping. Despite Wally’s snoring, she could hear the Pacific Ocean out in the distance. She took a sip of coffee. She was trying hard to not think about Barry Shy’s body lying on the floor. And her mind wandered to her shuttered bookstore. When will I be able to open for business? she wondered.
The impromptu pop-up left her wanting to open her bookstore more than ever, so she itched to call Detective Picado for an update on the investigation. She looked at the time: 7:40 a.m. I’ll wait.
At around eight a.m., a groggy Courtney stumbled out to the veranda with her own cup of coffee.
They exchanged good mornings, and Courtney plopped down on the sofa and yawned.
“How did you sleep?” Dana asked.
“Napoleon was putting on a show last night.” Napoleon was the nickname of the howler monkey that seemed to love to make a ruckus right outside of Courtney’s window. The howler monkey’s howl is one of the loudest on the planet, and can be heard from miles away.
“Between the howler monkeys, tree frogs, and crickets, whoever thinks they’ll enjoy the peace and quiet of the Costa Rican jungle at night is in for a surprise,” Courtney said.
“Funny. I’m so used to the monkeys now that I hardly notice them raising Cain out there,” Dana said.
“Not sure I could get used to that.”
“Back in San Francisco, we got used to the sounds of wailing sirens, congested traffic, and the guy having a shouting match with himself. I’ll take the jungle noise here over the concrete jungle any day of the week and twice on Sundays,” Dana said, smiling.
“You really have adapted to living out here. And you were the poster child for city living.”
Dana laughed. “Look around.”
But it was true. She was a rare find in San Francisco, a native. She grew up living in the Western Addition district of the city, a stone’s throw away from Alamo Square, which was overrun by herds of tourists looking for the Painted Ladies, expecting to see John Stamos and the Olsen twins roaming around the park like they did in Full House.
Dana never got the fascination with the Painted Ladies, a slew of multicolored Victorian and Edwardian houses. They were nice homes and all, but for the crowds they attracted, it was a bit bizarre. She’d take the natural beauty of the Guanacaste Province over a crowded park any day.
“I can’t believe I’ve been here two days now, and you haven’t asked me about him.”
Dana knew who “him” was. Her ex-husband.
“Jeez, so yesterday you grilled me about Benny and now you’re on to Phil.”
“Don’t get crabby with me, inquiring minds want to know.”
“He’s the last thing on my mind.”
“You hear he’s engaged?”
“Yep. It’s all over Facebook.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“That ship has long ago sailed away and is not coming back. What he does now with his life isn’t my concern. I’ve moved on, and so has he. It’s the magic of divorce.”
“Fair enough. I’ll shut up about men now.”
“Thank you. I’m going to shower.”
Dana was just stepping out of the shower when her phone trilled. It was a text message from Benny. He would be there in twenty minutes. They were going to have breakfast at the Qué Vista beach restaurant.
Dana quickly began to get ready and was done in ten minutes. She went downstairs, with Wally following her down the stairs.
A few minutes later, Courtney joined her.
“You got ready fast,” Dana said since Courtney was slow as molasses when it came to getting ready to go anywhere.
“I’m starving,” Courtney replied.
Dana’s phone rang. It was Benny.
“What’s up?”
“I seemed to have picked up a tail, so looks like you’re going to have some company.”
“Huh?”
“Picado is right behind me.”
At first, Dana felt panic, then she felt relief.
“Good. I was planning on calling him anyway. I want to know when I can open my bookstore.”
“Oh, brother,” Courtney said.
Dana and Courtney were sitting on lawn chairs on the front porch of the house when they heard the buzzing of the front gate.
Ramón looked over at Dana.
“It’s Benny,” she said as she pressed on the remote control that opened the front gate.
She saw Benny’s white Toyota Land Cruiser, and right behind him was Picado’s white Toyota Hilux pickup truck. Its windows were tinted so dark that she couldn’t tell who was driving until she was able to look through the windshield and saw Detective Rojas behind the wheel, as usual.
Both vehicles parked next to Dana’s carport, and everyone seemed to get out of their respective vehicles at the same time.
Benny shrugged at Dana and looked over his shoulder at the detectives.
“Detectives, what can we do for you on this fine morning?” Benny said.
“You can ask your client to steer clear of my crime scene,” Picado said as he made his way towards Dana aggressively. He glared at her and said, “Is that clear?”
“All I did was set up a small table in front of the locked gate of my bookstore, since it was supposed to be my grand opening and I was expecting people to show up. I wanted to be there to explain what’s happening and why I’m not open yet. Officer Sanchez was there, and he said it was okay as long as I didn’t go inside my bookstore or messed with the police tape you have all over my front door… which I didn’t do. At all.”
“Believe me, I already had word with Officer Sanchez about letting you stay. Now, I don’t want you within twenty feet of my crime scene until I say it’s okay. Am I being clear?”
“Yes, you are,” Benny answered for Dana, since he could tell she was fuming with rage.
Courtney wrapped her arm around Dana’s waist, trying to keep her calm.
Detective Gabriela Rojas stood with her arms crossed, looking down. Picado was her boss, so there was little she could do while Picado dressed Dana down.
Picado turned back towards his vehicle. Rojas snuck a sympathetic smile at Dana before turning to follow Picado back to the vehicle.
“Any idea as to when I can open my store?” Dana asked.
Benny closed his eyes.
Picado turned and yelled at her, “When my investigation is over, that’s when.”
They drove away as Dana, Courtney, and Benny stood there.
“I thought we agreed that even a pop-up wasn’t such a good idea,” Benny said, looking at Picado’s truck’s tail lights.
“You mentioned it. But I couldn’t just not show up. I spent months promoting the grand-opening day, so I had to do something to let them know what’s up and that I will be open for business as soon as that jerk gives me the okay.”
Benny shook his head.
“Can he really do that? Don’t you need a court order or something?” Courtney asked.
“Technically, you do, but it’s not worth the fight. Let him blow off steam and let him be gone versus having to deal with court appointments and all that jazz,” Benny said.
“I don’t think I want to go to Qué Vista for breakfast,” Dana said.
“Hey now, that man scares the living lights out of me, but I’m still hungry,” Courtney said, holding her stomach.
“I can’t handle running into the Gossip Brigade right now,” Dana said, since the old ladies liked to hang out playing chess and canasta in the little park in front of the restaurant.
“Let's go somewhere else,” Benny said, smiling. “You need a break from here.”
They drove twenty minutes up to Nosara, the biggest smallest town that served as the canton seat for the Nosara District, which Mariposa Beach was part of.
Benny took them to his favorite restaurant in town, where they had a typical Costa Rican breakfast of eggs, gallo pinto, plátano maduro—savory fried plantains—corn tort
illas, natilla cream, lots of fruits, and lots of coffee.
“So, do you think Picado is purposely keeping me closed because he doesn’t like me?” Dana asked as they walked from the restaurant with their bellies full.
It was hot and humid—in other words, a typical day in the tropics. All three had their eyes out for the granizado man, an old man with a pushcart that sold ice cone confections that were delightful in the sweltering weather.
“Detective Picado has all the charm of a viper snake, but I don’t think he would go that low as to prevent you from opening your store out of spite. Police investigations are slow. And because we’re in a remote part of the country, things go even slower. It takes hours for the forensic team to drive down from San José or Liberia, and Picado himself is coming from Nicoya, which is two hours away. So things will move even slower than normal. It’s just the way the cookie crumbles living down here in the tropics.”
“I hope you’re right. It just seems like he really does not like me.”
“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t like you, but I don’t think he would mess with you for sport,” Benny said.
“Gee, thanks,” Dana replied.
“Well, I love you, kid,” Courtney said. “Hey, there he is, the ice cone man!”
The old man must have seen their excitement from a block away, because he smiled and waved at them as he pushed his cart in their direction.
They each had a cool granizado. Dana and Courtney chose the red cherry syrup and Benny the blue grape syrup. The old man topped off the ice cone by drizzling condensed milk and powdered milk over the syrup and handing the granizados over to his eager customers.
The three of them sat on a park bench, eating the granizados as the old man moved down the sidewalk, looking for more customers.
“It seems to me,” Dana said, wiping her mouth clean from the ice treat, “that there is a long suspect list when it comes to who killed Barry Shy.”
“He wasn’t the most popular guy in town, that’s for sure,” Benny said.