by Becca Bloom
“That’s the spirit,” I said, filling up two pink to-go boxes for the mayor and another with a dozen strawberry sprinkled doughnuts for the mom holding a little girl in her arms in front of the counter.
The busy work and Mammy’s encouragement cleared my mind. I knew what to do now. After getting the line under control, I’d cross the street and talk to Gus about the painting.
Just making that decision lightened the weight on my shoulders.
The pig-tailed girl licked her lips when I placed the box on top of the counter. “That’s happiness in a box, Mommy,” she said.
In that moment, I loved my job again. I’d said the exact same thing to my mom when she’d taken me inside an old-fashioned doughnut shop much like mine. It had been the week after my uncle’s plane crash. After seven days of despair, it had felt like the happiest place on earth.
The mom smiled at me and moved out of the way as Miss Patty charged through the door and past the line of patient customers.
I braced myself. It was bad enough she knew I wanted to help Gus find the jewel thief, but it would be much worse to have her witness me go to the police station to tell him what I knew.
“Jess, I’m so sorry! You were right. I should have listened to you,” she panted, trying to catch her breath as she leaned against the counter.
“What?” I stepped back in shock.
Abuelita took over, elbowing me out of the way.
I moved Miss Patty to an empty table.
My stomach tied into a knot, sensing disaster. “What happened?” I asked. Something bad must have happened for Miss Patty to completely change her mind.
“Please tell me you ignored me and talked to Gus, or I’m afraid Eduardo will be put away for a crime I’m certain he didn’t commit.”
“Whoa, was he arrested?” I still didn’t think he was the actual thief. His own paintings pointed at him, but I couldn’t believe it. And I couldn’t believe Gus would arrest him without convincing proof.
Miss Patty took a deep breath and clutched her shaking hands together. “After you left, Eduardo returned to the gallery. He was highly agitated. He was having second thoughts about selling the painting. I tried to encourage him. Artists frequently go through bouts of self-doubt, you know, but he couldn’t be convinced. So, I gave it back to him on the understanding he could return it if he changed his mind.” She took another deep breath and dropped her forehead to her hands. “Angel Flores found Eduardo on the street with his painting.”
I grimaced. Miss Patty had worked so hard to keep Angry Art Man away from Eduardo. “Did he try to steal the painting?”
“I think he tried to. They struggled over the canvas, causing enough of a scene, the policeman Gus had stationed outside my shop took notice. By then, I’d noticed that Eduardo needed my help, but I was too late. The policeman took him and that horrible man to the station.”
“And?” I asked, sensing there was more.
“Gus immediately noticed the stolen jewels on the painting. Jess, they suspect Eduardo is the thief! I was hoping that maybe you’d had time to soften Gus toward him. Now, with Gus seeing the painting like he did, Eduardo looks really guilty.”
I was angry at myself. Not only had I disappointed myself, but it had affected my friends. And that was unacceptable. I owned to my mistake. “I didn’t. I thought that maybe I was overreacting, and that Eduardo had merely painted what he’d seen in Dr. Montalvo’s office.”
Miss Patty moaned. “Like I told you. I’m so sorry, Jess. I was wrong. If I’d have taken you seriously earlier, I could have asked Eduardo where he’d seen the diamonds, then we could have avoided this whole mess. I’m so, so sorry.”
I flattened my palms against the table. “We’re both sorry, but dwelling on it won’t help Eduardo.” Think, think, Jess. Set emotion aside and use rational thought.
Washo was the most rational person I knew. “Let’s not panic yet. I have a friend who might be able to help us.” I whipped out my cell phone and scrolled through my contact list for my favorite flesh-and-bone homicide detective.
He answered on the first ring, his voice tense and low.
I knew I’d caught him at a bad time, but I continued anyway, giving him the details about Eduardo, the paintings, and the jewels as quickly and concisely as I could before he could hang up.
“Look, Jess, I’m in the middle of an investigation here. Can I call you later?”
“Washo, he’s in jail, and I’m fairly certain he didn’t have anything to do with the robberies.”
“What’s your proof?”
His blunt question was meant to get me off the phone quickly, but I had an answer. “Why would he paint the jewels if he’d stolen them? He’s not stupid.”
Washo grunted. “You’d be surprised what some people do. Never underestimate people’s stupidity.”
Clearly, he’d heard of my recent foray into crime. It was another attempt to get me off the phone, but I was like a bulldog with a bone. “What’s the worst-case scenario? Please, Washo, I need to know what we’re up against.”
Washo sighed impatiently. “Well, for the thefts of the paintings, the buyers would have to press charges. If he’s able to restore the paintings intact, without any damage, he may avoid consequences. It’s a long shot, but it could happen.”
“That’s good! No charges, no prison time.” I smiled reassuringly at Miss Patty, who leaned forward over the table, watching my conversation like a hawk.
He continued, “That’s the absolute best-case scenario, but don’t get ahead of yourself. While the paintings are probably the least of your worries, the jewels are another matter altogether. Some very important people were robbed. It’s not just a local crime. He’d go on trial in Quito, and they’d make sure he never left prison.”
I didn’t repeat that aloud for Miss Patty.
“What if, somehow, he’s able to return the jewels along with the paintings?” I asked, knowing how stupid my question must have sounded to a man accustomed to dealing with hardened criminals.
Washo chuckled. “Your faith in humanity astounds me. Really, Jessica, what’s the likelihood of that?”
“But what if it happened? What if the thief — whoever he or she may be — cooperates? Would the judge be more lenient?” I persisted.
“You really think the kid didn’t do it?”
“No, I don’t. But I knew there was a connection between the paintings and the jewels and I didn’t say anything … and now, he’s in custody.”
“You should have spoken up when you could. Gus is a good cop. He’s fair. He wouldn’t jump to conclusions. From what you’ve told me and the fact that you called me in the first place, it sounds like Eduardo’s given Gus reason to doubt his innocence.”
“I know, and it’s eating at me. I need to make it right. I need to do something, or I’ll feel guilty forever.”
Washo sighed again, and I prepared myself for another well-deserved lecture. “I know the feeling all too well.”
I hadn’t expected that. “You do?”
“In my line of work, I doubt everything. I have to. Otherwise innocent people go to jail and killers run loose.”
“So, what do you do?” I asked. Like a sinking quagmire, gloom pulled at me, and I desperately needed a plan of action to help me crawl out of it.
“There’s only one fix for it. Catch the thief in the act and get a full confession. You’re good at that. Just stay out of my department, okay? No dead bodies, and for goodness’ sake, stay out of jail.”
He’d get no argument from me about that.
Chapter 25
I closed the shop a few minutes early. We’d run out of the same quantity of doughnuts quicker than we’d sold the day before, and I figured ten minutes wouldn’t hurt us. If this kept up, I’d have to increase my flour order considerably.
The ladies stayed behind to tidy up the shop and get things ready for the next day while I marched over to the police station. I wanted to see what I could do to help Eduar
do — and find out why he’d painted those diamonds in his piece in the first place. I was also determined to find out about Angel Flores.
Nothing and no one was going to get in my way. I was a woman on a mission.
Gus was out in the reception area. I hadn’t expected to see him so quickly. “What’re you doing out here?” I asked, peeking behind him to see if I could spot Eduardo. He’d better not be waiting by himself in an interrogation room — or worse, in that awful cell I’d spent the night in.
He held his hands up as if to appease me. “He’s in my office, Jess. He hasn’t been accused of any crime, but I have to wait for our interpreter to drive in from Ambato so I can ask him some questions about the painting.”
Reasonable, thus far, but who knew when the interpreter would arrive? My aim was to get some answers, and if that meant speeding along the process, I’d give it a go. “You couldn’t ask Miss Patty to help you? She knows Sign Language.”
“She’s too involved. I wouldn’t trust her not to interpret what she thinks we want to hear, and then I’d have to book her for obstructing justice. No, it’s best for all concerned that I wait for the department’s official interpreter.”
He had a point there. I plopped my hands on my hips. So far, I’d gotten plenty of answers … just not the ones I needed. “And Angel Flores? Where’s he? Are you holding him too?”
Gus crossed his arms.
Hmm, now we’re getting somewhere.
“As a matter of fact, he is. He offered to stay.”
“How thoughtful of him,” I said sarcastically.
“I suspect it has more to do with the painting he was trying to pry away from Eduardo than his desire to cooperate,” Gus admitted, his arms relaxing.
Angry Art Man cooperating willingly? That didn’t fit in with the image of the cunning art and jewelry thief I had been cultivating of him in my head. “I don’t trust him,” I said plainly.
“I don’t either,” Gus said.
“Can’t you just arrest him on principle?” I’m not sure what the charge would be, but I was certain he was guilty of something.
Gus didn’t reply. He just looked down at me with his arms tightening over his chest. I wondered if he knew how grumpy he looked like that. Adi would have told him to lighten up.
Deciding it best to return to the purpose of my visit rather than challenge an officer who was rapidly losing his patience with me, I said, “Look, I came to check on Eduardo. Can I just see him? Make sure he’s okay?”
Gus looked down at me with a scowl. At times like these, I wished I was taller. I was convinced he was going to send me packing without so much as a glance at Eduardo, but I held my ground. If Gus wanted me to leave, he would have to ask me.
“Fine. I know you won’t give up until I give in, and I’m not too happy waiting around for an interpreter that seems to be taking his sweet time to get here. Do you know any Sign?”
I remembered what Miss Patty had told me about the importance of images to the deaf and Eduardo’s reaction to my comic drawings. “No, but I can draw. May I borrow some paper and a pencil?”
Gus considered for a while. “I suppose it can’t hurt. I trust you more than I do Miss Patty, and we can keep the drawings on file in case they’re needed. Come on. I have what you need at my desk.” He turned, motioning for me to follow him.
Eduardo sat in front of Gus’ desk, his hands clasped in front of him and his face downcast. He didn’t wear handcuffs, but he might as well have.
I waved at him and smiled.
Eduardo looked back down at the floor. His shoulders slumped.
I sat down beside him, grabbed the legal pad Gus shoved toward me, and got to work. I had only drawn a rough sketch of Angry Art Man when I heard Eduardo’s chair scuffle closer. I had his attention.
He tried to sign to me, but after a few frustrating failures to understand, I handed him the pencil and pointed to the paper.
Back and forth we went, taking turns with the pencil. My drawings ended with giant question marks (approved first by Gus, of course), and Eduardo’s drawings essentially drew a comic strip of the order of events leading to his detention in the police station.
I spun the notepad around for Gus to see.
“After Eduardo got his painting back from Miss Patty, he ran into Angry Art Man — I mean, Angel Flowers … er, Angel Flores — on his way to work. Angel smiled, so Eduardo thought he was just a nice man wanting to see his artwork. But when Angel grabbed the painting like he was going to take it away, Eduardo tugged back. A crowd gathered, and one of your guys saw the altercation.” I ran my finger along the drawings as I explained, adding my own thought when I reached the end. “Can you imagine how frustrating it would be for Eduardo when Angel pointed his finger at him and talked so fast, he couldn’t read his lips to understand what was going on? He thinks Angel accused him of something and that’s why he’s here. He has no idea it has to do with his painting.”
Gus pointed at the drawings and gave Eduardo a thumb’s up. “He’s right. His struggle with Angel is what landed him here. However, you’re right in assuming that I’ve asked him to stay because I’m certain he knows something about the jewels. I aim to find out what it is.” He held a finger up, indicating that we wait.
When Gus returned, he had Eduardo’s painting.
I had expected Eduardo’s reaction on seeing his piece to be one of relief, but he looked down at the ground and sighed before reaching for the drawing pad again.
He drew a picture of Patricio, then a picture of a family. There was a mother, a father, a girl, and a boy. He pointed to the boy, then to himself. Then, he pointed to the father and drew a line leading back to Patricio, encircling the gardener with the stroke of his pencil.
I almost swallowed my tongue. “Patricio is your dad?” I shook my head, repeating slower so he could read my lips, “Papa?” and pointing to the sketch of Patricio.
Eduardo nodded his head, looking everywhere in the room but at me or Gus.
I drew a big question mark and a zippered mouth on the paper. I wanted to know why he hadn’t said anything before.
Eduardo understood. He put his hands in front of his face and hid behind them in the universal sign of embarrassment. Then, he pointed to his father.
“His father’s ashamed of him,” I said under my breath between clenched teeth.
Gus shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon.”
My opinion of Patricio changed in an instant. I’d always thought him to be a mannerly gentleman. Now? I knew I’d have a hard time being polite to him when I knew he was embarrassed by his own son.
Upset and with more questions than answers, I pointed back to the picture of Angry Art Man. I drew him chasing after Eduardo’s paintings with stars in his eyes — like a man obsessed. “Why does he want your paintings so badly?” I asked aloud for Gus’ benefit.
Eduardo shrugged his shoulders.
After a few moments of silence, he pointed at the phone by Gus’ computer and the picture of Patricio.
“He wants you to call his dad,” I said.
Gus cradled the receiver against his ear, flipped the phone around, and pointed at the buttons for Eduardo to dial.
Patricio answered the phone, and I listened in while Gus explained why Eduardo was in his office with a tactfulness and concern I admired.
But the kind look on Gus’ face hardened when he hung up. “I want to find out why Angel Flores has been harassing Miss Patty and Eduardo before Patricio gets here. I’ll let you stay because you’ve managed to communicate with Eduardo and keep him calm, but I’m counting on you not to make a touchy situation worse.”
I put one hand on my heart and raised the other in promise, feeling like I’d just opened a puzzle box. A thousand pieces piled in a mound in front of me. It was only a matter of patience and persistence before they clicked together to allow me to see the whole picture.
I was close to discovering the truth behind the burglaries. I could feel it.
This time, I was going to trust my instinct.
Chapter 26
Eduardo scooted as far away from Angry Art Man as he could when Gus led him into his office and pulled up another chair.
I clasped my hands together and bit my tongue as a reminder to keep my cool. Between Patricio’s secrecy about a son he was too embarrassed to claim and all the trouble Angel had caused Eduardo, I was about ready to chew someone out Lizzy Bennet style. (Of course, I wasn’t refusing a proposal like she did, but she sure knew how to take a guy down a notch.)
Thankfully, Gus got right to the point. “I want to know why you’ve been seen loitering around Miss Patty’s gallery and harassing this young man, Señor Flores.”
Angel squirmed in his seat.
“I suggest you come clean while you have the chance before I book you for disturbing the peace in our quiet little town.”
Go, Gus! Adi would be so proud!
“Okay, okay. Look, I don’t want any trouble.” Angel shifted his weight and reached into his back pocket.
Gus looked as cool and calm as I was antsy. What if he had a gun?
Angel pulled out a billfold and flipped it open. “I’m an art dealer from Quito.” He handed Gus a business card.
Gus inspected it. “Your name really is Angel Flowers — I mean, Angel Flores?” he asked, casting me an annoyed look as if his bumble was my fault.
“It sounds better in Spanish,” Angel said.
“You have an odd way of showing appreciation for an artist’s work, Señor Flores. Do you often bully them to get what you want?” Gus asked sternly, looking up the website on the card and turning the screen around for us to see. It didn’t take more than a glance to see what was quite obviously a gallery of paintings for sale. A professional portrait of Angel Flores smiled at us from the right-hand side of the page. As a web developer, I had to hand it to Angel. His branding was excellent. Had I not known his personality to be anything but approachable, I might have done business with him based on his online presence.