Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities (A Happy Hoofers Mystery) Page 11

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I just want to go on feeling like this forever. You going to eat that flan? I haven’t eaten for hours and I’m starving.”

  “You’re in love,” I said, reluctantly handing her my fantastically creamy treat.

  “I’m just taking it one day at a time,” she said. “But, Gini, he’s so . . . so . . .”

  “Macho?” I said, smiling at her.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Who knew that’s what I wanted?”

  “Enjoy, Jan,” I said. “Listen, I’m going back to our suite and call Alex. I haven’t talked to him since we’ve been in Spain. I don’t have anybody to fool around with and it looks like it will be a while before we get anything else to eat. See you later.”

  Ricardo’s Recipe for Orange Flan

  Caramel sauce:

  ½ cup sugar

  ½ cup water

  Custard:

  4 eggs

  4 egg yolks

  ¼ cup sugar

  1½ cup orange juice (fresh)

  1½ tbsps. heavy cream

  ½ tbsp Grand Marnier

  ¼ tsp vanilla

  Zest from half an orange

  1. To make caramel sauce, cook sugar and water together for fifteen minutes, shaking, not stirring, until golden. When done, pour into six ramekins right away so sauce won’t get hard.

  2. To make custard, whisk together eggs, egg yolks, and sugar until light and frothy.

  3. Slowly add orange juice, heavy cream, Grand Marnier, and vanilla, and keep stirring until mixture is smooth.

  4. Pour custard mixture onto the caramel sauce in each of the ramekins

  5. Add orange zest to each ramekin.

  6. Put ramekins in baking pan half full of hot water

  7. Cook in 350-degree oven for about forty minutes. Test after 30 minutes. Tops should be barely formed, not hard.

  8. Serve at room temperature or cool for a couple of hours and serve cold.

  Serves six.

  Gini’s photography tip: Don’t shoot people

  from below—it shows all their chins.

  Chapter 9

  Nueva York

  On my way back to the suite, I noticed something on the floor in the corridor. I picked it up. It was a ring. I’d seen this ring before, but I couldn’t remember where. It was shaped like a locket. When I opened it, I saw a picture of a little girl. A sad-faced child with dark hair and pale skin. Where had I seen this ring before? I put it in my pocket and went back to our suite.

  I called Alex. He answered immediately. “Gini,” he said. “I’m so glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you all morning. I was going to call you later. What’s going on with Shambless’s murder? I tried to get The Times to send me over there to cover the story, but they want me to interview the president about his meeting with Putin.”

  “Sounds fascinating, Alex. What an assignment!”

  “Being bureau chief in Moscow came in handy. I’m now considered an expert on Russia. And I met you, which is even better. When are you coming home? I miss you.”

  “I’ll be home in a few days. Can’t wait to see you.”

  “Did they catch the murderer yet?”

  “Not yet.” I told him my theories about the possible suspects. “Which one sounds the likeliest to you?” I asked.

  “Either the bartender or Sylvia,” he said. “Just don’t get hurt, Gini. Make sure there are lots of people around you at all times.”

  “Nobody wants to hurt me,” I said. “But the inspector thinks I might have killed Shambless.”

  “What did you do now?” Alex asked, a smile in his voice.

  “Oh, I just said I’d like to kill him because he was so obnoxious. Nothing serious.”

  “That’s my Gini,” Alex said, laughing at first and then his voice turned serious again. “Be careful, though, please. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I said.

  Then it hit me. Right in the middle of our conversation I realized where I had seen that ring before. At the restaurant. Dora was wearing it when she asked Shambless for his autograph. That ring meant so much to Dora. She must be frantic trying to find it.

  “Oh, Alex, listen, I have to go. There’s something I have to do. I’ll call you later and explain.”

  “Go, Gini,” Alex said. “Do what you have to do.”

  “Good luck with your interview,” I managed to say before hanging up, jumping off the bed, and leaving the suite.

  I hurried along the corridor toward the lounge car. On the way, I heard a loud woman’s voice coming from one of the suites, the door ajar.

  “You’ve got to find it. Somebody stole it. I know it. I had it this morning. When I came back to the suite after the inspector questioned us, it was gone. It must have been Carlos who took it. Who else could it be?”

  Eduardo’s soothing voice said, “Señora Lindquist, Carlos would never steal your ring. Perhaps you dropped it on your way to the lounge car.”

  “No, I know I had it here in the suite. You have to search his room. Find my ring before he sells it.”

  I knocked on the door. “Excuse me, Dora,” I said, pushing the door open. “I was passing by. I couldn’t help hearing you say that you lost your ring. I found it on the floor of the corridor a little while ago. I was just about to return it to you.”

  Eduardo opened the door all the way, a relieved expression on his face. “Señora Miller,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

  Dora elbowed him aside and grabbed my arm. “Where is it? What have you done with it? Give it to me.”

  I took it out of my pocket, puzzled at her frantic tugging at me. “Here it is, Dora.”

  She snatched it out of my hand, and said, “You took your time getting it back to me.”

  “I didn’t remember that it was yours at first,” I said, bewildered by her rudeness. “Then I recalled seeing it at the restaurant last night when you asked Shambless for his autograph. You said something about it having a picture of your little girl in it. That’s how I knew it had to be yours. She’s so pretty.”

  “You opened it?” she said, glaring at me. “You had no right to do that. Don’t you know enough to respect a person’s private property?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, totally confused. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “Oh, never mind. Just go away and leave me alone.”

  Still in shock at her nastiness, I turned and left. Eduardo followed me and closed the door behind him. His face was anguished.

  “I apologize, Señora Miller. It was so good of you to find her ring and return it. She was going to accuse Carlos of stealing it. He’s never stolen anything in his life.”

  “I know, Eduardo. I heard her. That’s why I knocked on the door. I didn’t want her to get Carlos in trouble. She certainly was upset. I guess it’s because her daughter died and the picture of her in the ring is very important to her.”

  “That’s no excuse for the way she acted, señora. Thank you very much for your help.”

  “You’re welcome, Eduardo. Are you still going to sing when we dance tonight? You have a beautiful voice.”

  “I look forward to it. We will be eating about eight. We’re getting the food from a fine restaurant in Ribadeo. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “You’re amazing, Eduardo. You’ve handled these past two days superbly. I can’t imagine you’ve had much practice supervising a group of tourists after somebody has been murdered.”

  “I’ve learned through the years to deal with the unexpected, señora. I must admit, this was the most difficult to manage. Muchas gracias. I’ll never forget you and your marvelous hoofers. You’ve helped me through the worst part.”

  “You can believe we’ll never forget this trip,” I said.

  I headed back to the lounge. Mike and Mary Louise weren’t back yet. I looked at my watch. Six o’clock. If she was going to eat before the show and get dressed, she should be back soon. Mary Louise was as reliable
as Big Ben.

  I thought about my friend Mary Louise, whom I met at Redbook, where we both worked as editors right after I got back from studying photography in Paris for a year. We were both still single. She insisted that I drive with her and Tina from New Jersey to California and back in a ten-year-old Pontiac on a triple-AAA route that took in all the major must-sees in our country. I couldn’t resist her. It’s very hard to resist Mary Louise once she makes up her mind about something.

  We rode mules down narrow trails into the Grand Canyon, took pictures of Old Faithful geyser in Yellowstone National Park, marveled at Mount Rushmore, had drinks at a revolving bar in San Francisco. We plugged up the holes in the water hose in our old car with bubble gum, and drove through rain and fog. We saw everything and became fast friends forever, through my divorce, her marriage to George and her three children, the death of Tina’s husband. It cemented our friendship for the rest of our lives. I can’t imagine my life without those two. They’re like my sisters.

  I met Janice later when she moved next door to me. We bonded right away. I’m drawn to people who are different, who live by their own set of rules. As an actress, director, and triple divor-cée, Janice more than qualified.

  Pat was one of Janice’s closest friends and so, of course, became one of mine too. She was one of those people who think outside the box—my favorite kind of person. She was also a therapist and helped me with a lot of my problems when I was trying to decide whether to get a divorce or not.

  I ordered a cava from Juan and was drawn to the spectacular view from the window of the train. I could not get enough of the beauty of this part of Spain. Rugged and impressive, the Picos de Europa mountains rose on one side of us, while the ocean glistened on the other. The sea always speaks to me, makes me feel peaceful and part of it. I took a sip of my drink and noticed Shambless’s companion, Julie, sitting nearby. She was playing some kind of game on her iPhone, looking totally bored. She was wearing another of her low-cut tops that showed why she didn’t have to have much of a brain.

  “May I join you?” I asked.

  “What for?” she asked. I almost walked away, but something made me stay. Was she just a ditz who was all cleavage and very little brain, or a steely-minded murderess who took vengeance on a man who betrayed her? I sat down across from her.

  “I thought you might want someone to talk to,” I said.

  She glanced up briefly, her expression telling me she had no interest in talking to me at all.

  “About what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, sitting down next to her. “About Dick Shambless maybe. At the restaurant you seemed to like him a lot. And then, not so much.”

  “Right,” she said, and lit a cigarette. “What business is that of yours? I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m Gini Miller. One of the dancers.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You were the one who was snotty to Dick at dinner.”

  “Have you known him a long time?” I asked.

  “Not really. I met him through Steve, you know, the camera guy. I used to be a model.”

  “How did you get into directing films?” I asked. “I’m interested because I make documentaries too.”

  “I’m not really . . .” She paused. “A director. I work for Steve in his studio, booking clients, modeling—anything he needs doing. Like that.”

  “So Shambless was one of his clients?”

  “Yes. Shambless hired Steve whenever he needed publicity pictures. He got the idea to do this film about Spain because it would be a free vacation for him. He asked me to come along. To get funding from the network, he called me his director.”

  “You and Shambless seemed . . . oh, sort of... uh . . . close. I mean for someone he just met recently.”

  She looked away, and then back at me. “Like I said, that’s really none of your business, is it?” She started to get up.

  “I didn’t mean to be so nosy,” I said. “You’re right. It isn’t any of my business, but the inspector seemed to . . . oh, you know . . . He seemed to think you might have had a reason to kill Shambless. I thought maybe I could help.”

  She sat back down. I had her full attention. “You really think he suspects me?” she said. She leaned forward. She stubbed out her cigarette. “Well, see, Shambless thought it would be fun to take me along on this trip,” she said, talking fast. “I was really dumb. I thought it was more than that. He talked about leaving his wife for me. Said I was just the kind of girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.” She laughed without mirth. “And I believed him.”

  “You must have liked him a lot,” I said, not meaning it, wanting her to talk more about him.

  “Who could like him?” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I thought I’d have a good life with him. You know, travel, nice clothes, contacts. I told you—I was dumb.”

  “So what happened?”

  “In the restaurant he kept putting me off, not wanting to talk about us. I realized he was never going to leave his wife. He was just gonna have a good time with me here in Spain and then dump me when we got home. He was a total jerk.” Her face was twisted in anger.

  “What did you do after that?” I asked. I felt like one of those detectives on Law & Order: SVU. Mariska Hargitay, maybe. I always liked her. Maybe because she was Jayne Mansfield’s daughter and she grew up to be such a good actress.

  “When we left the restaurant he wasn’t feeling well,” Blondie continued. “I tried to take care of him when we got back to the train. I followed him into the bar, but he told me to leave him alone.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I left him alone,” she said, her expression hard, her voice tough. “Just like he asked.” She stood up. “If you’re through with your interrogation, I’m getting out of here.”

  She left the car.

  I was trying to figure out whether she had the guts to kill him when Mary Louise came toward me. She sat down across from me, smiling.

  “Was that Shambless’s cutie you were talking to? What’s with her?”

  “She’s no devoted fan of his, I’ll tell you,” I said. “She actually thought he was going to leave his wife for her.”

  “So you think she killed him?” Mary Louise asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “She could have. She was mad enough. Where have you been? Where’s Mike? Did you go to the beach? How was . . .” I looked at her glowing face as she started talking in a low voice, fast and eager, the words pouring out of her as if she were sixteen years old.

  “Oh, Gini. It was . . . It was so romantic. We talked as if we had known each other forever. He talked about Jenny and how much he loved her. He said he didn’t think he would ever meet anyone he felt the same way about again. And then he took me in his arms. I didn’t mean for it to happen, Gini. He kissed me. He said I was beautiful. He said he couldn’t help it, but he loved me. We were walking by the water, the rocks towering over us. It was as if we were all alone in the world. It was lovely.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I said . . .”—she reached over and grabbed my hand—“I said I loved him too. When he kissed me I wanted him to keep holding me forever. It was as if we were meant to be together. What am I going to do?”

  I put my other hand over hers and leaned forward. I was worried about this friend I loved like a sister. “Honey,” I said, “as we said before, Mike is very vulnerable. He misses his wife. You look like her. I can certainly understand why he loves you. But you’re feeling neglected by George. Mike is lonely. You’re in a romantic country in the middle of a murder investigation. It’s like a movie. But you’re not Meryl Streep! You can’t make any final decisions now.”

  “I know you’re right, Gini. But his arms around me, his kisses, the way he looked at me, I wanted it to last forever.”

  “What did you decide?” I asked. “You didn’t promise anything, did you?”

  “No, not yet.” She looked
over at the bar, caught Juan’s eye, and signaled for a cup of coffee. “Mike went off to talk to Javier to find out if there’s anything new in the investigation,” she continued. “I’m so glad you’re here. I really needed to talk to you.”

  “You know I love you, Mary Louise. And I know George has a lot of faults. But you love him—and you have children. You can’t throw it all away for a few minutes on a beach in Spain. I’m just asking you not to make any promises now that you’ll be sorry for when you get back home.”

  “I’ll try, Gini. Thanks. You’re such a good friend.”

  “How many times have you steered me in the right direction, Weezie?” I said, using a nickname she hated. “And I’m not talking about which road to take in California.”

  She laughed and took a sip of my drink.

  There was a disturbance at the bar. Eduardo was talking to Juan, who was obviously upset. Juan said in a loud voice, “Why do they want to talk to me?”

  “They just want to ask you a few questions,” Eduardo said. “It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll come with you.” He put his hand on Juan’s arm, but Juan shrugged it off angrily.

  Eduardo saw us watching them. He spoke softly to Juan in Spanish and they left the bar car.

  “What’s that all about?” Mary Louise asked.

  “It sounded like Juan is a suspect,” I said. “They certainly can’t think he did it.”

  “It’s hard to believe,” she said. “But remember what Michele said. She thinks Juan was angry enough to kill Shambless because he threatened to have Juan fired. She heard Shambless. She saw the look on Juan’s face.”

  “Juan’s worked on this train for years,” I said. “I’m sure he’s met lots of people as rude and obnoxious as Shambless.”

  “I know, but Shambless was especially irritating. He would drive anybody to murder—even you,” she said.

  “Especially me,” I said. We raised our glasses to each other.

  Mike came into the car and pulled up a chair at our table.