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

“What are you two beautiful women talking about now?” he asked.

  We told him about Juan. He was immediately serious. “Juan is no killer,” he said. “I’d swear to that in court.”

  “Michele seemed to think he was guilty,” I said.

  “No one took her seriously,” Mike said. “Shambless was rude to everybody. Everyone hated him except that fan of his, what’s her name . . . Dora?”

  “She’s a weird person,” I said. I told them the story of the ring and her reaction to my finding it. “But I feel sorry for her. After all, her little girl died. The child’s picture was in that ring. No wonder Dora was frantic at losing it.”

  “What happened to her daughter?” Mary Louise asked.

  “Dora said she was born with cystic fibrosis and only lived to the age of ten,” I said. “It’s obviously very painful for her to talk about. She didn’t even want to show the picture to Shambless in the restaurant when he asked to see it.”

  “She certainly adored him,” Mary Louise said.

  “Passionately,” I said. “I don’t understand it, but she worshipped the ground he walked on.”

  Eduardo came into the car looking distraught. His usual calm, reassuring manner was gone.

  “Eduardo, are you all right?” Mike called out to him. “What’s happening?”

  “Oh, Señor Parnell,” Eduardo said, coming over to us. “It’s terrible. They’ve arrested Juan. I know he didn’t do it, but several people heard Shambless yelling at him. They said they heard Juan say he wanted to kill him. But it’s not possible. He would never kill anyone. I’ve known him for years.”

  “Does Inspector Cruz think he did it?”

  “He must think so or he wouldn’t have arrested him. Anyway, the inspector said we could continue on the train trip. I feel terrible leaving Juan here—like I’m deserting him.”

  “Does he have a lawyer?” Mike asked.

  “Yes, I made sure he has a very good one.”

  “Then there’s nothing more you can do right now,” Mike said, putting a reassuring hand on Eduardo’s arm. “You can keep in touch with his lawyer and find out what’s going on. If you have to, you can come back here.”

  “I guess you’re right, Señor Parnell, but I don’t like it.”

  I felt so sorry for this kind man who cared about every member of his staff. I knew he felt like he was betraying Juan by handing him over to the police. I tried to think of a way I could help.

  “Do you still want us to dance tonight, Eduardo?” I asked.

  “It would be wonderful if you could, Señora Miller. But if you’ll forgive me, I don’t think I can sing as you requested.”

  “Of course, Eduardo,” I said. The guilty look on his face broke my heart. “Just come and watch us and maybe you’ll feel better. I’m so sorry about Juan. I don’t think he did it either.”

  “Thank you, señora. He’s a fine man and I know he will be cleared.”

  He bowed to us and went into the next car.

  Our “New York, New York” outfit was quintessential Liza Minnelli. We wore black tights, a white tuxedo shirt, and a black jacket that came to the middle of our thighs. I don’t mean to brag, but we looked sensational. Dancing has kept us tight and slim. Flat stomachs, great legs, and energy to light up the sky. Two blondes, two brunettes, and me the flashy redhead. Our performances on trains and cruise ships—even in local community centers and retirement homes—were the most fun we’ve ever had.

  Tina turned on the classic Sinatra version of “New York, New York.” We burst onto the dance floor, linked arms and kicked to the right and the left, swung into our tap routine, dipping, lunging, grapevining, time stepping, flapping, and shuffling off to Buffalo. We brought all our energy, our love of good old New York, New York, the city that doesn’t sleep, chasing our blues off the train out into the sea crashing below us, the Picos de Europa mountains rising above us. Dancing with our hearts, as well as our feet, we brought all the joy and fun of America to this northern Spain, narrow-gauge railroad trip. There was nothing narrow-gauge about our moves. Even on a small floor we managed to cover every inch of it to celebrate our city, our America, our love of life.

  When we finished, again the crowd jumped to its feet to cheer us, clapping and shouting, “Brava,” and “Way to go, Hoofers” and “More, more, more.” For a few minutes we had lightened the mood of the people on this train and taken their minds off the murder, even if only briefly.

  Javier, in the front row, tried to remain impassive, but he failed as he looked at Janice. He clapped and cheered and reached out to lead her from the stage.

  I heard him say, “You were incredible. You are beautiful. That was so . . . so joyous, what you did. So American.”

  Janice smiled at him. “Do you see why I love it?”

  “I’m beginning to,” he said. “It consumes you, fills you with happiness. It’s the way I feel about my work. It’s so intense when I’m working well and everything is coming together.”

  “Like this murder case?” Janice asked. “You really think you’ve found the right man?”

  He hesitated, looking troubled. “I hope so. He had the motive—hatred of the victim. He had the opportunity. He could have poisoned his drink. He just doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would commit murder. He’s being questioned now. Thanks to Eduardo he has a good lawyer who will help him.”

  “And then what?” I asked, butting in the way I always do.

  “And then we have to find the real murderer,” he said. “Why don’t you confess, Gini? It would save me so much time and effort.”

  “All right,” I said. “I did it. I ran outside the restaurant, crushed up some oleanders, and sprinkled them on his salad after he ordered steak and French fries. I’ve decided to become a vegan. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a steak eater.”

  Even Javier squeezed out a small laugh at that.

  “Will the train be able to continue on this trip?” Janice asked.

  “For now,” Javier said. He looked at her as if he never wanted to let her out of his sight. “I want to show you my Spain. It’s so beautiful, this part of Spain. You have to see more of Asturias and Cantabria and San Sebastian. I want to hold you and make you love my country the way I do.”

  He realized we were all around him. He stopped, looked at me, and said, “And you, too, of course, señora.”

  “Do you really want to hold me?” I asked, teasing him.

  “I want to embrace all of you happy hoofers,” he said. “You were really superb tonight. You will allow me to make love to all of you?”

  Sounded like a good idea to me. “We’re all yours, Javier,” I said, opening my arms to him. “Take us.”

  “You’ll have to fight me for this one,” Mike Parnell said, coming up to put his arm around Mary Louise. “She’s mine.”

  Mary Louise took his hand. “Come dance with me in the next car, Mike. I’m still high from our show.”

  They left, and Pat said, “What’s going on with Mary Louise, Gini?”

  “I think she’s getting in deeper than she means to, Pat,” I said. “I’m worried about her. I think she’s caught up in the excitement of this whole situation—the train, the murder, a very vulnerable, attractive man who is paying her the kind of attention she wants from George. She isn’t thinking about what will happen when the trip is over.”

  “Do you think it would help if I talked to her?”

  “Definitely, Pat. You’re good at showing her how to sort things out. She’ll listen to you. I’ve tried to get her to be careful, but she doesn’t really believe me. I know George is difficult—but I think she loves him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Pat said. “Listen, Gini, there’s something else I have to talk to you about. It’s really worrying me. You’re the only one I can tell this to.”

  “Of course, Pat. Let’s go back to your suite where it’s quiet and talk.”

  Tina was talking to Mark and Sam. We waved to her and headed o
ut the door. As we left the car, we saw Dora leaning over a wheelchair talking to the boy we had noticed in the dining car the day before.

  “Wonder why he uses a chair,” I said.

  “He has muscular dystrophy,” Pat said. “I was talking to his mother earlier. I told her I’m a therapist. She wanted to ask me about his little sister. The mother worries that she isn’t paying enough attention to her daughter because she has to spend so much time with her son.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said that every parent of a child with a disability worries about their other children in the same way. I told her about something I heard of recently called SibShops for the siblings of people with disabilities. It’s a place where they can play and talk about their resentment or anger or guilt and it stays right there. It’s led by a trained therapist. They play with other children with the same feelings. SibShops are all over the country. I told her I’d find out where there was one in her area.”

  “How long do children live with muscular dystrophy ?”

  “It depends. But they don’t usually live to adulthood,” she said.

  “That’s so sad,” I said.

  We opened the door to her suite and sat down to talk.

  “So, tell me. What’s up?” I asked.

  “This is very hard, but I know you won’t judge me. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Whatever it is, Pat, it’s not going to change our friendship.”

  Pat looked out the window at the lights of the little town down below.

  “It’s Denise,” she said. “I think I have . . . feelings for her.”

  “What do you mean, feelings? You’re sorry for her? You sympathize with her? You . . . Oh—you mean . . .”

  “Yes, I’m attracted to her.”

  I’ve always known Pat was gay. She’s never made any secret about it with us, her friends. Although she’s had affairs, she’s never found anyone she wanted to be with permanently.

  “You mean, you’re serious about her?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, Gini, but she’s not like anybody else I’ve ever met. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I want to get to know her better.”

  “You’re sure? I mean . . .” I stammered. “What if she . . .”

  “Killed Shambless? Oh, Gini, Denise could never kill anyone.”

  Skeptic that I am, I wasn’t that sure. Pat wanted so desperately to believe it, that I said, “Well, I hope you’re right. But what did you want to ask me about? You seem so worried.”

  “We’ve talked about her son a great deal. One time I hugged her and she clung to me. Then she kissed me. I mean a real kiss, Gini, not a small peck on the cheek. We both knew there was something going on.”

  “What happened then?” I asked. Pat had never really talked to me about her affairs with women. We’ve discussed everything else on earth, but she never told me any details about her love life. Pat is more private than the rest of us, perhaps because she had to keep the most important part of her life a secret while she was growing up. Before she accepted it herself.

  “Nothing. We pulled apart, but we looked at each other and we knew. We wanted each other but were afraid to go further. Gini, I don’t know what to do. It’s against all the rules of therapy to fall in love with someone you’re counseling.”

  “But she’s not a patient. She’s just someone you’re trying to help. What’s wrong with going further?”

  “It’s not that it’s wrong,” she said. “It’s that we’re both afraid to really get any more involved in case it all falls apart. If it’s just physical. If we . . .”

  “Listen, Pat,” I said. “That’s true when anybody falls in love. We never know if it’s for real or if the other person will love us the way we love them. But it’s worth it. It’s always worth trying. I didn’t know if Alex and I would last when I met him on that Moscow river cruise. It could have been a lovely interlude, a short affair. But it wasn’t. It lasted. Or at least it’s lasted until now. We’ll see when I get back. Give it a chance, honey. See what happens. If nothing else, you’ll make each other happy for this train trip. If it keeps on after you get home, that’s even better. Of course, there is the small problem that she might be a murderer.”

  Pat looked at me and smiled. Her whole body relaxed. “I just don’t believe that. You’re the best, Gini. I’ll see what happens. Denise is a wonderful person. I’d like her to be in my life, even if only for a little while. Thanks so much. I think I’ll go find her.”

  “You’d better wait until tomorrow—it’s late.” I yawned and opened the door to her suite. “I wonder what happened to your roommates.”

  “Yeah, where are they?”

  “I have a pretty good idea. I wouldn’t wait up for them. Anyway, sweetie, I’m going to bed and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Gini. I feel much better. You should have been a therapist too.”

  “Oh, right. Until I started yelling at some poor person who didn’t do what I told him to do. I don’t have your patience and understanding,”

  She chuckled. “Night, Gini.”

  When I opened the door to our suite, Tina was just getting into bed.

  “Hey, Gini. Where is everybody?”

  I told her about Janice and Mary Louise.

  “I’m glad somebody is having fun,” she said. “I wish Peter were here.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said with a sigh. “I miss Alex too.”

  “It’s only for a week,” Tina said. “Then, watch out.”

  I turned out the light.

  Gini’s photography tip: Be careful of

  backgrounds. Don’t let your photo show a tree

  sprouting out of someone’s head.

  Chapter 10

  What Were You Thinking?

  I was almost asleep when someone knocked on our door. The knocking grew louder. I heard a woman’s voice say, “Let me in.”

  I jumped out of bed. Tina woke up, and said, “What is it? What’s going on? Who’s there?”

  I opened the door. Julie Callahan, Shambless’s “director,” was standing in the corridor wearing the same blouse and skirt she had on when I talked to her earlier in the day. She was shivering, though it wasn’t cold.

  I pulled her into the room and wrapped my robe around her.

  “Julie, what’s the matter?” Tina said. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Steve,” she said, her teeth chattering, barely able to talk. “Oh, it’s terrible.” She collapsed on my bed and started to cry.

  “Julie, tell us,” I said.

  “He’s dead,” she said in a muffled voice. “I went to his room just now. We were going to have a drink together, but he didn’t come to the bar, so I went to his room. I knocked and there was no answer. I opened his door—it wasn’t locked—and I saw him lying on the floor. He had thrown up all over the bed. It was a mess in there. I tried to wake him, but it was no use. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here. I’m sorry to wake you, but I . . .”

  “You didn’t call anyone? Eduardo or Carlos? ” I asked. I didn’t mean to speak so sharply, but I couldn’t help it. What was she thinking?

  “I was afraid they’d think I did it,” she said. “You told me they already suspect me of killing Shambless. And I was in Steve’s room. I didn’t know where else to go but here.”

  When she saw the look on my face, she said, “Forget it. Sorry to disturb you. I’ll go back to my room.” She started to open the door and leave.

  “No, don’t go,” I said. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. Come back in and sit down. I’ll go find Eduardo and tell him what’s happened.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  I wasn’t sure of anything at this point. Should I shove her out of our room and call the police? Did I become her accomplice if I let her stay with us?

  Tina rescued me. She’s always the voice of reason. “Gini, go find Eduardo and tell him what happened. I’ll stay here with Julie until t
he police get here.”

  I left the suite and ran down the corridor toward the lounge car.

  Luckily, the train was not moving. It was always stationary at night and traveled during the day while we were exploring some town or historic place.

  It was almost midnight, so I didn’t expect to find Eduardo still awake. I should have remembered how hardworking he was. I found him in the dining car checking on the tables to make sure they were set up properly for breakfast.

  “Señora Miller,” he said, surprised to see me. “Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m definitely not all right, Eduardo,” I said. “Steve—you know Steve—the photographer who was with Shambless—he’s dead. Julie found him in his room. She didn’t know what to do so she came to our room. When she told me about Steve, I came to find you.”

  “Dios!” Eduardo said. “Go back to your room, señora. I’ll call the inspector immediately.”

  I went back to our suite. Tina, Julie, and I looked out the window until Javier and his officers arrived within minutes and climbed onto the train. A medical team pulled up in back of the police cars and followed them.

  I opened the door of our suite cautiously. The police and medics were running toward Steve’s room. Other passengers, awakened by the noise and lights, opened their doors. We could hear “What’s the matter? What’s going on?” in several different languages.

  Our unflappable Eduardo walked up and down the corridor reassuring people, telling them to go back to sleep, calming them down, not mentioning that someone else was dead. He just said, “Someone was sick and the medics have come to take care of him.”

  Julie sat on the edge of the bed, still shivering.

  “Can I stay here with you?” she asked. “I don’t want to go back to my room. What shall I do? They’ll think I did it. I was the one who found him.”

  “No, they won’t, Julie,” I said. “They’ll want to ask you a few questions, but they won’t think you did it.”

  I was just talking, saying anything to reassure her, but I knew they would certainly suspect her at first. When I looked at Tina, it was obvious she thought the same thing. As usual, Tina took over. She’s always good in a crisis.