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

  “You can stay in here with Gini,” she said to Julie. “I’ll bunk in with Pat. There’s at least one empty bed in her suite tonight. And don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  She gathered up her things and left the suite.

  I looked at Julie. I didn’t know whether she was going to kill me next or if she was innocent. I thought, What if she did kill Steve? What if she killed Shambless because he wouldn’t marry her? Then Steve found out she did it, so she killed him too. I could be in the same room with a murderer.

  A loud banging rattled our door. I opened it and the inspector pushed me aside and confronted Julie.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Julie told him about finding Steve.

  “And you came here instead of reporting his death to the police, or Eduardo, or somebody in charge?” he said. I had never seen him like this, coldly angry and accusatory.

  “I was scared,” she said. “Gini said you suspected me of killing Shambless. I was afraid you’d think I killed Steve too. I didn’t know what to do. I just ran and came here.”

  “You reported a death on this train to a couple of dancers?” the inspector said.

  “I told you, I was so upset, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “They’re certainly the first people I’d come to if I discovered a body lying on the floor in a train,” Javier said.

  Julie shrank under his sarcasm. She appeared to be on the verge of tears.

  “What did you do when she told you what had happened?” he asked me. “Decide that you would solve this murder by yourself ?”

  “I ran to get Eduardo and told him to call you,” I said, standing up to my full five-feet-three and looking him in the eye.

  The inspector addressed Julie again. “Did the victim say anything to you earlier that might have given you a clue about who would want to kill him?” Javier asked.

  “No, he just kept talking about his camera,” she said. “It was gone. Somebody stole it. It had most of the footage for the documentary. He was going crazy.”

  “But you didn’t discuss with him why someone would steal it?”

  “Well, he did say there might have been something on the film that would give a clue about who murdered Shambless, but he couldn’t remember anything suspicious,” Julie said. “He was taking shots of the town and the restaurant and the passengers on the bus. I think he thought somebody stole the camera because it was expensive and they were going to sell it. Somebody who worked on the train, maybe.”

  Javier motioned to one of his officers.

  “Please go with this officer, Miss Callahan,” he said. “I want to ask you some more questions at headquarters.”

  “But I didn’t kill him,” Julie said. “I just found his body. He was my friend. Why would I kill him?”

  “You’re not a suspect, Miss Callahan,” the inspector said. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want to talk to you in a more private place.”

  Julie straightened up. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

  She left our room and was escorted off the train by a police officer.

  Javier looked at me.

  “You were going to let a possible murderer spend the night here in your suite?” he said. “Gini, what were you thinking?”

  How do I get myself into these things? I wondered. I’m bopping along making films, dancing on cruise ships and trains, perfectly happy, and all of a sudden I’m the sneaky person in a crime scene!

  “Hold it, Javier,” I said, calming down a little. “I ran to tell Eduardo the minute she came in here and told us what happened. I wasn’t going to throw her out of our room at a time like that.”

  He looked at me and shook his head. “You’re lucky you’re still alive,” he said. “Good night.”

  He left. I tried to sleep that night but didn’t have much luck. I tossed and turned and wrestled with the events of the night, trying to figure out what I should have done, what I did wrong. As usual, I blamed myself for not doing the right thing. Whatever that was.

  The next morning Tina and Pat knocked on my door. They came in and sat on the bed.

  “Where’s Julie?” Tina asked.

  I told her about the inspector’s visit.

  “I’ve never seen him like that,” I said. “He was furious at us for taking Julie in, Tina. What were we supposed to do, tell her to go away when she had just found Steve’s body?”

  “Or killed Steve,” Tina said. “She could have killed him, Gini.”

  “If she had killed him, would she have come here?” I asked.

  “She probably thought it was better than going to the police,” Pat said.

  “So she’s at police headquarters now?” Tina asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Not under arrest, Javier said. Just for questioning.”

  “Sounds like arrest to me,” Pat said. “I can’t believe there was another murder on this train. Shouldn’t we go back home before one of us ends up dead?”

  “I feel like we’ve been through all this before, said all this before,” I said.

  “Think Russian river cruise,” Tina said. “People were murdered on that trip too. What is it about us?”

  “We’re like flypaper,” I said. “Only we attract murderers instead of flies. I’m going to the dining car to find out what’s happening. Want to come?”

  “We’ll meet you there,” Tina said.

  I dressed quickly and headed for the breakfast buffet.

  Javier was there waiting for the other passengers to show up.

  “Javier,” I said. “What’s happening?”

  “Gini, go get some coffee and sit down somewhere,” he said. “I have to tell the passengers what has happened and then check with the medical examiner.”

  “Where’s Julie?” I asked.

  “We’ve released her for the time being,” the inspector said.

  Javier saw my expression and gave me a gentle push toward my friends. “Relax, Gini,” he said. “I’ll arrest you later.”

  I hoped he wasn’t serious, but you never know with Javier. I joined my gang.

  The dining car soon filled up with all the other passengers, sleepy-eyed and anxious as they poured coffee and nibbled on pastry that Eduardo had supplied.

  We found Mike and Mary Louise at one of the tables holding hands. They were talking to each other as if there were no one else in the world, no one else in the car. Mary Louise looked up as we approached her table. “Hi, guys,” she said. “What’s happened? What are you doing here so early?”

  “Steve—you know, Shambless’s camera guy—was killed last night. They found his body in his room.”

  “You’re kidding?” Mike said. “I wonder why Eduardo didn’t call me. I’ll be right back.” He went over to Javier and talked earnestly with him for a couple of minutes.

  When he came back, he said, “At least we know it wasn’t Juan. Couldn’t have been. He was in jail. They’ll have to let him go now.”

  He sat down across from Mary Louise again. “Looks like we’re stuck on this train. I wanted to show you Luarca. It’s a little fishing village, all white houses and blue sea and little boats on the water. You’d love it.”

  “How can you even think about sightseeing?” Mary Louise said, her loving expression turning into annoyance. “Who cares about white houses and little boats? Someone just got killed. Another person on this cruise is dead.” She got up and left, clearly distraught.

  Mike watched her leave the car. When he turned back to us, he said, “She’s . . .”

  “She’s married, Mike,” I said, sitting down across from him. “Stay a minute, will you? I want to talk to you.”

  Pat and Tina headed for the buffet table.

  “You don’t have to tell me, Gini. I know she’s married. But she doesn’t really love her husband.”

  “You don’t know that,” I said. “I’ve known her all the time she’s been married to George—twenty years now. Every marriage has good times
and bad. She does love George, but when she left for this trip, he was inattentive and distracted by business and worries about his job. Then she came on this trip and met you—attractive, attentive, vulnerable, needing someone to love again. Mary Louise looks like your wife.”

  “But I wouldn’t have fallen for just anybody. Mary Louise is bright and kind and interesting and beautiful. She’s fun to be with. She’s . . .”

  “She’s like Jenny,” I said.

  He nodded his head. “Yes, I know. She’s the first person in a long time I can imagine spending the rest of my life with.”

  “Think, Mike,” I said, trying to talk calmly. I tend to talk too fast and too excitedly when I’m upset. This time I knew I had to sound logical, reasonable. I cleared my throat and continued. “She has three children. Think what a divorce would do to them. Her whole life would be disrupted. George really does love her. I know he doesn’t show it all the time, but what husband does? I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “I know you mean well, Gini, but I love her.”

  He stood up, put both hands on the table, and leaned closer to me. “And I’m not going to let her get away.”

  He left the car just as Janice came in and walked over to my table where Pat and Tina had joined me.

  “Missed you last night, Jan,” Pat said.

  Janice smiled. “I know, Pat. Javier took me down to his boat. We were having the best time drinking cava, talking, when they called him about midnight and told him to get back to the train immediately. That there had been another murder. We rushed back here.”

  Janice looked a little rumpled, but beautiful just the same. Wish I could do that.

  “Isn’t he perfect?” she said.

  “Whatever happened to ‘Me strong woman, You supportive man’?” I asked. I can’t help it. I just say these things.

  “With him, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “I want a man who takes charge, watches over me, keeps me safe. Especially a man who looks like that.”

  “Are you sure you’re Janice Rogers?” Tina said. “The Janice Rogers who wants to live her life her way, who doesn’t want to live through her man? The woman who always says, ‘I am woman, hear me roar.’ That Janice Rogers.”

  “I used to be her,” she said. “But I’ve decided I don’t really want to roar. I just want to purr. However, right now I want to snore. I’m going to go take a nap.”

  “Don’t wake Mary Louise,” Pat said. ”She was out all night, too, and is probably asleep in your suite.”

  “Our Mary Louise?” Janice said. “Our sweet little housewife married to rotten George? Mary Louise who never does anything wrong?”

  “She hasn’t done anything wrong—yet,” I said. “But she’s getting close. And incidentally how, uh, wrong did you get last night?”

  “None of your business, my dear.”

  I wish people would stop saying that to me.

  Javier went to the front of the lounge and rapped on the table to get everyone’s attention.

  “Señores and señoras, I’m afraid I must ask you to stay on the train for a while. There has been another murder.”

  Some of the passengers gasped. Some said, “Another murder? What kind of a train is this?” “I’m getting out of here while I’m still alive.” Some sat down and put their heads in their hands.

  Javier waited until the noise died down. Then he said, “Steve Bergman, the photographer who was working with Shambless, was found dead in his suite last night. It looks like he was poisoned the same way Señor Shambless was, with oleander poison. If any of you has information about Señor Bergman, if you saw him last night after the dance performance, if you can tell us anything at all, please let me know right away.”

  Nobody said anything at first. We all looked around the room, not meeting each other’s eyes. Finally, Dora stood up and confronted the inspector.

  “Why don’t you ask that blond girlfriend of Mr. Shambless?” she asked. “I don’t see her. Wasn’t she sleeping with that photographer? Why don’t you ask her a few questions?”

  “I’m right here,” Julie said, walking into the car, her hair uncombed, no makeup, her clothes wrinkled. “Anything else you want to ask me, Inspector?”

  “No, I think we’re finished for now, Miss Callahan,” the inspector said. “But please remain available for further questions when we have a more thorough report from the medical examiner.”

  Julie pushed her hair out of her face, and said, “Yeah, be sure and let me know if you find any oleander powder in my room.”

  Geoffrey, who had been listening intently to this exchange, spoke to Julie.

  “Excuse me, Miss Callahan,” he said, “I’m a barrister. If I can help you, please let me know.”

  “I don’t have any money,” Julie said.

  I could have punched her. Geoffrey wasn’t some ambulance-chasing, sleazy little lawyer looking for work. He was a highly respected attorney in England.

  “You don’t need any,” he said. “Just consider this my good deed for the day.”

  Julie’s face softened a little. “Thank you,” she said. “I would be grateful for your help.”

  “Why don’t you come into the next car and we can talk,” Geoffrey said. She followed him out of the lounge car.

  “The rest of you are free to go,” the inspector said. “But please be available if we need you.” He singled me out of the crowd and pointed to me. “Especially you, my little American detective,” he said.

  “Anything you say, my pompous little Spanish inspector,” I muttered to my friends.

  “Gini, cool it,” Pat said. “We don’t want to have to bail you out of a Spanish jail.”

  “Javier,” I said to the inspector, “Does ‘free to go’ mean free to leave the train? I need some fresh air.”

  “Yes, you may go, Gini.” the inspector said, “But be careful.” He looked genuinely concerned.

  “I’m going to get my camera and walk to that white town they keep talking about—Luarca,” I said to my gang. “Want to come?”

  “I’m just going to eat,” Tina said. “A nice leisurely breakfast with lots of calories. Then I’ll join you. See you later, Gini. Try not to get arrested.”

  Pat motioned for me to go by myself and she joined Tina.

  Gini’s photography tip: Not everyone wants to

  see thirty-seven pictures of your grandchild.

  Chapter 11

  Give That Doggie Another Bone

  I grabbed my camera and walked toward the sea. As I got closer to Luarca, I understood why people call it the Villa Blanca, or white city. Everything was white, shining in the sun, bright against the blue, blue sky. White houses, a white chapel high on a hill, even white steps leading down into the town.

  Near the ocean, the contrast of the startlingly bright blue water against the sand and the palm trees around the sea begged to be photographed. I had my point-and-shoot camera with me, so I didn’t need to worry about speed or distance. I tried to capture each part of this blue and white town in its own frame.

  Walking along the shore, I found little yachts and fishing boats side by side, all different colors, yellow and red and green against the blue of the water. A man with a bright red shirt stepped out on the deck of his boat just as I took the picture. That’s the sort of serendipity that makes me love photography. If you wait long enough, the perfect photo just appears.

  When I’m looking at something through a camera, it’s as if I’m inside the camera. I see a mountain or a cathedral or the ocean the way the camera sees it. I keep trying until I get exactly the angle, the composition of the picture, that is going to make the best photograph or segment of a film.

  With new cameras, so different from the ones I learned on, I can see immediately whether I got what I wanted. I don’t have to wait until the photos come back from the lab. If I didn’t get exactly what I wanted, I can try again. It’s very exciting to me. I forget everything else when I’m doing it.

  As I focused
on one of the craggy rocks at the water’s edge, a man moved from behind them. It looked as if he were pushing something down into the sand. I couldn’t see clearly what it was. I zoomed in on his face and realized it was Mark, one of the restaurateurs. I waved to him, but he didn’t see me. He disappeared around one of the other rocks. My camera could no longer find him. He was probably just exploring the seashore. But what was he burying in the sand?

  I shot the beach and the town from every angle until I had exactly what I wanted. I strolled to a café nearby for a cup of tea. There was only one other customer—a man in his twenties wearing sunglasses. He was very good-looking with blond wavy hair, tanned skin, strong hands. A golden Labrador lay curled up at his feet. I love dogs and couldn’t resist reaching over to pat the Lab. Then I noticed that the dog was wearing a harness. He was a guide dog.

  “Hi there,” I said. “Is it okay if I pet your dog?”

  “Sure,” he said. “He isn’t working at the moment, so go ahead. I’m Jonathan, by the way, and this is Hawkeye.”

  I reached over and took his hand. “Hi, Jonathan. I’m Gini Miller. Your dog is beautiful.”

  “He is my best friend. It’s okay. You can pet him and talk to him. It’s only when he’s guiding me that it’s not all right. It’s hard for sighted people to understand, but a guide dog has to concentrate on his job when he’s getting me somewhere. Talking to him or petting him distracts him.”

  “Are you from the train?” I asked. “I don’t remember seeing you. I certainly would have remembered Hawkeye.”

  “No, I’m here by myself. I always wanted to come to this part of Spain, so I decided to spend my vacation here.”

  “Where do you work?” I asked.

  “In Boston,” he said. “I work at the Statehouse for a Massachusetts senator. Thanks for that question. Most people assume I couldn’t possibly have a job.”

  “My cousin is blind,” I said. “She’s an accountant in a tax office. She has a talking computer, talking iPad, talking everything. She gets furious when people assume she couldn’t possibly be working in an office, or anywhere for that matter. Your job sounds fascinating. What do you do?”