Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities (A Happy Hoofers Mystery) Page 14

  “I’m the liaison between the senator and callers who ask for advice about health care or government funding. I was lucky. It’s not easy to find work when you’re blind.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “Right after I lost my sight—I was in my last year of college—I volunteered to work at the Massachusetts Office on Disability in Boston. I didn’t want to leave that city. I had a lot of friends and I love it there. I testified before the senator’s committee to try to get more funding. She hired me to work in her office.”

  I reached down to scratch Hawkeye’s ears. He nuzzled my hand and his intelligent brown eyes accepted me as a friend.

  “Isn’t it hard traveling by yourself—especially in a foreign country?” I asked.

  “I’m not by myself. I have Hawkeye. The only tough thing is that people often seem to think I lost my intelligence when I lost my sight. They get nervous and don’t talk to me in the same way they did when I could see. You get used to it. You mentioned the train. Are you traveling on it? I wanted to take that trip, but it was too expensive.”

  “It is expensive,” I said. “But I’m one of the entertainers, so it’s free for me. I’m having a great time—except for a couple of murders.”

  “I heard about that,” Jonathan said. “Can’t say I was sorry about Shambless’s death. You seem fairly calm about it. What do you mean you’re an entertainer?”

  “I’m here with four friends. We dance on the train at night and get to see this beautiful country during the day. We’re called the Happy Hoofers. I have no idea how we got hired, but I’m glad we were. I could do without the murders, though.”

  “Do they know who did it?” Jonathan asked.

  “Not yet. There are several suspects.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Jonathan said. “You’re dancing on a train with a murderer lurking about. Aren’t you a little nervous?”

  “Not a little,” I said. “A lot!”

  “Wish I could be there when you dance,” Jonathan said.

  “Why not?” I said. “The train stays in the station at night, so you could come to the show tonight—you and Hawkeye—and have a drink with us afterward. I’ll arrange it.”

  “Thanks—what’s your name again?—Gini. I’d love to do that.”

  I looked up and saw Michele coming toward me. She bent down to let Hawkeye sniff her hand.

  “What a beautiful dog,” Michele said. “Is it all right to pet him?”

  She looked so pretty in her jeans and a yellow shirt, her face without a line or mark in the bright noonday sun. I wished Jonathan could see her.

  “Help yourself,” Jonathan said. “We’ve been neglecting him.”

  “Jonathan, this is Michele,” I said. “She’s on the train with us. Michele, meet Jonathan. He works at the Statehouse in Boston.”

  “What do you do there?” she asked.

  He told her about his job with the senator. “How about you?” he asked.

  “I’m in San Francisco,” she said. “Computers.”

  “Anything new that talks that I should know about?” he asked.

  “As a matter of fact,” Michele said, sitting down next to him, “there is. You’ll love this, Jonathan. I’m working on start-ups in wearable technology. There’s a new one you have to get.”

  She reached down and scratched Hawkeye’s ear.

  “Tell me about it,” Jonathan said.

  “It’s a very small camera that attaches to eyeglasses.”

  “That’s not exactly new,” Jonathan said, sounding disappointed.

  “Wait,” Michele said. “It also talks! Really. You point at something and it tells you what you’re pointing at.”

  “You’re kidding,” Jonathan said. “Talking glasses?”

  “It’s incredible,” she said. “You point at a menu and it reads it to you. Point at a traffic light and it says, ‘It’s green.’ In the grocery store, it tells you the brand and the product—you know, ‘That’s Kellogg’s Corn Flakes.’ Turn the box around and it reads you the ingredients.”

  “You mean there’s a talking component attached to the camera on the glasses?” Jonathan asked, his voice rising with excitement at this new technology.

  “Exactly.”

  “It probably costs a fortune, right?” Jonathan asked.

  “It’s expensive,” Michele said, “but you could probably get the senator’s office to pay for it. It would help her as well as you.”

  “How do I find out more about this?” Jonathan asked.

  “Can you come to the train later on?” Michele said. “I’ll give you all the information then.”

  “I’m coming to hear these murder-prone hoofers tonight. I’ll talk to you then.”

  I still cannot believe how far technology has advanced in the last decade. I always feel one step behind.

  “Gini,” Michele said, “I’m feeling guilty about Juan, and I wanted to ask you about it. Was I right talking about that conversation I overheard between him and Shambless? Should I have kept it to myself? He’s in jail because of me.”

  “Michele, listen to me,” I said. “He wasn’t arrested because of what you said. They found some oleander leaves in his room. Somebody must have planted them there. Now they’re sure he didn’t kill Shambless because he was in jail when the photographer Steve was killed by the same method. He’s probably already back on the train by now. Don’t think it was your fault. It wasn’t. If I had seen Shambless threaten Juan, I would have told people too.”

  “I told them about Juan because I heard . . .”

  “What? What did you hear, Michele? You can tell me.”

  “I heard my mother say something like, ‘If nobody else kills that terrible man, I’m going to.’ I was afraid somebody would think she did it.”

  “Oh, Michele, a lot of us wished he was dead. Nobody would ever suspect your mother of killing anybody.”

  Michele relaxed. “Of course, you’re right, Gini. I was going nuts.”

  “Can’t have my favorite dancer going nuts,” I said.

  Jonathan stood up. “Think I’ll take Hawkeye for a walk down by the water. What time should I show up at the train?”

  “We dance around ten, so come about nine-thirty and tell them I invited you. I’ll make sure they save you and Hawkeye a good seat.”

  “Thanks, Gini,” Jonathan said, walking toward the water with his left hand on Hawkeye’s harness.

  “Wait, Jonathan,” Michele said. “Can I come with you?”

  “Sure,” he said, looking pleased. “I want to talk to you more about things that speak.”

  “My specialty,” she said, catching up to him.

  “See you later,” he said to me. He and Michele and Hawkeye headed for the beach, with Hawkeye guiding Jonathan around trees and rocks. Michele hurried to keep up.

  The waiter came out of the café to greet me in English. “Hola, señora. What would you like?”

  “How did you know I speak English?” I asked.

  “You look American,” he said.

  “How does an American look?” I asked.

  “As if the whole world is a gift. As if you want to find out everything about wherever you are. As if you belong anywhere you find yourself.”

  “Is that good? Sounds a little arrogant.”

  “Oh, it’s very good,” he said. “I wish I felt like that. Would you like some tea, señora? Or a vermouth?”

  “Too early for vermouth. I’ll take a tea. Thank you.”

  I wondered if that’s true about Americans. Do we look as if we own the world? I leaned back in my chair, a white umbrella shielding me from the sun. I looked around at the houses perched on the hills, the little bridges crossing from one small island to another. How did I get to be so lucky? I have four good and dear friends, a man who loves me and I love him. I have the chance to see so much of this fascinating world filming documentaries. I get paid to do something as natural to me as taking pictures—dancing—with my best friends. Can’t ge
t much better than that.

  I was totally content, my eyes closed to enjoy the warmth of the sun, when a high, thin voice said, “Could I talk to you?”

  I opened my eyes. My peaceful day disappeared into the sea. Dora was standing next to me, bundled up in a sweater on this gorgeous day, shifting from foot to foot.”

  “Oh, please do,” I said with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner.

  She sat down. In a voice I could barely hear, she said, “I want to apologize to you. I followed you down here when I saw you leave the train.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology,” I said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Oh, yes, I did,” she said. “I was very rude to you when you found my ring. I’m sorry. I was out of my mind when I lost that ring because of that picture of my daughter. I should have been grateful.”

  “Well, of course you were upset. I don’t blame you. I’m glad I found it and was able to give it back to you. At first I didn’t know it was yours, but then I remembered that you were wearing it in the restaurant. Even Shambless admired it. It’s a lovely ring.”

  The waiter brought my tea and Dora asked for a cup too.

  “I wanted to tell you more about my daughter,” Dora said. “I wanted you to know why she was so precious to me.”

  “Tell me about her,” I said, leaning toward her, no longer resentful of her presence.

  “Well, as I told you before, she was born with cystic fibrosis. Do you know what that is?”

  “I know it has something to do with the lungs.”

  “It’s a disease that causes the lungs to clog. You have to clear them every day or the child will die. She was born with it. I don’t have it, but I had a gene that carried it and so did her father. She spent so much of her life in the hospital. I had to learn how to clear her lungs when they filled up. She was such a brave little girl. She would never give up even when she was so sick. I worried every minute of her life that she would die that day.”

  “How long did you have her?”

  “Until she was ten. And then one day I took her to the hospital. She never came home.”

  Dora’s mouth trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t talk. I took her hand and held it in both of mine.

  “I’m so sorry, Dora.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pulling her hand away, reaching in her purse for a tissue. “That’s why the ring is so important to me. It’s my favorite picture of her. I guess that’s why I was so impatient with you. I was afraid I’d lost it.”

  “How did your husband take all of this?” I asked.

  She spat out the words. “He left us as soon as he found out that she was sick, that she would always be sick, that he would have to take care of her. He couldn’t handle it. I have no idea where he is. I don’t want to know.”

  My heart ached for this poor woman. What an incredibly sad life.

  “Is that why you are such a fan of Shambless?” I asked. “Was he kind of a friend, even though you didn’t really know him?”

  She looked down at her lap, held the tissue to her nose. “I guess you could say that,” she said. She looked at me. “Do you have any children?”

  “No,” I said. “But there’s a little girl . . .” I wasn’t sure whether Dora would be interested in my story about the little girl in India I wanted to adopt.

  I was just going to let it go, but Dora said, “Tell me about her.”

  “Well, she’s about eleven,” I said. “I met her when I was filming a documentary about an orphanage in India. Her parents died of a disease and she was sent to the orphanage. The day I saw her for the first time she was reading about Jonah and the whale in the Bible. I started talking to her.”

  Dora leaned forward. “What’s her name?” she asked.

  “Amalia,” I said. “She’s so bright. I couldn’t bear to think of her living out her life in that orphanage. It was clean and neat, but sterile, quiet. No laughing children running back and forth. No toys or swings or slides. Just well-behaved little robots, surviving. The nuns were all efficient, well-meaning, conscientious people, but they had no time to take a child on their laps to read to them or tell them a story or play with them. They did their jobs. You know what I mean, Dora?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “Poor little girl.” She reached out to me but withdrew her hand almost immediately. I could see that this woman had a real problem touching people or being touched.

  “She asked me if I would take her back to America with me,” I said. “I told her I would do my best. I talked to the head of the orphanage, but it seems there are lots of rules about foreigners adopting children from India. The Indian government is not in favor of it. I haven’t given up, though. I have some friends who are trying to help me adopt her. I want her so much.”

  “I hope you get her,” Dora said. “Little girls are so sweet.”

  She took a sip of her tea and then stood up. “I won’t bother you anymore,” she said. “I’ll get back to the train. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

  I stood, too, and tried to put my arms around her, but she was stiff, unresponsive.

  “It’s all right, Dora. I understand. I’m so sorry about your daughter.”

  She almost smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

  Watching her walk up the stairway to the station, I thought again how lucky I was. I settled back with my tea. The sun caressed me, the white buildings soothed me, the blue sea made me almost happy again.

  My mind kept going back to my conversation with Dora. The picture of her sad-eyed little girl with the pale face in Dora’s ring was still etched in my brain.

  I wondered if I’d ever be able to adopt Amalia. Even though I didn’t give birth to her, I thought of her as my child. I wanted to take her everywhere—to Paris and London and Rome. To Costa Rica and Rio. To Alaska and Hawaii and Japan. To China and Thailand and Russia and Africa. I wanted her to see the whole world.

  The sound of sandals clicking on the patio near me made me open my eyes. Geoffrey and Danielle were standing there.

  “We’re looking for our daughter,” Geoffrey said. “We walked up to the chapel at the top of the hill and thought she was right behind us. We figured she must have come here to talk to you.”

  “She did,” I said. “I always love talking to her.”

  “Where is she?” Danielle asked.

  “She met this terrific guy and they’re walking down by the beach. They should be back in a few minutes. Sit down and talk to me.”

  “What terrific guy?” Geoffrey asked.

  “He works in Boston, has a guide dog, and Michele told him about a new talking device that attaches to a camera on your glasses that he hadn’t heard about. She has a fascinating career. Very twenty-first century.”

  “We’re so proud of her,” Danielle said. “Although I have to admit I don’t understand half the things she’s talking about.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “Geoffrey, what’s happening with Julie? Are you going to represent her?”

  “If they actually accuse her of anything, I will,” he said. “Right now she’s sort of in limbo. They don’t have anything on her, but she’s still under suspicion. There was no evidence she killed Steve.”

  “You were so good to help her. She’s lucky you were on the train.”

  “She’s still wary of me,” he said. “I only volunteered because I was afraid they’d trick her into some kind of confession. I thought she needed legal advice, but I don’t think she’s convinced of that.”

  “What’s she doing now?”

  “She was going to pack her things and go back to America as soon as she could, but I think I persuaded her not to do that.”

  “Would Javier let her leave?” I asked.

  “Probably not. She’s still a witness, even if she didn’t kill Steve, since she found his body. She’ll have to testify at the trial if they ever figure out who did it.”

  “Who do you think did it?�
� I asked him.

  “I’m pretty sure it was you, Gini,” he said, grinning and backing away from my uppercut.

  “There’s our daughter now,” Danielle said, waving to Michele as she ran after Jonathan and Hawkeye coming toward us.

  “Gini, wait til you see what Hawkeye found,” Michele said.

  She kissed her mother and father, and handed me a small plastic bag full of what looked like tea leaves.

  “Oh, Mom, Dad,” she said, “this is Jonathan, and this amazing dog is Hawkeye.”

  Geoffrey and Danielle shook hands with Jonathan and patted Hawkeye.

  “Where did you find this?” I asked.

  “Hawkeye was sniffing around a tree down by the water,” Jonathan said. “We kept tugging at him, but he wouldn’t budge. He started to scratch the ground and kept digging until he came to this bag. When he found it, he jumped back, and sneezed, and pawed at the bag again. I was going to leave it there, but Michele said, ‘Wait.’ ”

  “Gini, I remembered what you said about them finding oleander leaves in Juan’s room,” Michele said. “I don’t really know what oleander smells like, but this bag had such a strong, sweet smell, I thought I should bring it to you. Is that what oleander smells like? ”

  “I’m no expert either, Michele,” I said, “but it’s the same fragrance those oleander flowers at the restaurant had. I’m so glad you brought them to me. The same person who put the oleander leaves in Juan’s room must have buried the rest of them under that tree down by the shore. As soon as we get back I’ll give them to the inspector.”

  I patted the Lab again and gave him a hug. “Good boy, Hawkeye,” I said. “You’re a good detective.” Then I remembered the rules about patting a guide dog.

  “Is it okay to pet him now, Jonathan?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Jonathan said. “He deserves some extra hugs today, I think.”

  Just then, Rafaela appeared with some of the other passengers from the bus. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “We’re headed for the Restaurante Villa Blanca for lunch. Want to come?”

  “Lead on, Rafaela,” I said. “The only thing I like better than dancing is eating.”