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

  “Well,” he said loudly. “It’s been a long time, Sylvia. How’s your life going? Still with that soap opera? Lust in the Afternoon, isn’t it?”

  Sylvia stiffened, stopped and looked at him with such hatred we could feel its heat, and then walked past him to a table as far from his as she could find. Tom glared at the talk show host and followed her to the back of the room.

  “I wonder what that’s all about?” Tina said.

  Janice leaned forward, and in a low voice said, “Tom’s a great guy. We were in a play together in New York a few years ago.” She paused for a minute, a dreamy look on her face. “We had a little thing going for a while,” she said. “Anyway, I heard that he married the producer of Shambless’s talk show, a woman named Sylvia something or other. I don’t know what happened exactly, but she left or was fired. I heard rumors that Shambless had her fired because she wouldn’t sleep with him, and then kept her from being hired as a producer on other talk shows. That’s how she ended up producing a soap opera. She hired Tom and I guess that’s when they fell in love and got married. I had no idea he was on this trip.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Shambless makes friends wherever he goes.”

  We laughed and looked at Rafaela, who was about to tell us our dinner choices.

  “Since this part of Spain is famous for its incredibly fresh seafood,” she said, “the owner of this restaurant has selected the most delicate and delicious dishes.” She translated the menu for us.

  “Everything is superb here,” she said. “You can have cigalas cocidas, which is boiled crayfish with lemon wedges. The crayfish is so fresh it almost sings in your mouth.”

  “Oh, great,” Shambless growled. “That’s all I need—singing fish. I just want a steak, medium rare, with French fries. And a bottle of red wine, if they have any good wine in Spain. Think you can manage that?”

  Señor Delgardo, who was standing nearby, looked at Rafaela. They didn’t say anything, but their feelings about this man were unmistakable.

  Obviously exerting a great effort to keep his voice pleasant, the owner said, “Señor Shambless, we are noted for our seafood. Try our vieiras al horno, which is—”

  “Some kind of horny fish,” Shambless said, snickering and looking at his fan at the next table, who giggled.

  “As I said before,” he said. “All I want is a steak. It’s simple. A steak. Medium rare. With French fries. And ketchup.”

  Steve, the guy with the camera, leaned over Shambless and whispered something in his ear.

  “Oh . . . yeah . . . good point. Wait a sec, Delgardo. Bring me one of your fish dishes with all the trimmings so Steve can film it for the documentary. And then bring me the steak.”

  Señor Delgardo turned abruptly and went into the kitchen.

  Rafaela tried to pretend she hadn’t heard all this and continued talking to the rest of us.

  “As Señor Delgardo was saying, vieiras al horno is baked scallops. Again, very simple. Scallops made with onions, garlic, paprika, sprinkled with bread crumbs, fried, and then put in the oven briefly to brown the crumbs. They are fresh, fresh, fresh.”

  “Oh, blah, blah, blah,” said Shambless. “Can you be more boring? I don’t care what’s on the friggin’ menu. Bring it. Let Steve get a picture of it and then bring me my steak, if you can manage such a complicated order.”

  I’d had enough. “Well, we care, Shambless,” I said. “So stuff a sock in it until your steak comes.”

  He turned slowly and looked me up and down, and then around the table at the rest of us.

  “Ah, the dancing lesbians, I presume,” he said, loudly enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

  Tina put her hand on my arm, but I’d had enough. I jumped up and confronted him.

  “Ah, the impotent talk show host, I presume,” I said. I know it wasn’t devastating and brilliant, but it was all I could think of at the moment.

  “Gini, let it go,” Pat said, pulling me back into my seat.

  I sat back down, shaking, and looked at Rafaela, who rolled her eyes and told us the rest of our choices.

  There was salpicon, a seafood salad, calamari a la plancha, a very spicy squid dish made with lots of hot red pepper flakes, and bogavante a la gallega, which I ordered after finding out it was lobster and potatoes.

  Each of us chose a different main course so we could trade bites to taste a variety of the tempting dishes on the menu. We were enjoying every mouthful and trying not to hear Shambless only a few feet away complaining to the chef, who had left the kitchen to find out what was wrong. Shambless complained that his steak was thin and overcooked and inedible.

  “It tastes like horsemeat,” he said.

  This was too much for the chef, a red-faced, portly man, who looked like he would explode. He was about to say something, but the owner quickly led him back to the kitchen and then returned to say to Shambless, “Seafood is the specialty in this part of Spain, señor. Just try these scallops. I think you’ll like them.”

  Shambless glowered at him, shoved the steak aside, and picked up one of the scallops on his fork. He didn’t say anything, but he finished every one of them down to the last bite, and we were grateful his mouth was full.

  As he was pouring his third glass of wine, his devoted fan came over and stood at his elbow. She was a small woman with short gray hair and a lumpy body. She shifted from leg to leg, smoothed her hair, pushed her glasses back on her nose, cleared her throat, and finally tapped him on the shoulder.

  He looked up, annoyed at first, but when he saw that it was his adoring fan, he dredged up a pleasant expression, if not quite a smile.

  “Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?”

  “I don’t mean to bother you, Mr. Shambless,” she said, speaking rapidly, “but I just had to tell you how much I enjoy your show. You’ve taught me so much in the last ten years. I can’t wait to tell my friends I met you on this trip. They all think you’re wonderful too. We talk about you all the time. So I was wondering, could I trouble you for your autograph? I want them all to know I really met you. ”

  Shambless paused in midbite and said, his mouth full, “Of course, dear lady. I’m always glad to oblige one of my viewers. Let me sign your menu. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Dora. Dora Lindquist. Thank you. This means so much to me. I live alone and your show is my best friend.”

  Julie got up and picked up her purse, which I noticed was a Coach. “I’m going to the—what do they call it?—the señoritas’ room. I’ll be back when no one is bothering you.”

  Dora looked up and watched her walk to the restroom. For a minute her face was serious, but she quickly regained her eager expression when she looked back at Shambless.

  He bent over the menu Dora offered him, wrote a message, and then signed it. He took her hand. “It’s always a pleasure to meet one of my viewers,” he said.

  She giggled nervously and held the menu close against her chest.

  “What a beautiful ring,” he said, still holding her hand. “It’s like a locket. How unusual.”

  “Yes, it has a picture of my little girl in it. She was very beautiful.”

  “Was beautiful?

  Dora looked away from him for a minute and I could see that she was trying not to cry. She started to speak and then her voice broke.

  “She . . . she . . . died. Last year. She was very sick.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Shambless said, dropping her hand and slathering a piece of bread with butter. “Could I see her picture?”

  Dora backed away and started to return to her table.

  “Oh, no. I’m interrupting your dinner. I don’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother. I’d like very much to see her picture.” He took another swallow of wine.

  “No, no, that’s all right,” Dora said, moving away from him. “I’ll show it to you another time. Please finish your dinner. And thank you.”

  “It is I who should thank you,” he sai
d, pouring himself another glass of wine.

  Shambless motioned to the photographer.

  “Did you get that, Steve?” he said. “I want a lot of footage of my adoring fans.”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Steve said. “The whole thing.”

  After she went back to her table, Shambless looked over at us, and said, “Hey, dancers, you could take a few lessons in femininity from that sweet woman who asked for my autograph. That’s how a lady acts. But look whom I’m talking to.”

  I could not stay silent this time either. I was afraid I’d burst a blood vessel if I did.

  “Any one of us is more woman than you can handle, Shambless,” I said. “Whatever happened to your three wives, by the way? Didn’t they act like ladies?”

  Tina tugged at my sleeve, and said out of the corner of her mouth, “Let him alone, Gini. He’s not worth it.”

  “How can you just sit there and let that idiot say those things, Tina?” I said angrily. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Pat, sitting next to me, looked up, and said quietly, “How many desserts do you think he can eat?”

  This made me laugh. I sat down and let my anger go. God bless Pat. I could always count on her to make me stop making a fool of myself. The others all took a deep breath and relaxed.

  “Sorry, guys,” I muttered. “I’ll be good. But that man drives me crazy.”

  Shambless attacked the rest of his dinner and wine greedily, looking up briefly as the blonde sat down next to him again. She picked at her food and then leaned closer to him and said something that annoyed him.

  “I told you we’ll talk about that later,” he said, loud enough for us to hear. “Stop asking me about it. I’ll take care of it when the time is right.”

  “You keep saying that,” she said, her voice getting louder. “But the time is never right. I’m sick of waiting. You have to do something about it now.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” he said, his voice even louder. “Don’t tell me what to do. I told you I’d take care of this and I will. But leave me alone or you’ll be on the next plane home.”

  She took a sip of her wine and ate a few more bites of her dinner. Then she stood up, threw her napkin on the table, and said to him, “I’ve had enough. I’ll wait outside until it’s time to go back to the train.” She left the table and the dining room.

  Shambless ignored her and kept on eating and drinking.

  He looked up as Sylvia and Tom passed his table on their way out.

  “Had enough to eat, Sylvia? Wouldn’t want to get fat. They might kick you out of show business.” He laughed nastily.

  Tom tried to stop her, but Sylvia came close to the talk show host, leaned over next to him, and in a voice filled with hatred, said to him, “I’ve had more than enough, Dick. Keep your rotten comments to yourself or you’ll be very sorry.”

  “What are you going to do, get your own talk show?” Shambless said with a smirk.

  “I’m going to do more than talk,” Sylvia said, and Tom pulled her away.

  “Forget it, Syl,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”

  She straightened up and let Tom lead her out of the restaurant.

  We sat there stunned, bowled over by Sylvia’s emotion.

  Shambless looked up from his dinner, and said, “What are you staring at, hookers? Try minding your own business for a change.”

  Rafaela came over to our table before I could explode again.

  “You have to have one of our desserts,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “They are divine. We have strawberries with whipped cream, almond tart, chocolate tart, and my favorite, tiramisu, even if it is Italian.”

  We all groaned. “Rafaela, tiramisu is my favorite dessert,” Janice said, “but if we eat one more thing we won’t be able to walk, much less dance tonight.”

  She laughed. “Muy bien,” she said. “I won’t tempt you. But did you enjoy your dinner?”

  We all talked at once trying to tell her how delicious the food was, how beautiful the restaurant was, how much we enjoyed being there.

  “Rafaela,” Mary Louise said, “I don’t mean to be a pest, but is there any chance you could get the recipes for the seafood salad, the calamari, and the lobster? I would love to make them when I get home.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” Rafaela said, and went into the kitchen.

  We were interrupted by loud talk from the next table. I heard Shambless say to Eduardo, “I must have a car take me back to the train. I can’t ride in that crowded coach again.”

  “I’m so sorry, señor, but there are no cars available now. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride in the bus with the rest of us. It’s only a short distance.”

  Shambless glared at him. “I’m not used to riding on buses,” he said contemptuously. “Do something about it. You’re in charge here.”

  Eduardo took the owner aside and spoke to him rapidly in Spanish. The owner nodded.

  Eduardo came back to Shambless. “You are in luck. Señor Delgardo, our host, said he would drive you back to the train.”

  “I hope his driving is better than his food,” Shambless said.

  He looked up as we passed his table on our way out. “Aren’t you girls a little old to be dancing on trains?” he said.

  Tina shot me a warning glance, but I couldn’t help it. “Aren’t you a little fat for a narrow-gauge track?” I said.

  My friends dragged me back to the bus before he could answer, but I was still fuming. One woman from the train stopped, smiled at me, and patted my arm as she got back on the bus. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she said with a French accent. “He’s obnoxious.”

  “I could kill him,” I said. “He’s spoiling this whole experience.”

  As we climbed aboard the bus, we could see Shambless getting into the owner’s car. It was a small car and he was a very big man. Steve and the driver pushed and pulled him into the car and closed the door.

  When we were all on the bus again, Rafaela came running up, and climbed aboard, and walked up the aisle to Mary Louise.

  “Here are those recipes you asked for,” she said, handing her some loose pages. “Enjoy.”

  “You’re an angel, Rafaela,” Mary Louise said. “Thank you so much.”

  Back on the train, we were all feeling way too well-fed and not at all sure we could fit into the long, tight-fitting dresses that were slit up the sides so our legs were free to move, stamp, kick, and bend, flamenco style. Covered with silver sequins, they were pure glitter and flash. I loved wearing my gown because it was the total opposite of my usual costume of a T-shirt and jeans.

  I was sharing a suite with Tina.

  She struggled with her gown.

  “Gini, give me a hand with this zipper, will you?” Tina said. “I think I gained a couple of pounds back there at that restaurant.”

  “Our dance tonight should use up a few thousand calories,” I said.

  “Olé!” Tina said, clicking her heels and moving in a tiny circle in our crowded room. “Ready, Gini?”

  “Olé!” I said, opening the door.

  We grabbed our scarves and knocked on the door of our friends’ suite.

  Our three partners were silver-sequined and gorgeous.

  “Are we the best or what?” Janice said.

  “We’re certainly the best fed,” Mary Louise said, patting her stomach. “I’m feeling a little stuffed.”

  “We all are,” Tina said, “But we’ll be fine once we get on that floor and start moving. Come on, all together now, think flamenco, think clapping hands and flashing feet.”

  We headed for the ballroom car, waving at the other passengers as we passed through the cars. The ballroom somehow looked smaller than it did in the afternoon.

  “Shouldn’t we have rehearsed in this car before we actually performed here?” Pat, our worrier, said.

  “We’ll be okay, Pat,” Tina said. “We dance in and out of each other, not in a straight line. We can do it.”
/>   Tina clicked on the CD player and the first notes of the flamenco music filled the air.

  Just as we were ready to swing out onto the floor, Eduardo ran up to us. He looked frantic, not his usual cool, dignified self.

  “Señoras, I have terrible news.” He stopped, tried to calm down.

  “What’s the matter, Eduardo?” Tina asked, touching his arm. “What has happened?”

  He took a deep breath. “He’s dead,” he said. “He’s . . .”

  “Who’s dead, Eduardo?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Señor Shambless,” he said. “His room attendant, Carlos, found him a half hour ago. He was a mess. Carlos called me and I called Dr. Parnell, one of our passengers. He examined Señor Shambless and confirmed that he was dead. I called the police and they are on their way here now.”

  “Oh, Eduardo, what can we do to help you?” Tina asked.

  He looked at us, pleading. “I know it’s a terrible thing to ask, señoras, but could you please dance anyway? I don’t want the other passengers to know what has happened just yet, and your dancing will keep them here while I figure out what to do.”

  We looked at each other, straightened up, nodded yes, and told Eduardo not to worry. We would distract the audience or wear out our dancing shoes trying.

  MARY LOUISE’S ADAPTATION OF THE

  RESTAURANT RECIPES

  Salpicon de Marisco (Seafood Salad)

  1 lb shrimp, cooked, peeled, and deveined

  1 lb cooked crabmeat, cut up

  1 lb cooked octopus or squid, cut up

  1 red bell pepper, cut up

  1 green bell pepper, cut up

  1 cup small white onions, left whole

  1 medium yellow onion, sliced

  1 cup gherkin pickles, halved

  1 cup green olives stuffed with anchovies and

  left whole

  Dressing:

  4 tbsp. white vinegar

  8 tbsp olive oil

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Mix the seafood together in a large bowl and add next six ingredients.