Cappuccino Twist (7 page)

Chapter 8

Noon couldn’t come fast enough, and I started counting the minutes down at 11:00 am.  At 11:58, I was already untying my apron and letting my long hair flow loosely out of its ponytail.  Fears of Reptile Eyes had distracted me throughout the plodding morning.  But my spirits instantly soared when I spotted Eduardo waving to me from the sidewalk and patiently waiting for me.

“Have fun!” Luz winked as she bubbled the inane comment.  If only she knew that my mission in Barcelona w
as anything but “fun.”

“Thanks.  See you tomorrow? Or am I off? When do I get a day off from this place anyway?” I asked
testily as she pointed to a schedule taped to the wall.

“Looks like you’re doing the sunrise shift again tomorrow, but then you’re off for two days,” she informed.

“Good.  I really need it.  I haven’t had a moment’s rest since I got to this country,” I complained under my breath, walking towards the door and the outside world where Eduardo awaited.

“You’re right on time.” I smiled at Eduardo as he led me to his white Renault and opened the passenger door for me.

“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” he revealed as my smile turned shy.  Swinging around to the driver side and starting the engine, he asked, “Do you want to stop by the inn and change your clothes? Or should we get right to work?”

“Let’s get right to work,” I replied, handing him the address.  “Is this place in a nice section of Barcelona?” I queried, recalling the stark poverty of Marcelo Sanchez’s tenement apartment
juxtaposed with the grand opulence of Jacinta Canton’s mansion.

“Middle class, I would say.  The houses are nothing to gawk at.  Just your average suburb,” Eduardo replied casually, switching on the radio to a Spanish pop station.  “What kind of music do you like?”

“Actually, jazz is my favorite,” I told him candidly as his eyebrows raised in surprise.  Laughing lightly, I explained, “I’m from New York.  Jazz is very popular there.  There are jazz clubs all over the city.  And I think I’ve been to about half of them.” Okay, I was exaggerating, but my twilight hours had frequently been spent unwinding with a wine spritzer and live jazz guitar performance.

“You really are different from most girls.  I’ve never met anyone our age who likes jazz.” Eduardo surfed the stations until he found a smooth jazz love song.

“Mmmm, that’s Al Jarreau,” I murmured.  “Love his music.” 

Through the dark pools of his deepset eyes, Eduardo stared at me with admiration.  As we drank each other in visually, I almost forgot about Reptile Eyes and how much terror he had
been causing me.  Almost.  But not quite.

“Totally off the subject, but…do you know a strange older man who lurks around Dario’s Cappuccino Boutique?  You must have seen him.  He’s there every day.  Sometimes with a cup of coffee and sometimes just trolling around with an awful look in his eyes.” I fought off a tremor.

“What does he look like?” Eduardo asked, frowning.

“Balding.  I would say he’s somewhere in his fifties.  About 5’10” maybe.  And he has the creepiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not sure, Marlena.  I see so many people in and out of that shop every day.  Why?  Is he bothering you? If he’s harassing you, then you should tell your boss.  Or the police.” Eduardo’s face revealed sincere concern.

I sniffed indignantly.  “My boss doesn’t care about anything except his cigarettes and profits.  And the police haven’t been
any help to me, like I told you last night.”

“Do you think the guy at the coffee shop was the one who wrote those threatening notes?” Eduardo
inferred.

“Yes, I do.  He gives me the dirtiest looks every time he sees me.  But no one at the coffee shop knows his name or seems to think he’s a problem.  I just think of him Reptile Eyes because he has the coldest, slimiest stare I’ve ever seen.  It’s almost inhuman.” My guard melted away in Eduardo’s caring presence as I made myself more vulnerable than I had since long before losing Nana.  If I were honest with myself
, I would be forced to admit that my walls went up when I was 7 and my mother never came back home. 

“I’ll find out who he is.  You said he’s in there almost every day, right?” Eduardo asked as I nodded.  “
Okay, I’ll come by the shop tomorrow morning.  You point him out to me.  Subtly.  Then I’ll give him my speech about saving the park and see if I can get him to sign my petition.”

“That’s a great idea! Thank you, Eduardo,” I gushed, reaching over to stroke his strong shoulder.

With a warm sideways glance, Eduardo demolished my walls into gravel.  “I think this is the place.” He pointed to a modest two story ranch home with a flourishing vegetable garden and wild berry bushes. 

My breath became shaky at the prospect of knocking on yet another stranger’s door.  I looked down at
the paper at some notes that Señora Marquez had scribbled for me. 
Maria Elena Garcia.  Daughter of David Garcia.  Divorced according to public records.

“Do you want me to come with you or wait in the car?” Eduardo asked congenially.

“Well, I want you to come with me, but I think the woman who lives here could be all alone.  So she may not answer the door if she sees a man outside,” I reasoned.

“No problem.  I’ll be right here.  Listening to some jazz.” He grinned and turned the radio volume up a notch.

“Thank you.  I think I owe you about a hundred cappuccinos for this.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said gruffly as I grinned back at him and opened the car door.

Silently rehearsing what I was going to say to the woman, I admired the green beans and bell peppers growing from her garden.  This had to be a more successful visit than my first two.  Maybe the fertile garden was a good omen.  Never a very superstitious person, I was nonetheless drawing at straws in my investigation and needed every ounce of encouragement I could seize.

Feeling mildly faint, I rang the doorbell and waited.  Footsteps clattered and stopped at the door as I felt instinctively that the person on the other side was gazing out of a peephole.  A tense mom
ent passed as I fretted that I would be ignored again just like at Jacinta’s estate.  But slowly, the door moved open as an attractive woman with short raven waves looked skeptically at me.

“May I help you?” She asked in formal Spanish.

“Yes, I’m looking for Maria Elena Garcia.”

“I am Maria Elena.  Who are you?”

“May I come in?”

“Not until you tell me who you are.” The older woman stubbornly blockaded the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m Marlena Falcon,” I stated simply, sensing that she would slam the door in my face if I withheld my identity for another second.

“Falcon?” Her face paled just as Marcelo Sanchez’s had.  “You are related to Silvia Falcon?”

“Yes, she was my grandmother’s sister and…”

“And what do you want from me? Why are you at my house? How did you get my name and address?”
The flurry of questions was like a blinding snowstorm where the direction to take is unclear.  I had no idea which question to answer first.

“Well…” I faltered.  “You know her murder has never been solved and…”

“And what does that have to do with me?!” Maria Elena demanded stridently as the wheels turned in my head at her intensely emotional reaction.

“I don’t know what it has to do with you.  Or
if
it has anything to do with you.  That’s what I’m trying to find out.  I know that she was involved with your father at some point.”

“Do not speak of my father! Your aunt Silvia was a homewrecker.  She ruined my parents’ marriage! My mother was never the same after that disgusting affair.” Maria Elena lashed out at me as though she had been bottling all this anger for the past 50 years.

“I’m sorry about the affair.  It was wrong of
both
of them,” I emphasized as her eyes blazed.  “I never knew my aunt Silvia.  And I’m sure she wasn’t perfect.  But she didn’t deserve to be murdered.  I just want to know…”

Maria Elena interrupted me
ferociously, practically baring her teeth at me.  “I don’t care what you want to know! I’m not obligated to talk to you! Get off my property!” Lowering her voice, she sneered, “You know you look like that whore Silvia.  Except she was prettier than you.” With those crude words, the infuriated woman slammed the door in my face.

Defeated, I walked back to the car where Eduardo was humming along to a Grover Washington, Jr. song, completely oblivious of the hideous confrontation that had just taken place.  “That was fast,” he said.  “Any luck?”

“None whatsoever.  Unless you count bad luck.  I’ve had more than my share of that on this trip.” I slumped in the seat, feeling like Nana had asked me to grant an impossible request.  I wasn’t a magic genie or fairy godmother.  I was just an ordinary woman from the Lower East Side.  There were no mystical doves or secret messages in a bottle to help me solve this crime.  As much as it killed me to admit, I was beginning to see why the police had sealed the file on this murder.  If the weapon had been a pillow, there wouldn’t have been any blood evidence to work with.  And DNA science hadn’t yet come on the scene in the 1960’s.  So all they had to work with were circumstantial clues and an assembly of uncooperative suspects.

“Don’t worry.  Your luck will turn,” Eduardo said gently,
switching off the radio.

“Maybe you can just drop me off at the inn.  I’m not feeling too well,” I said
glumly as he pulled onto the main road.

“Are you sure? I had a nice spot picked out for us to have lunch.” Disappointment was crystal clear in Eduardo’s voice.

“That’s really sweet, but I just want to rest for the afternoon.  Can we take a raincheck?”

“Of course we can.” Somberly, Eduardo headed back to the heart of the Gothic Quarter as I slumped deeper into my seat.

As we passed by the coffee shop, I noticed Reptile Eyes seated at an outdoor table with a cup of espresso and a magazine.  “That’s the guy!” I motioned to the table as Eduardo slowed the car down.  “That’s the one who keeps staring at me!”

“Oh, I have seen him before!  Okay, I have an idea.” Eduardo parallel parked the car two blocks away from Dario’s Cappuccino Boutique and undid his seat belt.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Not you.  Just me.” He grabbed his clipboard from the backseat.  “I’m going to find out who this guy is.  You wait here.  Put your sunglasses on.  I don’t want him to see you.”

Discreetly, I slipped my sunglasses on as Eduardo dove out of the car to confront Reptile Eyes.

Chapter 9

Through the prism of my sunglasses, I tried to see what was going on between Eduardo and Reptile Eyes.  Smoothly, Eduardo appeared to have the man’s attention and had pulled up a chair at his table.  I watched as Eduardo spoke with animated hands, no doubt explaining the importance of preserving the park.  Reptile Eyes was nodding, the first glimpse of humanity I had ever witnessed on his face.  I held my breath as Eduardo handed the pen over and the man held it tentatively in his hands.
Sign it, damn it!  Just sign it so I know who you are!

My whole body deflated with a relieved exhalation as Reptile Eyes signed the petition.  Staying in character, Eduardo shook hands with the man and then approached another passerby on the street. 
Hurry, Eduardo!
  I didn’t think I could stand the suspense another minute.  But Reptile Eyes seemed to be watching Eduardo’s every move. Getting a few more signatures would make Eduardo seem authentic and prevent Reptile Eyes from seeing through the guise of a park petition. Hopefully. I touched my hand to my forehead, feeling a tension headache shoot through my temples. 

Finally, Eduardo started walking in the direction of the car just when I thought my head might split open.  “Well, what’s his name?” I demanded as Eduardo was sliding onto the seat.

Prudently, he closed the door and sound proofed the car before stating, “Jorge Canton.”

“What?!” I shrieked, my tension headache transforming into a migraine.  “Jorge Canton? That’s impossible! Let me see the petition!”

Eduardo leaned over and pointed to the signature on the petition.  “Why do you seem so shocked by that name?”

“Because Jorge Canton is dead!  And if he were alive, he wouldn’t be in his fifties!  He would be much older!”

“Okay, relax, take it slow and tell me who Jorge Canton is…or was.” Eduardo merged onto the road and made a
U-turn towards the Flores Inn.

“He’s one of the names on the lis
t that my grandmother gave me.”

“Okay, and what was his relationship to your aunt?” Eduardo asked calmly as my nerves continued to race.

“He was her boyfriend.  But my aunt was 26 when she was murdered.  That was 52 years ago, so she would be 78 if she were alive today.  How could that man have been her boyfriend?  He was born around the time she was murdered.” I figured the math as my head throbbed.

“Okay, obviously that Jorge Canton is not the same one who your aunt dated.  Maybe he could be the son?  Jorge Canton, Jr.?” Eduardo reasoned as a lightbulb switched on in my head.