From Barcelona, with Love (18 page)

Lorenza and Mac
were sitting at the small kitchen table by the open windows, listening to the rain. Lorenza's heart was still pounding from the thrill of seeing him again and she still felt his kiss on her lips. The sudden transition from personal to business had taken her by surprise; she had expected more from Mac. Then, she'd asked herself, more
what
? More past? Some present? Maybe even a future?

She was a fool even to think like that. More than twenty years had passed. She was no longer that sexy young girl he'd known, though her body still remembered him, and that kiss had triggered a response. But obviously not for Mac. He was all business now. Love, past or present, was forgotten.

“So, Mr. Detective,” she said, pulling herself together one more time. “Tell me about yourself.”

Mac got up and fetched the champagne. He poured the last of it into their glasses. “I'm willing to bet you already know most of it,” he said, meeting her glance across the table.

“Hollywood's TV detective, famous, fashionable, and successful.”

“I'm good at what I do.”

She bit her lip, sorry she had mocked him. “I remember when you were just starting, I remember how dedicated you were, and how good you were at your job, even then.”

“I hope I'm good enough to unravel the Bibi mess, for Paloma's sake as well as yours. So, Lorenza, why don't you tell me
exactly
what's going on.”

She told him everything, including the deal she'd made with the three siblings. “I wanted them all to go out there and hunt for her, but somehow I get the feeling one of them might know something.…”

“You mean one of them might know where Bibi is? Or knows if she's dead?”

“I really don't know what I think.” She gave a helpless little shrug. “It's just a gut feeling.”

Mac got up again, thrust his hands in his jeans pockets, prowled the kitchen floor silently. After a few minutes he turned and looked at her. “Lorenza, do
you
have any idea where she might be?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Again it's only a gut feeling, but because Bibi was a good mother, I think if she's still alive she would not be far away from her daughter. In case Paloma got sick or was in some kind of danger. It's a mother's instinct, to be there to protect her child.”

“Then you think Bibi's here, in Spain?”

She nodded. “Somewhere in Spain.” She spread her arms wide, a bitter smile on her face. “But who knows where to begin to look?”

Who indeed, Mac thought. Especially him, who knew almost nothing about this country and where a woman might go to hide out. Would Bibi choose a big city? Barcelona even? Or a mountain retreat? A seaside resort? And anyhow, where was she getting the money? The more he thought about it, the more he began to believe Bibi must be dead. Death was the last resort of a desperate woman.

Lorenza said, “I know none of her bank accounts has been touched and none of her investments have been sold. Bibi has not seen a penny of her own money since she left the States.”

“Then how could she survive?”

“I always wondered whether one of the sisters, or even her brother might have funded her, if only to keep her out of the way. They wouldn't want a murderer in the family.”

“A
suspected
murderer,” Mac corrected her.

“So tell me,” she said. “If Bibi did not do it, then who did? And why? The police had no other suspects. And after all, she had a motive, the wronged wife.”

“Bibi was not a ‘wronged wife.' She was a wronged
lover
. There's a big difference, Lorenza.”

“Why? Don't lovers kill too?”

Mac stopped pacing. Hands still thrust in his pockets, he turned to look at her. “I guess to find the answer to that we have to ask Bibi. And I suggest we begin our search with the brother and sisters. Find out what they know.”

“You'll meet them all tonight, at the restaurant. You really think they'll tell you?”

“No, but I'll put them on their guard, then wait and see who makes a move.”

He took the chair opposite her. Hands folded on the table, he looked at her again. Really looked at her, in her red dress, rubies dangling in her ears, the narrow platinum wedding band her only ring.

He reached across, took her hand again. “You loved Juan Pedro very much, didn't you,” he said gently.

She nodded, sending her ruby earrings swinging.

“Is there anyone else?”

She stared down at their linked hands. “There have been … some.” She glanced up and smiled. “After all, I am a woman.”

“You're beautiful, Lorenza, and special. You'll make some man very happy.”

She took her hand away, rested her chin in it, half smiling. “But not you, Mac.”

She was asking him, straight out, telling him she could go there, be back where they started all those years ago.

“Lorenza…” He hesitated and she held up a hand.

“Of course there's somebody else, I should have realized. I'm sorry.”

“You needn't be sorry. It's the finest compliment you could have paid me.”

She was a fool, the words had simply tumbled out of her mouth. God, was she really that lonely, that man-less? But it wasn't that. It was that Mac was special. He always would be.

“I'm sure she's wonderful,” she said.

“Her name is Sunny, and yes, she is wonderful.” Mac looked intently at her. “And you know something else, Lorenza, she's a lot like you.”

“Then she must be a wonderful wife.” She was laughing at him now.

“We haven't quite gotten to that point yet.”

He wasn't married after all.
Lorenza picked up the champagne flutes and carried them to the sink. “You shouldn't have told me that, Mac Reilly,” she called over her shoulder. “Don't you know ‘all's fair in love and war.'” Then, laughing, she added, “We must be going. Floradelisa's waits for no one. I'll go and powder my nose.”

Mac watched her walk away. She was beautiful. Sexy. Still had great legs. Restless, he got up and prowled some more. He thought about Sunny. She must be back from Napa by now. She might even be in Malibu. Where he should be. With her. Not in this emotional sensual minefield. How could he have known the past was going to catch up with him?

He'd better find Bibi and get out of here. Fast. Safely back to Sunny.

 

Chapter 27

Floradelisa stood by
the swing doors leading to her kitchen, waiting for Lorenza and Mac Reilly. A pretty young hostess was at the front desk, chic in a specially designed Gaultier suit, black of course—what else? But with dozens of ropes of glittering red-quartz beads slung around her neck and red suede heels that exactly matched the restaurant's in-your-face red walls. The floors were black, the tablecloths traditional starched white linen, the flowers simple low bowls of massed deep-red carnations, with no scent of course because that would intrude on the flavor and aromas of the food. And at Floradelisa's the food was everything.

Floradelisa had changed from her stained work clothes and wore a pristine white chef's jacket with her name embroidered in scarlet. Her dark hair was tucked under a loose cloth cap—no token chef's hat for her—and of course she wore the ubiquitous clogs. White.

Spotting her stepdaughter from across the room, Lorenza waved. She thought Flora could have been a scrub-nurse prepared for surgery. And in a way, she was.

Floradelisa waved back, threading her way past the full tables, smiling here, shaking a hand there. She noticed that Mac Reilly was holding Lorenza's elbow in a familiar sort of way, yet he was only the detective summoned to find Bibi. She wondered how come they were on such intimate terms already as she gave Mac a quick once-over.

She had to admit he was attractive, even with that shiner that somehow only added to his bad-boy good looks. She groaned inwardly, praying they had not made a mistake and that Lorenza was not going to fall for Bibi's detective. This family had enough problems without adding romance to them. The words “fortune hunter” came to mind but she dismissed that idea quickly. After all, it was Paloma who had found the detective, Lorenza had only agreed, as they all had, to hire him. That is, all with the exception of Antonio, who was in no position anyway to protest too much. Antonio was a shit and everybody knew it. Except his poor wife.

The truth was Floradelisa herself had only agreed under pressure. In her opinion things were better left as they were, with Paloma living with Jassy, Lorenza safely out at the vineyard, Antonio in Jerez, and her taking care of business in Barcelona. And there was no doubt in Flora's mind that with the threat of a murder charge still hanging over her head, Bibi was better off out of Paloma's life. Not that she would ever say so to Lorenza, or to poor little Paloma, but in her opinion that child had enough love coming at her from her Ravel family to take care of her the rest of her life. Floradelisa had no doubt this was the best way and she would stick to that view, regardless of any queries from any private detective, famous or not. The only problem was this detective came with the reputation of being clever and very good at what he did, and she wasn't sure the Ravel family was ready for the truth.

“Lorenza,” she said, quickly kissing her stepmother, and being kissed rather more firmly back. She noticed that the detective, who'd been holding Lorenza's arm so proprietarily, had stepped back and was watching them. He was not smiling, and Flora was surprised. She'd expected him to be a bit obsequious, wanting to insert himself into the family scene. After all, he was a hired hand, and Lord knows what Lorenza had agreed to pay him.

“I'm Floradelisa,” she introduced herself, and Mac shook her hand briefly.

His eyes met hers. He thought her flamboyant restaurant did not describe the woman he was looking at: a plain, plump, introverted woman.

“Lorenza told me the story of how you were given your charming name,” he said.

“My father was a very charming man. Anyhow, where's Jassy and Antonio?”

“Late, as always,” Lorenza said.

Flora showed them to a table by the window, and Gaultier-black-clad waiters hurried to pull out the massive antique carved Spanish chairs, upholstered in deep red leather, a traditional contrast to the very modern food being served.

Rows of Philippe Starck red lucite chandeliers highlighted the cropped red carnations, and a drink was quickly brought, a tiny glass full of amber liquid, along with a white plate with a ceramic spoon holding a small coral-colored ball.

“An amuse-bouche,” Floradelisa said. “A tapa, if you prefer the Spanish.”

“Are we permitted to ask what it is?” Lorenza knew to expect the unexpected.

“Taste first,” Flora said, folding her arms. “Then tell me what you think.”

Mac bit into the coral ball, sipped the drink. Flora did not look the least bit anxious for his approval, she was totally confident in her culinary skills.

He said, “First, I'm willing to bet this is a Mexican beer, a Negra Modelo. And it was absolutely perfect with this wonderful mutation, or whatever, of what I'd guess is blue crab. I don't know what you did with it, Floradelisa, but it goes on my list of a perfect little bit of food heaven.”

Lorenza stared, surprised, at him. She had no idea what she had just eaten, only that it was crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside, that it looked freaky and tasted delicious.

“You're a genius, Flora,” she said. “What else can we expect from you tonight?”

“Let's just say you are in my hands,” Flora said, pleased. She looked at Mac. “All I can promise is I won't poison you.”

He nodded. “That's the good news. Now I'm waiting for the bad.”

She had turned to go back to her kitchen, but now she turned back again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean about Bibi. What do you know that you're not telling the family?”

Angry hot spots blazed on Flora's pale cheeks. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Mac said, “Listen, Flora, Bibi is why I'm here. If you don't know where she is, then I'd like to have your take on her, what motivated her, who
exactly
Bibi was.”

Taken by surprise, Flora found herself blurting out something she had always thought was the truth.

“I think Bibi, for all her success, was always a woman in search of herself—and never finding her,” she said. “And that's all I know about Bibi,” she added, turning quickly and heading for the safety of her kitchen.

They were silent as wine was poured. A basket of tiny house-baked rolls was brought with a bowl of sweet yellow butter and a saucer of deep green olive oil. Waiters wove their dance, soft conversation hummed from other tables, there was a clean aroma of food and spices. The red room was a theater for food.

“What do you think Flora meant by that?” Mac finally asked Lorenza, taking in for the umpteenth time that evening that she looked gorgeous in her red chiffon, and her ruby earrings in her big carved red Spanish chair.

“It's a woman thing,” she said. “I think she meant that for all our apparent confidence, all our formidable energy—and Bibi was formidable onstage—inside we …
she
 … might have lost her strength. I know I lost mine when Juan Pedro died. And I know Bibi was undermined by unscrupulous managers who worked her to death on those lengthy world tours, and by a relentless schedule of work and recording. And worst of all by that husband. Bibi found success very young and it left her no time to discover herself. I think that's what Flora meant.”

Mac remembered Lev's e-mail about Bibi …
make a woman feel like a woman and she's happy.
“You think that's the reason she took a lover.”

“I do. And then the lover failed her too. He cheated on her.”