The Mamacita Murders (25 page)
Walking onto the boat and hearing the creaking from the boat makes me think it’s not as sturdy as it looks from the land. This thing is old and not something I’d get paid to sail away on. I walk up to the girl thinking I’ll grab her by both of her shoulders so she doesn’t fall into the water. Thinking I’ll sneak up on her like a cat from behind hoping to take a hold of it before it hops or pounces away, I move up on her from behind.
Just as I’m about to grab her arms, she turns around and the look of death and demon eyes stare knives into mine. “Leave me alone,” she screams. I jump and fall back, startled, with my heart pounding out of my chest about a thousand beats a minute. Her beautiful curly hair turns to straight long hair and her once playful smile turns to the stare of a cold ice princess. She is gone, disappeared.
A splash from down below brings the lukewarm bay water onto my face. I run to the ledge of the boat in the same spot she was sitting and feel an enormous sense of warmth. I can see a dolphin or something down below scurrying in the water, looking like it was about to make a jump into the air. A beautiful mermaid-looking dolphin in amazing coral and aquamarine colors shimmies out of the water.
“Gabriela.” A beautiful voice soothes my excitement.
“Don’t ever disturb the inner child in someone, but most importantly never let it be disturbed within you. It is bad luck. What you perceive as danger in your life, may be someone else’s joy. Live and let live. If you allow yourself to be guided by this principle, you will learn to let go and not control. That is important for your life, too.
“You’re not on a timeline; you don’t need to force things to happen. The Universe will make them happen for you. The boat you sit on may look beautiful to you from the outside, but once you step onto it, you realize it is rocky, unstable, and creaking. It feels unsafe to you, but it feels safe to me, Giselle. Let me live and I will let you live. If you do, you will have peace in your life and serenity in your mind,” she says before disappearing into the water.
“Silly, what are you doing on this boat? There’s a rope closing it off. You probably shouldn’t be on it. The police are going to arrest you,” says Dylan, grabbing my arms from behind.
“Dylan, do you believe in magic?”
“Well, sort of,” he replies. “Guess who just called me? Officer Nuñez. He said he was able to work some magic and track down your mom’s ex-lover. Apparently, he lives with a politician in one of the fancy buildings that faces the sea. He’s one of his bodyguards. He remembered your mom and said he’d love to meet you.”
“Wow.”
“Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I’m fine. When can we meet him?”
“He’s dining right now at Trece Mares, one of the best restaurants here in the Walled City. He’s willing to meet with us there after he’s done, for a drink or coffee. Plus, he’s interested in hearing about our investigation.”
“Perfect, let’s get back to the hotel so I can shower.”
Trece Mares, one of the best places to eat in the Walled City, has a quaint feel to it with framed pictures and art on the walls. Young beautiful local women sit dining with older men who look like tourists. I study one woman who looks about twenty years old with long brown hair. She sits elegantly with her legs crossed as she gushes across the table at her date; her extreme enthusiasm gives her away as a sex worker. Prostitution is legal and rampant throughout the Walled City. Most of it is organized by former drug cartels, like Cruz’s family.
The bar with six stools is our haven out of the way from the couples that have taken over a makeshift dance floor in front of a band. The music in the Walled City is the best I’ve heard around the world because the rhythm, bongos, and flute whistle Spanish love songs in a melody I’ve never heard before.
“What has the Walled City changed for you?” Dylan asks, staring into my eyes like he never has before.
“My perspective of love.”
“Really. In what way?”
“I’ve learned that maybe I’m looking in all the wrong places or maybe my standards are all wrong,” I say.
“What do you mean? I thought you didn’t want to lower your standards?” says Dylan.
“I’m not lowering them,” I say. “I’m just talking about the things I once thought were important maybe are not. Take this couple, for example.”
A girl in a light pink cocktail dress with ruffles, looking like my best friend growing up, spins in circles as her Spanish lover embraces her tightly in his arms nibbling on her neck.
“This Guatemalan girl, for example, looks like she’s completely enjoying herself. Her partner doesn’t have a full head of hair and is not the best-looking man here, but she acts like she’s the luckiest girl in the Walled City. He’s singing into her ear and she’s happy.”
“How do you know she’s not just a sex worker?” Dylan asks.
“Her body language. It’s genuine, not like that girl,” I say, pointing to the twenty year old. “Plus they have wedding rings on,” I say.
“How do you know she’s Guatemalan?” asks Dylan.
“Guatemalans just know how to enjoy themselves and they dance well. Plus, she looks like my best friend growing up who was Guatemalan, so I’m presuming.”
“You know who I think the luckiest person is in this place?” he says.
“Who, me?” I say.
“No, me.”
“Aw. Thank you. I couldn’t think of a better place or with better company to spend my birthday than right here with you,” I say.
Our lips brush up against each other and he flutters his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss that feels like a feather.
“Miss Ruiz?” a deep male voice with a thick Spanish accent says.
“Yes,” I reply back.
I turn around to greet Señor Luis Santiago-Borges. I introduce him to Dylan and translate their small talk back and forth. Luis and I continue speaking in Spanish.
“Your beauty is as striking as your mother’s,” he says.
“My mother wrote wonderful things about you in her diary,” I say, taking out a vintage Polaroid headshot of my mom all dolled up with her hair in pin-curls, wearing a black feather boa.
“I wish I had the opportunity to say the same about you, but I knew your mother before you were born,” Señor Borges says.
He studies the photo. “Wow, that takes me way back. I always told her she looked like Ava Gardner. She was a beautiful woman,” he says fondly. “I remember how she loved the models and actresses. When I was working security at the hotel, we met here. She was so excited spotting the stars that were in town.
“What has brought you to the Walled City?” asks Señor Borges.
“We are here investigating an attempted murder that happened in our county. One of our potential suspects came here in a body bag. We are trying to get his DNA and thumbprint,” I say. “Plus, for me, it was an opportunity to come to a town that had a special place in my mom’s heart. It makes me feel close to her.”
“Please tell me how your mother is.”
“She passed away.”
“My dear, I’m sorry to hear that. Was she sick?”
“No, she was not sick.”
“An accident?”
“No, it wasn’t an accident.”
“Well, she was a woman who had a passion for life. I’m sorry to persist. But I loved your mother and I’m curious what happened to her. I’ve dreamed about her for many years. Every day I see something that reminds me of her. Her favorite number was three. She even said she wanted three kids because that was her favorite number. I remember she wanted to buy one of the blue houses here because that was her favorite color, and there are not many of the vibrant blue casitas here in the Walled City,” says Señor Borges.
“Aw, you remember so many little details,” I say.
“Because she has lived in my heart and dwells in my mind every day. Like the ghosts in El Monasterio. Have you had a chance to visit that hotel?”
Remembering I read in a travel book on the plane that the Monastery Hotel used to be a morgue, I notice his eyes are becoming glassy.
“I’m sorry, I’ve had several glasses of wine. I’d like to buy you two a drink,” says Señor Borges.
“That is beautiful that my mother lives in your mind and your heart. It proves to me that all the men are romantic here. That is what I love about this place.”
“It is not just the men here that fall in love. Women dwell in the minds and hearts of men everywhere. Here, we are just more able to express it. This man here has eyes for you,” he says, pointing at Dylan. “I was watching you two from across the room. I don’t need to know the both of you to know that you are in love with each other.”
Dylan and I start giggling almost on cue. I begin to wonder if Dylan understands what Señor Borges just said. Two glasses of red wine make their way in front of us at the bar.
“Cheers to love,” I say.
Clinking our glasses together sends me into a memory I have of my mother, who loved to toast her glass of wine. “Salud,” she would say, until the day my stepfather ripped a wine glass from her hand during a toast. He thought smashing the glass against the wall would teach her to make eye contact with him during their toasts. A piece of glass hit my mom in the eye before my stepfather punched her in the side of the head.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” I say discreetly.
Running to the bathroom and wetting my face with cold water was something I did as a child when my mom would get hit. Today, it still stops a bad memory from swelling my mind. Within seconds, I’m in the bathroom of Trece Mares and the cool water on my face makes me feel better. I reapply my powder and lipstick to refresh myself before rejoining Dylan and Señor Borges, who are now outside on the cobblestoned street.
“Are you okay?” asks Dylan.
“Yes, why?” I reply.
“Because you looked like a deer in headlights before you left,” says Dylan.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
Learning to live with the death of my mom and the nightmare of her life with my stepfather is something I’ve learned to cope with and sweep under the carpet. I’ve learned to shoo away the spirits that lurk in my mind and heart.
“Señor, how have you coped with my mother dwelling in your thoughts?” I ask.
“Señorita, I loved your mother,” he says. “I welcome her spirit every day. I ask that she appear in my heart and mind every morning that I wake up. She comes invited. I would never turn her away. This is what you must learn to do, also. There are bad spirits and there are good ones. You must learn to welcome the good ones. The more you allow them into your heart, they shoo away the bad. Trust me. It is the same with love. When you let those good people, lovers, family, and friends love you and come into your life, they help to shoo away the ones that are not good for you, the bad ones.
“It’s the same thing with your mother. Try to welcome her spirit into your life. You seem like you try to shoo away what is painful and hard for you to understand. You are a beautiful woman, and you must try to welcome the good memories of your mother. She will help you send away those bad memories, like the one you had a couple of minutes ago.”
“That’s all it takes?” I ask.
“Your mother taught me to fill your heart and life with love and passion. Be open-minded to these things and you will be guided through life. She believed that the Universe has a plan for you already inscribed in here, your heart. Let it be. Calm yourself and slow down; that is what your mother taught me. I hope that she somehow was able to feel calm before she passed. And if she could not, all the more important it is for you to do that in her honor. She would have wanted that for you. She was a beautiful woman. Please though, I need to know what happened to her.”
“I will tell you in a letter if it is okay. I have a hard time talking about it, even though it happened twenty years ago.”
“Of course, of course. I don’t want to upset you. Please take my card. Promise me you will write me and tell me what happened to her. Do you have any sisters or brothers?”
“I will explain when I write. But no, I’m an only child. Thank you for caring about my mother. It means a lot to me to know that she experienced true love.”
“We were in love, he says. “Tell me what I can do for you here in the Walled City. How can I help with your investigation?”
“We may need your help tomorrow if we have a problem at the mortuary, but I think Officer Nuñez has everything covered. The police have been a big help to us, thank you,” I say.
“Good, I’m happy to hear that. I’m glad I got a chance to meet you while you were here. I’m going to leave you two lovebirds alone to enjoy the night here in the Walled City. Please take advantage of the time you have in this place and anyplace you find yourself together or in the company of those that love you. We have a short time here on this Earth. Hug those a little tighter that you love and live every day like it’s your last. Because you never know what tomorrow brings,” Señor Borges says before stepping up into a horse-driven carriage.
“I’ll be waiting for that letter,” he says before being whisked away.
The first funeral I went to was my mom’s. This is the second time I’ve stood at a mortuary looking into the casket of a dead person. Standing at the mortuary with Dylan makes me feel like dying again. Officer Cruz’s body disintegrates as I stare at him and my mom appears inside the coffin.
