Her voice had been steadily rising, something she only realized when she pounded the table with her fist, and it shook.

  They just stared at her.

  She tucked a lock of wayward hair demurely behind her ear. “I just don’t like the insinuation that I can’t do certain things because I’m a woman, and because of my age.”

  “I’m not insinuating that you can’t do these things. In fact, I see it very plausible that you could’ve murdered Alfredo De Leon.”

  She bit her tongue. She’d walked right into that one. “And how do you see that?”

  “Because you were at the starting line when the first gun went off.”

  Diana waited for more. It didn’t come. Then she said, “So? I don’t see what difference it makes in the investigation if I was there, or not?”

  “I’ll tell you what difference it makes,” the detective said, pocketing his notebook. “The lock of the El Gordo’s pen was pried open without the key. After that was done, there was likely only one place for whoever opened the gate to go without being noticed. And that was with everyone else, to the front of the race.”

  Diana’s eyes widened. “That’s ridiculous. There were so many people, and so much chaos, and--”

  “And yet you were both near the corral when the lock was tampered with, and in the same location off the course where the body was found. Very strange, yes?”

  Now, she understood. Yes, that was a remarkable coincidence. “Just bad luck,” she muttered.

  Sean said, “I’m sure there were cameras all over the place during the run, though? Have you gone through the footage?”

  Detective Carrera looked at the Irishman like he was an idiot. “Of course. We’ve spent the past day combing through all of the evidence, which includes hours and hours of footage. Unfortunately, we find nothing of the beginning of the race, or the area of the barrier that was removed. And we see nothing of you.”

  His gaze narrowed on Diana.

  Of course. Somehow, the camera seemed to have an aversion to her. She picked up the newspaper and showed it to him. “I was right next to this guy, without the pants. That’s my elbow. I think.”

  The detective looked at it without much interest. “Unfortunately, we cannot make a positive identification based on an elbow.”

  That was pretty much what she thought he’d say.

  “And I’ve done a little searching on you, Señora St. James,” he said, to which Diana winced. “It seems that you had similar troubles in Paris? And in Verona?”

  Sean’s eyes widened. She looked at the ground. “Don’t forget Austria,” she offered. What was the difference? He knew everything, already. “But in all of those incidents, the murderer was found. And it wasn’t me.”

  “You do have bad luck, don’t you?” Sean put in.

  You have no idea, she thought, letting out a sigh. Maybe this is what comes from not living my true purpose.

  He stood up to leave. “I’ll be making a few more inquiries. But I must stress, and can’t stress enough” he said, holding a finger in her face. “That you need to stay put. We will have more questions for you, I am sure.”

  “Right. I will,” she mumbled, feeling beaten. “Are you saying that you don’t have any other suspects?”

  He pressed his lips together, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said, “We have several leads that we are following. That’s all I am at liberty to say.”

  Several leads, she thought. And I’ll bet I am the most promising one of all of them.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After the detective left, Diana wandered into the kitchen to find Sean, dotting his ruddy forehead with a napkin. He was sweating, taking deep breaths, as if he’d just been in a near-miss accident.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  He nodded. “It’s just . . .” He fanned his face. “Bugger. I’m not used to lying to the police like that. I thought that detective was onto me.”

  She blinked, surprised. Here, he’d been so happy-go-lucky, so cavalier about all of the calamities that had plagued them. The idea of getting a horn up his fanny had thrilled him. Nothing caused a ripple or made him worry in the least. And yet here he was, afraid of a police detective?

  Maybe my problem is that I’ve been grilled by too many police detectives before. I’m starting to get used to it.

  Seeing him worrying like this made her wonder if she was worrying enough. She’d been lucky so far. But what if this was the time her luck ran out? “What did you say to them?”

  “I said you stepped out, and I didn’t know when you would return, but that you were around here, somewhere.” He patted his chest. “I tried to be vague so I wasn’t lying, but since I knew that you were on that route out of the city . . .”

  “Well, that’s not a lie. I didn’t even leave the city. Well, not really. I came close to the border, but I don’t actually think I crossed it. So all’s good. Calm down.” She never thought she’d be the one, saying those words to him.

  “All right. So I gather you didn’t find the activist woman?”

  “Oh, no. I did. But it didn’t do much good.”

  “No?”

  She told him the whole story about how she’d met Rachel Hawkins on the bridge and thought she was in the midst of a suicide attempt. It was embarrassing, but she knew it would cheer Sean up, and was right. He laughed and slapped his knee when she finished. “Yeah, so she was just meditating. I’m an idiot.”

  “That’s a good one.”

  “Anyway, so she wasn’t around during the running of the bulls. She was at a museum. And the reason she left was because she got fed up with the barbarism and just needed to get out,” Diana explained with a sigh. “So let me ask you. You mentioned the pilgrimage of St. James before. Do you know anything about it? She wasn’t religious, but said she was going on it because it helped her get in tune with her purpose.”

  Sean nodded. “Well, I’m a Catholic myself. And I know of people who made the trip and said that it changed their spiritual lives. But lately I’ve been hearing about non-believers going and experiencing some kind of awakening. I don’t know about that. Sounds like a lot of superstition to me.”

  “You think? Because I thought it sounded rather—”

  “I don’t believe any of that. Having to hike a trail in order to discover oneself? I think I’d have more of an awakening, sitting on the porcelain throne.”

  Diana frowned. “That’s disgusting.”

  He shrugged. “I’m just speaking the truth. You don’t need nice scenery in order to learn something about yourself. You just need to do something most people don’t seem to want to bother with—think.” He tapped the side of his head. “Most people are too busy for that.”

  She glared at him. “Then what have you been traveling around Europe for?”

  “It’s not for self-discovery. It’s to enjoy myself. That’s all. I know who I am. And that’s why I went traveling alone—because I actually like my own company. There are too many people out there who can’t stand to be with themselves. And why? Because they haven’t been alone with themselves enough to know who they really are.”

  She stared at him. That was true. She’d spent all of her life, surrounded by others. It was only when she was alone that she realized she had a giant hole in her life, and it was because she really didn’t know herself. She’d been afraid to go on this trip, by herself, simply because she didn’t trust that she could enjoy herself on her own.

  But Sean was different. He enjoyed being on his own. Thrived upon it. Didn’t need anyone or any pilgrimage to tell him anything about himself. He probably didn’t even need her, here, either, messing up his enjoyment of the festival by becoming a suspect in this murder. “Are you saying you didn’t want me to come along with you?”

  “Not at all. You know I wanted you to come with me. But as for going on a pilgrimage, alone, hoping to find something . . . I get the feeling most people who walk those steps wind up disappointed.”

  Diana hugged herself. That’s what this entire trip to Europe had been, after all. A pilgrimage. And yes, so far, she hadn’t found very much. . . except trouble. She’d found a lot of trouble. She’d seen a lot of places and learned she could survive on her own.

  But as she’d walked even that small part of The Way, she’d had the feeling that maybe she was missing out. Maybe the idea of it wasn’t to just float around Europe and pick up whatever she fancied. Maybe what she needed to do is take an actual, tried-and-true route.

  “How do you know that’s true, if you’ve never done it?”

  He smiled at her. “I know a thing or two, Lass.”

  “The people that I saw on it seemed, I don’t know, at peace. Excited. You sound very cynical about it. I never thought of you as a cynic.”

  He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m all for people exploring, broadening their horizons. But I don’t know that it’ll suddenly make someone a better person. It takes more than one’s scenery to do that.” He shrugged. “I suppose I’m getting so cynical only because I’m knackered. I tell you, I’m going to be dead to the world tonight.”

  Oh, no. Her ex, Evan, always snored loudest when he was really tired. “You know what I think,” she said, looking around. “I think I will clear out these boxes and sleep on the couch.”

  He stared at her. “Are you angry at me?”

  “No,” she said with a shrug, shoving a box of canned potatoes to the ground to expose an awfully ugly, lumpy loveseat of matted orange velour. “I just think I’d get a better night’s sleep out here.”

  He leaned against the door jamb and watched her. “You’re angry. Because I spoke my mind about the pilgrimage, is that it? I called it nonsense and rubbish and you don’t see it that way. It’s something you really wanted to do?”

  “No,” she insisted, tugging on another crate. Though she was going to be, if he didn’t help her get the couch clear. These crates weighed a ton. “I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t even know if I want to be here.”

  “Ah. That’s it. You’re fed up with ol’ Sean, ready to give him the ol’ heave ho. Admit it.”

  She finally succeeded in getting the next crate on the ground, narrowly missing crushing her toe. She looked up and sighed. “I’m not! I’m just really tired, too. Can we table any more discussion until—”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She looked up. “What?”

  “Well, I was raised in a household where you don’t go to bed angry. And you’re angry. This is our first fight. We need to talk it out and come to a resolution before bed. And that’s final.”

  She blinked. Since when did sharing a flat as roommates constitute a household? And their first fight? Meaning there would be more? That made them almost sound like . . . a couple?

  Immediately, she softened. She said, “It’s not a fight. I promise. And I am not angry at you. I think I’m more angry at myself, for exactly what you said. Thinking that I could trek around the world and discover something new about myself I couldn’t have discovered back home in New York. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Ah, macushla,” he said, coming over to her. He easily removed the last two crates from the couch and put an arm around her. Together, they sat on it, sinking into the mushy, overused cushions. He patted her knee. “I think you feel like you’re broken, and this trip was going to fix something. But the fact is, you were perfectly fine, all along.”

  She shrugged doubtfully, unable to meet his eyes.

  “What has broken you has been all these crimes happening during your vacation. It’s no wonder you’re out of sorts. But anyone would be. In front of me, I see a woman who is strong, courageous, and who has found herself pretty well, I’d say.” He winked. “A right good chancer.”

  Butterflies swarmed her stomach, and she smiled. “Thank you.”

  “But I do think that if you’re feeling that way, it’s because you’ve been rushing around like a madwoman, trying to solve this murder. I say you should give it up. Let the police do what they need to do. You’re innocent. We know that. So let them find it out.”

  She nodded reluctantly. She didn’t want to, but she didn’t see any other choice. And she was so tired. “I suppose I should. I don’t really have any ideas where to go next. It’s all dead ends. I can’t even think of who else I’d ask or where else I could look for clues. Everything we’ve done, the police seem to have already thought of. So you’re right.”

  “I am?” He seemed surprised. “Brilliant. Well, I guess even a broken clock is right once or twice a day. So we can go to bed?”

  She stood up, stretching her arms over her head. Suddenly, she felt wide awake, as if she’d been jolted by an electric current. Something still swam inside her, uneasy. The thought of abandoning the investigation, as right as Sean probably was, also made her feel . . . even more lost than before.

  “Actually, I’m not so tired anymore. I think I want to take a walk.”

  “A walk? You haven’t walked enough all over Pamplona, today?”

  She laughed. “I’m fine. I just need to clear my head. And I had a call from my ex’s fiancé. I should probably give her a call back before she accuses me of being difficult.”

  “All right . . . you’ll be okay?”

  She tilted her head. Hadn’t she just gotten done yelling at Detective Carrera for assuming she couldn’t take care of herself? “Yes, I’ll be fine. Why?”

  “The streets of Pamplona turn into one big party during the St. Fermin festival. It can get pretty rowdy, you know. Just be careful. There has been a rash of crime out there in recent years.”

  Well, she couldn’t fault him for that. He was just looking after her well-being. “I will. Thanks.”

  She went down the stairs and stepped outside, onto the street. Sure enough, the cancelation of the bull run and the fights had not put a damper on the nightlife. Now that the sun had set, young men and women were roaming the street, beers in hand, as if this were fraternity row. Loud dance music was being piped in from outdoor speakers, with a hard beat that reverberated in Diana’s chest. The mood outside was electric.

  She wandered away from the crowds, up the street. Why was she worrying? There was no reason to, if she was simply going to take Sean’s advice. Give up, enjoy all Pamplona had to offer, and let the police handle things.

  Instead, her heart squeezed at the thought. What if they handled things, and never found the killer? What if it ended up in a cold case file, and never cleared her name? Would she be stuck in Pamplona forever, waiting for answers?

  As right as Sean was that all of these crimes had taken a toll on her, she didn’t think it possible to just walk away. Not when there was a murderer on the loose, and she was still a suspect.

  Shivering, she walked down the street, skirting crowds of drunken revelers. Someone had to have seen something. And one of them could’ve been a murderer.

  No, though this was a trip to find herself, there was one thing about herself she didn’t have to look for. She knew she was inquisitive. Curious. She couldn’t give up until she had all the answers. That would never change.

  That meant she that she needed to find answers. And she would, just as she had done before. But how?

  *

  Tilda answered the phone immediately. “Oh, Diana! So happy to hear your voice.”

  Diana had reasons to be wary about Tilda. Not only was she her ex-husband’s fiancé, but she’d gone to school with Diana’s youngest daughter, Bea. Though the beautiful young woman wasn’t particularly intelligent, had a bit of a grating laugh, and there was the obvious question as to whether she was just after Evan for his money, Diana had come to accept the fact that saving Evan from his mistakes wasn’t her business anymore. During a visit to Italy a few weeks ago, she’d come to an understanding with Tilda, and now, actually didn’t mind her so much.

  “Sorry . . . is it a bad time? I have no idea what time it is there, in New York!”

  Tilda laughed, a sound that wasn’t as grating as it once had been. Maybe it was because she was now thousands of miles away? “It’s fine. It’s just before dinnertime, here. Where are you, now?”

  “I’m in Pamplona.”

  She gasped. “Oh, my gosh! How did you get down to Brazil?” Before Diana could correct her, she added, “Geez, Diana, you are such a world traveler. I am really envious of everything you’ve been doing. You’re so brave.”

  Right now, Diana didn’t feel very brave. “Thank you for saying so.”

  “Maybe you can give me tips on a great place to go for our honeymoon? We don’t want to do the Caribbean again, since we were just there. And Italy’s out, too, now. I want to do something fabulous! Something really extra, something we’ll never forget.”

  “I gotcha. Something extra. I’ll think about it,” Diana said, knowing that Evan would spend any amount of money possible to make it happen. The man lived to spoil his new bride-to-be. “How are things going back home?”

  “Oh, you know. Crazy with the wedding plans. It’s actually not that easy to get twenty-seven bridesmaids in town for one weekend to go dress shopping, let alone for the wedding!”

  Diana’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, did you say twenty-seven?”

  “Yep. Well, they’re not all going to be bridesmaids, obviously. I loaned some of them to Evan to be grooms-women, since he didn’t really have anyone to ask.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “And I’m really having trouble finding the donkeys for a December wedding. I don’t know why it’s so difficult.”

  “Donkeys? For . . .”

  “Yes, it’s so fun!” She squealed. “They walk around the reception, loaded up with beer and cocktails, and people just help themselves.”

  Diana cringed, half-mortified for Evan, half-interested to see this spectacle, taking place. “Waiters could do that, though, and they probably wouldn’t smell as bad?” she suggested.

  “Now, Diana,” she said with a sigh. “That would be making the event ordinary. And I want it to be something people always remember!”

 

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