A Fatality in Spain, page 17
He shrugged. “Ah, the langosta.”
“Langosta?”
“Lobster.”
“I’m up for that,” she said with a smile.
“Or I could go for some good steak.” He licked his lips. “I tell you, I miss the meat and potatoes of home. So what do you think they’re serving Juan Perez for dinner tonight in the jail?”
She shrugged. “Probably not lobster. But I don’t feel right, making light of the situation. I don’t know—he seemed so nice. Yes, he clearly didn’t like De Leon. And yes, he was blackmailing him to stay in the business. But that might have been in desperation to keep his client. He didn’t seem like a murderer.”
“I suppose a lot of people don’t seem like murderers,” Sean pointed out. “Which is why, on all the news reports after the fact, they always interview a neighbor who says, I never thought he was capable of such a thing.”
“True. But he only admitted to the blackmailing. Not to the murder. What good would it do for him to murder De Leon? That’s basically ensuring that he will never make him money again.”
“You said it yourself. De Leon must’ve threatened to reveal what Perez was doing to the other matadors.”
“I suppose that’s true. And well, he had—” She stopped as the waiter approached with a plate of what looked like little sausages on crusty bread.
“This is our txistorra pintxo. Small bite. Our specialty,” the man said in broken English. “A real treat.”
“Oh, it looks delicious,” Diana said as Sean reached over and picked one up.
“I’m famished,” he said, shoving the entire round into his mouth. He chewed, his eyes lighting up, and said, mouth full, “Mmm. Good.”
Diana tried a nibble of one. He was right. The sausage was spicier than the traditional breakfast sausage, and it was in some kind of tomato sauce that reminded her of a dish she’d had in Italy. “Wow. Love it.”
“What were you saying about De Leon? Before? He had . . . what?” Sean asked, still chewing as he reached for another.
“Was I?” The thought had left her. She reached into her mind, trying to remember what it was. Just as it was about to come to her, her phone buzzed with a text, and the thought quickly flittered away as she looked at her phone. It was from Bea: You really agreed to give Vidal away at the wedding? That’s not fair. I was going to ask you to give me away!
Diana sighed. What a way to put a damper on the mood. She almost silenced and put her phone away, but the urge to reply was too great. She put up a finger to Sean and texted: What about your father?
Her reply: I want both of you to walk me down the aisle.
Diana wished she could be there in person to help her youngest plan her wedding. It seemed like every day, there was a catastrophe. Diana couldn’t remember ever having this much stress, planning her wedding to Evan. She typed in: Well, the weddings are not the same day! I can do both.
Immediately, Bea replied with: But I wanted to be your first time.
She laughed. Of all the silly things to worry about . . . Honey, this time with Tilda won’t be my first walk down the aisle. Don’t worry, walking you down the aisle will be special because you’re you.
A moment later, she responded with: Okay, Mommy. Love you. Hope you’re having fun. Call me later.
Diana looked up and found Sean staring at her with amusement on his face. “Sorry,” she said. “You have six kids. How do you not have them constantly texting you, every minute of the day, wanting advice?”
He chuckled. “Maggie was the one with the sage advice. I was the one with the jokes. So they know better than to come to me for wisdom. You must be very smart for them to constantly be wanting yours. What was it, now?”
“Oh, my youngest. She’s in Japan and planning a wedding, and it’s a new disaster every second.”
“Ah, I remember that time.”
“Your children are married?”
“All of them.”
“You have grandchildren?”
He nodded and reached into his wallet, pulling out a giant roll of pictures. “Sixteen of them.”
“Sixteen!” She admired all the photographs, each of smiling faces that slightly resembled Sean’s. “Wow, they’re beautiful children.”
“Yes. These photos are old, though. They’re quite a bit older now. But all under the age of twelve.”
“Are they all in Ireland?”
He shook his head. “No. My oldest, Greg, is in Kilkenny, with his wife and the triplets. They’re four, and a right good handful. I sat for them, now and again. I love children. Keep you young, you know? But the rest are all over Europe, actually. France, Portugal . . .”
Her jaw dropped. “So you were visiting them?”
“Yes. That’s part of the purpose of my trip. But the reason I came to Barcelona was because I met a pretty lass in France, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”
She blushed and looked away, unable to keep the smile off her face. “You did.”
“Shah, of course,” he said with a smile. “Do you still have the coin?”
She reached into her purse and pulled out the old, worn coin with the Gaelic runes upon it. He’d given it to her, and she’d flipped it a few times to decide where to go on her travels. “I do. It’s my good luck charm.”
“It was mine too.”
“Oh! Did you want it back?”
She held it out to him, but he took her hand and closed her fingers over it. “No, what I mean is, it led me to you. Unexpectedly. And I couldn’t be happier.”
She smiled, blushing hard and hot, and looked out upon the garden, cast by the fairy lights and the moon’s glow in a dim blue light. She said, “Well, I think of all the places you’ve taken me, this is my favorite.”
“Mine, too.”
They were still holding hands across the table when the waiter appeared with two bowls. He set one in front of each of them and said, “Estofado de toro. Another specialty of ours. You like.”
Diana took a fork and stabbed at the chunks of meat, swimming in a brown sauce. It looked like the traditional beef stew she used to make every Sunday for her family at home. As she picked up the first forkful, it hit her. “De toro? So is this—”
“Bull stew,” Sean said, already chewing. “I know you said you were quite done with bulls, but I don’t think you’ll mind them like this. It’s quite delicious.”
She took a taste and nodded. “You’re right. They’re much easier to stomach when they can’t breathe down your neck.”
They both laughed.
Sean said, “So what was it that you were saying before, about Alfredo De Leon? You shouldn’t worry about that Juan Perez character. You have the right man. He was afraid of losing his business because De Leon was planning on outing him to the other matadors as a blackmailer.”
“Well, now he’s really lost his business. That’s for sure. His business and his freedom. I bet he’ll go to jail for a long time. It was a very risky thing for him to do, considering. But I suppose he had to have been so angry at De Leon for not listening to him that he just snapped . . . went to the corral, unleashed the bull . . . then ran to the other part of the course and pushed away the barrier . . .”
Diana trailed off, remembering something that had happened earlier that day.
“That’s odd.”
“The whole case was odd, from beginning to end, if you ask me.” Sean tilted his head. He’d already polished off his stew, and here, Diana had only taken a single bite. She sat there, her fork full of the next bite and halfway suspended between the plate and her mouth, but the more she thought about it, the more doubtful she became.
“No, what’s really odd is that Juan Perez had a limp. I saw it when he was coming toward us on the street. He was so slow.”
Sean’s eyes narrowed, as he seemed to follow her train of thought. “So you think . . .”
“How could he have let that bull go, and then run all the way to the other side of the course to open the barrier so he could’ve gotten through?”
Sean shrugged. “It wasn’t that far. Besides, there was no saying how much time passed from the time the bull was let out of its pen to the time the first gunshot went off. It was possible it was in the corral with the other bulls, waiting, and no one noticed that it shouldn’t have been there. During that time, he could’ve gotten to the other side of the course.”
“But I think people would have had to have noticed. It was El Gordo. Everyone said you can’t mistake him.”
“I see,” he said, draining his glass.
He pointed to her stew, urging her to eat up, when she remembered what she was going to tell him, before. “Oh, and what I was saying before was that I guess De Leon was already in the process of telling other matadors what Juan Perez was up to. Because I found that letter in Luis Castrovilla’s dressing room.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “So I guess he showed it to him. But I don’t really understand why Castrovilla had that letter and didn’t tell anyone . . .”
She froze as the realization hit her at full speed. Luis Castrovilla was a good matador, but everyone said De Leon was better. He was young and spry and capable of handling a bull, any bull. He had a reason to want De Leon out of the way, and if he was around the corral, it was likely no one would’ve noticed. And the letter . . .
“Oh, my gosh,” she breathed, as it suddenly came to her. “That’s the reason Luis Castrovilla had the letter in his possession.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Sean asked in confusion. “What’s bothering you?”
“Don’t you see? De Leon didn’t show that letter to Luis to give him evidence that he was being blackmailed. I mean, maybe De Leon did tell Castrovilla that he was being blackmailed to stay in bullfighting. And Luis, sick of the fact that he was always going to be number two, took matters into his own hands. He wrote that letter. And then he took it from De Leon, once El Gordo had killed him.”
“You’re saying that . . . Luis Castrovilla murdered Alfredo De Leon and was trying to frame their manager for the crime . . .” Sean said, understanding finally dawning. “Now, that’s diabolical.”
“It just makes more sense. But I don’t have any proof,” she said, tapping her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “But I think I know how we could find out.”
Sean looked down at her plate. “Don’t you want to finish your stew?”
She threw her napkin on the table and pushed away from it. “I don’t think we have any time. Can we get the check? I think we might have put an innocent man behind bars!”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Unfortunately, Casa Azul was in the opposite direction of the bullring, on the other side of the festival, so Diana found herself running as she made her way through the crowded streets. Drunken revelers were out in full force, enjoying the warm summer night. She wove around them, until finally, the ring came into sight.
Stopping at the corner to catch her breath, she looked around and realized she was alone.
“Sean?” she asked, peering over the crowds in the darkness.
A moment later, he broke through, panting. “Here. My God, love. Now I see how you were able to outrun that bull. You have some moves on you.”
The only move she was concerned about now was the one that she’d performed earlier, where she’d gotten a potentially innocent man arrested. The guilt overwhelming her, she marched across the street, toward the bullring. This time, it was dark, but there were no security guards or police officers standing by. They’d probably decided that since the case was closed, it wasn’t necessary anymore.
“You’re going to sneak in there for a third time, aren’t you?” he asked, struggling to keep up with her.
She shrugged. “What else can I do?”
“You could call the police.”
“No, because I don’t know for sure. And I don’t want to be wrong twice. But I have to know,” she said. “If we can just get into this locker room again, I bet we might be able to find some other evidence. He had a pile of other notes and things there. I just didn’t go through it all because I thought that letter was the smoking gun. But I bet if I can just get in there . . .”
She went to the back door, and, looking around as she’d done before, pulled on it.
But it was locked.
She pulled again, as if that would magically produce a different result, but again, she was disappointed. “Oh, no.”
Sean shrugged. “Well, if you’re not interested in the front door, I guess we could call it a night.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You don’t really think they’d leave the front door wide open, if this one is closed. Would they?”
He shrugged. It was worth a try. She walked around to the front, checking in the darkness for anyone who might be watching them. But the police and security had their hands full with whatever was going on in the festival. She reached the front double doors and casually pulled on one of them.
It opened.
“There! I told you!” Sean said triumphantly as she shushed him and slipped inside. She’d never been to this part of the ring before, and it was so dark in there, lit only by moonlight streaming through the doors, that she had to squint to see what was there. It looked like a lobby, similar to that of a movie theater, with posters of famous matadors and their kills on the walls. Once her eyes adjusted, she noticed the lobby restrooms, and the box office.
Creeping past that, she froze when she heard a noise, deep inside.
She looked at Sean. “Did you hear th—”
It came again, closer.
Then, footsteps. There was no doubt about it. Someone was coming. “Hide!” she whispered, rushing for the ladies’ room. Behind her, Sean must’ve had a different idea, because he hurried off in a different direction. She reached the restroom and pushed on the door.
It didn’t budge.
It was locked.
She shoved it one last time when a figure came around the corner nearest her. He took a step back and let out a gasp of shock. Then he said, “Qué estás haciendo aquí?”
Straining to see in the darkness, she noticed right away the handsome face of the man she’d spoken to yesterday. It was Luis Castrovilla, in the flesh. He was dressed in a warm-up suit and had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“Oh, Mr. Castrovilla!” she said, every inch of her skin prickling with goosebumps. Was she in the presence of a killer? “It’s me, Diana St. James.”
His eyes narrowed. She saw no recognition in them whatsoever. “Who?”
“I spoke to you yesterday, out in the ring?”
“Oh, right. Were you from press?”
“Uh . . .” She couldn’t remember what lies she’d told, if any, to get him to talk. Right now, she couldn’t think of anything other than that he could’ve killed Alfredo De Leon. And maybe it was time for the truth. “No. What are you doing here? Training?”
He smirked. “That’s right. My training’s never done. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I . . .” She looked around. “When I was here yesterday, I used the restroom. And I think I left my phone in there. I came here to check, but the door’s locked. I guess I need to call security?”
So much for the truth.
He shook his head. “Don’t bother security. This is no problem. It’s a good thing you ran into me. Lucky for you, that kind of thing’s my specialty,” he said, motioning her back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a Swiss Army Knife. Pulling the file out, he scratched the metal panel a bit before sticking it inside the keyhole. He turned it around a bit until there was an audible click, and then the door sprang open. “Easy.”
Meanwhile, Diana had been staring at him, wondering if that was just the way he’d let the bull out of its pen. When he grinned at her, she quickly replaced her shocked expression with one of delight. “Oh, wow. You did that so well. Thank you. Looks live you’ve done that before.”
She cringed when his eyes found her in the dark. “Yeah. I have.”
She took the door from him and pushed it open the rest of the way, wondering what she should do. The safe thing, she reasoned, would be to let him go, and call the police later, explaining what she’d learned.
Yes, that was the plan.
She stepped in, flipped on the light, and turned to find him standing there. She expected that he’d have left, but he seemed to be waiting for something. “Well, again, thank you.”
“But, por favor, Señora, I need to lock up after I go. The ring shouldn’t have been open to spectators. So I will need to wait until you’ve gone,” he said.
“Oh.” Bristling, she turned away, toward the empty restroom. Was he on to her? There was something about his tone that didn’t seem quite right.
He was on to her.
Teeth chattering in her skull, she walked up and down among the stalls, looking for her “phone,” while trying to calm herself down so she could face Luis Castrovilla again. She went to the mirror and looked at herself, trying to gauge if her expression gave her away.
Finally, when she knew she’d taken too long, she plastered a smile on her face and turned to the door. Opening it, she sighed. “Oh, well. Looks like it isn’t in there.”
He was leaning against the box office window. “A shame, really.”
Suddenly, the phone in her purse buzzed with a text.
His eyes immediately went to it. She froze. Then she smiled. “Well, I’ve got to be on my way. Maybe I’ll call tomorrow for the lost and found! But thanks!”
She tried to step around him, but he sidestepped in front of her, blocking her way. With sudden force, he grabbed her bag, unzipping it, then pulled out her phone, much to her chagrin. “Well, look at that. I found your phone,” he said, dropping her bag and holding it up. “So, Diana St. James. Who are you, exactly? And what the hell do you want?”
She reached forward to grab it, but he held it high, out of reach. “I wanted to know why you killed Alfredo De Leon.”
He laughed. “Don’t be stupid. He was killed by accident.”
Shuddering, she did her best to keep her voice even. “No. Someone let that bull out. Someone moved the barrier. Someone who wanted him dead. You.”
_preview.jpg)
