He nodded. “And I told them what I tell you, now. I was in the audience. I don’t need to run with the bulls—I deal with them daily. But I do enjoy watching the spectacle.”

  “Your wife said you didn’t want El Gordo in the running. That he offered you an arrangement, and--”

  He nodded. “And I turned it down again and again. So that is the strangest thing. I did not even know El Gordo was in the running until it was too late.”

  Diana’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “That’s right. Like I told De Leon, I did not want anyone fighting him, which means that he would not be in the running. I told everyone, under no circumstances would he run. El Gordo was at the corral, like he was supposed to be. And that was where he was supposed to stay. The other bulls are let out and put in a pen so they can get riled up for the first gunshot. It can be very confusing, very chaotic, but someone had obviously let him in there with the other six bulls.”

  “And you didn’t notice?”

  “No, I wasn’t there. I only found out in the audience, when I heard the whispers and yells from the crowd that El Gordo was on the course. I couldn’t believe it at first. I was standing on the street corner, behind the barrier, watching for him to come past, thinking everyone must’ve been mistaken. But you don’t mistake a bull that big. He was the last bull on the course, and since he was mine, and wasn’t supposed to be there, I kept watching, hoping I could somehow stop him. But he never ran past. I thought that that someone must’ve made a mistake or drank too much. Then I saw that some of the barriers earlier in the course were already open. So I went through one, and I heard the sound of a bull running on the street off-course. I followed it.” He shook his head. “And then I saw Alfredo. And . . . you. And sure enough, my bull was loose. So I rushed to get El Gordo under control before he could hurt you.”

  As Diana turned this over in his head, Sean slapped his knee and let out a loud, “Ha!” Diana stared at him as he said, “Well, macushla, you were really in it, weren’t you? Up to your eyeballs!”

  She ignored him and said, “So you didn’t see anyone else in the street except Alfredo?”

  He shook his head. “And you.”

  “Right. And the police think you might’ve done it because you two were yelling at each other at the bullring a few moments prior.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I heard that you and Alfredo have a bit of a history that doesn’t just involve El Gordo?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

  “Well, I—”

  “It’s true.” He pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “We’re always goading each other. I find out which bull he’s interested in, I buy it so he won’t get to fight it. He finds out which bull I want, he buys it first. It’s healthy competition. But it’s all fun.”

  Sean snorted. He’d cleared his plate but had thankfully stopped short of licking it. “Didn’t look like he was having much fun yesterday, outside the bullring. In fact, he looked right pissed off at you.”

  Diana nodded and they both turned to Pablo for a response.

  Instead of getting defensive, Pablo laughed loudly. “You could say that! We’re always pissed off at one another. We go back and forth, back and forth. We fight all the time. But I never would have—killed him? That’s crazy. In fact, I enjoyed our little competition. I’m sorry he’s gone. It’s going to make my job a lot less interesting.”

  “You told that to the police?”

  He nodded. “Not that it did much good. I don’t have anyone to confirm where I was, and since I was so close to the murder at the time, they’re looking at me.” He shrugged. “Looking at you, too. That’s why my wife went to visit you. She’s worried that I might be taken away from her and locked in prison. She worries a lot.”

  “And you don’t?”

  He shrugged. “I’m innocent. I have faith in God above that the truth will come out. It always does.”

  “And what do you think, Señor Arroyo, is the truth?”

  He took a swig of his beer and his brow wrinkled. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been thinking a lot about it. And as revered as matadors are in these parts, there are plenty of people who think they are butchers. Who’d love to see them dead. So I think . . . maybe one of them.”

  Diana thought of the crowd of gatherers who’d been protesting the bullfights at the ring, yesterday. That American woman from Peta, Rachel Hawkins. Maybe it was worth talking to her. She certainly had no love for Alfredo De Leon.

  “Or, there’s another possibility. Maybe De Leon did it himself. To prove himself. That’s it. That’s the only thing I can think of,” he said with a frown. “Maybe his wife would know better.”

  Diana’s ears perked up. “He has a wife?”

  He nodded. “Carolina De Leon. She’s a model. Beautiful woman.”

  “Do you know where I could find her?”

  “In the Plaza. The pink house with the white plantation shutters is theirs. You can’t miss it.” He leaned in and winked. “They were very ostentatious people. Showed off, if you know what I mean. All about appearances with them.”

  As she was trying to think of her next question, the door opened and Mrs. Arroya came through, looking flustered. She took one look at Diana and started speaking in rapid Spanish to her husband. Diana could only make out one or two of the words: toro,“bull”, and ayuda, which meant “help”.

  Pablo cleared his throat and explained, “My wife is naturally upset about the police interview. She went out afterwards to clear her head. You see, they accused me of moving the barrier in the course to let El Gordo through, which is a crime.”

  “And you didn’t . . .” she said.

  “Of course not. Like I said, I didn’t even know he was out.” He stood up. “And she wants me to show you something. Can I bother you to accompany me to the corral? It’s just on the other side of the street.”

  Diana stood up, almost too eagerly. “Of course.”

  He exchanged words with his wife, patted her hand, and grabbed some keys from a bull-shaped bowl in the foyer. Then he led them across the street, to a large brick building. Diana could smell the heavy stench of manure, animals, and hay as he led them through a large arched doorway. Inside, they found an enormous corral with a vaulted ceiling, as wide as a football field. Their feet crunched over the hay on the ground as he walked them past many empty stalls. Some, though, were home to bulls, and had placards with their name and information on it. Diana braced herself when Arroyo stopped in front of the stall at the very end, knowing exactly who she’d find there.

  El Gordo seemed to anticipate her, too, because he let out a large, angry snort, and the walls of the corral shook.

  Diana froze in her tracks before she got to the gate. It was constructed of heavy metal and looked sturdy, but Diana wasn’t sure she trusted it. Not with that beast.

  Arroyo looked amused. He crooked a finger at her. “He won’t bite.”

  “I’m not worried about being bitten. More like gored,” she said, looking over at Sean, who went ahead easily. Sure, Sean could be brave. This bull didn’t have a death wish for him.

  “That is some big bull,” Sean remarked, leaning close—too close, in Diana’s estimation, to the open slats of the gate. “You faced up this beast, macushla? Impressive!”

  Right, she had faced it before. No need to be a coward now. Besides, it wasn’t some devil, like Mrs. Arroyo had said. Sean was correct. It was just an animal.

  She took a step forward and met the bull in its big, dead, dark eyes.

  The second she did, it charged. Sean narrowly pulled back before the bull hit the gate with its full force, causing a terrific crash. Its horns locked in the gridwork, coming inches from Sean’s face. He straightened.

  “Some beast,” he breathed, eyes wide.

  But the bull’s eyes were locked on Diana’s. At least, she was pretty sure of that.

  Shuddering, she tore her eyes away and said to Pablo, “I’m sure he was not what you wanted to show us. Was there something else?”

  He nodded and held up his set of keys. “These,” he said, “are the only keys to open this gate. Well, except for the ones kept in the corral owner’s office, but he keeps them in a safe. I had these keys on me during the running. So I was genuinely confused as to how the bull got out. And then I saw this.”

  He pointed to the padlock. Sure enough, there were little scratches on it.

  “Someone picked the lock,” Sean observed, looking closely—but not too closely. By now, he’d learned. And the bull was still banging on the gate with his head, not hard, but slowly and rhythmically, as if trying to remind them that he was there. He snorted and stamped on the ground.

  “Interesting,” she said. “Who could’ve done that?”

  “Well, as you can see,” he said, pointing around. There were many openings and entrances in the brick building, for ventilation. “Anyone could’ve come in here. Especially before the running—people like to look at the bulls. It’s chaotic. So it’s likely if someone was playing with the lock, people might not have noticed.”

  “You showed the police that?” Diana asked.

  “Yes. But they pointed out that I could’ve easily picked the lock myself, to make it look like someone else had done it,” he said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

  She nodded. “Thanks for showing us that, Pablo,” she said, looking at Sean. “I think we should go and talk to Mrs. De Leon.”

  Sean saluted. “Aye-aye, skipper.”

  Before she turned to leave, though, she ventured one last look at the bull.

  It was still staring at her with those menacing dark eyes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Can’t miss that house, that’s for sure.”

  Diana thought it might be difficult to find their house in the Plaza del Castillo, the largest plaza in Pamplona, with the directions from Pablo Arroyo. But when she got there, Diana realized she needn’t have worried. The pink house was a monstrosity, at the very end of the plaza. With dark iron balconies and nearly four times the size of the other narrow homes surrounding the plaza, it was easy to spot.

  “I think a profession change is in order,” Sean said as they navigated through the crowds, toward it. “Being a matador is clearly a racket.”

  Diana looked at him. She’d known him to be milling about Europe for the past few months, going where the wind took him, so she’d assumed he was retired from whatever business he’d been in. “What, exactly, do you do as a profession?” she asked him.

  “Sales. I’m sure I told you.”

  “Sales of what?”

  They’d been climbing the long marble staircase to the front door, but right then, her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Lily. Mom? I expected more than “Lovely.” I know you’re busy having fun but why have you been so quiet? Don’t make us worry about you again!

  Oh. So much had happened since the last time she’d properly texted her family. Though they could sometimes be a little—no, a lot—overbearing, they probably had a point, now. They thought she was still sightseeing in Barcelona and had no idea she’d even gone to the bull-running in Pamplona. Not to mention, another murder—

  She realized she was just standing there, on the steps, when Sean nudged her and said loudly and pleasantly, “Hullo! Buenos dias!”

  She followed his line of sight up the stairs to a woman with stick-straight dark hair, hanging down her back. She looked like a cover of Cosmopolitan, like one of the women Diana had worked with often for the ads she supervised for Addict Cosmetics, when she was in New York. She had killer cheekbones and flawless skin, and long legs that went on for miles. She also bore an expression of disinterest, bordering on mild disgust, that most of the models seemed to wear.

  She shooed them away with a graceful, manicured hand. “No. No tourists here. Go away.”

  Tourists. Of course they looked like tourists, considering Sean was still wearing that embarrassing hat.

  “No, we’re not tourists,” Diana said. “We just had some questions. About your husband.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh. Are you press?”

  “Uh . . .” She looked at Sean. “Yes?”

  “Then come in, please.” She moved to the door and pushed it open. Suddenly, she was the perfect hostess. “I am Carolina De Leon. This is the humble home I shared with my loving husband. I can’t believe he is gone.”

  “Yes, we are so sorry for your loss,” Diana offered.

  “Thank you,” the young vixen responded tonelessly as she slinked into the house.

  The place was anything but humble. There was a zebra-print rug on the floor, and walls were painted a bright chartreuse. Everything looked expensive, though ostentatious to the extreme. There was a giant wall in the foyer with nothing but crystal figurines. Sean’s eyes volleyed around the place with amusement. “Right nice place you got here. Who’s your decorator?”

  The woman looked around proudly. “A friend of mine. She does great work, doesn’t she? Can I have my servants get you something to drink?”

  Diana shook her head and looked at Sean, who of course, said, “Have any beer?” as he looked around the glittering white foyer and whistled. “Nice place.”

  She shrugged, said something in Spanish to a woman in a maid’s outfit, and led them through the house, to a bright sunroom. Diana gazed at all the photographs on the wall. They were all of the wife, all professional shots. Several of them were Vogue covers. “Oh, wow. You’re a model.”

  She nodded, bored, and fell gracefully into a chaise as she motioned to her guests to sit in the modern white chairs across from her. “I have been all over the world. I’m the spokesperson for several large brands.” She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t done your research? What publication did you say you were from?”

  Diana looked at Sean, and said, “Uh, well . . .”

  “Modern Bull,” Sean finished, coming to her rescue.

  It was fitting, Diana thought. This was a lot of modern bull.

  The woman’s carefully shaped eyebrow quirked up. “Oh. So you are hear about Alfie. I’ve never heard of that publication, though.”

  “We have a big readership in America,” Diana finished up, studying the woman. Though the death of her husband had happened barely twenty-four hours before, she was in remarkably good spirits. And she was definitely younger than De Leon—she looked as if she was in her younger twenties, and De Leon had been at least forty.

  “Oh, is that so?” She finger-combed her hair. “I go to New York at least once a season, for Fashion Week. In fact, I’m supposed to leave in a couple days. I suppose I won’t, though. I’m too distraught after poor Alfie.”

  Was she? There wasn’t a sign at all that she was upset—no red eyes, running mascara. In fact, she looked as if she’d just walked off a runway. Was that natural, or did she work hard to look that perfect? “I imagine it must’ve been a shock to you.”

  “Ay, caray!” she shouted suddenly, looking at her fingernail with disdain. “I broke a nail.”

  She snapped at one of her servants, who came rushing forward with a file. As fast as they appeared with the instrument, this must’ve been a regular, expected occurrence.

  “Like I said, my poor, poor husband.” She sighed as she began to file. “It makes no sense to me. The police tell me the bull wasn’t even on the course! Wasn’t even supposed to be running! I don’t understand. And now, here I am, a widow at twenty-two!”

  Sean shook his head. “That’s a terrible thing.”

  She looked around the house. “We’d just moved into this place. Only married six months. Most of it was our honeymoon. We had such lovely parties here. And now . . . Now I am alone.”

  Rather than sadness, Diana couldn’t help but think she saw a little glimmer of excitement in the young woman’s eyes. Carolina was young like her daughters, Bea and Lily, and yet, Diana couldn’t see any resemblance whatsoever.

  “I’ve heard some people suggest that your husband had a bit of obsession with fighting that bull. El Gordo?” Diana suggested gently.

  The woman shook her head. “That is silly. He only had an obsession with that bull owner.”

  “You mean Pablo Arroyo?”

  She shrugged. “I do not know his name. I do not pay much attention to my husband’s affairs. Bulls, they do not interest me. But I know that Alfie and that man, they did not like each other. Always at each other’s throats. Always fighting. Last time he bought El Gordo out from under Alfie and I never hear the end of it!”

  “So you think he had something to do with it?”

  “Obviously! That is what I told the police. He was not a nice man. And how else would that bull have gotten out and been off the course like that?” She shook her head. “I live in Pamplona all my life. My brothers and father and grandfather all run with bulls. My great grandfather a matador. He introduce Alfie and me. I know how it work.”

  “You didn’t go to the running though?” Sean put in, as the maid came and gave him his cerveza. He took a big gulp and smacked his lips as the maid brought a fruity cocktail for the woman.

  She took a sip through the straw with her perfect pink lips and shook her head. “Oh, no no. I think it too violent. It makes my stomach ill. All that blood!”

  “There are a lot of people who feel that way,” Diana pointed out. “That the bullfighting is too brutal a sport. Did he ever make any other enemies because of it?”

  She shrugged. “Every once in a while when we go out to eat, some stupid activist come up and yell at him. One even spit on us! It was disgusting. I tell Alfie no more. He was used to it, but not me. I’m used to the paparazzi following me, snapping photos, but they’re not like those awful Peta people. So he get a bodyguard for us whenever we go out together.”

  “Bodyguard?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but he doesn’t use him when he’s alone. Only for me.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20