She stopped at the sign at the end of the
block, but instead of turning, for some reason she pulled straight
ahead across Bayshore Drive into the parking lot of a large marina.
She parked among the palm trees and walked down the dock to the
calm water of Biscayne Bay. The scene was right off a postcard.
The sun was setting at her back and beginning
to throw long shadows across the boats at the dock and the large
span of water beyond, where sailboats moored on tethers gently
nodded their masts at each other. The harsh sun had lessened, and
she felt the balmy onshore breeze brushing her face. She had always
thought the color of the ocean up at Park Beach was such a
marvelous blue; the water in front of her just then was a sparkling
turquoise. Unbelievable. “I’ve never seen water so beautiful,” she
said aloud.
“Then you’ve never been to the Florida Keys,
the Bahamas, or the Caribbean. It gets bluer and clearer the
farther south you go. In the Bahamas you can look down thirty feet
and see the bottom.”
She turned and couldn’t hold back smiling at
the tall man standing to her side. She said, “I’ll put all those
places on my bucket list.”
“Your bucket list is easily satisfied. Do you
know you’re less than fifty miles from the Bahama Islands right
now?” He smiled, his eyes creasing at the corners.
He was older, salt and pepper hair, yet
tanned and athletic looking. Must be a boat owner, a captain, or
something like that since he’s around here. Dressed more for an
afternoon cocktail party than for any kind of actual effort around
boats—white shirt and loose-fitting casual pants, white Dockers, no
socks. What a great smile, she thought. Her hand went unconsciously
to her tied-back hair.
“We could be over there before you could say,
‘Bring me another Cosmo.’”
She smiled politely at his pleasant remark.
He didn’t seem to be kidding. At that point, she was soaring over
the clouds after her success getting the girlfriend’s last name.
She was tempted to cry out, “Bring on the Cosmos.”
“That’s my boat over there.” He pointed.
She looked at him and then over to where he
was pointing. Could he mean the giant in the middle that dwarfed
all other boats? She didn’t know what kind it was, but it was shiny
white and gleaming gorgeous. Something off the cover of a lifestyle
magazine.
“I’m R.J.” He held out his hand.
It felt soft and gentle. “Sandy.”
A few short months ago, this gal from the
Philly burbs thought escapism meant a day at the Jersey Shore. Of
course, she knew there was a fascinating luxurious world out there.
Now, she was not only standing on the edge of it, she was being
invited in. For an instant, she pictured that yacht anchored in
some secluded cove in the Bahamas with her body stretched out on
deck working on her all-over tan.
She looked up at the clear blue sky as though
seeing it for the first time. She looked out on Biscayne Bay
surrounded by lush green on green with the picturesque boats
seemingly suspended in the clear turquoise water, and beyond to the
endless Atlantic. Then finally, she looked at the man dressed in
white and his yacht. They say Miami is magical. It must be. Such
scenes just don’t happen without magic, at least not this side of
Hollywood.
“You’re very kind and I’m flattered.” And she
was. Nice to be asked, nice to confirm she had something going for
her.
He read the look on her face. “You sized me
up very quickly.”
“You’re the one moving quickly. You’re
speeding over ninety, and I’m still back in the school zone,” she
said it all very pleasantly.
“Did you judge me because of my boat over
there?”
“Of course.”
“I’m told the boat makes me better
looking.”
“I think you look fine without it, but your
boat does say a lot about you.”
“As does your MX-5. At first, I thought you
were a successful real estate agent, seeing how you’re dressed.
Yet, agents don’t tool around in a sporty two-seater. They need
room for a house-hunting family.” He took a step back. Speaking of
appearances offered him a chance to move his eyes over her body
with no embarrassment on his part. “I’d say you’re a lawyer.”
She blinked hard. Incredible, she thought.
She didn’t mind him looking, not that she had that much to look at,
if he was going to come out with judgments like that. This
sophisticated person looks at her for ten seconds and tells her she
looks exactly as she’s always wanted to look.
“Let’s go get that Cosmo over at the beach
bar,” he said, with what he thought was perfect timing.
“Get thee behind me, Satan.” And she laughed.
“Seriously, R.J., you’ve caught me at the best of times and the
worst of times. Something very important came my way a few minutes
ago. No Cosmo could fly me any higher. Here’s where we say goodbye,
the rest of my day is spoken for.”
“I suppose giving me your phone number is out
of the question.”
She let out a yelp, “The phone number. That’s
it!” Her eyes suddenly went wide with excitement. She turned and
started running for her car. Over her shoulder, she waved and
yelled goodbye to the man.
She hurried into the front seat; she booted
her tablet again, and brought the screen of Sevilla names back up.
Then from her briefcase, she took and smoothed out the wrinkled
slip of notepaper from the Groveside Motel. She looked closely. The
last two digits of the phone number were 69. A bit smeared, but
definitely 69. She ran her finger down the screens of Sevilla
names, addresses, and phone numbers. Damn, there were eighteen
Sevilla phone numbers ending in 69.
She studied the possible numbers, going back
and forth from the screen to the note. Geez, why did the note have
to get wet? Was that fourth number a 5? Yes! Only one of the
eighteen Sevillas listed had a phone number ending in 69 and a 5
for the fourth number. She had it. She had it! Adela Sevilla on Red
Road. If the woman could ID the man in the morgue photos, she was
back in business.
She moved her briefcase from the seat to the
floor and started the car. Then she looked down at the briefcase.
Had Mr. Fancy Yacht Owner spotted the briefcase on her car seat?
Was that why he guessed she was a lawyer? She shook her head. No,
he never saw it; anyone could tell she was a lawyer.
S
andy hit the
full-blown rush hour on her drive west skirting the southern edge
of Miami. She parked across the street and two houses down from a
well kept, tropically landscaped duplex on Red Road along the
western edge of Coral Gables. No lights were on in the house, there
was no response to her knock on the front door. No choice but to
wait in the growing darkness for Adela Sevilla to come home. She
ran the top up on her car and sat back; she was dying for a cup of
coffee, should have stopped along the way.
At twenty minutes after seven, a blue Corolla
pulled into the driveway. A slim young woman, neatly dressed for
the office, lifted grocery bags out of the back seat and headed for
the front door.
Sandy caught up with her on the porch. “Miss
Sevilla?”
Adela jumped almost dropping a grocery
bag.
“Sorry to interrupt you. I have news about
John.”
“Go away. I do not know any John.” She
fumbled for her door key.
“I have important news about him. May I come
in?”
“I do not know any John. Please go away.”
Then she turned and faced Sandy. “You are his wife, aren’t you? Oh
my God.” Her shoulders sagged. “He told me you looked like a witch.
Look, he said you two were separated—getting a divorce. I do not
want any trouble.”
“I’m not his wife. May we talk inside? It’s
bad news.”
“I am not letting you in my house. Tell me
here.”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh.” Adela swallowed hard. She handed the
groceries to Sandy and did the sign of the cross. She found her
keys and unlocked the door. “Would you please set those down in the
kitchen? I will be right back.” She disappeared down the hall.
Sandy found the light switch, put the milk
and butter in the fridge, and walked back to the living room. When
Adela didn’t immediately reappear, she began to wonder about the
delay. Was she lying prostrate across her bed, making a phone call
to the gang, loading a pistol, or what?
The woman came back out. They sat opposite.
She looked at Sandy through red-rimmed eyes and forced a tight
smile. “What happened?”
Sandy hesitated. How should she phrase it?
She couldn’t just say murdered. “He was a victim. He was shot.”
Adela put her hands to her face and started
crying.
Being a stranger, Sandy was uncertain how to
react. Nothing she could say other than, “I’m sorry.” John died in
a bloody mess nothing further to say about that. She moved over and
sat close beside Adela. Should she touch the woman? Cautiously, she
put an arm on the woman’s shoulder.
When Adela felt the touch, she lost it
completely. She started to collapse, then caught herself and
straightened. “What is your name?”
“Sandy.”
“I am Adela. It is not what you think. I was
going to break off with him. I am over him.”
“Yes, I can tell.”
“I cannot believe he’s gone. He was a great
guy—.”
Sandy waited.
“We were going to run away. Start a new life.
That was before I decided to break up with him.” Her voice was
quivering. “It’s funny how sometimes you cannot bring yourself to
make a decision, and then suddenly something makes the decision for
you. I cannot tell you more.”
“The drug stuff.”
Adela’s eyebrows went up. “How did you
know?”
“I’m getting a good reading on your
personality. You’re too proud to put up with any drug nonsense.
That’s why you wanted to break it off. How did you know about the
drugs? Did he tell you?”
“You must keep all this secret. My family
cannot know I was seeing John. Momma met him once and spit on the
floor after he left. He had wanted to move in here with me, but my
family would have found out and disowned me. I did not know about
anything. Then one morning, the FBI and DEA appeared in our office
at the consulate. You are not going to tell anyone all this are
you? You just cannot.” She shifted toward Sandy and frowned. “Hey,
why are you here anyway?”
“John was brutally murdered. I’m trying to
prove who did it, so we can punish the bastard. Have you ever heard
of a man named Richie Grant?”
“That name means nothing to me.”
Sandy took out the two photos of the
unidentified body in the morgue she had gotten from Jaworski. She
handed them to Adela. “Here’s his picture.”
The slight widening of the woman’s eyes gave
her away. “Never saw that man before in my life,” she said weakly,
and handed them back. Her hands were now trembling.
“Look again.”
Without looking, Adela swung hard at Sandy’s
hand knocking the photos to the floor. She was shaking and her face
was now red. “You have to protect me. I am going to be killed over
this. I am absolutely going to be killed within hours. You found
me, everyone can find me. I am a dead girl.” She started whimpering
again, this time for herself.
“I need to know about him.”
She stared hard at Sandy. “No way.”
“For John’s sake.”
“I cannot.”
“John’s soul will never rest in peace until
his murderer is punished.”
“That is not fair.” She put her face down in
her hands and spoke between her fingers. “Are not the federals
coming here as soon as you leave? Word is going to get back to the
drug gang, and then they will come for me. Do you know what those
monsters will do to me?” She folded her arms over her chest and
hugged herself as though she were freezing. “Have you heard the
stories?”
“Were you one of the employees interviewed at
the office?”
“They swooped down by surprise, took over the
whole place. Talked with everyone. Asked a lot of questions about
my responsibilities.”
“Did you tell them you were seeing John?”
She nodded. “They already knew. Always lots
of hanky-panky going on around the place. Some snitch in the office
told on everyone. Repeated every possible rumor. They knew about
John and me. They know I am not married to him.”
“What did they say to you then?”
“Nothing. They just moved on to the next
employee.”
“That’s it? Office gossip stuff and they
dropped the questioning of you? I don’t think they’ll bother you
again.”
“If I disappear, will you come looking for
me?”
“You aren’t going to disappear.”
“If I do? Who’s going to look for me, and see
that I have a proper burial?”
They locked eyes, Sandy saw the fear. “I’ll
come looking for you Adela. I found you once, I’ll find you again.”
She covered the woman’s hands with her own.
If Sandy thought she was talking the woman
into committing suicide, she wouldn’t press her. Admittedly, there
were risks. The FBI knew Adela and John were lovers. Yet, they
hadn’t singled her out; they had questioned all the employees. They
didn’t dare get too tough, as they were walking on eggshells trying
not to upset the Salvadoran officials.
The drug guys would have no reason to suspect
that, of all the employees, Adela was the one who had identified
the killer. Sandy alone knew the truth. It was now locked in
Sandy’s mind. Waterboarding wouldn’t force her to talk.
Sandy waited a moment before speaking,
“Identifying the killer is just something you do, because it’s the
right thing.”
Adela mumbled, “We remember blessed Adela,
because she did the right thing. May she rest in peace.” Then she
took a deep breath and made another sign of the cross. “Gerardo
Diaz.”
“Who? The man in the photos?”
Adela nodded.