home. According to my wristwatch, I’d been killing time for at least forty-five minutes. If Kenny planned to show later, I’d have to miss him. Carlos and I had dinner plans.
On the way to my car in the parking lot, I glanced in through oversized windows and saw the dinner crowd. The women were tanned and tight, wearing lots of makeup and jewelry. The men slapped backs and downed dark whiskey from rocks glasses. Angel was still behind the bar. When she saw me staring, she ducked her head, and got busy polishing a brandy snifter.
I kept walking. So her shift wasn’t over after all. Big deal. She wasn’t the first worker dependent on tips to tell a customer a convenient lie. I decided to turn and give her a friendly wave, signaling no hard feelings. When I did, I saw she’d lifted her face to watch me leave. Her eyes were slits; her expression was arctic.
For some reason, an image of the gator my cousin and I had wrestled out of the golf course pond flitted into my mind. I wondered whether another of the big reptiles had moved in to take his place. At least in the wild, you know which animals are predators and which are prey. Unlike people, they don’t have the capacity to conceal their true nature.
_____
Carlos’s phone rang. He answered, listened for a bit, and then eyed me warily.
“I need to take this outside,’’ he said to the caller. Tucking the phone protectively to his chest, he turned from me and walked out the kitchen to the back door. I heard it shut. A few moments later, there came an indistinct murmur from the farthest corner of his apartment’s courtyard.
Jeez. A girl eavesdropped a few times, and he never let her forget it.
Surveying the table, I spooned up the last flecks of a custardy flan from a dessert bowl. Those flecks and crumbs from a loaf of Cuban bread were all that remained of the yummy supper he’d had waiting when I arrived. Bowls of thick garbanzo bean soup, fried plantains, and a cup of café con leche . I was so stuffed I felt like a hot water bottle filled to bursting. I trundled off my kitchen chair and into the living room, intent upon collapsing on the couch.
A framed, vintage travel poster of Cuba held a place of honor on the main room’s wall. A hefty cigar rested in an ashtray; a treat Carlos allowed himself a couple of times a week. Photos of family members were displayed on a small table next to the couch: His grandfather, on horseback at the cattle ranch the family owned before Fidel Castro took power. Carlos’s older brother, who died in a tragic accident when the two were just boys. His parents, stand ing on an airport tarmac facing an uncertain future as Cuban exiles. His beloved grandmother, cooking picadillo in Carlos’s Miami kitchen.
There were photos of Carlos in police uniform in Miami, but no pictures of his late wife. That loss may still have been too painful for him to remember.
The door slammed shut. I heard the hollow thud of his shoes hitting the tiled floor in the hallway. By the time he made it to the living room, I was stretched out on the couch with my feet on a pillow and the button at the waist of my work pants undone.
“Comfortable?’’ he asked with a grin.
“Like a pig in slop.’’ I shifted a bit on the couch and patted the space beside me. “Was that call about the girl we found dead at the dump ?’’
He groaned.
“What? I’m just wondering if you’ve had any breaks in the case.’’
“You mean have I solved it yet? This is only the second day.’’
“I’m not criticizing, Carlos. I’m just wondering if you’ve found out any more about how she got there. You managed to identify her pretty quickly.’’
“Her purse with the wallet still in it was under the body. Can we talk about something else?’’
“So between that and the bracelet, we know it wasn’t robbery.’’
“Mace!’’
“Okay, okay.’’ I picked up the remote. “You want to watch TV?’’
He shook his head. “Is there any flan
On the way to my car in the parking lot, I glanced in through oversized windows and saw the dinner crowd. The women were tanned and tight, wearing lots of makeup and jewelry. The men slapped backs and downed dark whiskey from rocks glasses. Angel was still behind the bar. When she saw me staring, she ducked her head, and got busy polishing a brandy snifter.
I kept walking. So her shift wasn’t over after all. Big deal. She wasn’t the first worker dependent on tips to tell a customer a convenient lie. I decided to turn and give her a friendly wave, signaling no hard feelings. When I did, I saw she’d lifted her face to watch me leave. Her eyes were slits; her expression was arctic.
For some reason, an image of the gator my cousin and I had wrestled out of the golf course pond flitted into my mind. I wondered whether another of the big reptiles had moved in to take his place. At least in the wild, you know which animals are predators and which are prey. Unlike people, they don’t have the capacity to conceal their true nature.
_____
Carlos’s phone rang. He answered, listened for a bit, and then eyed me warily.
“I need to take this outside,’’ he said to the caller. Tucking the phone protectively to his chest, he turned from me and walked out the kitchen to the back door. I heard it shut. A few moments later, there came an indistinct murmur from the farthest corner of his apartment’s courtyard.
Jeez. A girl eavesdropped a few times, and he never let her forget it.
Surveying the table, I spooned up the last flecks of a custardy flan from a dessert bowl. Those flecks and crumbs from a loaf of Cuban bread were all that remained of the yummy supper he’d had waiting when I arrived. Bowls of thick garbanzo bean soup, fried plantains, and a cup of café con leche . I was so stuffed I felt like a hot water bottle filled to bursting. I trundled off my kitchen chair and into the living room, intent upon collapsing on the couch.
A framed, vintage travel poster of Cuba held a place of honor on the main room’s wall. A hefty cigar rested in an ashtray; a treat Carlos allowed himself a couple of times a week. Photos of family members were displayed on a small table next to the couch: His grandfather, on horseback at the cattle ranch the family owned before Fidel Castro took power. Carlos’s older brother, who died in a tragic accident when the two were just boys. His parents, stand ing on an airport tarmac facing an uncertain future as Cuban exiles. His beloved grandmother, cooking picadillo in Carlos’s Miami kitchen.
There were photos of Carlos in police uniform in Miami, but no pictures of his late wife. That loss may still have been too painful for him to remember.
The door slammed shut. I heard the hollow thud of his shoes hitting the tiled floor in the hallway. By the time he made it to the living room, I was stretched out on the couch with my feet on a pillow and the button at the waist of my work pants undone.
“Comfortable?’’ he asked with a grin.
“Like a pig in slop.’’ I shifted a bit on the couch and patted the space beside me. “Was that call about the girl we found dead at the dump ?’’
He groaned.
“What? I’m just wondering if you’ve had any breaks in the case.’’
“You mean have I solved it yet? This is only the second day.’’
“I’m not criticizing, Carlos. I’m just wondering if you’ve found out any more about how she got there. You managed to identify her pretty quickly.’’
“Her purse with the wallet still in it was under the body. Can we talk about something else?’’
“So between that and the bracelet, we know it wasn’t robbery.’’
“Mace!’’
“Okay, okay.’’ I picked up the remote. “You want to watch TV?’’
He shook his head. “Is there any flan
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