Cuba blue

19

At the same time

Having entered the lobby of Tomaso’s bed and breakfast, Dr. Arturo Benilo involuntarily exclaimed, “ Madre Dios, you are too beautiful, my beloved.” His heart had skipped a beat, so shocked was he at the sight of Rafaela’s life-size photograph hung in an ornate frame like a painting here in the lobby. More stunning than he’d remembered, she was the most attractive woman he’d ever known. This photo must have been taken when all three of us were friends. Aiy, Tomaso, you always did know how to take a picture, he grudgingly acknowledged.

Rafaela’s likeness graced the center of a huge mosaic-images of women that Tomaso had photographed over a lifetime, homage to beautiful Cuban women. Without question, Rafaela, blonde, blue-eyed, proved the most dazzling. As if staring from across time, and yet as if no time had passed, her vivid eyes peered lucidly, deeply into his. Her smile, so familiar. Tomaso had captured her precisely as how Benilo remembered, the image haunting Arturo deep within his soul. She lives in this photo…

Voices shook him from his reverie, but he wasn’t ready to let go of Rafaela’s likeness. However, a second glance and it was just a photo, beautiful yes, but all magic gone. Must’ve been the lighting, he speculated, else she really was here for a moment. As he walked closer to Rafaela’s image, he again heard raised voices, the loudest, angriest that of Tomaso’s daughter, the quixotic Quiana.

A door suddenly flew open and Qui, her face flushed, came eye to eye with Dr. Arturo Benilo. Perplexed, she demanded, “Wait a minute. What’re you doing here?”

“You invited me, remember?”

“Oh…yes, so I did. But I’m not sure how comfortable you’ll be.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Like you have trouble following a woman’s lead, doctor,” she said sarcastically, realizing his eyes were doing a little fox trot of their own, comparing her mother’s features with hers.

“You’re angry. What’s got you so upset?”

“You probably know perfectly well what he’s done, so why do you ask?” The thought that the call might have come from Benilo flitted through her mind.

“Is it Montoya? Did he give you a ring last night during dinner?”

She quickly studied his eyes to determine if he was deliberately dense. “No, it’s my father! He’s interfering in my life again!”

“You mean your case? A thing to worry any caring father.”

“But that’s just it. It is my business…my case, my life!”

“Don’t make your case your life,” he warned.

She ignored this and paced in a little circle of frustration.

Tomaso came through the door, and Qui turned to him and added, “My case, get it! My decision. Not yours.”

“I thought we settled this misunderstanding?”

“You’re my father, not my boss! I can take care of myself.” Then she turned on Benilo and added, “Now, you come to take his side-”

“Whoa! I’m not taking anyone’s side. I don’t even know what’s going on.”

“-and I already know you want me to drop the case. Every man I know wants me to drop the case-what is with all of you? Do you think I’m stupid, can’t do my job?”

“Did I come to the wrong door? I thought I was invited to a birthday party.”

Tomaso erupted in laughter.

“This isn’t funny! I’ve worked too hard to get this far.” Rushing out, she turned at the sound of both men stomping after her. “Both of you are exasperating. First, you see conspiracies in every dark corner, then you laugh? It doesn’t make sense.”

Tomaso lifted his hands in supplication. “Come back and let’s enjoy our dinner and our guest.” He smiled and nodded at his old friend.

“Come on Qui, no more talk of the case,” Benilo mildly pleaded. “It’s your father’s birthday. I brought a special wine from my collection.” He held up the bottle, beckoning her to join them. “I promise, no talk of conspiracies.”

“It’s a murder case, pure and simple… Well, OK, not so simple, but it’s not some huge governmental conspiracy either!” She secretly wanted to believe this.

“But, Qui,” Tomaso shook his head, “three foreigners murdered and dragged from the sea?”

“You’re doing it again!” Qui spun around, pushing through the exit, the door slamming shut. One of her father’s flower arrangements, which had hung from the door crashed to the terracotta tiles. Glass that’d held each flower in its own small vase shattered, spilling petals and solution, darkening the tiles.

Even the caged Cartacuba birds became quiet in the sudden silence.

“Damn, Tomaso, she really is like Rafaela,” Benilo said once the whirlwind had ceased.

“You don’t need to tell me that!”

“But you have to love that kind of spirit. You see it so seldom these days.”

“Yes, as exasperating as it is.” The two old men stared at one another for a moment and then laughed. “She’s like a force-5 hurricane when angry, that one,” finished Tomaso.

“How many times did you come to her rescue as she was growing up?”

“More than she wanted. She could always take care of herself.”

“How often did you have to rescue others from her own wrath?”

“All too often. By the way, I must thank you, Arturo, for getting me into such hot water with her.”

“What? Me?”

“She thinks I made a call to Gutierrez to ease off, which I suspect came from you.”

“Hold on. I didn’t call him.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“Good question.”

“We should talk about this.”

Tomaso replied, “Over dinner and that bottle you brought.”

“French. A Bordeaux. It needs to breathe.”

The two old friends spoke easily with one another. It was as if the nearly thirty years of silence between them had melted into mere days.

Benilo held up the bottle. “Enough for two old men to celebrate a long overdue reunion.”

“Come then!” Tomaso slapped him on the shoulder and led him toward the courtyard door. “You’ll meet Maria Elena, who’s prepared a feast, and Yuri, who keeps the old place operating and repairs everything in sight, including my computer and digital cameras.”

“Sounds like a fellow I could use around my lab.”

“And if you can stand it, I’ll tell you tales of Quiana that will curl your hair.”

“What about her having left in a huff? Aren’t you worried?”

“Bahhh… we’ll have her share of the wine and birthday cake. Don’t worry. She’ll come back later when she has danced off her anger-”

“Ahhh…she dances.”

“In more ways than I can count, yes.”

“Will she be all right? I’m sorry for this turmoil.”

“Nonsense-she’ll be back, I tell you. Perhaps she may even apologize. She doesn’t like Gutierrez’s new attention, or intentions, or something of the insincerity in the man.”

The two laughed at this. They’d known Gutierrez for a long time, and each had always thought him a fool.

They walked easily, comfortably into the courtyard. The afternoon sun drenched them with rays filtered through the Royal Palm and lemon trees, where Tomaso poured each a glass of lemonade.

Benilo lifted his glass for a toast. “To Quiana and Rafaela’s spirit.”

Tomaso clinked glass against glass, adding, “Yes, to two beautiful Cuban women.”

This was the image that Maria Elena saw through the kitchen window. She smiled at the sight. She’d never met Dr. Benilo, but she’d heard so much from Tomaso, stories he’d shared with his daughter, Qui.

Yuri, too, had looked up from his work to see the reunion of two old friends. He thought, At least something good has come of Quiana’s case.

JZ drove lazily along the ocean front highway, listening to The Buena Vista Social Club as it blared from the car radio. On a lark, he’d signed a one-month lease on a cherry red ’57 Ford T-Bird convertible from the Havana Rent-a-Classic. The salesman had tried to push a huge pink-winged Cadillac on him that went for twice the money and twice the gas, which was scarce at the best of times and cost a fortune. While attractive for an oversize fifties car, it reminded him of something a Miami pimp would drive, so he’d passed on it, renting the smaller car instead. Having wanted to drive the classic T-Bird for years, the expense and difficulty of finding fuel seemed a small price to pay. No joke, Cubanos proved the best mechanics on the planet, attested to by the T-bird. The vintage ‘relic’ drove like a dream come true.

As JZ cruised the coastal highway in Miramar, he saw a black Peugeot parked along a peninsula overlooking blue sea and sky. As he approached, he thought how serendipitous it’d be to run into Qui Aguilera here, but he knew every Cuban cop drove the same model that she sported around in. He recalled how she’d so easily manipulated her car through the narrow side streets of Havana to arrive at the Varelas the night before. Seeing a figure in a light-colored dress that swayed in the breeze made him even more hopeful that it could be her; in the next instant, he saw that it was Qui. She pushed off from her car moving toward the water, her walk like her dance movements, rhythmic and seductive. JZ guessed she had no idea the effect her every step had on a man.

He pulled off the road and slowed to a stop, sending up gravel, the noise alerting Qui to his sudden appearance. She turned to see him as JZ hoisted himself to a high position atop the driver’s seat. He waved at her from the convertible.

Her features went from despondency to surprise, all in a moment. She smiled warmly, sauntering toward the car, admiring the classic auto as he admired her. “JZ, what are you doing here? Not stalking me, I hope!”

“Not at all. I was taking this beauty out for a spin. I just took the highway and wound up here. Running into an even greater beauty- you — is just an additional perk. The gods’re no doubt making up for my disappointing Saturday.”

“Disappointing… gods?” She gave him a curious look as she ran her hand over the perfect sheen of the red paint. “I love T-Birds.”

“Then hop in and let’s go for a ride up the coast.”

Frowning, she hesitated, backing from the car.

“Come on, my tarot reading this morning said I’m ’sposed to get everything I desire today. You wouldn’t want to defy fate, would you?”

“Hmmm… tarot cards. I’m not even convinced you believe in that sort of thing. Sounds like a line to me.”

“Are you kidding? I majored in magic.” He slid down into the seat, a smile on his face. “Come on, it’s just a drive.”

Qui came around the car to the driver’s side, leaned in close to him, and in a sultry Lauren Bacall imitation said, “Sure…you got me, but only if I can drive.”

Pretending annoyance, he awkwardly inched over the gearshift and into the passenger seat. “Ahhh…all right, if it makes you happy.”

She slipped in behind the wheel, shooed his hand from the gearshift and said, “It’s nice to meet a man capable of giving me what I want-even if it is just to humor me.”

“Hey, I want the wheel back sometime. This is temporary.”

She pulled away in a rain of pebbles. They sped down the coast without speaking, enjoying the wind, the freedom, and the car.

“I like it, JZ, being given what I want, treated well. I don’t always get that. But I have to tell you, I’m skeptical.”

He sat up straight at this. “Skeptical?”

“Come on, stumbling on me out at my favorite getaway? Did Liliana put you up to this? You can tell me the truth.”

“Do you always suspect ulterior motives and conspiracies?”

“Hey, I know how Liliana thinks.”

“She thinks we’re good together, but she didn’t have anything to do with this coincidence.”

“As for being paranoid, I’m a cop. Whataya expect?”

“But you can’t be a cop twenty-four seven, nobody can.”

“I’m not! You saw me at the Palacio.”

“Yes, we had a great time at the Varelas too.”

“Yes, we did, didn’t we.” Secretly, she enjoyed their banter but feared it might lead to a repeat of the night before when she’d had to reject his advances. “Liliana’s never liked my boyfriend, and she’s always trying to set me up with someone she approves of.”

“Ahhh, so you think Liliana approves of me?”

“She likes you a lot. That was apparent last-”

Qui’s phone rang. She hesitated, slowing the car, unsure whether she wanted to answer or not.

JZ moaned. “Oh shit. Is that mine?”

“No…wish it were. It’s mine,” she countered, taking the call.

JZ only half heard the voice coming in, but it sounded vaguely familiar.

Qui erupted, “Oh, my God, no!” Her face had turned white, and JZ noticed her single-handed death grip on the steering wheel. “Where? When?”

JZ became agitated alongside her, curious. What was she hearing?

“I’m on my way.” She dropped the phone into her purse. “That was Lieutenant Pena.” Tears welled up in Qui’s eyes.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Montoya, my boyfriend…he’s dead. Another death.”

“Another death?”

“Three on Friday…and now my…my boyfriend.”

“Wait a minute. Three on Friday? Would that be my missing Americans?”

“Yes…maybe…I don’t know…likely…God, Montoya dead? How can it be? I just saw him yesterday.” She ran the car onto the shoulder.

“Stop the car,” he insisted. “Let me drive.”

She pulled over, relenting. They changed places and again sped away.

“Get me back to my car,” she muttered.

“No, you’re in no shape to drive, and besides, I can get you there safely. Let me do this for you.”

She swallowed hard, realizing JZ was right. This was one time she needed to relinquish control.