Fierce Pride (22 page)

“Maybe we’re reading too much into the photo. Maybe she was waiting to cross the street.”

“I don’t think so. Juan called. He’s bringing over more fan mail.”

“Did he say it was bad?”

“I don’t believe the expression he used translates well.”

Her heart fell. She didn’t want to see anything even remotely as awful as the eyeless drawing, but she wouldn’t be able not to look. “Okay, so we’ve been warned. Is it time for lunch?”

Santos checked his watch. “No, but that’s no reason not to eat. Ask Tomas to bring us some fruit or whatever you’d like.”

The elevator supervisor joined them before she could leave the table. “I’ve prepared an initial estimate for a residence elevator of a similar size. I’ll need to go up on the roof and—”

“The roof!” Santos exclaimed. “We forgot about the roof. Is there an entryway for the elevator shaft someone could have opened to enter the house?”

“Yes, but it should have been secure.”

Santos pulled a business card from his pocket. “I’ll have the arson investigator check. He’s the one gathering evidence. I doubt the security company thought of wiring it into the alarm system.”

“They should do it now. I’ll wait for the arson investigator to clear the roof before we go up there. Give me a call when it’s clear. I’ll mail you a written estimate.”

“Thank you, I will,” Santos said.

Libby waited for the elevator supervisor to leave before she sat forward on her chair. “While we were at the bullfights, someone could have driven up in a workman’s van, used a ladder and climbed up on the roof. No one would have paid any attention if they’d seen him.”

Santos nodded. A high wall separated the far side of the house from the neighbors, and whoever had broken in could have left the ladder in place, relaxed on the roof and enjoyed the ocean view until it was time to set the fire. “Someone entering from the roof could have jumped down into the elevator and gone down the back stairs to get the trashcan. Every kitchen has one. There would be time before the fire was discovered for him to climb down the ladder, return it to his van and drive away.”

“I’ll find Cazares, and we’ll look outside,” Libby offered. The detective sat on a step near the bottom of the staircase in the foyer, writing in his notebook. “Excuse me.” She explained their latest thoughts. “Will you come outside with me and see if we can find any trace of a ladder used to reach the roof?”

He rose with a slight sway and shoved his notebook into his pocket. “I was concentrating on the windows, not the ground. I may have inadvertently trampled whatever evidence there might have been.”

“Let’s hope not.” She swung the door open and led the way around the side of the house. Not wanting to search on her hands and knees though the foliage for clues, she skirted the bordering flowerbeds.

The detective stood back. “They’d not have placed the ladder near a window where it would be noticed. And they couldn’t have used too steep an angle, so if they entered from the roof, they should have propped the ladder out here on the sandy path near the wall.”

They moved along slowly. “There, do you see it?” Cazares asked. “Someone kicked the sand to cover the ladder’s tracks, but once you know what you’re looking for, it’s easy to find.”

“Is that the secret of detective work?”

He shrugged. “It’s one of them, but perseverance is the key to most success, no matter what the field.”

“Yes, of course.”

They returned to the patio, and she listened carefully as Cazares described what they’d found. “We didn’t disturb the scene. Will the arson inspector be here soon?”

“Yes, but he didn’t sound pleased that I’d called. The alarm company should be here this afternoon. Apparently we should have run an occasional test of the system, and I don’t believe anyone here ever did.”

“Would that have been Mrs. Lopez’s job, or Tomas’s?” Libby asked.

“Neither of them thought to do it. I’m going to give the job to Manuel. He’s the only one with the skill to do it well.”

Cazares glanced around to make certain they wouldn’t be overheard. “Are you sure he’s trustworthy?”

“Positive. He’s worked for us for years.”

“Good, but it’s difficult to know every aspect of an employee’s life,” Cazares offered. “There can be personal problems of which you’re unaware.”

“I’m not running background checks on people I’ve known most of my life,” Santos countered. “Let me know what you discover at the protesters’ meeting tomorrow night.”

“I will. I’ll wait for the locksmith. If entry was actually made through the roof, we may not need to change the locks, but it might be wise to do so anyway.”

“I think you’re right. Thank you.” Santos waited until he was gone to speak. “Was I too hard on him?”

“No, but his job is to look beyond the obvious for clues. He doesn’t know Manuel or the others who work for you like you do.”

Santos was silent a long moment. “I know there’s a Mr. Lopez, but if he’s ever come here to drive Mrs. Lopez home, I’ve not met him. I don’t know Tomas’s wife, and while Manuel is more of an uncle than an employee, I don’t know what he does with his free time, other than being an avid soccer fan. My employees’ private lives will remain their own business, not mine.”

His troubled frown made his discomfort plain. “You’re right,” Libby said. “Privacy is important in any relationship, and you trust the people here. Now I have to have something to eat.”

In few minutes, she reappeared with a ceramic bowl filled with fresh fruit and a plate of small pastries. “These are so good. Has Thomas been baking them long?”

Santos eyed the puffed pastry topped with cherries. “They were one of my favorites when I was a child. He must want to offer all the comfort he can.”

Libby took another. “I feel comforted already.” He leaned over to take a bite of hers and licked his lips. She felt warm all over. His unshakable confidence shone in his dark eyes, and she was so easily lost in him, the pastries could wait. “The house is filled with people. Could we hide in the Hispano-Suiza?”

He moaned softly. “That’s exactly what I want to do, but I don’t want the arson investigator to come looking for us. Please go read on the beach, or go shopping, or go for a walk and give me time to handle everything that has to be done. Then, I’ll meet you in the car.”

She took the last bite of the pastry, picked up an orange and looked over her shoulder with a sultry smile as she walked away. “I’ll never want to be in your way.”

Santos nearly slid out of his chair. With Libby there, he didn’t care if the house burned down.

Chapter Ten

As she walked along the shore, Libby bounced the orange between her hands. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up the sex-kitten routine, and while it was fun, it was playing a part rather than being true to herself. But nothing was real here. Santos was a dream man Spanish women idolized but few had the opportunity to actually meet. She’d gone much further and taken up residence in his magical house for the time being. She’d never had a relationship with an expiration date, and it saddened her she did now.

Before she realized how far she’d walked, she reached the marina. She moved up on the sand to a bench to eat the orange and watched the boats sailing along the horizon. Gliding over the sea, they were as beautiful as swans. Santos’s knee would keep them on land, but she wished they could have gone sailing again. It was easy to forget anything else existed while on the water.

“Good morning. Do you mind if I join you?”

Libby looked up and found a darkly tanned young man dressed in khaki shorts and a white shirt. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. “It’s a public bench. I’m just sitting here watching the boats,” she said.

He sat on the other end of the bench. “Would you like to go sailing?”

She would, but not with him. “Thank you, but not today.”

“You’re American, aren’t you? Where are you from?”

He was a good-looking man with bright green eyes, and it bothered her she couldn’t place him. Growing uneasy, she gathered up the orange peels and her sandals and rose to her feet. “I’m from Minnesota, and I’m staying here with my boyfriend.”

He rose as well. “Does he live near here? Maybe I know him.”

Santos wouldn’t appreciate her using his name. “I’m sure you do, but he guards his privacy well.”

“How mysterious. May I walk you home?”

Libby backed away. “I’d rather you didn’t.” She turned to dump the orange peels in the nearby trash container and carrying her sandals, went down to the shore and raced away to leave him far behind.

Juan had joined Santos on the patio, and the men looked up when Libby reached them. She could tell by their wary expressions the news wasn’t good. “Is there another drawing? You might as well show me.”

“I’d rather not,” Santos replied.

She extended her hand. “Let me see it anyway.”

Santos sighed and reluctantly gave her the drawing. It was easily recognizable as by the same artist. This time Santos had been drawn with eyes, but the throat had been slashed with a jagged line. “It’s the same angular writing. What does he say this time?”

“Talentless bastard,” Juan said sadly. “If the same lunatic set the fire last night, he’s not content merely to draw insults. We should arrange for the security service to station armed guards here.”

Ignoring Juan’s advice, Santos shuffled through the rest of the fan mail. “Here’s another one from the woman who wants tighter pants. That’s a nasty kind of strangulation.”

“Santos,” Libby whispered. “Please be serious.”

He slapped the letters and e-mail copies on the table. “I am. I’ve got my knee to worry about. Tomorrow I’ll do the ads for Aragon cologne, and Wednesday I plan to see Orlando Ortiz. I refuse to have armed guards following me around like some third-world dictator.”

Juan shrugged and glanced toward Libby. “After the bulls, nothing is a threat. I understand, but I don’t agree.” He shoved to his feet. “The envelope with the drawing was a common type with adhesive on the flap, so there’s no spit to test for DNA. I’ll let you know if we receive another one. There’s been a wealth of letters from fans hoping you’ll be well soon. Do you want to read any of those?”

“No, toss them, but have Sylvia put a sincere thank you for their concern on the website.”

Juan nodded to Libby and left with his odd rolling step. She waited until the agent had rounded the corner of the house to lean forward. “I talked to a man down at the marina—”

“You went all the way to the marina?”

“I went for a walk, and it isn’t that far. Anyway, a young man spoke to me, and I knew I’d seen him somewhere. Maybe at the bullfights, I don’t know. He was too friendly. Where are those photos Javier took of the protesters?”

“On top of the desk in the den.”

Libby hurried to bring them out to the patio and sorted through them quickly. “Here, he’s the man with Victoria.”

Santos sat up in his chair. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, he was dressed in shorts, looked like he belonged at the marina and asked if I’d like to go sailing. He asked too many questions, and I left as fast as I could.”

“Now we need armed guards for you. Did he mention the name of his boat?”

“No, but we could take this photo to the marina and ask at the office who he is.”

“Have Manuel take you, and don’t walk that far from the house ever again.”

Libby was too surprised he didn’t want to go with her to argue over his terse order. “This won’t take me long.” She squeezed his shoulder as she walked by, and he didn’t even blow a kiss. Annoyed, she found Manuel outside the garage, washing the Mercedes.

Doubting he spoke much English, she spoke slowly. “Excuse me, will you please take me to the marina?”

“It will be my pleasure,” he responded. He quickly dried off the sedan and opened the back door for her.

Libby slipped in, but she felt ridiculous having a chauffeur. “Thank you. I have a few questions for the office personnel, and I won’t take a minute.”

Manuel drove her there without making any effort at conversation. When they arrived, he circled the car to open her door. “I will wait as long as you need me.”

There was a teasing shine in his eyes, and Libby thanked him again. They had walked past the office the day Santos had taken her sailing. Today, she went right in and approached the woman seated at the desk.

“Hello, do you speak English?”

“I do,” the woman replied. “How may I help you?”

Libby thought this was the time to use Santos’s name and did so. The woman smiled with delight. “Mr. Aragon is here often.”

Libby had brought the whole folder but showed the secretary only one photo. “I spoke with this man as I walked up to the marina this morning. I know we’ve meet, but I can’t recall his name. I believe he has a boat here.”

The woman studied the photo a long moment. “We don’t give out the names of members, but I’ve never seen him. Perhaps he’s been here as someone’s guest. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“You have, thank you. Have you worked here long?”