Greasing the Piñata (30 page)

Authors: Tim Maleeny

Tags: #Mystery & Detective / General

BOOK: Greasing the Piñata

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Linda squeezed Cape hard enough to get sap out of a tree. By the time she let go he felt like maple syrup, a thought that made him wish they’d met at a breakfast joint instead of a coffee shop in the Mission district.

Linda ordered for them while Cape got plates, spoons, and napkins. The plates were china and the spoons metal. A hand printed sign on the wall read
Napkins = Trees
. He set everything on a table in the corner before meeting Linda at the counter.

“You like Mexican coffee?” Linda’s hair looked as if it didn’t care whether Cape liked it or not.

“Not really.”

“I ordered two.”

“Great.”

“They make it with a special recipe here. Instead of Kahlua they use tequila.”

Cape smiled. “Perfect.”

A young woman with a metal stud in her cheek and hoop in her eyebrow stepped to the counter and handed Linda two carefully wrapped confections. She set the coffees on the countertop.

“I thought you didn’t eat sweets—corner table.” Cape took a coffee in each hand and followed Linda to the table. “Sugar is a killer.”

Linda’s hair told him to mind his own business but she was more polite. “
Dia de los muertos.
”

“Excuse me?”

“Day of the Dead—when Mexicans celebrate loved ones they’ve lost.” Linda handed him one of the treats. “Or loved ones we thought we lost.”

Cape almost blushed. “Sounds like a loophole in the holiday.”

Linda gestured at his plate. “Go ahead.”

The paper opened like a flower to reveal a perfectly formed human skull the size of a strawberry. Its mouth was grinning wickedly at Cape, the teeth outlined with inlaid chocolate. The eyes were big and round, tiny flecks of blue and gold making the lines. On the top was a mosaic of brightly colored tiles running from the forehead to the nape of the neck. The body of the skull was pure crystalline sugar. A sugar skull.

“It’s beautiful.”

Linda unwrapped hers. It had earthier hues, reds and orange and streaks of brown, but it was just as festive. She took a small bite and her hair vibrated from the sugar rush so unfamiliar to her diet.

“What’s come over you?” Cape had known Linda for years, and even granola wasn’t crunchier.

“I wanted to come someplace that reminded me of Mexico. I keep thinking about your investigation, how you almost died.”

“I didn’t.” Cape took a tentative bite. Sweet didn’t accurately describe the sensation.

Linda frowned. “Dobbins and Cordon preyed on people’s fears.”

“That’s what criminals do.”

“But they were
my
fears.” Linda wrapped her hands around her cup and let its warmth flow into her. “I read an article about ethanol on the bus ride over.”

Cape reflected on the differences in their reading habits. He had a stack of comic books on his nightstand. “What did it say?”

“That ethanol from sugar cane might be a clean fuel source, better than gasoline.”

“Some good news, right?”

“Maybe for Brazil.” The posture of Linda’s hair suggested there was a catch. “Unless they cut down the rainforest to grow the sugar cane, which they might be doing. But for those of us living in the States, the news is not so good.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t grow sugar cane in the continental United States. You can only grow corn.”

“Isn’t that what they’re doing, burning corn into ethanol?”

“Corn doesn’t burn as easily, so it takes more heat. Know what ethanol factories burn to generate the heat?”

Cape shook his head and sipped his coffee. When he was around Linda, he didn’t know much about anything. He almost felt like Sam Cooke.

“They burn fossil fuels like coal. So making ethanol from corn can actually produce
more
greenhouse gases than sticking with gasoline. Not to mention the effect of forests getting cleared to plant more crops. Bottom line, the science doesn’t support the investment.”

“Isn’t that kind of counter-productive?”

“Not if the government wants to spin a green fairy tale to justify taxes. We’re paying millions in subsidies to plant corn and giving energy companies hundreds in millions in tax breaks to build ethanol factories.”

“Even though it doesn’t work.”

“Sound familiar?” Linda poked a hole in her skull and licked her finger. “Why not fund solar panels or wind farms, something that actually works?”

“Maybe they’re not as trendy. Politicians like social currency.”

“My environmental movement has become a fashion industry.” Linda scowled. “Green is the new black.”

Cape sighed. “You can’t save the world, Linda.”

“That doesn’t mean I should stop trying.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like me.”

“No.” Linda’s hair shook. “You care about people. You don’t really give much thought to your surroundings.”

Cape didn’t argue. Linda lay awake at night worried about global warming. He went to bed thinking it was a cold world out there.

“I’m tired of being judged by posers.” She forced a smile. “I’m tired of having my environment turned into a religious movement.”

“Why is it always
your
environment?”

“Because that’s the way it works.” Linda blew on her coffee. “
Waste not, want not.
”

Cape smiled. “My Dad used to say that all the time.”

“He grew up during the Depression?”

“Yeah.”

Linda turned her skull around so it was facing her. “I needed to let off some steam.”

“You just might be a renewable energy source.”

“Thanks for listening.”

“Thanks for keeping the faith.”

Linda smiled.

Cape glanced at the clock above the counter. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m late for a tea ceremony—it’s a standing date.”

“You’re having tea after you have coffee?”

“Caffeine is my friend.”

“Didn’t you have breakfast before you came here?”

“I drank iced tea with breakfast.”

“I’m glad I’m not your stomach.”

“Me, too—I couldn’t stand the guilt.”

“Don’t forget your skull.”

Cape wrapped up his hypoglycemic treasure. “Going to grab a taxi—you want a ride?”

“I’ll walk. Say hi to Sally.”

“You bet.”

“How is she?”

“That’s one of the great things about Sally. I never have to ask.” Cape bent to give Linda a kiss. “Sure you don’t want a ride?”

“I prefer to walk.”

Cape smiled. “I know you do.”

Chapter Eighty-eight

Sally served the tea to her parents’ cups before serving Cape. When her own cup was full they drank. Sally sat perfectly still. Cape occasionally unfolded and refolded his legs.

The tea was green jasmine and tasted like memory—sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet. Cape thought about the past week. After a while, Sally asked him how Rebecca was doing.

“About as well as can be expected. She lost a family she never really had.”

Sally didn’t say anything for a long time, lost in her own memories.

“Will you see her again?”

Cape met her gaze and smiled. “Not in the way you mean.”

“You’re learning.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“I take nothing for granted where you’re concerned.”

“Did I ever say thank you?”

Sally shook her head. “No.”

“Just checking.”

Sally smiled at their private joke.

Cape drank some tea. “I might surprise you one day.”