Chocolate Cherry Cheater Page 15

Jake stood from where he had been crouched by her, rubbing her tummy. “How was your day?” he asked.

  “Eventful. Yours?” I inspected his face, sad to see dark circles rimming his eyes.

  “Too eventful,” he replied. “Mom and Adi have taken it as their personal mission to keep me busy. I washed dishes and scrubbed ovens until my fingers are pruny, and I’ve stitched more seams than most guys do in a lifetime.”

  “I’m fairly certain most guys don’t even know what a seam is,” I teased, trying to lighten his mood.

  “Adi’s threatening me with a job.”

  “So you’re up here…” I let my question trail off.

  Jake laughed. “Hiding.”

  I pulled the squeaky toy I’d bought in the city out of my backpack and tossed it to Lady. “They’re worried about you,” I said, joining Jake under the shade of the potted palm tree.

  “I know. That’s the only thing that bothers me about this whole deal. I mean, it’s not pleasant being a suspect for murder, but I know I didn’t do it. I’d have been arrested by now if there was any proof to involve me.”

  “You don’t care what people are saying about you?” It bothered me. I wanted everyone to like me and my friends.

  Jake shrugged. “I can’t control what people think, and I won’t waste my energy trying.”

  “I wish I could be more like that. I always take criticism personally,” I mumbled more to myself than to Jake.

  He looked at me like I had grown a second nose.

  I kicked myself for over sharing. Now, Jake thought I was bonkers.

  “What do people criticize you for?” he asked.

  Phew! He didn’t think I was crazy.

  I thought about it, trying to give him a simple answer.

  “You know, stuff.” How eloquent.

  “Like what?” he insisted.

  Not one example came to mind.

  The harder I thought, the quicker I was forced to conclude that the only criticism I really received was from me. I was my own worst enemy with my crippling self-doubt, and I couldn’t even blame anyone else for it. That stank.

  Lady happily chewed on her squeaky toy in her doghouse. She didn’t waste her energy worrying about what other people thought or being overly harsh on herself either. She simply enjoyed the moment.

  Great. Now, I was jealous of my dog.

  Jake leaned toward me. “Don’t answer that. There’s enough negative in the world. We shouldn’t waste our precious time dwelling on it when we’re surrounded by so much beauty and good.” He waved his hand, sweeping it over the terrace view. The rooftop was a mini paradise of potted trees, colorful plants, and strips of grass in raised beds. Behind us was the park where tourists licked ice cream and strolled through the shaded paths, families let their kids climb the tree house, and old men gathered to play chess and people watch. In front of us was the mountain ridge with its green peaks poking the aquamarine sky.

  The tension in my body melted as I enjoyed the serene setting that was my home. The peace I felt was reflected in Jake’s face as he looked at the mountains.

  “You miss your job, don’t you?” I asked.

  “The world is full of wonder. There’s nothing like the roar of a cascade, the sounds of the jungle at night, the clarity of the air at the top of a summit, or a drenching rainforest shower to remind us of how precious life is.”

  “You almost make me want to go on a jungle tour.”

  Jake arched an eyebrow. “Almost? I need to work on my pitch some more.”

  I smiled, suggesting we go down to the shop before I agreed to do something scary … like venture into the Amazon or go mountain climbing. (Although, I suppose Lake Quilotoa counted as mountain climbing. Maybe I wasn’t as cowardly as I’d always thought myself.)

  Tia Rosa manned the counter, dancing to the merengue music she had on the radio while she took orders and fed the till.

  Abuelita hummed past us, carrying a tray loaded with doughnuts.

  “I’ve never heard Abuelita hum,” Jake whispered.

  I found it concerning, too.

  My concern only grew when I noticed that there was no one else in the shop. No Martha or her mighty team of helpers.

  Tia Rosa waved a dollar bill. “We help Jake! And we help you, Jessica!”

  Jake met my eyes. He looked every bit as concerned as I felt.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  Tia Rosa opened her mouth to speak, and Abuelita rushed behind the counter to jab her with her pointy elbow and shush her.

  Nodding in understanding and rubbing her ribs, Tia Rosa said, “We no say you. Is surprise.”

  There were people you would rather not get a surprise from, and the dynamic duo behind the counter were at the top of my list.

  In my search for answers, I asked, “Where is everyone?”

  Abuelita said, “We give Martha and help the day free. We good boss.”

  I guessed business had still been slower than normal, even with the absence of protesters. “Business was still bad, then?”

  Tia Rosa smiled. “Oh no, is very good. We make more doughnuts.”

  I paused, her words sinking in. “You made more doughnuts? Without Martha?”

  My body broke out in a cold sweat. There was a very good reason why Tia Rosa had never been allowed to cook in Sylvia’s kitchen, and there was a very good reason why she didn’t help Martha with the doughnuts. While Tia Rosa was the best doughnut fryer around, she could not follow a recipe to save her life.

  Abuelita must have guessed where my thoughts had led me. Panic is easy to read like that. She said, “Is okay. I help.”

  I was not consoled. Abuelita was the official taste tester, but her talent in the kitchen was on the stovetop. Baking took too long, and Abuelita’s lack of patience meant she produced hockey pucks instead of sweet rolls. Her doughnuts would be dense and chewy. Like a tire.

  Preparing myself for the worst, I went into the bakery and saw a tray full of perfectly puffy doughnuts fried a golden brown and frosted to perfection. They looked beautiful. My relief was immense. “These are gorgeous. I bet the customers love them.”

  Abuelita grumbled, “Rosa make too much. We no sell yet.”

  Tia Rosa sighed. “Is a pity. They so beautiful.”

  There were probably six dozen spread out over the trays. As much to help Tia Rosa and Abuelita show off the doughnuts they had every right to be proud of as to butter up Agent Sanchez, I said, “Let’s box up a couple dozen and send them over to the police station.” Maybe Sanchez would be more willing to listen to my theory about Daniel after a doughnut or two.

  Jake, ever helpful, offered to deliver them on his way back to his mom’s restaurant where he was certain another mount of dishes waited for him.

  As soon as he left, Abuelita asked me, “Where you go? Why you gone all day?”

  I figured it was safe to tell her now. “I went to SierraVista to find out who gave them the videos and try to convince them not to air the video of Jake.”

  “It no work. They show it,” said Abuelita.

  Tia Rosa’s big eyes widened. “Is awful.”

  I bunched my mouth, deeply disappointed.

  Abuelita asked, “Who give the awful video?”

  “Hugo Tusa, the cameraman. He thinks Daniel did it.”

  Abuelita crossed her arms and puffed out her chest. “I right. Daniel the killer. I make the sign and march.”

  That reminded me. Why wasn’t the street crawling with protesters? “Where did the protesters go? I haven’t seen one since I got home.”

  Abuelita slapped her hands together like she was wiping the dust off of them. “They no come. I say is good for to be rid of them.”

  Tia Rosa shrugged, “Is strange. Maybe they too tire.”

  “After fresh evidence against Jake?” It was unlikely. Something was going on.

  Having no more doughnuts to make or frost, I started cleaning up. I wanted the shop to be ready, so I could get over to the police sta
tion right after closing.

  Domenica came in, pleased to take the rest of the doughnuts Abuelita and Tia Rosa had made off of our hands.

  I poured a glass of milk and set it on the table beside her. “You can’t have a chocolate doughnut without a glass of cold milk,” I suggested.

  With a toothy grin, Domenica plucked a doughnut from the tray she’d piled the doughnuts onto. Half of the doughnut disappeared in one bite.

  Her eyes watered, and she gagged. Lunging for the counter, she grabbed a napkin and spit into it while waving at her tongue with her free hand. I shoved the glass of milk at her. In one gulp, she downed it.

  Oh no.

  “Agua,” she gasped and coughed, tears running down her cheeks.

  I ran behind the counter and filled a glass of water. She drank so greedily, half of it poured down her front.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Sal,” she said, asking for more water.

  Salt. I ran into the kitchen, passing Abuelita and Tia Rosa, who stood rooted in place with their mouths agape. Sure enough, the salt bin was considerably lower than it had been when I’d left that morning.

  “Oh no!,” I repeated as I dashed out of the shop and across the sidewalk, getting honked at when I ran between two cars.

  I had to get to the police station. I had to stop them.

  Chapter 28

  Too late.

  I ground to a halt one step inside the police station.

  Abuelita and Tia Rosa crashed into me, shoving me further into the waiting area.

  Officers fought over the lever of the water cooler, shoving their plastic cups below the coveted spigot.

  Sanchez’s pinched face proclaimed her a victim of the Salt Lick Doughnuts. She glared at me. “If you wanted to poison me, you should have been more subtle about it.”

  Abuelita pointed her finger at her sister. “How you no know was salt?”

  Tia Rosa shoved her glasses up her nose, her owlish eyes blinking in innocence. “It look same. Why they no make sugar the pretty color? I write to the sugar company and ask them for to make sugar pink. Is the pretty color. Is better than white. White confusing. It look like salt.”

  No kidding.

  Abuelita plunked her hands on her hips. “Is why you need for to check. Why you no taste first?”

  “Is gross. I no like salt.”

  Sanchez and the officers agreed with her.

  I left Abuelita and Tia Rosa to bicker amongst themselves. I could revoke their kitchen privileges later.

  I followed Sanchez back to her office, pausing in the doorway. Conditions were as unfavorable as could be with the agent (so much for buttering her up), but I needed to tell her about my Ambato findings.

  She didn’t invite me in.

  “I swear, if you come any closer I might make like this case and strangle you. Now, tell me what you have been up to. I know you haven’t listened to me, so you might as well share your findings.”

  “Christina was strangled?” My head tingled at the slipped clue. From the beginning, Abuelita had insisted that Daniel had killed Christina with a microphone wire. What if she was right this time?

  Sanchez glared at me, which I understood as an affirmative. Had she let it slip on purpose, or was she really that mad at me?

  She slapped a file closed and shoved it in a drawer. “Sit and tell me everything.”

  And I did. I told her all about the argument overheard but not understood (frustrating!) on my way to Maria’s office. I described Maria’s office, complete with the smiley face doodled on her calendar. I repeated to the best of my memory my conversation with Maria. And then, the exciting part — I told her about my conversation with Hugo, including a plea with her not to punish Hugo because I’d chased him down the street. Which led to my concluding question, “Are you sure Daniel didn’t do it?”

  Sanchez tapped the pen she’d been using to take notes against the paper, tossing it into the garbage can when the ink went dry. Her pen jar was empty. She pulled open a drawer and dug around, coming up empty-handed. She lifted folders and papers on top of her cluttered desk and still couldn’t produce a pen. Finally, she dug in her purse, mumbling to herself, “Never a good pen when I need it.” Pulling out a handful from the bottom of her purse, she put them in the jar beside her computer screen, declaring, “I will not lose another one.”

  I will not lose another one. The words struck me as important. I’d heard them before.

  I shook my head. It was probably nothing.

  But no matter how many times I shook my head while Sanchez jotted down the information she wanted to remember, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  I will not lose another one. It was like when you get an earworm and you can’t stop thinking about that song until you actually listen to it. It wouldn’t leave me alone until I remembered where I had heard it before.

  Sanchez slapped her notebook shut, tossing her pen on top. For being so impeccable with her dress, her desk was a mess. I wanted to straighten the angle of the pen where it rested half on the notepad and half on the desk, but I clasped my hands together and tried not to look at it.

  “Well, Miss James, you confirmed what I already knew, but you saved me some legwork.”

  Her flippant comment stole my thunder. Not one thing had been new? Not that I could expect her to tell me about it, I guess. I couldn’t forget who I was dealing with. She’d probably warned me not to go to Ambato because she knew that’s exactly what I’d do. I’d just been manipulated to save Sanchez more work.

  She was sneakier than Jessamyn, and I felt like a dupe for falling for it.

  Sanchez wore a smirk as she stood from her desk, signaling that my use to her had come to an end. “Always a pleasure, Miss James. Next time, save your talents for the bakery. I could press charges for the assault on my taste buds your granny friends caused here.”

  Her tone was demeaning, and it snapped something inside me.

  It hadn’t been a waste of a trip. Not only had I discovered who the source of the videos was, but I also expanded my business opportunities by offering deliveries in Ambato at the news station. And Sanchez had let it slip that Christina had been strangled. I would not let a power-tripping detective make me feel inferior for trying to be a good friend. If she was so good at her job why hadn’t she caught the murderer already? All she needed to do was find the murder weapon. My best guess was a cord a cameraman left lying around.

  I inhaled, ready to let spew a slightly edited rebuke when it hit me.

  The news station! That’s where I had heard it. The receptionist had teased the cameraman about losing another one. Another what? I wish I’d thought to ask while I was there. It probably meant nothing, but at this point I couldn’t afford to overlook anything.

  Tia Rosa and Abuelita were gone by the time I left the doorway of Sanchez’s office. I was relieved to see they’d returned to close the shop. I ran up my stairs to my apartment, Googling the phone number for SierraVista and pushing the numbers as fast as I could. Please, please, please somebody be there!

  I recognized the receptionist’s voice right away. Instead of saying something practical, I blurted, “Wow, you’re still working?”

  She probably didn’t get very many calls in English, so she recognized me right away. “Miss James, how nice to hear from you again.” With a chuckle, she added, “I practically live here. I don’t know why I bother to pay rent at my apartment. What can I help you with?”

  “Do you remember earlier today when the reporter and the cameraman were on their way to the park? You teased the cameraman about not losing another one… Do you mind telling me what he had lost?”

  She paused long enough for me to worry that she didn’t want to answer my question. Finally, she said, “I suppose it can’t hurt. He lost a microphone and wire.”

  Oh. My. Goodness. Abuelita was right. It was all I could do to order my thoughts. “That’s what I thought. I might be able to help you with that. Is there anyone I can t
alk to about the lost microphone?”

  “He would be delighted if someone recovered it for him. Let me transfer you to the tech department. Someone might still be there.”

  I listened to elevator music for a couple of minutes, and I was beginning to worry that I would have to wait and call in the morning when a man said over the line, “Did you find it?”

  My heart beat a mile a minute. “I might have. It was left behind after the Lake Quilotoa event, wasn’t it?” I asked, holding my breath for his answer.

  “That’s the one! Under the switch, there’s a serial number. Can you read it to me?”

  I looked around as if I might see the microphone magically appear in my apartment. “I don’t have it with me right now, but if you tell me the number, I’ll write it down and compare. I’ll call you back if it’s a match. Sound good?”

  I could hear him ruffling through papers and clicking a mouse while I reached for my journal and pen.

  He gave me a number, and I tore off the page and put it in my pocket.

  I needed to get that microphone. Few murderers carried their weapons home like trophies. They always hid it as far away from themselves as possible — especially when everyone at the station would be looking for the missing microphone. What better place than Lake Quilotoa?

  My next call was to Fernanda and Martha. I didn’t know when I would get back, but I doubted it would be in time to open the shop in the morning.

  Next, I got Lady’s leash ready and packed a few treats in the backpack I still hadn’t unpacked from today’s activities. My girl was coming with me.

  Then, I called my posse. I needed all the help I could get.

  Abuelita said she’d come over with Tia Rosa. Adi said she was coming along and would let her mom know immediately. Then, I called Jake. Gus was there, keeping an eye on him like he had been ordered to do. Gus was quick to offer the use of his police pickup. He figured that Jake couldn’t get in trouble for leaving town if a policeman drove him there. I figured that with a police escort flashing his lights, we could get to the lagoon quicker.

  We had to make it to Lake Quilotoa before she did.

  Chapter 29