The Mamacita Murders Read online

  There’s something about being in another country that makes me want to sample the thirty-one flavors in men, right now being the Latino flavor. I was once told by Sister Olivia at a Catholic Church camp Nana sent me to after my mom died, that dating is like thirty-one flavors. You should taste a little sample of each of the flavors before you decide which one you want for the rest of your life. I feel like I’m eternally sampling the flavors and have yet to pick the one.

  When I was young, I had the same gripe. I’d ask my thirteen-year-old camp girlfriends, “How will I know when I taste the right flavor?” I even asked Sister Olivia, “What if you never find the flavor you’re looking for or what if your favorite flavor is Neapolitan? That has three flavors I like to swirl around in my bowl until the vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate melts down into one puke-colored ice cream that tastes like pistachio.”

  Sister Olivia looked at me and called over Sister Frances, the nun that was supervising the girls’ division of the camp.

  Sister Frances took me into a separate room and sat me down. “Gaby, have you thought about your future? Have you considered that it is possible that the Lord is calling you to the convent? This is a special calling that doesn’t come to many girls. Perhaps it is for you and it is something you should think about,” Sister Frances said.

  Then she gave me a gold chain and told me to wear it and pray daily and think about whether I felt the calling. The only calling I was feeling at that time was for my thirteen-year-old crush Justin Vargas, who took me behind the bleacher stands after I agreed to show him my boobs.

  Officer Nuñez hangs up his phone. “Señor Cruz has arrived into the Walled City. He came here on a direct flight and arrived yesterday. He is at the mortuary and there is a funeral that will take place the day after tomorrow near the Plaza. There is a beautiful church there. That is where the mass will be and he will be buried locally.

  “The problem is that the funeral home will not allow us access to his body without an order from the court. Just like I suspected. This shouldn’t be hard to do, but it will take me about a day to get. I arranged an appointment for tomorrow at four o’clock with the mortuary. Hopefully, I can help you get the order by then,” says Officer Nuñez.

  “Thank you so much,” I say.

  “You’re welcome,” Nuñez says. Looking me straight in the eyes, I’m lost in a dream of sneaking out of my hotel at night to move my hips against Nuñez’s body in sync with the musical rhythms I haven’t stopped hearing since I arrived in this beautiful city.

  “Why don’t you return tomorrow at three o’clock in the afternoon and we will head over there?” says Nuñez.

  Our hotel becomes Dylan’s and my safe haven from the sweltering humidity and sun of this city. The cool room we walk into after visiting the police station sends me into a frenzy.

  “I love this city,” I say.

  “What do you like most about it other than Officer Nuñez?” says Dylan, lounging on the bed looking at me while I walk to the vanity area.

  “Stop it. I like meeting people like Officer Nuñez, the passion, the culture, the history. Life is so simple here. I think they have it right. Why do we work so hard back at home?”

  “Yeah, you have a point. They may have the easy and good life figured out,” Dylan says. “I think you’re falling for Officer Nuñez. I saw you making eyes at him.”

  “There’s something about the men here that captures my attention. I think it’s just because they’re different from what I’m used to.”

  “I didn’t know you liked Hispanic men.”

  “I have no preference. The men here seem a lot more simple than the ones I’ve dated.”

  I open my suitcase up and take out my beauty case, placing it on the bathroom counter, an area completely open to our beds. Watching Dylan’s eyes follow me in the mirror in front of me gets me wondering how I’m going to have any privacy getting ready. I brush my hair, massaging my scalp with each stroke.

  “The grass is not always greener on the other side. A lot of Hispanic men are womanizers and controlling. You should know this with your culture.”

  “So are Americans. Look at Neil. I guess that’s what I’m attracted to.”

  “You know what I think your problem is?”

  “I don’t want to know. I’d rather live in ignorance. I’m kidding, tell me,” I say.

  “That you just have too many standards, too many requirements. You need to figure out what is important to you. What you want in a man and what you’re willing to compromise. When you meet a man, see if he has those things you like or dislike and let that be your starting point. The problem is that you follow your heart too much and you only pay attention to who you’re physically attracted to. It leaves you unsatisfied at the end, because that initial attraction goes away.”

  “Really, I’ve never thought about it in that way. I don’t want to settle and don’t think I should.”

  “Is that why you’re not settling with me?” he asks.

  I stop brushing my hair and look directly at Dylan’s reflection in the mirror.

  “You haven’t even tried to make that happen,” I say.

  “What are you talking about? I’ve tried so many times. I feel like you just are looking the other way, in another direction that’s not towards me.”

  “It doesn’t seem like you want to move things between us along,” I say.

  “What gives you that impression?”

  “You don’t call. You don’t pursue. I don’t feel cherished by you, Dylan.”

  “Even if I did those things for you, it wouldn’t be enough for you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I know that,” he says. “Because you haven’t been a part of this relationship. You have been looking at it from the outside in, like you’re watching and waiting for me to screw up. I don’t know how you feel about me and sometimes in the past when we dated, you weren’t affectionate with me. I’d get confused.”

  “I don’t know how to respond to that, Dylan. A part of me wanted to fight for you, but a part of me felt rejected by you because you let so much time go by and you never tried to win me back. I get freaked out by the idea of being serious with you or any attachment. I don’t want to be abandoned or cheated on at the end of us.”

  “That’s a risk we both take, any couple takes. Love is worth the risk. I don’t see it that way. I’ve always thought you were worth the risk,” he says.

  Dylan’s cell phone ringing interrupts a conversation that had to happen. The tension between Dylan and me had come to the boiling point where something needed to give way, like a volcano waiting to erupt. Sometimes I need things spelled out for me in a straightforward and honest way so I know where I stand on the spectrum, especially in Dylan’s heart.

  “Thanks for that information,” says Dylan before clicking his phone off.

  “Dammit,” he says.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “That was Linda Dean from the Fingerprint Office,” says Dylan, getting off the bed and walking towards me.

  “And?” I say.

  “The print on the vase didn’t match Clown, Laura or any of us who were in the room, including you, me and the technician who collected it.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I say, turning around to face Dylan. “It’s gotta be Cruz.”

  “You think so?” Dylan asks.

  “We gotta get Cruz’s DNA and thumbprint. I’m not leaving the Walled City until that happens. And I don’t care how long it takes. The rest of my trip will have to wait.”

  “I think you just want to stay in the Walled City with me a little longer and feel me grind against you in the bars like this,” he says.

  Dylan’s deep and come-and-make-love-to-me voice still makes my inner thighs tense up. Holding my hip bone as we stand facing each other, Dylan uses his hand to put pressure against me. Moving his hand to the small of my back, he tickles me and sways me back and forth, in sync to the rhythm of the music on
the radio alarm clock. Wrapping my arms around Dylan’s neck and following his lead to the music, I enjoy the fun moment and realize for the first time he can dance.

  I feel his hardness against my pelvis as he thrusts closer into me, pulling my hair back freeing my neck for soft nibbles behind my ear. Between the music playing softly in the background and the smell of his cologne, I feel wetness and throbbing in my lace panties. It sends me into an orgasmic outer space. I wonder if it’s the humidity of the Walled City that just hit me or what I know is about to happen next.

  “Do you think we can get in trouble for this?” I ask, lying next to Dylan naked and rubbing his chest lightly with my fresh manicured nails.

  “Does it matter?” asks Dylan.

  “I just don’t want to lose my job. ‘Prosecutor on the case sleeping with the investigator in the Walled City when they are sent on assignment there’ doesn’t sound very good. I’m just curious.”

  “Probably. I’m sure I’d get scolded for it before my boss gives me a high-five.”

  “Of course, it’s always a double standard. You will be getting the pat on the back, while I’m losing my job and getting my Bar license suspended.”

  “Hey, if it comes to that point, where anyone cares, it means we’ve solved the case. I’d love to wrap this case up.”

  “Why did you listen to me when I said it had to be Cruz?”

  “I was thinking the print on the vase had to be Laura’s or the tech’s. Plus, seeing Clown on Monday wanting to give up some information made me question things. I know he didn’t tell us anything, but the fact that he was ready to tells me he has something he wants to say.”

  “Good. Don’t worry. We’ll find out who did this to Laura. I’m going to take a stroll down to the water. You stay here napping; you look a little worn out,” I say, winking at Dylan.

  21

  INTERNATIONAL SIGNS

  Thirty minutes after leaving the hotel room, I walk alongside the old boats docked in the harbor outside the Convention Center. The boats are no longer used for travel. They are remnants of historic times, used as a means for bringing goods to this seaside town. Nicer boats and elegant restaurants line the opposite side of the harbor where speedboats dart across the water without any speed limits. The city in the distance is made up mostly of apartment towers, which give it a more modern feel.

  Wishing I could slip into one of these boats and sail away, I notice a young girl playing on the bow of a boat, hanging her feet off the sides. Watching her laughing and play sword fighting into the air, I get closer to the edge of the walkway, looking around and notice she’s alone. The whole boat is empty.

  Realizing she’s no older than eight years old, I begin to yell at her in Spanish, telling her to get down from the boat and that she’s going to fall. When she ignores me, I switch to English. Between several attempts to warn her, I get a better look at her while still standing on the dock. She seems in a trance, her eyes stare blankly into the wind. She’s blind. Childish and playing in an innocent way, giggling and moving around in one spot, sticking the sword I imagine in her hand, she’s completely at ease.

  Walking onto the boat and hearing the creaking from the boat makes me think it’s not as sturdy as it looks from the land. This thing is old and not something I’d get paid to sail away on. I walk up to the girl thinking I’ll grab her by both of her shoulders so she doesn’t fall into the water. Thinking I’ll sneak up on her like a cat from behind hoping to take a hold of it before it hops or pounces away, I move up on her from behind.

  Just as I’m about to grab her arms, she turns around and the look of death and demon eyes stare knives into mine. “Leave me alone,” she screams. I jump and fall back, startled, with my heart pounding out of my chest about a thousand beats a minute. Her beautiful curly hair turns to straight long hair and her once playful smile turns to the stare of a cold ice princess. She is gone, disappeared.

  A splash from down below brings the lukewarm bay water onto my face. I run to the ledge of the boat in the same spot she was sitting and feel an enormous sense of warmth. I can see a dolphin or something down below scurrying in the water, looking like it was about to make a jump into the air. A beautiful mermaid-looking dolphin in amazing coral and aquamarine colors shimmies out of the water.

  “Gabriela.” A beautiful voice soothes my excitement.

  “Don’t ever disturb the inner child in someone, but most importantly never let it be disturbed within you. It is bad luck. What you perceive as danger in your life, may be someone else’s joy. Live and let live. If you allow yourself to be guided by this principle, you will learn to let go and not control. That is important for your life, too.

  “You’re not on a timeline; you don’t need to force things to happen. The Universe will make them happen for you. The boat you sit on may look beautiful to you from the outside, but once you step onto it, you realize it is rocky, unstable, and creaking. It feels unsafe to you, but it feels safe to me, Giselle. Let me live and I will let you live. If you do, you will have peace in your life and serenity in your mind,” she says before disappearing into the water.

  “Silly, what are you doing on this boat? There’s a rope closing it off. You probably shouldn’t be on it. The police are going to arrest you,” says Dylan, grabbing my arms from behind.

  “Dylan, do you believe in magic?”

  “Well, sort of,” he replies. “Guess who just called me? Officer Nuñez. He said he was able to work some magic and track down your mom’s ex-lover. Apparently, he lives with a politician in one of the fancy buildings that faces the sea. He’s one of his bodyguards. He remembered your mom and said he’d love to meet you.”

  “Wow.”

  “Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  “I’m fine. When can we meet him?”

  “He’s dining right now at Trece Mares, one of the best restaurants here in the Walled City. He’s willing to meet with us there after he’s done, for a drink or coffee. Plus, he’s interested in hearing about our investigation.”

  “Perfect, let’s get back to the hotel so I can shower.”

  Trece Mares, one of the best places to eat in the Walled City, has a quaint feel to it with framed pictures and art on the walls. Young beautiful local women sit dining with older men who look like tourists. I study one woman who looks about twenty years old with long brown hair. She sits elegantly with her legs crossed as she gushes across the table at her date; her extreme enthusiasm gives her away as a sex worker. Prostitution is legal and rampant throughout the Walled City. Most of it is organized by former drug cartels, like Cruz’s family.

  The bar with six stools is our haven out of the way from the couples that have taken over a makeshift dance floor in front of a band. The music in the Walled City is the best I’ve heard around the world because the rhythm, bongos, and flute whistle Spanish love songs in a melody I’ve never heard before.

  “What has the Walled City changed for you?” Dylan asks, staring into my eyes like he never has before.

  “My perspective of love.”

  “Really. In what way?”

  “I’ve learned that maybe I’m looking in all the wrong places or maybe my standards are all wrong,” I say.

  “What do you mean? I thought you didn’t want to lower your standards?” says Dylan.

  “I’m not lowering them,” I say. “I’m just talking about the things I once thought were important maybe are not. Take this couple, for example.”

  A girl in a light pink cocktail dress with ruffles, looking like my best friend growing up, spins in circles as her Spanish lover embraces her tightly in his arms nibbling on her neck.

  “This Guatemalan girl, for example, looks like she’s completely enjoying herself. Her partner doesn’t have a full head of hair and is not the best-looking man here, but she acts like she’s the luckiest girl in the Walled City. He’s singing into her ear and she’s happy.”

  “How do you know she’s not just a sex worker?” D
ylan asks.

  “Her body language. It’s genuine, not like that girl,” I say, pointing to the twenty year old. “Plus they have wedding rings on,” I say.

  “How do you know she’s Guatemalan?” asks Dylan.

  “Guatemalans just know how to enjoy themselves and they dance well. Plus, she looks like my best friend growing up who was Guatemalan, so I’m presuming.”

  “You know who I think the luckiest person is in this place?” he says.

  “Who, me?” I say.

  “No, me.”

  “Aw. Thank you. I couldn’t think of a better place or with better company to spend my birthday than right here with you,” I say.

  Our lips brush up against each other and he flutters his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss that feels like a feather.

  “Miss Ruiz?” a deep male voice with a thick Spanish accent says.

  “Yes,” I reply back.

  I turn around to greet Señor Luis Santiago-Borges. I introduce him to Dylan and translate their small talk back and forth. Luis and I continue speaking in Spanish.

  “Your beauty is as striking as your mother’s,” he says.

  “My mother wrote wonderful things about you in her diary,” I say, taking out a vintage Polaroid headshot of my mom all dolled up with her hair in pin-curls, wearing a black feather boa.

  “I wish I had the opportunity to say the same about you, but I knew your mother before you were born,” Señor Borges says.

  He studies the photo. “Wow, that takes me way back. I always told her she looked like Ava Gardner. She was a beautiful woman,” he says fondly. “I remember how she loved the models and actresses. When I was working security at the hotel, we met here. She was so excited spotting the stars that were in town.

  “What has brought you to the Walled City?” asks Señor Borges.

  “We are here investigating an attempted murder that happened in our county. One of our potential suspects came here in a body bag. We are trying to get his DNA and thumbprint,” I say. “Plus, for me, it was an opportunity to come to a town that had a special place in my mom’s heart. It makes me feel close to her.”