Death on the River Walk by Carolyn G. Hart

Author:Carolyn G. Hart [Hart, Carolyn G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780061864759
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2009-10-13T05:00:00+00:00

The pounding in my head separated from a steadier, heavier thud. I pulled free of the twisted sheets, rumpled from a deep but restless sleep, and propped on my elbow.

The knock on the door sounded again.

I sleep in a T-shirt and running shorts, each to his own taste. I reached the door, opened the peephole, then held the door wide.

Maria Elena carried a small tray with a coffee thermos, two cups, and a cloth-lined basket filled with golden-brown fruit empanadas. “I’m so sorry—” she began.

I waved away the apology. “I overslept. Come in. If you’ll excuse me for a moment—”

She sat at the small table. I hurried in the bath, washing my face, brushing my hair, slipping into a blouse and slacks. I didn’t take much time over my face, but it was certainly a road map of the night—bluish pouches beneath tired eyes, frown lines that were verging on permanent.

When I joined Maria Elena, she poured our coffee. I welcomed the harsh brew. She stirred sugar, but never lifted the cup to her lips. When we’d met, I’d been entranced by her creamy complexion and bright eyes and lustrous hair. They’d given her a youthfulness that was gone this morning. She, too, had dark circles beneath her eyes, and her face sagged as if weight pressed against the skin.

“Will you help me?” She spoke without pretense, simply, directly, and those dark eyes burned into mine. She didn’t remind me that I had accepted her help in my search for Iris. She made her request and waited.

“Yes. Although”—the coffee was beginning to reduce the throbbing in my head to a dull ache—“I don’t know what I can do.”

The sun spilled brightly through the window, shining on her raven-dark hair, her vivid eyes. She smiled at me suddenly and I was sharply reminded of Manuel’s face and the way it glowed with love and life. “You will find out the truth.”

I stared at her in surprise.

She nodded firmly. “You see”—and now the smile was gone, supplanted by an icy calm—“Manuel is very good. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I know that.” Despite the blood on his jeans, despite the blood on his shoes.

“He polished the tiles for you. Because you asked him. He always wants everything to be clean. That’s what I tried to explain to that detective. But I’m afraid, I’m terribly afraid, that he is going to arrest Manuel. We called a lawyer before I came down to the lobby last night. That’s what Frank told me to do when he came for me. And the lawyer—one of my nephews—was with us when we talked to the detective.”

“What did Manuel say?” It didn’t seem an odd comment. Manuel spoke with his hands.

“We aren’t sure what happened. All he can show us is that he went downstairs, he found the door open and the body on the River Walk. We don’t know if something woke him up or perhaps he was wandering about. He does that. Perhaps a noise woke him last night.

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