Twenty Centavos: A Mystery Set in San Miguel de Allende by John Scherber

Author:John Scherber [Scherber, John]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Outskirts Press
Published: 2010-06-29T04:30:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Diego Delgado

Licenciado Delgado had long been aware of the dealing activities of Tobey Cross. The commerce in Mayan ceramics was not a problem to him as long as all the pieces stayed in México, and he had no evidence of any export activities by Galeria Cruz. It was not against the law to merely own them. Indeed, he watched all the gringos of San Miguel, not because their ranks were flush with criminals; on the contrary, their good deeds in the city were legend. They ran more than 30 different volunteer groups in San Miguel. Delgado watched them because in his view the American community with all its wealth represented a business opportunity not to be ignored. In fact, one of his cousins who maintained a booth in the Tuesday market made a good living just dealing in their castoff clothing.

When the call from Marisol Cross alerted him to the possibility that Dolores Hidalgo might be the site of Tobey’s office, he was in his white Chrysler and on the road to that historic city within five minutes, pausing only at Galeria Cruz to pick up the key. There was no need for subtlety on the way and he turned on his flashing lights and laid on his horn as he flew past the traffic in his own lane. Once in Dolores Hidalgo he unknowingly repeated Maya’s plan of starting from the plaza and searching each street for a 132 address. After a few wrong streets it did not take him long to find the apple green building. He waited for a crowd of school boys to disperse and then tried the key.

“Beengo,” he said, a word that has entered Méxican Spanish as an exclamation, but after shedding its earlier meaning.

Once inside he made a rapid search of everything there. He noticed the break-in almost immediately and was relieved to find most of the packing cases were still full. He pulled out one of the pictures and wrinkled his nose. A withered old saint with a dim halo, eyes lifted heavenward; hardly as interesting as the nudes by Paul Zacher, which Delgado had only pretended offended him. It was an excuse to talk about Maya nude and visualize them again. He unpacked the ceramics, practically groaning with joy, and laid them on the work table. Then one by one he carried them to his police car and wrapped them all in a couple of blankets he kept in the trunk for accident victims. He would drive more slowly on the way back, without the siren.

Inside the office he dusted and lifted fingerprints wherever he could find them and then packed up the computer and the contents of the desk. He eyed the stereo system longingly but decided to leave it in place. He searched further for any sign of a Rolodex, but there was none.

Back in San Miguel, he stopped first at home and hid the ceramics in a garden shed at the back of his lot. An obvious place, perhaps, but they wouldn’t be there long.

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