Bossa Novas, Bikinis, and Bad Ends Read online

  “Thanks, Yasmin,” I said. “I really would have slept here until morning if you hadn’t wakened me.”

  She helped me to my feet. “I saw you talking to Miguel before,” she said. “He seemed angry. What was the problem?”

  “Oh, nothing really,” I said. “He was angry because Lucas asked me to get his job back as bartender. He didn’t want me to be annoyed by him. He seems to be set against hiring Lucas again, though, so I didn’t pursue the subject any further.”

  “That was it? That was—all you talked about?” she asked.

  For some reason I didn’t tell her about the rest of it. I didn’t want to talk to her about his anxiety about the financial state of the hotel. I’m not sure why I didn’t. Some instinct made me keep it to myself.

  “That was it,” I said. “Good night, Yasmin. Think I’ll turn in.” I pushed the elevator button.

  “See you tomorrow, Pat,” she said and headed for the piano bar.

  Gini was still out when I got back to our room. I fell asleep within minutes of getting into bed.

  Pat’s Tip for Traveling with Friends: Discuss

  who will do the driving ahead of time. If you

  both hate driving, hire someone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Did Somebody Call a Doctor?

  We met for a light breakfast the next morning and compared notes about our late-night adventures. The most intriguing was Janice’s nightclubbing with the doctor. Our questions poured out all at once: What was he like? What did they do? Did she like him? Where did they go? Was she going to see him again? All in a rush.

  “He hardly talked about his personal life at all,” Janice said. “That usually means the guy’s married. He didn’t mention anything about a wife, but I don’t think I’ll go out with him again. Just a feeling.”

  “What did he talk about?” Gini asked.

  “Mostly about Rio and how beautiful it is and all the things we should see while we’re here. And then, just as if we had been going out for months, he asked me if I would like to go to his cabana on the beach.”

  “What!” I couldn’t help but yell. “What do you mean, his ‘cabana on the beach’? Weren’t you in a nightclub?”

  “Oh, yes—and it was great. Fantastic music, a great show, and we danced. But to him it seemed like a natural thing to ask me to fool around with him in his cabana. I mean, naturally, I assumed that was what he had in mind. He didn’t actually say that, but his attitude was, ‘I can always ask. What can I lose?’ He said we could go for a swim. That he had extra bathing suits there—and then—”

  “And then, what?” I couldn’t help it. How could he be so casual about luring some woman he had just met to his cabana, helping her change into a bathing suit, which, as we all knew, was a couple of tiny pieces of material, and then doing who knows what? Well, I did know what.

  “Cool it, Pat,” Janice said, patting my hand. “I didn’t go to the cabana. We just danced and walked along the boardwalk for a while, and then he brought me back here. He asked to take me somewhere tonight.”

  “Are you going?” Tina asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Depends on what else turns up. I don’t really like the idea that he’s probably married. I’ve had enough of married men, thank you.”

  “Did the doctor say anything about the two murders or who might have killed Maria and Sumiko?” Gini asked.

  “No, every time I tried to bring the subject up, he gave me some vague, one-word answer and talked about something else. He definitely didn’t want to discuss it.”

  “Maria and possibly Sumiko died of some weird anesthetic that disappears once it’s in somebody’s body, and he’s an anesthesiologist,” Gini said. “Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious to you?”

  “Well, of course, Madame Prosecutor,” Janice said. “But what was I going to say? ‘Pardon me, sir, did you murder Maria and Sumiko with your weird anesthetic?’ Come on, Gini.”

  “Well, you can’t tell me he didn’t have something to do with those deaths.”

  Our favorite guide joined us at the table and chimed in. “He’s not a murderer, guys,” Natalia said. “I’ve known him a long time. We had an affair once. And you’re right, Janice. He is married. He has three teenaged children. He never, ever, talks about his family.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” Janice said. “I was pretty sure he was married. He was so secretive. That’s my last date with him.”

  “How about a day away from this hotel and all this talk of murder and cheating husbands?” Natalia said. “Are you ready to go to the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain?”

  “Lead on,” Gini said. “It’s supposed to be incredible.”

  “You’ll get some great shots up there, Gini,” Natalia said. “It’s the best view in the city. I think it’s even better than Corcovado.”

  She took us out to the van that was waiting for us. Ramon was our driver again. He smiled a welcome as we got in.

  “To Sugar Loaf, please, Ramon,” Natalia said.

  We drove through the busy streets to Praia Vermelha, which Natalia told us meant Red Beach, where we would find the cable car that would take us up to the top of Sugar Loaf.

  My heart stopped for a moment when I saw the cable cars, which were entirely made of glass. I knew riding in one of them would make me feel as if I were actually hanging in space. I am so leery of heights. My stomach turns over a couple of times when I am in a high place. It’s because when I was a little girl I went to the top of the Woolworth building in New York and some idiot—I think he was the elevator man—as a joke, pretended to throw me over the side. I can still feel that absolute terror inside as he swung me up and almost out into the air. I screamed, and I still feel like screaming when I look out into space from a high tower or place.

  But when we actually stepped into the cable car here in Rio, I felt safe because there were people all around us. The cars hold sixty-five passengers, and there were close to that number on this sunny morning. Natalia, who picks up on everything, noticed my nervousness and stood next to me. I knew she was talking a lot to distract me.

  “The car stops first at Morro da Urca,” she said. “It’s not very high. Then we take another cable car to the top, which is called Pão de Acu-car, or Sugar Loaf Mountain. There is an amazing view of the city, and there are railings everywhere to hold on to. You can walk around up there on trails through trees and shrubs.”

  She lowered her voice and said to me, “You OK, Pat?”

  “I will be,” I said. “Thanks, Natalia. How did you know?”

  “I’ve done this a few thousand times before. I recognize that look. Lots of people are that way about heights. But don’t worry—you won’t get the feeling that you’re suspended in space up there. It’s very tourist-friendly.”

  We changed cars at the first mountain and arrived at the top of Sugar Loaf before I had a chance to be nervous. We stepped out onto a tree-filled aerie. The first thing I saw was the statue of Christ far off in the distance at the top of Corcovado. I felt like His outstretched arms were waving to me, reassuring me that I was safe. I relaxed.

  As usual, we five separated to explore the mountain on our own. I walked over to the rail to get that part of it over with before moving inland to walk up the path. Janice joined me.

  “Want to walk along that trail?” Janice asked.

  “Love to,” I said. “I thought I should look at the view of Rio first.”

  It was really a spectacular sight. Far below us we could see the city full of white buildings spread out. We could see the beaches, white next to the blue water. The curved Copacabana Beach. The Ipanema Beach. The ocean. Rock formations and mini forests were dotted among the buildings all through the city. My fear of heights calmed down a little as I absorbed the view of this magnificent city.

  After a couple of minutes, Janice grabbed my arm and led me to a trail winding through the trees that lined the path.

  It was cooler here, the leafy branches shading us
from the sun.

  We walked along in silence for a while, admiring the greenery, smiling at the monkeys who jumped from tree to tree, enjoying the quiet. After a while, I sensed that Janice wanted to talk but was hesitating.

  “What is it, Jan?” I asked. “Is something the matter?”

  “You certainly picked the right career, Pat,” she said, sounding relieved. “Yes, there is something I need to talk to you about. It’s probably nothing, but I wanted to try it out on you before I said anything to the others. As I said, it’s probably nothing.”

  “I won’t say a word to anyone until you say it’s OK,” I said.

  She waited, pointed to a bench along the side of the path, and we sat down.

  “It’s something Dr. Souza—Gabriel—said when we went out last night. It seemed so strange, Pat, and he changed the subject right after he said it.”

  “Sounds serious, Jan. What did he say?”

  She pushed back her hair and continued. “I had just asked him about Sumiko, Ortega’s wife, because I knew he had been having an affair with her. Everyone knew it. I asked him what she was like and why someone would have wanted to kill her. He didn’t say anything at first. He looked like he was trying to decide whether he should talk to me about her. Then he said, ‘I think she found out something she wasn’t supposed to know about the finances of the hotel.’ ”

  Again. The finances of the hotel. “Really?” I said. “Wow. Then what did he say?”

  “I asked him what she found out. He started to say something, but then decided he shouldn’t be discussing this and described the food we were eating or something.”

  “Very interesting, Jan,” I said. “You should mention this conversation to Chief Pereira. Remember when we were in Yasmin’s office, he asked the rest of us to leave and kept Souza in there for some more questions. Maybe he suspects him already, and this would give him more to go on.”

  “Oh, I feel really funny about talking to the chief, Pat. That’s why I wanted to tell you first. You’re really good about doing things like that. Would you mind mentioning it to him?”

  “Sure, Jan,” I said. “I can do that. But he’s going to want to talk to you, too, you know. You’re the one who heard him say it. Souza must know what it was that Sumiko knew that she shouldn’t have known.”

  “OK. I’ll go with you. You’re just better at these things than I am.”

  “Maybe it’s my training as a counselor,” I said. “I try to separate what’s real from what’s not.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Janice said. “You’re really good at it.” She stood up. “Want to walk a little farther?”

  “Sure,” I said. We walked to the next observation point and leaned on the rail to look down at Guanabara Bay below us. A few boats were drifting along, their sails little white dots against the blue water. Even this far up we could see hundreds of red umbrellas on the beaches below us. They looked like polka dots on a white skirt.

  I turned to Janice. “There’s another mystery at the hotel that I just found out about.”

  “Oh, no! Not another murder, I hope,” she exclaimed.

  I laughed. “No, this is one you will like. It concerns a cat and a secret nest of kittens.”

  Janice relaxed as I told her about Teodora and her hidden babies.

  “Think we should head back?” I asked. “Natalia said we had about an hour up here and we’ve been gone awhile.”

  “Yeah, we’d better. I’m so glad I had a chance to talk to you, Pat. I’ve been really worried about this since I went out with him. I needed someone to tell me I should say something.”

  “We’ll go see the chief when we get back to the hotel,” I said. “I think it’s really helpful information. He’ll be grateful to you for telling him.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  When we returned to our starting point, the rest of our gang was gathered around Natalia, who waved to us to follow her to the cable car.

  When we were in the van, Natalia said, “I thought maybe you’d like to go to one of our famous flea markets here in Rio. They have everything—purses, sandals, paintings, jewelry, scarves, rugs. Want to go?”

  I don’t care much about shopping and neither does Gini, but it was obvious that Tina, Mary Louise, and Janice loved the idea.

  “I heard about the flea markets of Rio before we came here,” Mary Louise said. “I can’t wait to go to one.”

  “One word of warning, though,” Natalia said. “There are pickpockets everywhere in that market so wear your purse over your shoulder and across your chest. I know it’s a pain, but I don’t want anybody getting robbed on this trip.”

  The flea market seemed to stretch for miles. Natalia pointed to a small café and said, “Meet you there in an hour.”

  We separated and walked through the acres of tables. I wanted to get something for Denise so I headed for a table piled high with scarves. There were real Ferragamos and knock-off Ferragamos. Real Diors and fake Diors. And there were other designers I had never heard of, mostly because they’re so expensive. But I found an actual Ferragamo in my price range that I knew Denise would love. She has dark hair and blue eyes and her skin is ivory pure. The scarf was a red and white print, an Art Deco flowery design that would be perfect with the black suit she just bought. She’s in public relations and always looks fantastic. She tries to teach me about fashion, but I really don’t care. I just want to look good. It doesn’t matter whether I’m wearing whatever is in fashion at the moment.

  I bought the scarf for Denise and looked around for my friends. Gini was photographing the shoppers. She couldn’t care less about the piles of stuff on the tables. She wanted to catch the expressions of the people who bought them.

  Tina and Mary Louise were checking out purses. Janice was going wild at a table full of shoes with the highest heels I’ve ever seen. Only Janice could get away with stilettos like that, or walk in them for that matter. I went over to see which shoes she would buy.

  “Oh, Pat,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here. Help me choose.”

  She had three pairs in front of her. One was silver with an ankle strap and a thin strip across her toes, and heels that were at least six inches high. The next one was a regular black satin pump with stiltlike heels. The third was a black and beige striped pump with equally high heels. They were all stunning and would look fantastic on Jan’s feet.

  “Why don’t you get them all?” I asked. “Every one is gorgeous.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said. “Can I?”

  Jan often needs permission to do things she really wants to do. I’m always glad to give her that permission. She looked at each pair of shoes again. Picked them up, put them down, tried them on, and checked them out in the full-length mirror next to the table.

  “Perfect for senhora,” the lady behind the table said. She was middle-aged and wore flats.

  “You really think so?” Janice said. “OK, I’ll take all three pairs. Wrap ’em up, please. Who knows if I’ll ever be back here again?”

  I love Janice’s whole attitude toward life: “If not now, when?” I envy her. I always find too many reasons not to do things I really want to do. I could blame it on my mother who always said, “Not now, dear. Later.” Her shopping philosophy was: If you wait, you probably won’t buy it and you’ll save the money. Or I could use my counselor’s training and realize I’m all grown up and don’t have to abide by my mother’s rules anymore. Lots of luck with that one, Pat.

  Janice picked up her bag of shoes, and we joined Tina and Mary Louise at the purse table. Even I was tempted by these purses. I usually carry around a battered old thing because I hate the thought of spending a couple of hundred dollars on one, but these were hard to resist.

  Tina was turning a light blue bag around and around, looking inside it. “What do you think, Pat?” she said. “It’s a Chanel. And half the price it would be at home. Should I get it?”

  “It’s really beautiful, Tina,” I said. “Go ahead.”


  Mary Louise showed me the white leather purse she had just bought. It wasn’t one of those huge bags that everyone carries now. It was a medium-sized, just-right purse for life in New Jersey with trips into New York. Mary Louise never needed any permission to buy anything. She knew what she liked, what she could afford, and what was in.

  It was personal decisions she had trouble with. Was she taking too much time away from George when she went on our dancing sprees? Should she keep on seeing that nice American doctor she met in Spain for lunch in New York without telling George? Did she spend enough time with her children? I could help her with problems like that—but not with purses.

  They gathered up their purchases, and we headed for the café Natalia had told us about. We grabbed Gini along the way. She was totally absorbed in her picture-taking and would have lost all sense of time. We pried her loose from her lens and led her to the café.

  “One more, guys,” Gini pleaded, and stopped to snap a photo of a scruffy brown dog nibbling at the cookie a friendly little boy was holding out to him.

  Natalia was waiting for us at the restaurant. “How did you do, girls?” she asked. We showed her our purchases, and she made appreciative noises, especially at Jan’s shoes when she saw the six-inch heels. “I love these,” she said. “You have to show me where you found them when we finish, Jan.”

  We sat around an outdoor table so we could watch people of all stripes, colors, and shapes meander or bustle by looking for bargains. I would never go to a flea market at home, but here it seemed absolutely appropriate. And I loved the scarf I found for Denise. She always looks great in red. Actually, she looks good in every color.

  The waiter gave us a menu. Natalia translated for us.

  “There’s a bacalhau a gomes de sá com ovos caipira, which is scrambled eggs with cod, olives, and tomatoes. Yum. Then there’s my favorite: rabanada crocante com compota de maçã, which is a long way of saying French toast with apple compote and clotted cream. And finally, ladies, there’s linguiça calabresa com ovos, or to you, Brazilian sausage and eggs. The rest of the stuff is heavy and more appropriate for dinner. What appeals to you?”