Bossa Novas, Bikinis, and Bad Ends Read online

  Gini grinned at me and I grinned back. Pals forever.

  Our pastels were fantastic.

  We lingered over coffee and then went back to our rooms to dress for our bossa nova that night.

  Pat’s Tip for Traveling with Friends: Above all,

  stay flexible! Nothing is written in stone.

  Chapter Ten

  And When She Passes By . . .

  I was really looking forward to our performance this evening more than usual because of our plan to dance with guests as we had that afternoon. Brazilians seem like they were born to dance, that they were really happiest when there was music playing they could move to. They were not like any other people we had performed for in our checkered careers as dancers/murder solvers. I could not imagine Russian men, for instance, whirling us off our feet. They seemed much too earthbound.

  We changed into red halter tops with skirts that looked like rows of multicolored flowers sewn together. The flowers rustled as we danced and accentuated the whole mood of the bossa nova.

  The room was full when we entered. Everyone seated at the tables cheered and hurrahed as we took our places on the dance floor. The band swung into a lively version of “The Girl from Ipanema.” We bossa novaed back and forth, rustling our flowers, really getting our hips into the action, clicking our fingers and smiling at the guests who, one by one, as the music accelerated, moved in their chairs at first and then stood up and swayed along with us or danced in place, obviously loving our act.

  This was the reason I wouldn’t give up our dancing for anything. It was the total opposite of what I did every day at home—counseling people with problems. On this dance floor, there were no problems, only sheer joy and exhilaration.

  Tina broke away from our group and motioned to us to follow her out into the audience. When the guests saw us choosing a man to lead back to the floor, they clapped and cheered. Almost every man there was eager to be on that floor with us. The men we picked did the bossa nova as enthusiastically as if they had been dancing with us all their lives. No one faltered, not even one step. They were there! I mean they were a part of our act. I wanted to take them all home with me. Just to dance with, you understand.

  The band reacted with the same excitement they had shown in the rehearsal in the afternoon. Natalia sang her little heart out. She was the girl from Ipanema. Believe me, you would have gone aaaahhh if you had heard Natalia that night and if you had seen us dancing with Brazilian men we had never met before. Our bodies came close, moved away from each other, circled, spun, as if we had done this all our lives.

  At the end of the song, we guided our partners back to their wives or lovers or whoever they were with, and the couples kept on dancing after we stopped. It was the best.

  We Hoofers went back on the floor and bowed and the guests paused long enough to applaud us with cheers and cries of “More, more, more.”

  We rustled our skirts and as the band played a new song, we started to dance the carioca. We flashed our legs, wiggled our hips, and danced even faster until I thought I would melt. The room was really warm from all the people dancing there, and we had been moving without stopping for about an hour. When we came to the end of the dance, and the guests were cheering, Natalia ran up to us when she had finished her song, kicked off her shoes, and said, “I dare you!”

  What was this imp of a girl about to do now? We watched her run to the pool off the room where we danced, dive into the water, still wearing the gown she had performed in. I couldn’t resist her and neither could my wild and crazy Hoofer friends. We could never do anything like this in New Jersey. In seconds we threw off our shoes and our flowery skirts and dove into the pool in our tops and tights. Nothing has ever felt as good as that cool, clear, refreshing water. We were laughing and splashing and ruining our silk blouses, but we didn’t care.

  Some of the guests followed our example and jumped in with us. It could only happen in Brazil, I think. I swam a couple of laps lazily, slowly, next to Gini and Tina. We rolled over on our backs, closed our eyes, and floated along, enjoying the cool water, the fun of being in a pool in Rio in our clothes. Where else could we do this?

  When we had had enough, we climbed out to see Yasmin standing there with some towels.

  “Brava, Hoofers,” she said, handing each one of us a thick towel.

  We dried ourselves off. None of us felt like going to bed. We were still too revved up from the dancing, the fun, the swim, everything.

  “That cute doctor—Gabriel, his name is—you know, Dr. Souza?” Janice said. “He asked me to go to a club with him where he says everybody goes. Lots of music, lots of entertainment. Very Rio. I think I’ll go. I’m not sleepy and I want to see what nightlife is like here. Anyone else want to come?”

  “I don’t think he really wants anyone else along, Jan,” Gini said. “Besides, I want to hit the boardwalk with my camera and see if I can get some good night shots.”

  “Watch it, though, Gini,” Natalia said, drying her hair. “It’s not exactly safe out there. Especially when you’re carrying an expensive camera. Why don’t you wait until daylight?”

  “I asked one of the band guys—the drummer—to come with me. Mateus,” Gini said. “He’s big and looks tough and I promised him a drink at one of those bars along the boardwalk. He won’t let anything happen to me. Don’t worry, Natalia. I’ll be careful.”

  “OK, but I really mean it when I say watch it,” Natalia said. “I want you alive tomorrow so I can take you to the top of Sugar Loaf since we didn’t get to do that today because of Sumiko’s murder.”

  “Sounds good, Natalia,” Gini said. “See you guys tomorrow. Pat, do you want to come along?”

  “I don’t think so, Gini,” I said. “I feel like winding down here by the pool. Maybe have another swim. I just feel lazy but not sleepy.”

  “See you later then,” she said, and went off to dress and grab her camera and Mateus.

  “I’m going upstairs to call Peter,” Tina said.

  Peter was the man she meant to marry when she had time between trips to other countries. They fell in love after Tina’s husband, Bill, died a couple of years ago. Peter was a partner in Bill’s law firm, and they had been friends for years. Before Peter divorced his wife, the two couples hung out together all the time. When Bill died of a heart attack, Peter looked after Tina, helping her with financial and legal matters, and fell in love with her. She had thought of him as a friend for so long, it took her a while to love him back.

  “I haven’t talked to him since we got here, and I want to tell him all about it,” she said. “I think I’ll skip the part about two murders. He’s always sure I’ll come home dead from one of our dancing trips. What time is it in New Jersey, Natalia?”

  “They’re an hour behind us,” Natalia said. “He’s probably still up.”

  “That’s a good time to call him,” Tina said. “He’ll be working on some law case. He’ll be glad to be interrupted—I hope.”

  “He always loves to hear from you, Tina,” Mary Louise said. “Go ahead and call him.”

  “Are you going to call George?” Tina asked her.

  “Maybe later,” she said. “I don’t feel like it right now. Anyway, I saw a little cat curled up in the lobby. I think I’ll go say hello.”

  We went our separate ways. Jan was gorgeous, as usual, her blond hair tied back with a scarf that matched the black and white striped silk jacket and pants she wore to go nightclubbing with the doctor. Gini just threw on a black sleeveless blouse and pants to be as inconspicuous as possible while taking pictures on the boardwalk. She covered her red hair with a Yankees baseball hat. She always brings one along wherever she goes. She’s a fierce Yankees fan. Mateus towered over her. I was glad he was with her.

  Mary Louise went upstairs to put on some white jeans with a white top to go visit her cat, and Tina put on her nightie and climbed into bed to talk to Peter.

  Before she disappeared into the night, Natalia gave me a flowery caftan,
which I threw over my top and tights that were almost dry. I sat down in the Piano Bar to listen to the music and talk to anyone who turned up. It was a beautiful room, like all the others in this luxurious hotel, with exquisite flower arrangements on the tables, tall green plants in the corners, an elaborate chandelier overhead, and large upholstered chairs to sit in. The pianist smiled at me when I sat down and he segued into “The Girl from Ipanema” to welcome me. I was relaxed and not worried about anything for a change. Not even the two murders.

  I spoke too soon.

  “Senhora Keeler, may I join you?”

  It was Lucas, Maria’s ex-husband, my least favorite person in this hotel. He looked frazzled, his shirt open at the collar, his face worried and distracted. He didn’t look at me, just sat down, stood up, not sure what to do.

  What would he want to talk to me about? I wondered.

  “Of course, Lucas. Please sit down,” I said.

  He ordered a liqueur from the bartender and drummed his fingers on the glass tabletop while he waited for it.

  “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about, Lucas?” I asked.

  His drink arrived, and he took a sip before he answered.

  “Senhora,” he began, not looking at me, “did Yasmin tell you anything about the finances of this hotel when you went for a walk with her the other day?”

  How did he know I went for a walk with Yasmin? Word certainly gets around in this hotel.

  “Of course not,” I said. “We talked about Rio and the hotel and Maria’s death and . . .”

  “Maria,” he said. The expression on his face hardened. “She was bleeding me dry.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Lucas?” I asked. “Is there something I can do to help?”

  He hesitated, then looked at me.

  “I want to get my old job back as bartender here at the hotel. It pays a lot more than being a guide, and I get tips. But Yasmin keeps telling me she has no power to get my job back. It’s the main reason I’m spending time with her. She’s supposed to have some influence with Miguel.” He paused and looked around to make sure Yasmin wasn’t nearby.

  “She said I had to talk to Miguel,” he continued. “When I asked Miguel to take me back, he said something vague about there not being enough money to do that. That the hotel was losing money. That’s crazy. This is the most prosperous hotel in Rio. He said he only hires part-time bartenders and pays them much less than he would have to pay me.”

  “What makes you think I can change his mind?” I asked.

  “He likes you and the other Hoofers. If you ask him to bring me back because you think I would do a good job—and I would—he’d listen to you.”

  “I’d like to help you, Lucas, but you’re giving me way more credit than I deserve. Senhor Ortega wouldn’t care whether we Hoofers liked you or not. He’s made up his mind. Why did he fire you anyway?”

  “Maria demanded it. She didn’t like seeing me here at the hotel. She wanted me to get a better paying job so I could give her more money.”

  Whenever he mentioned Maria, the pure hatred he felt for her showed plainly on his face.

  “You really resented Maria, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Yes, I did,” he said fiercely. “But I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” I said in as soothing a tone as I could dredge up. I wasn’t at all sure he didn’t.

  “It’s a relief not to have to give her all my money anymore, but I’m not making any money as a guide. I need to come back here to work.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “But don’t expect me to be much help.”

  “All I ask is that you try,” he said. He got up and held out his hand. “Thank you, senhora.”

  He walked away, and my relaxed mood went with him. How the heck could I persuade the manager of this hotel to rehire someone he didn’t like? I decided to call it a night. Walking across the lobby toward the elevators, I heard one of my favorite sounds in the world.

  “Meow.”

  I looked toward the bellman’s luggage room and saw Mary Louise sitting on a large suitcase and holding the tortoiseshell cat who lived at the hotel. She looked just like my own cat, Eliza, whom I missed whenever we went on one of these trips. Mary Louise was petting her, and the kitty seemed to love the attention.

  “Oh, Mary Louise, she’s beautiful. May I hold her?”

  “Of course. That’s why I brought her over here. She has the same sweet disposition your Eliza has. Here, take her. Be gentle. She looks like a nursing mom.”

  I opened my arms, and this little cat cuddled up against me as if we had known each other all our lives. I patted her soft fur, and she purred to say thank you.

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  “Teodora,” she said. “I Googled it. It means God’s gift.”

  I put my face down on top of this velvety creature’s head and Teodora purred even louder. I smiled at Mary Louise.

  “You always come up with the best things,” I said to her. “How did you know I needed a cat just now?”

  “We always need a cat,” she said. “They’re God’s way of saying, ‘Calm down. Nothing is worth getting upset about. As long as you have food, water and a litter box, you’re fine.’ ”

  I laughed, and Teodora looked up at me, then settled in against my body. I sat down on a suitcase next to Mary Louise’s so we’d both be comfy.

  “As long as our little cat has a friend to love her, I think I’ll go back to my room and call George,” Mary Louise said. She didn’t look very happy about it, but she’s a loyal wife to George no matter how grumpy he gets. George is a good guy, but he runs a small law firm in New Jersey, and he always seems to have more work than he can handle.

  “Say hello to him for me,” I said.

  She gave one last pat to the little cat and went off to her room. As I sat there, enjoying the chance to relax with a feline friend, the hotel manager spotted me and came into the luggage room.

  “Have you joined our staff, Senhora Keeler?” he said with a smile. “Ah, I see you have made friends with our Teodora.” Miguel leaned over to pat her.

  “I have a tortoiseshell cat at home just like her,” I said. “I miss her a lot, so I’m grateful to have a few minutes with your cat.”

  “She often comes and curls up on a corner of my desk,” he said. “Sumiko didn’t like cats, so Teodora adopted me.”

  “Does Teodora have a nest of kittens somewhere?” I asked. “She seems to be a recent mother.”

  “Yes, she is,” Miguel confirmed. “But she likes her privacy. No one has been able to figure out where she’s hidden her babies. We’ve tried to follow her, but she’s too clever for us. So we just give her a little extra food and let her keep them secret.”

  This was a warmer side of Senhor Ortega than I had seen before. It seemed a good time to bring up the subject of Lucas.

  “Senhor Ortega,” I said. “Lucas talked to me a little while ago, and . . .”

  He frowned. “I hope he didn’t bother you, Senhora Keeler.”

  “Oh, no, no. Not at all. He asked me if I would talk to you and recommend him for the bartenders’ job again. I told him it was your decision entirely, but I promised I would ask you.”

  “He had no right to ask you to do that,” he said in such a loud voice that Teodora started at the sudden noise and jumped out of my arms. She ran back toward the lobby. Suddenly feeling ridiculous in the luggage room, I got up to follow her. Miguel took my elbow and steered me to a pair of comfortable chairs in an alcove. We sat, and he leaned forward to speak to me in a low tone.

  “I am not going to rehire him. I told him we could not afford to pay him a full-time bartender’s fee. Besides, I don’t want him around after the way he treated Maria.”

  “His resentment toward her because of the alimony, you mean,” I said.

  “Not just that. He used to hit her when they were married. And he cheated on her all
the time. I don’t like him, and I’m not going to rehire him. I know you were just being kind, senhora, but he is not a good person. I don’t like to see you pestered by him.”

  “I said I’d try,” I said. “And I’ve done that.” I waited a minute and then said hesitantly, “May I ask how the hotel is doing—I mean financially? I know it’s none of my business, but I’m just curious. You seem to have so many guests, and this is one of the most expensive hotels in Rio. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have any money problems.”

  He didn’t answer right away. He stood up and paced back and forth as if trying to decide how much he should tell me.

  Finally, he said, “Senhora, it’s the high expense of running this hotel. It’s called a palace for good reason. Everything has to be the very best quality. I ask Yasmin all the time why we are having financial problems, and she points out the high salaries of all the people who work here, the maintenance fees to keep everything in perfect shape, the expensive food we serve. The chef makes a lot of money. It all adds up. When Maria was alive, she used to question me about this also. She used to tell me to raise the price of the rooms, and I did this several times. But still we didn’t seem to clear much every month.”

  “I think it’s a common problem everywhere today,” I said. “Even so, I would have thought the Copacabana would be making tons of money. It’s one of the most beautiful hotels I’ve ever stayed in.”

  He took a deep breath and sighed. “I would have thought so too.”

  “At any rate,” he continued, “it’s not anything for you to worry about. I’ll tell Lucas not to bother you again.”

  He stood and went back to the Piano Bar to make sure everything was going well. I settled back in my chair and closed my eyes. So peaceful. Such a beautiful place to be. I didn’t want to move.

  The next thing I knew, someone was gently shaking my shoulder.

  “Time for bed, sleepyhead,” Yasmin said. “You don’t want to sleep down here all night.”

  I opened my eyes and smiled at her, then stretched and sat up.