“Don’t say another word.”
Unwanted images flitted through Beth’s brain again, and as she tried to shut them out she silently cursed Rafael’s very existence.
“You need to unburden yourself of this anger, Beth. I understand how someone such as you might have trouble accepting that Marta and I are free spirits, but we mean no harm.”
“Free spirits? Is that what you call what I saw in the bar last night?”
“What you saw was harmless.”
Beth scoffed. “You practically had your tongue down your sister’s throat.”
“And your thinking is clouded by a false sense of morality. We come from a family that doesn’t believe in hiding our affection for one another.”
“Oh, Christ. There are more of you?”
He gestured at their surroundings. “Everywhere you look.”
Beth frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
Rafael shook his head. “Nothing you would understand. There are those who seek enlightenment and those who resist. When we first met last night, I thought you might be a seeker, but Marta is much more intuitive than I. She saw it the moment she met you, and I know now that she was right.”
“About what?”
“About the wall you’ve built. The one you’ve spent a lifetime building.”
“So let me get this straight,” Beth said. “She’s a witch and a clinical psychologist? How fascinating.”
He smiled. “She is a child of La Santisima. As we all are.”
Beth just stared at him. La Santisima? She had no idea what this meant, and didn’t really want to know. She was tired of this pretty boy and his unrepentant arrogance.
“I have five simple words for you,” she said. “‘Stay away from my sister.’”
His smile widened. “Protective to the last.” His gaze shifted to her left hand. “I like the ring.”
Then he turned and headed down the sidewalk.
Beth glanced at the tiny hooded skull on her finger, and when she looked up again, Rafael was gone, nowhere to be seen.
Good riddance to bad rubbish, she thought, hoping she could avoid running into him on board ship.
Fortunately, it was a big place.
Offering up one last silent curse, she turned her attention to the leather-goods shop.
Where the hell was Jen?
30
The shop’s proprietor was a small, unkempt woman with a shock of gray-white hair. She sat on a stool behind a counter with a cash register, surrounded floor to ceiling by racks full of black, red, and brown leather jackets and handbags.
The counter was made of scarred glass, and neatly laid out inside were wallets and checkbook covers with the words MEXICO and PLAYA AZUL burned into them.
The place wasn’t exactly large, and Beth saw no sign of Jen anywhere. In fact, the proprietor seemed to be alone.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for my sister. She came in to use the restroom?”
The woman shook her head. “No ingles.”
Wonderful.
Beth’s command of Spanish wasn’t much better than Jen’s, but working in the Los Angeles criminal court system, she’d managed to pick up bits and pieces of a dozen different languages.
“Mis hermana,” she said. “El bano.”
The old woman held out a hand, palm up. “One dollar.”
“No, I don’t want to use the restroom. I’m looking for my sister. Mis herm — ”
She suddenly realized that if using the facilities cost a dollar, Jen would’ve been out of luck. She’d forgotten her wallet. But she hadn’t come to Beth, begging for more money, so it only made sense that she’d gone in search of a free toilet.
Beth wondered why she hadn’t seen Jen leave the shop, but then it wasn’t as if she’d been keeping constant vigil.
Nodding thanks to the old woman, Beth moved past the racks of jackets and stepped outside, scanning the street, hoping to see Jen headed back toward the restaurant.
No such luck.
She opened her purse, dug out her cell phone. Someone had told her that the wireless charges down here would cost her a fortune, but she was pretty sure a twenty-second call wouldn’t break her.
She hit speed dial, waited for it to ring. Instead it went straight to voice mail and Jen’s greeting came on the line:
“Hi, this is Jen. If you’re an old boyfriend, fuck off. Otherwise, leave a message at the beep.”
Beth hung up. Couldn’t believe Jen was still using that greeting, but then why should she be surprised? No matter how many “eye-opening” nights her sister had-whether it be with some biker bad boy or a couple of spiritual, incestuous whack jobs-Jen would always be Jen.
Beth looked across at the restaurant again but saw no sign of her sister. At the top of the block, however, was a McDonald’s, one of Jen’s comfort zones, one that might just have a free public toilet. Beth dropped her cell into her purse and headed toward that familiar red and yellow sign.
A few moments later, she was standing inside, amidst the usual mix of locals and tourists chowing on burgers and McNuggets. The restrooms were tucked into a corner near the back, and Beth crossed to them, pushing her way into the one marked: MUJERES.
There was one stall. Empty.
Damn it.
Where the hell was she?
Turning, Beth headed back outside and pulled her cell phone out again, checking up and down the street as she dialed.
Again, no ring. Straight to voice mail. Which meant that Jen was in a dead zone or had her cell phone off.
Beth waited for the beep.
“Hey, where are you? I went to the leather-goods shop and you were gone. I’m at McDonald’s now, but I’m going back to the restaurant. If you’re there, don’t move.”
Hanging up, she tucked the phone back into her purse and headed down the street, hoping she’d see Jen standing outside the restaurant.
But when she got there, there was still no sign of the girl.
Their waitress wasn’t there, either. Beth flagged another one, who stood nearby. “Excuse me.”
“Si, senorita?”
“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “Do you speak English?”
The waitress shook her head. “No. No ingles.” Then she turned and said something in Spanish to the chef, who had just finished preparing another taco plate.
The chef stepped out from behind his stove, wiped his hands on his apron, and came over.
“Is something wrong, senorita?”
“No,” Beth said. “I mean, yes, but not with the food or anything. I don’t know if you noticed, but I had lunch here a little while ago with my sister.”
He nodded. “ Si, I remember. But you were alone.”
“No, that was later. The girl I was with was about my height-a younger, prettier version of me-and she was wearing cutoff jeans and a halter top. She asked the waitress if she could use the restroom.”
The chef shook his head. “Our washroom is out of order. Most people use the one across the street.”
