Crunch Time

“He is our . . . family friend,” Ferdinanda said. I wondered why she did not sound enthusiastic about the relationship.

Yolanda closed her eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

Well, that was not the way I would want my friends to talk about me when I dropped in, but never mind. To Tom, I said, “How’d he find out Ferdinanda and Yolanda were here?”

Tom lifted his hands in despair. “How d’you think? He called Marla very early this morning, saying he had stuff for Yolanda and Ferdinanda. Woke her up, he says. I can just imagine how popular he is with Marla right now. Let’s go out there and see how quickly we can finish this.”

Once we were all on the porch, Humberto focused his attention on Yolanda and Ferdinanda. He opened his hands in a lavish gesture. “My dear friends and countrywomen,” he began.

“Hey, Julius Caesar,” said Yolanda, her tone cool. “I was born outside of Miami.”

Humberto continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I am here to offer help.” He walked back to the black car, reached inside, and brought out a bag. He carried it to the porch and handed it to Tom.

Tom checked the contents and said, “This is nice. Cheese, crackers, and rum. Thank you.”

Humberto nodded. But then he eyed the half-empty coffee cups that sat on the wooden table between the Adirondack chairs. He pulled his mouth into a moue of distaste when he saw the shards of another cup on the porch floor. He turned to me and lifted his graying eyebrows expectantly. Well, if he thought I was going to offer him caffeine or explanations, he was mistaken. “I heard . . .” Here he faltered and cleared his throat. “I heard that the, the home where you were staying burned down last night. Ferdinanda and Yolanda, you may come and stay at my house. It is much bigger and more comfortable”—here he did his regal wave again, indicating our humble abode —“than this, I assure you.”

“We’re happy here,” said Yolanda, lifting her chin. “I’m working with Goldy, so this is convenient for us. But thanks for your offer. We’ll remember you want to help.” She put a peculiar emphasis on that word, which once again made me wonder exactly what was going on with Yolanda.

“I am happy to help you, Yolanda. Our families have always been friendly with each other. Our Cuban community needs to stick together, especially in times of tragedy.” When no one said anything, Humberto said, “Yolanda, if you would not like to stay at my house, allow me at least to invite you, Ferdinanda, and your kind hosts to my house on Black Bear Mountain for dinner. Shall we say, Wednesday night?”

Before Yolanda could answer, Tom said, “Fine,” his tone flat. “We’ll be there.”

Humberto drew himself up. He looked confused by Tom’s unenthusiastic acceptance of the dinner invitation. “You will remember my house, perhaps? The police were less than cooperative when I experienced a break-in not so long ago.”

Boyd lifted his eyebrows. “Would that be the break-in where your cell phone was stolen?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“No,” said Humberto, “my cell phone was taken . . . from my jacket. I told the police this. I . . . was having mojitos with a very attractive woman, and I left her for a moment . . . during that moment, the phone was taken.”

Ferdinanda shook a gnarled finger at Humberto. “You gotta lay off those mojitos, amigo.” It was her first comment since we’d all come out there. “But thank you for wanting to help your Cuban friends.”

Even I was surprised to hear Ferdinanda’s sarcasm, and once again, I could not figure out exactly what the dynamic was between these three.

Boyd said, “So you had another theft, Mr. Captain?”

Humberto was defiant. “I did. But your department was unhelpful.”

Tom said, “Mr. Captain, if you won’t tell us the details of your security system, and you won’t tell us what was taken from your house, how can we help you? How can we not feel that coming all the way up to your place and taking a report is a complete waste of time?”

Humberto straightened his shoulders, but you could see by the way his arms hung helplessly at his sides that he felt he’d failed to get whatever he wanted by coming here. He made a last stab. “So, did you find out . . . anything of interest in Ernest’s house? I mean, was there anything inside to, to tell you who burned it down?”

These were the wrong questions. Tom walked to Humberto, who shied back as if he were about to be hit. But Tom only gently took his arm. “Read the newspaper, Mr. Captain. That’s where to get the latest news. See you Wednesday.”

Humberto allowed Tom to escort him to his car, but then turned and stood steadfast for a moment, despite the bum’s rush from Tom. “Six o’clock! And, ladies! Would you like to bring a special dish on Wednesday night?”

This reminded me of a wedding invitation I’d received once, back in the bad old days when I was a doctor’s wife. It was from someone I barely knew, but this person had scrawled across the heavyweight bond, Bring salmon salad for twelve. Guess what didn’t happen?

“What would you like, Humberto?” asked Yolanda, solicitous. “Dessert? An appetizer?”

“An appetizer would be lovely,” he replied, smoothing back his long salt-and-pepper hair.

“I’ll fix my famous spinach quiche,” Ferdinanda hollered as he got into his car. “It’s part Italian and part French. I used to make it for the rich people who came into the cafe in Havana. Now that you’re a rich person, it will be perfect!”

Humberto pretended he did not hear. His long black car pulled away smoothly from the curb, and he was gone. I knew export-import businesses could be profitable, but I did wonder if they could enable you to afford a house on Black Bear Mountain or a top-of-the-line Mercedes.

Yolanda and I made serious inroads on the packing up that is an essential part of any catering undertaking. I asked her once if she knew what Humberto did for money, but she said only what I already knew about his business. I wanted to ask her about Tom’s insinuation that Humberto had had a hand in a big jewelry theft, but since Tom hadn’t brought it up again, I didn’t feel I had permission to jump in.

We worked feverishly against the clock. But leaving on time was not to be, alas. I figured I must have unconsciously put out a karmic sign to the universe that day, one that said, “Open house today! Please drop in to ask for anything you want before eight in the morning.”

When Yolanda and I were packing the last box for the school’s buffet lunch, the doorbell rang again. Jake and the six remaining beagle puppies started howling. I wondered where I’d put our headache medication.

Yolanda gave me another one of her fearful looks.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “If it was someone untrustworthy, Tom and Boyd would have stopped him or her.” But I raced down the hall anyway.

I looked through the peephole at a fortyish woman. At first I couldn’t place her, but then I remembered: This small, mousy-looking lady with brown eyes like tiny buttons and a cap of short, straight, dyed brown hair was Penny Woolworth, Marla’s and Kris Nielsen’s cleaning lady. Last night, Marla had told Tom that she’d ask if Penny would take three of the puppies. I couldn’t open the door fast enough.

“Hey, Penny, come into the kitchen. I’m catering today, and—”

“What’s Ferdinanda doing out on your front porch?” she asked. “Why are your husband and that other man building a ramp? Is it for her?”

Well, great. Was Yolanda in danger? If Ferdinanda spent most of every day on the front porch, smoking cigars and monitoring the goings-on in the neighborhood, then it really wouldn’t be long before the whole town knew they were at our place. Humberto Captain, obviously in a hurry to find out where Yolanda and Ferdinanda had taken up residence, had gone right to the source: Marla, early in the morning and without caffeine. I made a mental note to call my best friend and tell her not to give the news to anyone else.

I tried to think of what to say as I hung up Penny’s coat. Penny did, after all, work for Kris Nielsen. Was there any way to prevent her from finding out exactly why Ferdinanda was outside? Was Yolanda still in the kitchen? That would not be such a big deal. Still, between the kitchen and the dining room, there was only a swing door. I gestured for Penny to precede me back down the hall. Unfortunately, as she walked into the kitchen, she quick- stepped over to the dining room door and swung it open. When she saw Yolanda making up the cots, Penny turned and faced me, her mouth formed into an O of surprise.

“Penny!” I exclaimed. “What the hell? Do I come into your house and nose around?”

She blushed scarlet. “I was just trying to—”