tile tissue box beside the faucet. I pulled out several tissues along with Lolly’s piece of paper. I sneezed once again for good measure, honked into the tissue, then slipped the folded paper and the tissues into my pocket.
When I returned to the living room, Humberto was making his entrance. His salt-and-pepper hair was swept back, as usual. He was impeccably dressed in a tan-colored suit, white shirt, and red tie. But his eyes were heavily lidded and he truly did look as if he’d just awakened from a too-deep nap. Too heavy on the temazepam, indeed.
“What may I prepare for you to drink?” he asked, bowing toward Ferdinanda and me. “Oh dear, and how is Yolanda? I should have asked after her welfare first.”
“She is fine.” Ferdinanda took hold of Humberto’s proffered hand and tugged down on it. Humberto, who was having a bit of trouble maintaining his balance anyway, cascaded forward, nearly losing it altogether. Undaunted, Ferdinanda pulled on Humberto’s hand again. Only Humberto’s grasp of a nearby table kept him from going ass- over-teakettle. “Yolanda is strong,” Ferdinanda said menacingly. “Like me.”
“Yes, Ferdinanda,” said Humberto. He groaned as she maintained her iron grip on him. “I know you are both proud”—here he moaned—“uh, Cuban-American—ack—ah, women.”
“Yes,” said Ferdinanda, “we are. Last night, did your
“I, uh, agh! You’re killing me! And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t hurt Yolanda, or you’ll have me to answer to,” said Ferdinanda, with her death-steel grip still on Humberto.
Humberto gasped with pain. “I, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good.” Ferdinanda let go of Humberto’s hand so swiftly that he had to grab the back of one of the hunting- dog chairs to keep from falling into the fireplace. “As long as we understand each other.”
“This is interesting,” Tom said to me in a low voice. “I wouldn’t want to tussle with Ferdinanda in a dark alley, wheelchair or no wheelchair.”
I said, “Nor would I.”
The silent maid came and bustled about pouring drinks. Ferdinanda asked for a Cuba libre. Humberto shook the hand that Ferdinanda had been squeezing to restore feeling in it. He said that he, too, would like a Cuba libre. Lolly said she would give booze a pass, thanks, and just have water. Tom and I opted for white wine. The maid filled the drink orders, then came through with appetizers on individual plates with tiny forks: hot Cuban sandwiches cut into tiny triangles, a myriad of olives on toothpicks, and squares of the heated spinach quiche. It was all delicious, and I made another mental note to ask Ferdinanda for her quiche recipe.
Ferdinanda and Humberto began to discuss Cuban politics, with Humberto blaming President Kennedy for Castro’s getting a stranglehold on Cuba, and Ferdinanda blaming Castro for putting on the stranglehold in the first place. Lolly remained silent while Tom and I tried to make polite but nonpolitical comments. As the discussion turned into a heated argument between Humberto and Ferdinanda over whether any ruler should be allowed to suspend freedom of speech or the press, or restrict dissent in any form, I feared our dinner was in jeopardy. Ferdinanda had more examples at her disposal, while Humberto, full of bluster but intellectually lazy, seemed to become more and more frustrated by Ferdinanda’s interrupting him. If push came to actual shove, I didn’t doubt Ferdinanda’s ability to arm-wrestle Humberto to the floor.
“Humberto!” I shrieked as I jumped up, startling everybody. “Tell me about your view here!” I walked over to the windows. “I remember seeing this in the newspaper. How did you find such a magnificent piece of property?”
Humberto, his face flushed, gave Ferdinanda a final fierce look, then attempted to smooth his expression. “Ah, thank you for asking. I looked a long time for this land. The whole thing was very expensive.”
“I’m sure it was,” I said, smiling. “Can you tell me which mountain is which?”
Of course I knew which peak was Mount Evans, which was Longs Peak up north, and how on a clear evening, which this was, Pikes Peak was visible way down south. Humberto, who seemed not to have memorized his mountains, gave me a confused look, so I said, “I know you’re acquainted with my friend Marla. Did you know one of her puppies was very ill?”
Humberto rubbed his orangey-tan forehead. “I didn’t know she had puppies.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, and Humberto jumped. “She got them from . . . a friend of a friend. But it looks as if the puppies came from a mill. Run by a guy named Osgoode? Does this ring any bells?”
Humberto frowned at me and seemed to welcome the maid ringing an actual bell, the one announcing dinner.
On the way into the dining room, which also faced the Continental Divide, I whispered to Tom, “You need to get Humberto out of here so we can talk to Lolly. Have your people interrogated him about Osgoode?”
“Yes, Miss G.,” he said. He gave me a sideways smile. “Like you, they came up empty. But don’t worry, I can get rid of Humberto.” Tom excused himself to make a cell phone call, outside.
The dining room also smelled of paint. Like the living room, the floor was paved with red tile. Stone floors are hell on a caterer’s back, and I was glad not to be cooking and serving, although I did feel sorry for the maid. When Tom returned, my heart warmed when he pulled one of the leather-tooled chairs from the long trestle table to make way for Ferdinanda’s wheelchair. She loudly thanked him while glaring at Humberto.
Humberto proudly dimmed the lights on the chandelier, which he said he’d found in Paris on one of his travels. Like the ones in the living room, it was a ring of wrought iron topped with candle-shaped bulbs, but this one was at least more delicate than the wagon wheels. The dimmed lights gave the place a romantic feel. Lolly kissed Humberto’s cheek and said everything looked fabulous, and wasn’t he a smart fellow to find such beautiful decorations? He preened under her admiration.
The maid brought out a heavenly scented roast chicken surrounded with potatoes, carrots, yuca, and fried plantains. We talked and ate for twenty minutes without a single political comment from anyone, for which I was thankful.
We were halfway through luscious, creamy flans when Tom’s cell rang. He apologized to the group, went into the hall, then came back looking rueful.
“Humberto,” he said, “I’m sorry, but it looks as if there’s a team here to take you to the department for more questioning.”
“But we haven’t finished our dinner!” Humberto sputtered.
Tom shook his head. “I know, I tried to put them off, but they’ve got three cars down at your gates, and it’s the district attorney himself who ordered the interrogation. Some new evidence has come to light. And if
“No, no,” barked Humberto. He waved his hands. “I will go. But I’m sorry, the rest of you will have to leave.”
“Leave?” said Ferdinanda, her mouth full of custard. She swallowed. “Now?”
“Yes, I am sorry,” Humberto said, his voice full of fury. “I cannot leave my house unguarded.”
“Are you saying you don’t trust us?” Ferdinanda demanded. “What have you got in here that’s so valuable you can’t allow your guests to finish their dinner?”
Humberto snarled something unintelligible. “Even the maid will have to go. Everyone must leave.”
Lolly did not look at us. Instead, she pushed back her chair and mumbled that she would go get her things.
Ten minutes later, Tom had helped Ferdinanda into her van, Lolly had loaded her overnight bag into her VW, and Tom and I were seated in his car. The maid came bustling out, furious, and slid into her Toyota, cursing at Humberto the whole time. He ignored her, opened his garage door with a remote, and drove out behind us in a silver Mercedes.
We made an odd procession snaking down the hill. The maid’s old Toyota belched exhaust. Ferdinanda fearlessly heaved the listing, rusted van from one side of the driveway to the other. Lolly followed cautiously in her lollipop-red VW, while Tom smoothly navigated his Chrysler and Humberto tailgated us in his ultraslick sedan. As we rounded the last turn, the commotion was apparent. Outside the illegal fence, three police cars, their lights flashing in the early dark, looked truly ominous.
“What did you have to do to get them here?” I asked Tom.
