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Carlotta’s eyes lit with joy. “Was that you? I just saw your beautiful car. I’d never seen anything like it, and I followed you a couple of blocks. I hope I didn’t cause you any worry.”
“That’s why he’s here, my darling,” Ortiz remarked.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She sat posed on the edge of her chair the way a woman married to Orlando Ortiz would, with the posture of a fine lady who devoted herself to fine arts and culture.
“There have been other incidents,” Santos said, “and it pays to be cautious.”
“Oh yes, we always are,” Carlotta responded. “Orlando, did you invite them to stay and have lunch with us?”
“I’ll do it now,” Ortiz said. “Will you be able to stay for a while? My sons are in school, so it will be just the four of us. Our chef is one of the finest in the city.”
“I’d love to,” Libby said. “Do we have the time, Santos?”
“We’ll make it.”
“My sons have a poster of you in their room. Would you sign it for them?” Carlotta asked.
“It will be my pleasure.” He pushed out of his chair but took care walking with crutches on the slippery marble floor. Libby walked beside him.
Carlotta was a petite woman, and even in platform heels she barely came up to Libby’s shoulder. “American girls are so beautiful and tall. The Olympics were in Barcelona in 1992, and I remember the women on your teams were exceptionally pretty.”
“I love the Olympics too, but regardless of looks, it takes years of hard work to make a team.”
Libby had to bite her lip not to laugh when they entered the private elevator to the penthouse. She didn’t dare look at Santos, but he reached for her hand, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.
The elevator opened to a foyer where a glass-and-chrome table held a tall vase with a magnificent white floral bouquet. “What beautiful flowers,” Libby exclaimed. She moved close to smell a white rose, but it had no fragrance.
“Commercial roses have lost most of their perfume,” Ortiz remarked. “They’re bred for long stems and beauty, but lack a wild rose’s scent, its very soul. Carlotta loves them anyway.”
“Just as I love you, Orlando, without needing a reason.” She moved close to take his arm.
The penthouse was lit by skylights and furnished with modern pieces covered in pale gray upholstery and brilliant abstract paintings hung on the walls. Libby felt as though she were touring an art gallery rather than visiting a private home. She wondered if the boys were allowed to play there, or if a stray block or toy car would upset the sterile ambience.
Just as in Orlando’s office, the front room’s glass wall faced the sea. A cruise ship was entering the harbor, one of the new gigantic vessels that offered so many diversions Libby doubted many of the passengers remembered they were at sea.
Carlotta came up beside her. “Have you been on a cruise?”
“No, but I’d like to sail through the Caribbean where I could be part of the crew and climb the rigging.”
“You long for adventure,” Carlotta observed.
Libby turned to smile at Santos. “I think I’ve already found it.”
“I’ve done my best to keep you entertained,” Santos replied with a gentlemanly reserve and affectionate gaze.
The dining room also bordered the port and with a seafood salad for lunch, Libby felt surrounded by the sea. She was also annoyed they’d learned nothing to help them discover who wanted Santos dead. The conversation was lighthearted, but she caught Carlotta staring at her more than once. She smiled as though she was charmed by her attentions, but she was anxious to leave after taking only a couple of bites.
“I do have investment opportunities that would interest you, Santos. We should meet again.”
“I don’t make the investments for the Aragon trust, but I’ll be happy to listen,” Santos replied, “Thank you for this splendid lunch. Now where is the poster you’d like me to sign?”
Carlotta left the table with him. “Right down the hall.”
Libby followed along. The boys’ room was carpeted in navy blue. There were neatly made twin beds, desks, and bookcases filled with a colorful assortment of fiction for boys. The striking poster showed Santos lowering his cape and calling to the bull. He was dressed in a red suit of lights and so handsome she wanted a poster of her own.
Santos picked up a pen from atop one of the desks, wrote a greeting and signed his name. “I’m sorry I missed seeing your sons,” he remarked.
Carlotta closed the bedroom door. Her expression hardened, and her voice rose to a strident hiss. “Did Rafael send you here to embarrass me?”
