On Thin Icing (23 page)

I untied my ponytail and let my hair fall to my shoulders.

Carlos smoothed it down. “Julieta, you are so much more beautiful than you were in my dreams these months apart.”

If anyone else spoke to me like this, I would laugh, but when Carlos said that he’d been dreaming of me in his thick Spanish accent, my pulse thumped in my neck despite my best effort not to get swept up in his charm.

“But if you had just been honest with me from the beginning I wouldn’t have left.”

“I know.” He stroked my hair. “You see, Sophia did not tell me I had a son until long after he was born. Her family did not approve. She asked me not to speak of him to anyone. I had to beg her to let me write to him, to tell him that he had a father. A father who would love him and stand up for him.”

“What do you mean, her family didn’t approve?”

“Sophia’s family is devoutly religious. She was raised by her grandmother. Having a child without being married brought shame to her family.”

“Shame to her family? You realize we’re in the twenty-first century, right?”

Carlos laughed. “
Sí,
I do. Those are not my words. Those are the words of Sophia’s family. We were lovers, yes, but I would not have abandoned her if I knew that she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell anyone.”

I thought about how different our worlds were. I couldn’t imagine an unmarried adult woman bringing shame upon her family in Ashland.

“Sophia went away to have the baby. She planned to give him away, but after he was born she could not do it. He was—he is—so beautiful.”

A tear spilled from Carlos’s eye.

“When she returned home, she refused to tell her grandmother who the father was. I had already set sail. She wanted to raise her child on her own. She did, until he began to speak and then she realized her mistake. A boy needs a father. She called me to tell me that I had a son. It was before you and I met, you see. At first I couldn’t believe that he was my son, but then I went home and I met him. I knew right away. Like with you, it was love at first sight.”

Hearing Carlos gush about his son made my heart swell. He obviously loved his son.

“You want to see a picture of him, of Ramiro?”

“Ramiro. That’s your son’s name?”

“Sí.”
Carlos nodded. “It means wise. He is already so wise. It’s a good name.” He removed his phone from his back pocket and scrolled to a picture of Ramiro. They were sitting on the beach, wearing matching blue and white striped swim trunks and licking dripping ice-cream cones. Ramiro had Carlos’s dark eyes and casual posture. I could see the resemblance right away. Ramiro was a mini Carlos.

“The schoolgirls must swoon around him.” I expanded the picture to get a closer look of Ramiro’s face.

Carlos laughed. “He has no eye for girls. Yet.”

“I have a feeling that’s going to change.”

“No, no. Don’t say that. Ramiro is such a sweet, gentle boy. I am not ready for him to grow up yet.”

“Fair enough.” I handed him back his phone. When I clicked it shut a photo of us on our wedding day filled the screen.

“That was a beautiful day, no?”

“It was. I just wish I understood why you kept it from me for so long. I get that Sophia wanted to keep it a secret, but then it came out, right? Everyone back in Spain knows that Ramiro is your son?”

“Yes.”

“So why not tell me?”

Carlos looked dejected. “I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that a thousand times. I thought it would push you away.”

“It did.”

“I never lied to you about anything else.”

“But you lied to me about having a child. That’s pretty major. A child. I almost wish you had cheated on me.”

“You cannot say that. I have not cheated on you. I never would. Ramiro is eight years old. You and I have only known each other for four years.”

“I get that, but I’m saying that hiding the fact that you have a son is worse for me. Much worse.”

Chapter Twenty-six

“Julieta, I will find a way to make you understand. I will find a way to earn your trust. You will watch and see.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead.

I closed my eyes. His lips brushed one cheek, then the next. I inhaled. My heart pounded. I was desperate for his kiss. He kissed my earlobe, whispering, “Julieta, my love.”

The next thing I knew our lips met. His kiss was gentle at first. Then searching. Our bodies arched toward each other. His hands were in my hair and down my back. It was like the past six months of emotion were wrapped up in one single kiss.

When we finally came up for air, Carlos planted a kiss on my forehead and said, “See, maybe I will show you this way.” He leaned back. “This is good with us, yes?”

“Carlos, I never said I didn’t love you. Yes, this is good, but I don’t know where we go from here.”

“I will show you. I promise.”

“But there’s more to it than that.” My throat tightened. “I don’t want to go back to the ship. I’ve missed you, but I haven’t missed that life. I love being home in Ashland. I love Torte, the customers, the town, everything. I’m really happy.”

Carlos waved his hand in a flippant motion. “That is okay. I will follow you anywhere. If you love Ashland, then I will love Ashland, too.”

“I’m not sure that you will, though. It’s small. It’s really small.” I couldn’t imagine Carlos blending in, in the quaint artistic town. Nor could I imagine him enjoying being tethered to one place. Carlos was a free spirit—he was better suited for life at sea.

“This is okay. We do not need to decide this tonight. You look tired. Curl up in my arms. I will keep you warm while you sleep.”

Carlos was right. We had so many more things to discuss. We weren’t going to solve everything tonight. My eyelids felt heavy. I craved the comfort of Carlos’s arms. I’d been sleeping alone in a twin bed in Ashland for too long.

He held out the blanket and shifted so that both of our legs stretched out side by side on the couch. “Close your eyes, Julieta.” He massaged my shoulder as my eyes fell shut.

Was I dreaming? Carlos’s arms were exactly where I wanted to be, yet I knew that it wasn’t going to be that simple. How could we make this work? How could I trust him again?

I must have dozed off. I woke warm and relaxed. Carlos propped a pillow under my neck.

“What happened?” I asked, blinking my eyes.

“You fell asleep.” Carlos held another wool blanket in his arms. “The fire started to die. I tried not to disturb you.” He tucked in my feet. “Are you warm enough? It is cool in here, no?”

I hadn’t been cold with Carlos’s body next to mine. Now I shivered a bit. “What time is it?”

“It’s late.” Carlos stoked the fire.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Maybe a few hours.”

“Did you sleep?’

“No. I did not sleep.”

Carlos thrived with little to no sleep. He rarely slept through the night on the ship. He couldn’t. Most chefs are used to sleeping off hours. Carlos just didn’t sleep. After he finished dinner service, he would cook for his staff and me. We’d often eat paella and drink Spanish wine at midnight. I would sneak off to bed, knowing that I had to be up early to check on breakfast service.

Usually, I didn’t hear Carlos come into our room at night. He had perfected the art of being stealthy. When I’d wake up in the morning, his arms and legs would be wrapped around mine. Sometimes he slept for an hour or two after I left. Sometimes he would indulge in an afternoon siesta. But with three or four hours of sleep and a couple shots of espresso he was good to go.

Not me. I don’t need eight or ten hours of sleep, but I’m not very functional unless I get at least five or six.

“I am sorry to wake you,” Carlos said, shutting the doors on the woodstove. Sooty smoke puffed into the room.

“It’s okay.” I sat up.

Carlos pointed to the teakettle. “Do you want me to brew you a cup? It might help you sleep again.”

“And thaw my fingers.” I wiggled my hands. The tips of my fingers were numb.

“It is not this cold on the ship. I find myself missing the sun.” Carlos filled the teakettle. I was surprised that water still flowed from the tap.

In the distance a lone wolf’s howl echoed. I rubbed my shoulders and pulled the blanket up higher.

“Do not worry, Julieta. We are safe here.” Carlos placed the kettle on the woodstove.

“I know.” The friction from rubbing my shoulders was warming my hands. “I think the reality of the situation is hitting me for the first time. It’s been such a bizarre and busy couple of days. I still can’t believe that Tony’s dead. Did that really happen?”

Carlos checked the fire. Smoke billowed into the room when he twisted the crank to open the iron door. He coughed and waved smoke from his face. The smell reminded me of my childhood, when Dad would build a fire in our basement and we would curl up on the couch to watch movies together.

“I think it is better to keep this shut, no?” Carlos closed the door and returned to the couch. He scooted next to me. I offered him part of the blanket which he willingly accepted. “It is terrible that you had to see a body, Julieta. Who could have done something so terrible?”

“Thomas thinks you did it.” A second later I wished I had kept quiet. Carlos shrank back on the couch.

“Me? Why would he think this? I did not kill Tony.”

“I know that, but Thomas and the Professor have to follow up with every clue.” I felt myself needing to defend Thomas.

“But what clue do I have?”

“You fought with Tony.”

Carlos shook his head. “That was nothing. Nothing. You know that. I did nothing more than help get him outside and tell him that was no way to treat a woman. Any woman.”

“I know,” I agreed. “But people witnessed you argue with Tony.”

“This does not make sense.” Carlos cracked his knuckles.

“Carlos, there is something else that Thomas and the Professor asked me about. They must have asked you, too. Where were you when Tony was killed?”

“I was here. With you.”

“Not the whole night. You left to get wine and then you never came back. I didn’t see you again until the morning.”

“Julieta, I came back maybe ten minutes after I left you. You were sleeping so soundly I did not want to wake you.”

“But what about the wine?”

“What wine?”

“I found two wine glasses and an empty bottle of wine in the kitchen this morning. I’m pretty sure they have some connection to Tony’s murder. I don’t know what the connection is, but it can’t be a coincidence.”

Carlos waited for me to say more.

“Did you meet someone for a drink in the kitchen last night?” I held my breath, saying a silent prayer that he wouldn’t say yes.

“No, no. I did not meet anyone.” Carlos looked out the window into the black night sky.

“Did you see anyone in the kitchen?”

He laced his fingers together and stretched. “I did see someone, but she asked me not to say anything. I did not think about it being connected to the murder, as you say.”

“Who did you see?” I felt the familiar hum of anxiety.

“Whitney.”

“Lance’s assistant, Whitney?”

“Sí.”
Carlos nodded. “She was drinking wine and crying when I went back last night.”

“Crying?”

“
Sí,
she was sad about something with the wine. She said that Lance would be firing her for sure.”

“What about the wine?”

“I do not know. She didn’t say.”

“Did you have a drink with her?”

“No. I did not. I tried to comfort her, but she did not listen. She was very distraught. She pleaded with me not to say anything to Lance. I agreed. It does not matter to me. These things they happen. It is a mistake. Lance seems to me to be reasonable. He would understand this mistake, I think, but she would not listen. She ran away.”

“Ran away?”

“
Sí.
She left.”

“And what about the wine?”

“What wine?”

“The wine she was drinking. I think it’s important. Do you remember if there were two glasses?”

Carlos closed his eyes. “I think, yes. There were two glasses.”

“So Whitney must have been having a drink with someone before you came in.” My head was clear. I was fully awake now. “You have to think hard—did you see anyone? Did you hear anyone?”

“No.” Carlos shook his head again. “I don’t remember hearing or seeing anyone.”

“But you’re sure there were two wine glasses?”

“Sí.”

“What about the wine? Was the wine bottle full?”

“Uh, I do not remember seeing a bottle of wine.”

I crossed my legs on the couch. “Okay, let’s think about this. There were two wine glasses, but no bottle of wine and Whitney was alone. When you came into the kitchen you startled her. She was worried that Lance was going to fire her and then she left. Is that right?”

“
Sí.
I do not understand why this is so important, Julieta. Isn’t this the job of the police?”

“Yes, but Thomas is convinced that you had something to do with Tony’s murder. We have to tell him about this. This makes Whitney a top suspect.”

“I do not think that Whitney could have killed Tony. You think this?” Carlos frowned.

The teakettle whistled. We both jumped. Carlos stood. “You sit. I will get the tea. What would you like?”

“Anything is fine. Something calming, though. No caffeine.”

“No caffeine?”

Carlos and I had a running joke about my ability to drink coffee at pretty much any hour. At our midnight dinners on the ship, I’d often pass on wine and opt for an espresso or latte instead. “No one else can drink coffee like this and sleep.” Carlos would tease me in front of his staff. “My wife is a, how do you say? Anomaly? I do not recommend this for you.” I would toss a dishtowel at him and slug my coffee in one gulp. Everyone would laugh. I missed those days, and yet I didn’t want to go back.

Bringing me a lemon herbal tea, Carlos sat again. “You believe that Whitney killed Tony? I do not understand.”

“Me, neither.” I grasped the mug. It warmed my hands. The heat was welcome. “I’m not sure if she physically could have done it, but maybe she had help.”