“We visited Tea Time this afternoon. I’ve never seen so many teapots in one spot. I understand it’s owned by a local family. The Molinas.”
Borja’s eyes narrowed. “It is.”
The two word response after his loquacious previous answers meant she was on the right track, but had to be cautious.
“Do you know them?” Devin asked.
“I don’t know what information you’re after, Ms. Falcon and Mr. Harris, but a blessing ceremony won’t protect you from some of the worst dangers on this island.” He took her hand between his calloused ones, meeting her gaze. A sliver of determination shone through the sadness she saw in his dark eyes. “Please, don’t go looking for trouble. You won’t find many who will help.”
She squeezed his hand and slid hers from his grasp. “Trouble can’t always be avoided.”
“Then I will pray for you both.” Borja pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Good night.” He left to mingle with the crowd.
“That got us bupkis,” Devin muttered.
“Not quite. We have an ally. He’s just not ready to talk, yet.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He said not many will help.” Certainty filled her. “He didn’t say he wouldn’t.”
Devin shook his head. “You’re parsing it pretty damn close.”
“As my dad always said, sometimes you have to go with your gut.”
Two men lumbered out of the hotel, hauling a large, heavy pot between them, and everyone at the table clapped.
“We have for you something very special.” Borja told the gathered fashionistas. “This is a curanto. It is a mix of clams, oysters, lobster, mussels, sausage, potatoes, the potato bread milcaos, and chapaleles, which are dumplings. We make it in the traditional manner. We dig a meter-deep hole into the ground and cover it with heated stones. The ingredients are added in layers. Each layer of food is covered with Chilean rhubarb leaves. There is nothing like the curanto made in The Andol Republic.” He spooned the curanto onto Ryder’s plate. “Enjoy.”
Spices and the scent of the sea wafted up from her plate. The heavenly taste exploded on her tongue and she couldn’t stop her moan of delight. Devin tensed beside her, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his eye twitch had returned.
“Is it a migraine?” she whispered.
He gulped and shook his head, then shoveled the curanto into his mouth like a man who’d been fasting for a week.
So, they ate, talking to the other guests and asking if anyone had seen Sarah yet, but studiously ignoring each other.
“Oh, I haven’t seen her,” said one designer’s assistant who couldn’t be a day over twenty and had snow white hair that fell in carefully arranged waves across three-fourths of her face. “But she’d never miss an Andol Fashion Week, now that she’s finally home. From what I hear, she couldn’t wait to come back and be a part of it. The way the locals treat her, this place is like her own little fiefdom.”
“I wonder why that is…” Ryder let the statement hang, betting that, like most people, the woman wouldn’t be able to stand the silence.
“I hear her son is some big muckity-muck who owns most of the island. They also own a pineapple farm outside of town.” The woman shot back the last of her champagne. “Did you know pineapples grow on the ground? I always thought they came from trees.”
A slightly-built man with thick-framed glasses and a handlebar mustache leaned forward. “Who cares about pineapple? I hear her son makes his money the old-fashioned way.”
The girl blinked, her blue eyes as sparkly as the walnut-sized diamond pendant around her neck. “He inherited it?”
“No, he steals it.” The man waggled his thick eyebrows like a Saturday morning villain on a bad cartoon show before throwing his head back and roaring with laughter. “God, you two are so gullible.”
Turning away before she clocked the guy, Ryder mingled with the fashionable crowd, chatting with the guests, asking everyone about the last time they’d seen Sarah, and if they knew anything about her family. But all the while, she couldn’t help but be aware of every intake of breath an
d shift in position Devin made next to her. Awareness settled in her belly and tightened her lungs, her destined-to-be-denied anticipation ratcheting up in intensity as the sun settled lower on the horizon. Her brain was all for pretending Devin wasn’t right beside her, but her body wasn’t willing to give up the fight.
“I’ve talked to half the people here about Sarah,” Devin grumbled.
“Well, I’ve hit up the other half,” she retorted. “And we both have jack shit. The best I’ve got is that she confirmed her attendance at the shows tomorrow, and that her son is the big man on the island who isn’t afraid to throw his weight around—possibly in Tony Soprano fashion.”
“So we’re at a dead end.” He rubbed the short hairs of his buzz cut.