Black Pomegranate Page 9

AFTER RELAXING at the hot mineral springs for an hour or so, Cat and I spent the remainder of the afternoon cavorting through the woods and meadows. She gathered leaves, bark, seeds, mosses, mushrooms, and heaven only knows what else for her botany class. I trailed behind, carrying a fistful of quart-size plastic bags filled with her acquisitions. Excited at each new find, Cat seemed to know exactly what she was searching for. To me, there appeared to be neither rhyme nor reason for the motley assortment of vegetation she collected.

  I decided I wouldn’t question Cat about Pablo and Pietro Santos until later—though I hadn’t determined precisely when later was going to be. On the one hand, I wanted to confront her as soon as possible about her deceit—or, more accurately, her lack of candor. I needed to get the matter off my chest. On the other hand, I hoped Cat would decide to tell me about her bodyguards without being prompted. If she came clean on her own, my trust in her would be greatly restored.

  Knowing I was aware of his presence, Pablo no longer made an effort to remain out of sight. Everywhere we went, even deep in the forest, I could spot him watching us. Once, he had the audacity to pop out from behind a tree and wave at me. Even though I was upset with Cat for failing to tell me about the Santos brothers, in a way I felt comforted they were guarding her. Apparently, the threat on her life was real—though, to the best of our knowledge, no rebels had found out she was living in Timberline. Not yet, anyway.

  I certainly wasn’t capable of protecting her adequately. My brash attempt at bravery had proven me to be a paladin manqué, a knight in rusty armor. Had Pablo been one of the rebels, Cat would be dead. And, most likely, so would I.

  I checked my watch. It was after five o’clock. “Aren’t you getting hungry?” I asked, somewhat sharply. I tend to become very irritable when my blood sugar level gets low.

  “No, but I’ll bet I know someone who is,” Cat replied sweetly, chucking me under the chin. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are, Alfredo.”

  We tramped back to my car and headed down the hill toward Timberline. Pablo, in the black sedan, was not far behind.

  “What would you like me to fix for dinner?” Cat asked, once we were on our way. “How about baked chicken with mole sauce and black beans? And a mixed green salad with guacamole dressing?”

  “That sounds great, but by the time we get back to our apartment it’ll be too late for you to cook a big dinner. Let’s have barbecue at the Rib Ranch in the village.”

  The Rib Ranch was one of my favorite restaurants in Timberline, but apparently Cat had never eaten there. At least, we’d never been there together.

  Her nose wrinkled up. “Is it a fancy place? Can we go dressed like this?”

  I laughed. “The Rib Ranch is very informal. You can go as you are. You look great, as always. But I’m going to have to shower and change. I feel like a kid who’s been rolling in the dirt all day.”

  She frowned slightly. “Young goats don’t usually roll in dirt. Piglets do that.”

  I didn’t know whether Cat was trying to make a joke or had merely taken me literally again. Suddenly, her face lit up and her eyes turned misty, the way they always did when she was especially happy.

  “If you’re going to shower and change, then I will, too. We can dress up for dinner. I bought a new outfit the other day. I haven’t worn it yet. I was saving it for a surprise, but I’ll put it on tonight—just for you, Alfredo.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I was getting grumpier by the minute.

  “And, instead of the Rib Ranch, let’s go to the Alpine Lodge. You always say their wurst is the best you’ve ever had.”

  “I really don’t care where we eat, as long as it’s soon,” I groused. “But, the Alpine Lodge sounds great.”

  I started salivating. Thinking about the Alpine Lodge had given me a taste for sauerbraten, spätzle, and sweet-and-sour red cabbage.

  “Maybe we can catch a late movie afterwards,” Cat suggested Pollyannaishly.

  “Sure. That sounds great.” Even to me, my voice sounded hollow and lacked the proper enthusiasm for Cat’s plans. The Santos twins were still weighing heavily on my mind. I wondered sardonically if Pablo would enjoy our choice of films.

  The sun had set by the time we arrived home. I’d closed the draperies before we left in the morning and it was dark inside our apartment, except for the insistent blinking of the answering machine’s red LED. The answering machine was one of Cat’s presents. I’d never owned one before and saw little need for the device, since I seldom received any phone calls.

  The only message was from Carlos Perez. “Hola. This is your Uncle Carlos. Please call me as soon as you listen to this, no matter what time it is. Day or night. I must speak with you immediately. It’s very impotent—a matter of life and death for your father, el presidente of Granada Negra.”

  I was tempted to ask Cat, jokingly, why Uncle Carlos always thought it necessary to point out that her father was president of the country, as if she didn’t know it. But, I didn’t. I decided it would not be prudent to make light of what might turn out to be a very serious matter.

  Cat and I had been in the sun most of the day, but the color rapidly building in her face was from tension, not ultraviolet rays. Her jaw clamped and took on a set and her hands became tight little fists, as if she were preparing to defend herself.

  “You look pretty nervous, Cat. Do you want me to call your uncle?” I offered.

  “No, I’ll be all right,” she replied, as she dialed the long distance code, country code, city code, and number.

  Cat conversed with Carlos for the next thirty minutes. She spoke only in Spanish and I didn’t understand a single word. Still, I was able to get a feel for the conversation by Cat’s voice and facial expressions and body language.

  At first, she appeared to be anxious, even subdued. Her words came out slowly, in a low tone, almost a whisper. Then, something Carlos said must have struck a wrong chord. Suddenly, Cat began gesticulating wildly, as if she were in the same room with her uncle and he could see every movement. Her eyes flashed fire. Her voice was high-pitched, almost shrill, and she spoke very rapidly. It was clear to me Cat’s frustration was building, and, with it, anger. Finally, she hung up—or rather, she slammed the receiver down on the cradle.

  “What did your uncle have to say?” I asked casually.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Nada.”

  That word I understood. “Nothing? You talked with him for half an hour. Surely, he must have said something.”

  “No. He said nothing,” Cat insisted. “Nothing important, anyway.”

  The corners of her mouth were drawn and her lips were puckered, as if she’d been sucking on a lemon. I really wished Cat would open up and tell me what Carlos had said, but there was no point in pressing further. She’d tell me what she wanted me to know in her own time.

  “Okay. Let’s shower and get ready for dinner,” I urged. I’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, and the exercise and fresh air had made me ravenous.

  “You go to dinner without me. I’m not hungry.” The phone call had obviously upset her.

  “I don’t want to go out to dinner alone,” I argued. “Isn’t there something here we can fix? Bacon and eggs? If you want, I’ll help cook.”

  Cat stomped toward the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder. “Would you like a peanut butter and sardine sandwich? Oh, I forgot. We’re out of bread.”

  Maybe I could ask Pablo to run to the grocery for us, I thought sarcastically. “No, that’s okay. I’ll call Paisano’s and have a pizza delivered.”

  “Whatever,” she snapped.

  I’d learned, mostly the hard way, that Cat had an extremely short fuse. Apparently Carlos had just ignited it. With Cat in a foul mood, I’d have to be very careful what I said, else we might wind up having a big argument. Keeping peace wouldn’t be easy. I don’t like mincing words and I don’t like walking on eggshells and I don’t like surprises and I especially don’t like secrets, and I wasn’t in the best frame of m
ind myself. I was so hungry I couldn’t think straight. And, I was still stewing because Cat had never told me about her bodyguards.

  Although I wanted to take Catarina in my arms and tell her not to worry about whatever it was Carlos had told her and that I would always be there for her in any way she needed me, I knew it would be the wrong thing for me to do. At that moment, Cat needed her space, not an invasion of her privacy.

  The pizza finally arrived. After we’d eaten, Cat perked up considerably. I surmised she may have had a touch of hypoglycemia—though a doctor once told me hypoglycemia is not really a disease, it’s a religion.

  Cat insisted I relax and watch television. She appeared to have come to grips with whatever had been unsettling her, for which I was thankful. While she rinsed the dishes and loaded the new dishwasher she’d bought, she hummed contentedly. Her lips turned up at the corners into a determinate smile. I’d seen that look before. Dean Martin wore it just before he gave me the sack.

  “Come, Alfredo, let’s get in the shower. I need you to shampoo my hair,” Catarina requested, when she was finished in the kitchen.

  After showering, we climbed into bed immediately. I’d intended to search the apartment and disable Pablo’s bugs, but they could wait until some other time. He’d been listening to us make love for weeks. One more night wouldn’t make any difference.

  Fourteen

  Death Sentence

  THE NEXT MORNING I decided it was time to sit Catarina down and have a long, serious talk. About Pablo and Pietro Santos. About the cryptic call from Carlos, the call Cat didn’t want to discuss. And about us. Our relationship had taken off like a space shuttle. Sooner or later, we’d have to return to earth, and I didn’t want it to be in a ball of fire.

  But Cat had a fiery temper, and I knew I had to finesse the conversation, to approach each subject with kid gloves, else suffer the consequences of her monumental wrath.

  “The coffee’s great, Catarina—as always.”

  “Thank you, Alfredo. Let me pour you another cup.”

  “Did you sleep well last night?”

  “Better than I have in months. It always makes me feel better to get things resolved.”

  “Resolved? What do you mean? Does it have anything to do with the phone call from your Uncle Carlos last night?”

  Catarina looked surprised. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. How did you know? Did I talk in my sleep?”

  “No,” I chuckled. “I just noticed you were quite upset while you were speaking with your uncle, but, shortly thereafter, you seemed to have reached an inner peace.”

  “I did? Yes, I guess I did.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  She thought for a moment, then frowned slightly. “Do you love me, Alfredo?”

  What a ridiculous question. Why do women constantly need reassurance? “Of course I love you. You know I do.”

  “Will you always love me, no matter what?” Her brows had more wrinkles than a Shar-Pei.

  I wondered what was coming next. “Yes, of course I will. No matter what.”

  “Then I shall tell you. I shall tell you everything.”

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and waited. I didn’t want to appear to be too anxious. I’d let Cat say whatever she had to say in her own time.

  “Cesar Toro seduced me. When I was fourteen.”

  That was the last thing I expected Cat to tell me. It was all I could do to keep from leaping to my feet. Blood boiling, I clenched my fists. Fortunately, I’d placed my coffee cup in its saucer and on the table, else the coffee would have been spilled.

  I had known Catarina was not a virgin when we met, that she had been with another man or men before me, but I really didn’t want to know the intimate details of her prior sex life.

  “Were you … are you … in love with him?” I asked hesitantly.

  She threw her hands in front of her face. “Oh, no, Alfredo. Never! I was never in love with Toro. He took advantage of me, of my youth and my innocence. It happened only one time, Alfredo. Just once. And I have never made love with anyone else, except for you.”

  I instantly detested the man, the man Catarina had described as a bull-headed pig. Toro had deflowered my love when she was still a mere child. He’d usurped the right and privilege that could have—should have—been mine.

  “Why are you telling me this, Catarina?”

  “So you’ll understand when I tell you what I’ve done.”

  “And what is that?”

  Catarina hemmed and hawed for a few minutes, as if she were unsure what my reaction would be. I waited patiently for her to get to the bottom line.

  “I told you Cesar Toro was the leader of the rebels. He captured my father in an attempted coup d’état and is holding him as a hostage somewhere in the jungle. But—according to Uncle Carlos—when Toro came to the presidential palace to negotiate with General Villa for my father’s release, Villa threw him in a dungeon.”

  “And your father?”

  “Papa’s still a captive of the rebels. But at least I now know he’s still alive. It’s a Granada Negra standoff. The leaders of both sides are prisoners of the other.”

  “So what’s going to happen next?”

  “Uncle Carlos was the only one in my family who knew what Toro had done to me. And, as a matter of family honor, he gave me the right to decide Toro’s fate. That’s why he phoned last night. It was to be my decision. Entirely.”

  I waited patiently for Cat to continue. But, she didn’t. After several minutes of silence I could restrain myself no longer. “And …?”

  She turned her back to me and fiddled with some of the dishes on the sink. Then, speaking quickly, she said, “Toro is a very cruel man. I knew he would never let my father go, no matter what concessions Villa made to him and his followers. There was really no choice. I told Uncle Carlos to instruct General Villa to execute Toro immediately.”

  She turned and looked at me sweetly. “More coffee, my love? Would you like another Danish?”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” I muttered. My suspicions had been confirmed. Catarina was not one to trifle with.

  “I have asked Uncle Carlos to send me one of Toro’s ears. As a teeny-weeny souvenir.”

  “Uh, somehow I don’t think it’ll be possible to get his ear through United States Customs.”

  Cat gave me a knowing look. “We shall see, Alfredo. We shall see.”

  I decided to keep the matter of the Santos twins on a back burner for a while longer. I’d already heard as much as I wanted to hear for one morning.

  THE COLORFUL LABEL on the cardboard shipping carton proclaimed that it contained twenty-four jars of Granada Negra guava jelly. As she unpacked the box, Catarina held each jar to the light before stacking it neatly in our kitchen cupboard.

  “That’s enough jelly to last us for the next five years,” I told her. “Why did your Uncle Carlos send so much?”

  Cat set one jar on the kitchen counter. “You will enjoy guava jelly, Alfredo. With your toast for breakfast. You will finish it quickly. And then, I’ll have to ask Uncle Carlos to send us some more.”

  “I guess I’ll have a little taste now,” I said, removing the lid from the jar she’d left out.

  She quickly snatched the container from my hand. “Not that jar, Alfredo. I don’t think you’d like what’s inside that one.”

  I was puzzled. “Oh? What’s different about that jar of jelly? Is it laced with habanero chiles?”

  She laughed. “No. Not habanero chiles. Toro’s ear.”

  I held the jar up to the light and did, indeed, see something inside the approximate size and shape of a human ear. I felt like I was going to throw up.

  “What are you planning to do with Toro’s ear?” I asked, after I’d somewhat composed myself. “Display it on our dresser? Perhaps use it as a centerpiece on our coffee table?”

  “I’ll keep it out of sight, if it bothers you,” she shrugged.

  “Please do.”

&nbs
p; She reached inside the jelly jar with a pair of stainless steel kitchen tongs, retrieved the appendage, and rinsed it off in the sink loaded with dirty dishes.

  I watched in morbid fascination as Cat completed her gruesome task. She went at it as casually as she prepared dinner, humming a tune with a Latin beat. But as she removed the last vestiges of guava jelly, there was an immediate change in her demeanor.

  “Look, Alfredo, look. This is not the right ear!” she exclaimed angrily.

  I chanced a glance. “I can see that. It’s the left ear.”

  “No, I mean it’s not Toro’s ear.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “Yes. I should know. I had bitten Toro’s ear lobe off, and this ear is complete.” She dropped the jellied flesh in a Mason jar and filled the jar with rubbing alcohol.

  I really didn’t know what to say. It was obvious Cat was becoming increasingly furious by the minute.

  “Someone must have made a mistake …” I started.

  Cat cut me off. “It was no mistake. Someone wants me to believe Cesar Toro is dead. But who? And why?”

  “Pancho Villa? Your uncle?” I suggested.

  Her jaw took on a set of determination. “Uncle Carlos? No. But I’m not so sure about General Villa. He’s very duplicitous. And, treacherous, also.”

  “What would Villa have to gain by making you think Toro is dead?”

  “Perhaps he and Toro have conspired to depose my father. Pancho Villa has long covertly coveted the presidency. I’ve always known. I could see it in his eyes. I tried to warn my father, many times, but he would not listen to me.”

  The telephone rang. I picked it up. It was Carlos Perez. He sounded out of breath.

  “Alfredo, is that you? This is your Uncle Carlos.”

  “Hello, Uncle Carlos. How are you?”

  “Fine, just fine. I have good news. Is my bountiful niece Catarina there?”

  “Yes. I’ll put her on the phone.”

  Catarina whispered that I should stay on the line and picked up the extension. I never understood why we needed two instruments in the small studio apartment, but Cat had insisted on installing a second phone.