LITMIR.BIZ

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an apartment. Since that time—except for a few months after Maria was born and until a few months before her death—Maria’s mother had always worked. She never got the chance to study medicine as she had dreamed of doing, but she did complete her nursing degree and became head nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at Baptist Hospital.

      Her mother had seldom talked about what she had left behind on the Island. Maria now regretted not having asked her more about her life back in Cuba, especially about her grandfather. Her mother had never gotten the chance to see him again. Two months after she left, he died of a massive heart attack at the age of fifty-seven. Her grandmother joined them by way of one of the Freedom Flights in 1967, when she was only one year old, and since then she had practically raised Maria while her parents studied and worked. When her grandmother passed away in 1987, her mother held her tight and said over and over:

      “I’m not going to die yet, I promise… I promise.”

      She hadn’t understood her mother’s anguish until now, now that she felt that same sense of desolation, that feeling of being an orphan that came from her absence.

      Thank God she still had her father! He had always been her hero, her role model. In recent years, however, she had come to appreciate her mother’s inner strength, her quiet demeanor, and at the same time her tenacity to resolve everything, to forge ahead, to keep the family together, and to instill values.

      The buzz of her cell phone brought her back to reality. It was a message from her colleague David, telling her that he was close by if she wanted to go out for a drink. Instead, she invited him to come by and share some picadillo with her, which he gladly accepted.

      She immediately put the ground beef into the skillet along with the raisins, olives, wine, and spices over a low heat. She did the same with the rice once the water had boiled. She set the timer for twenty-five minutes and went to take a shower.

      When David rang the doorbell thirty minutes later, the table was set and dinner was on the stove. Dressed very plainly, and with her hair up in a ponytail and just a touch of makeup, Maria didn’t look like she was forty-nine. When she glanced at herself in the mirror, right before she opened the door, she thought to herself: I need to lose ten pounds. This damn curse of Cuban women who have such a big ass! And she smiled as she thought about her grandmother, a Spaniard, who used that word much more often than her father would have liked.

      David and Maria had started their careers at the same time in the Miami-Dade County Police Department. At one time, they had worked together as a team. In other times, like now, they were at separate stations. Both had been married and divorced. David had two sons, more or less the same age as Patrick. In all the ups and downs of their respective lives, their friendship had never wavered one bit. It was easy for them to talk because they had so much in common. Although David’s father was American, he felt more kinship with his mother’s side and saw himself, like her, as a Cuban American.

      “This is the tastiest picadillo I’ve ever eaten in my life. And these plantains!”

      “I can’t take any credit for the plantains. They’re from Goya and come frozen.” Maria was pathologically honest.

      They chatted for quite some time, she seated on the sofa and David in the armchair. Before long, he got up and sat down beside her. There is something about the body language between a man and a woman that sends a signal. Maria knew that David wanted to make love. She had always denied it, fearing that a romantic relationship might hurt their friendship. He seemed to read her mind:

      “The two of us are very alone… We’re very much wedded to our work… Nothing is going to alter our friendship.”

      She felt very vulnerable. She knew that they weren’t in love and that it was unwise professionally speaking, but she also knew that David would never hurt her.

      When she felt that tingle between her legs that marked the onset of desire, she knew she couldn’t resist any longer, and she let herself be gently pushed toward the adjoining bedroom.

      Day 3—Wednesday, November 4, 2015

      She was happy that David hadn’t wanted to sleep over. It was one thing to sleep with a man and another to spend the night with him. She couldn’t explain why, but it was different, and she wasn’t ready yet for that next step.

      She got dressed quickly and made herself a shake with yogurt, strawberries, and protein powder. She stopped along the way to get her coffee and was at the office before nine in the morning.

      She began to go over the list of contacts that Gladys Elena had given her and she decided to begin by calling her mother. The phone rang a few times before a woman’s voice answered, a voice that seemed to belong to someone younger than she had imagined. Maria identified herself and asked when she might be able to meet with her.

      “My daughter told me that I could count on you calling me. Look, I’m driving right now. I still work… It would have to be some evening or on a weekend… Does tomorrow after eight o’clock suit you?”

      Maria would have preferred to see her that very day but she jotted down the address and assured her that she would be there the next evening.

      It took her longer to find the one who had been Raimundo Lazo’s boss, but, once she got a hold of him, he immediately told her that she could see him anytime except between two and four when he took his siesta. She didn’t waste a minute and took off to meet with Joaquin del Roble who lived in The Palace, an assisted living community for the elderly. There were several in the city. Don Joaquin—which is how his name appeared on the list that Gladys had given her—lived in The Palace Royale, located on 1135 SW 84th Street, in the Kendall area. It took Maria twenty-five minutes to get there. She found several tall buildings surrounded by immaculately manicured gardens. The clock showed eleven in the morning when she made her way into the lobby. It was quite beautiful and would have seemed like a luxurious hotel if not for the abundance of the elderly. Some were seated and chatting in groups while others were by themselves, reading or simply sitting idly. A few others were coming and going in all different directions of The Palace Royale, which offered them all types of amenities: a hair salon and barbershop, a business center, an art studio, a theater, a bar, and a wonderful dining room that punctually offered them three meals a day. The ideal way to spend your old age, Maria thought to herself with a certain skepticism since it all seemed a bit depressing despite being clean and somewhat ostentatious.

      Don Joaquin was waiting for her to arrive and came up to her before she had barely gotten in the door. He was a man of small stature and, despite the fragility of his advanced years, one could tell that at one time he had been strong and tough. An abundant head of gray hair crowned his ample forehead. His eyes were bright although they’d lost their sparkle. His thin lips formed a smile when he greeted her:

      “Detective Duquesne? Joaquin del Roble, a pleasure to meet you,” and he kissed her hand with such elegance that it moved Maria.

      “If you’ll follow me, I think we’ll be more comfortable in the library. Almost no one goes there… People don’t read like they used to.”

      He walked slowly but with a sure step. She quietly followed him, thinking of her father and how she would never want him to live in a place like this, which besides must cost a fortune.

      They sat down in two comfortable armchairs and, just as Don Joaquin had predicted, the room was rather empty.

      “So tell me, how can I help you?”

      “Well, we’ve recently reopened the case of the accident involving Raimundo Alberto Lazo and his missing daughter, whose body was never found. Her mother believes that she saw her recently and is positive she’s still alive. It’s my understanding that he used to work for you. I know it was years ago, but anything you could possibly remember, no matter how small the detail, might help me. Look, I’ve got a picture of him here and another of the two of you together, in case that helps jog your memory.”

      Don Joaquin took a brief glance at the photos. He shut his eyes, as if he wanted to delve deep into his memory and bring his recollections back to life.

      “I

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