Cappuccino Twist Read Online Free PDF Page B

daughter or perhaps granddaughter.  It was a shot in the dark, but that’s all I was armed with at this point.  Gathering my composure and resolving to approach this next interview more professionally, I scurried out of my hotel room and down to the curb to hail a taxi.
    ***
     
    In stark opposition to Marcelo Sanchez’s humble abode, Jacinta Canton’s home resembled a Spanish palace.  The garden was lined with lush flowers and whispering trees, and the three story house boasted two verandas with wicker patio furniture.  A neon blue Mercedes Benz was parked in the winding driveway.  Through the home’s broad bay window in front, I could see a young woman relaxing in an Ottoman with a book cradled in her hands.  Glancing over my shoulder to make sure the taxi driver was waiting like I had asked him to do, I lifted the heavy brass knocker and tapped it against the front door three times.  Nervously, I waited for someone to answer the door, trying not to dwell on how astronomical my cab bill would be if the interview turned into a lengthy visit.  But that notion was nothing more than billowing smoke in an absurd funhouse of mirrors because no one answered the door.
    Craning my neck, I could see that the young woman with the book had risen from her chair, and I could even hear her light footsteps behind the door, but she didn’t admit me entrance.  Again, I knocked on the door, determined to speak with her and at least obtain some morsel of information.  But my knocks went unanswered for several frustrating minutes until I decided I better leave before she had me arrested for trespassing.  If the young woman was all alone in the house, then I could certainly understand why she wouldn’t want to answer the door.  Shifting into Plan B mode, I vowed to return to the library---when Señora Marquez wasn’t on duty---and find Jacinta Canton’s phone number.  Most likely the number would be private. Someone of her wealth wouldn’t likely be sharing her contact information with the world.  In that case, I would roll out Plan C and find another relative of Jorge Canton.
    But all of those complications would have to wait, I decided as I walked back to the taxi and asked the surprised driver to take me to my hotel.  I couldn’t stall the investigation at the second name on my list.  No, I had to move on to David Garcia who, as Aunt Silvia’s illicit lover rather than boyfriend, might be the most likely suspect of all. 
    As the taxi pulled up to my hotel, I lingered outside the doors, not ready to retire to my room and spend countless hours in that airless atmosphere.  Instead, I started to stroll aimlessly, exploring Barcelona for the first time as a tourist rather than a detective.  The whole city struck me as a work of art, and I could understand why it was a haven for painters, sculptors, and other creative souls.  Spanish sunlight beamed down on my face, soothing my constantly edgy nerves and making me happy in that shining moment just to be alive.
    In my reverie state, I didn’t realize that someone was standing right in front of me trying to catch my attention.  “Aren’t you the new girl from the coffee shop?” A delightfully masculine voice inquired.
    Emerging from my fog, I looked up into the handsome face of Eduardo whose strong features were even more appealing in close proximity.  In his toned arms, he carried that mysterious clipboard.  “Yes.  Hi, I’m  Marlena.”
    “Eduardo.  Nice to meet you, Marlena.  You’ve definitely been brightening up that dull place,” he flattered as I resisted the urge to blurt out, really? More than the blonde roast you were chatting up?
    “Thanks.” I lowered my eyelashes and focused on his clipboard.  “What’s that thing all about?”
    “Ah, my clipboard?  Yeah, I work for the Environmental Protection Agency.  We’re trying to get signatures for a petition.”
    Now my interest was piqued.  A beautiful man who cared about the environment?