The Poisoned Pawn Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Peggy Blair
Granma or on television for fear of scaring off tourists.”
“I agree, it’s very strange.”
“By the way, Ricardo, I found out some information today about that little girl, the one Señora Jones wants to adopt. The child’s name is Beatriz Aranas. She’s three years old. Unfortunately, she has serious health problems. She contracted rheumatic fever following a strep infection last year. She should have received antibiotics as a preventive measure afterwards, but too often there weren’t any. The last infection damaged her heart; that’s why she’s in a wheelchair. She needs surgery, perhaps even a transplant if her condition deteriorates further. But these days, such procedures are problematic because of the shortages.”
Ramirez sighed. “Señora Jones will be devastated. And if that’s the case, I really don’t know how I’ll be able to persuade her to sign this attestation. That was the only thing I could think of that might work—helping to arrange the adoption.”
Apiro smiled. “I’m only surprised you haven’t asked me to call Francesca and falsely attest that you are at the Gran Teatro right now, waiting in the cola for tickets.”
Ramirez looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. “I totally forgot. I’d better get over there before it’s too late.”
He glanced at the ghost. She tapped her wrist and frowned.
Ramirez breathed a little easier once he slipped the pair of tickets into his pocket. He walked back to his car, still troubled by the minister’s orders.
Apiro was right. There was something important going on behind the scenes. Once Ramirez knew what it was, the rather unequal relationship he had with his superior was likely to change dramatically. Of course, he still had to deal with his real superior.
He drove home slowly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Beside him, the old lady held her flower out like a posy. Ramirez understood the form of appeasement she was suggesting, but he had no money left for bribes.
The afternoon breeze ruffled the crocheted curtains. Outside, birds sang arias, hidden in the leaves of fragrant magnolia trees. The devastated buildings across the street were bathed in golden light.
It was humid and sticky inside their apartment, and getting hotter every minute.
“I knew this would happen, Ricardo. You always work late, and you never come home for dinner. And now you’re leaving the country?”
The use of always and never was a particularly bad sign. It meant Francesca was not going to raise a specific complaint that Ramirez might respond to, but rather a collection of grievances she’d stored up over time.
“Christmas Day was supposed to be your day off, too,” she said. “But I had to entertain your relatives alone. Every night last week you came home late and were out of here by dawn. You toss and turn in your sleep, but you won’t tell me what’s going on. Sometimes I think you are having an affair.”
“I would never do that, Francesca,” said Ramirez. “You know there is no other woman for me.”
“Not with a woman, Ricardo. With Hector Apiro.”
Ramirez barely stifled a laugh. He walked into the kitchen cautiously and put his arms around his wife’s sturdy body. “Now, Francesca, you know how silly that is.” It was a poor choice of words, he realized, as soon as they escaped his mouth.
“You think I’m silly?” Francesca snapped, pushing him away.
“Of course not,” Ramirez said, attempting to recover quickly. “But Hector no longer works so many nights himself. He has a girlfriend now. She was a patient of his long ago. She was close to that little boy, Arturo Montenegro, the child murdered on Christmas Eve. She came forward as a witness. That’s how she found out Hector was still in Havana. They seem happy together. I think we should invite them for dinner once we get the new coupon book.”
Even the lure of gossip was not enough to distract his wife.
“If Hector Apiro is not working nights anymore,
“I agree, it’s very strange.”
“By the way, Ricardo, I found out some information today about that little girl, the one Señora Jones wants to adopt. The child’s name is Beatriz Aranas. She’s three years old. Unfortunately, she has serious health problems. She contracted rheumatic fever following a strep infection last year. She should have received antibiotics as a preventive measure afterwards, but too often there weren’t any. The last infection damaged her heart; that’s why she’s in a wheelchair. She needs surgery, perhaps even a transplant if her condition deteriorates further. But these days, such procedures are problematic because of the shortages.”
Ramirez sighed. “Señora Jones will be devastated. And if that’s the case, I really don’t know how I’ll be able to persuade her to sign this attestation. That was the only thing I could think of that might work—helping to arrange the adoption.”
Apiro smiled. “I’m only surprised you haven’t asked me to call Francesca and falsely attest that you are at the Gran Teatro right now, waiting in the cola for tickets.”
Ramirez looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. “I totally forgot. I’d better get over there before it’s too late.”
He glanced at the ghost. She tapped her wrist and frowned.
Ramirez breathed a little easier once he slipped the pair of tickets into his pocket. He walked back to his car, still troubled by the minister’s orders.
Apiro was right. There was something important going on behind the scenes. Once Ramirez knew what it was, the rather unequal relationship he had with his superior was likely to change dramatically. Of course, he still had to deal with his real superior.
He drove home slowly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Beside him, the old lady held her flower out like a posy. Ramirez understood the form of appeasement she was suggesting, but he had no money left for bribes.
The afternoon breeze ruffled the crocheted curtains. Outside, birds sang arias, hidden in the leaves of fragrant magnolia trees. The devastated buildings across the street were bathed in golden light.
It was humid and sticky inside their apartment, and getting hotter every minute.
“I knew this would happen, Ricardo. You always work late, and you never come home for dinner. And now you’re leaving the country?”
The use of always and never was a particularly bad sign. It meant Francesca was not going to raise a specific complaint that Ramirez might respond to, but rather a collection of grievances she’d stored up over time.
“Christmas Day was supposed to be your day off, too,” she said. “But I had to entertain your relatives alone. Every night last week you came home late and were out of here by dawn. You toss and turn in your sleep, but you won’t tell me what’s going on. Sometimes I think you are having an affair.”
“I would never do that, Francesca,” said Ramirez. “You know there is no other woman for me.”
“Not with a woman, Ricardo. With Hector Apiro.”
Ramirez barely stifled a laugh. He walked into the kitchen cautiously and put his arms around his wife’s sturdy body. “Now, Francesca, you know how silly that is.” It was a poor choice of words, he realized, as soon as they escaped his mouth.
“You think I’m silly?” Francesca snapped, pushing him away.
“Of course not,” Ramirez said, attempting to recover quickly. “But Hector no longer works so many nights himself. He has a girlfriend now. She was a patient of his long ago. She was close to that little boy, Arturo Montenegro, the child murdered on Christmas Eve. She came forward as a witness. That’s how she found out Hector was still in Havana. They seem happy together. I think we should invite them for dinner once we get the new coupon book.”
Even the lure of gossip was not enough to distract his wife.
“If Hector Apiro is not working nights anymore,