“Alright. It’s probably fair to assume that this Cardeño guy has no idea where we’re staying, or that we’re leaving town in the morning, but if he has enough sense to put together that Angela was with Emmy, it wouldn’t be hard to find out where she’s staying, so we can’t get complacent,” I said as we made our way into the lobby. “So, tonight, we’re not going to sleep in the suite. Just to be on the safe side, Grant, book us another room under your name, please.”
“Not in our suite?” Angela asked, concerned.
“It’s only for a few hours of sleep, anyway,” I said. “In the morning we leave for Cartagena anyway, right? I have a hard time believing that this Luis guy would get mobilized enough to figure out where we are and come and do an invasion, but better safe than sorry.”
“That makes sense,” Angela agreed, much calmer than she had been in the cab.
The night passed without incident and we checked out at eight for our flight to the northern coastal city of Cartagena. The hour and a half flight was exceptionally bumpy, but I’d been assured that every flight over the Andes was that way, and so wasn’t worried.
Leaving the airport in Cartagena was a shock- it had been in the mid sixties in Bogotá, but it was in the upper eighties in Cartagena. While it had been quite humid in Bogotá and felt as if it would rain at any moment (it felt that way to me, anyway, if not to little old lady street food vendors), it was just plain muggy in Cartagena. In fact, it felt like what it was- an Equatorial jungle town right on a bay of a very warm sea.
Mamá, Papá and Cecilia all took a cab to go home while the rest of us piled into a couple of waiting cabs at the taxi stand in front of the small airport to go to our hotel. Angela had argued at length with her parents about whether there was room for us at their house, but finally she convinced them that while there might be enough room, double-bunking Grant and Tiny while the three of us tried to fit on her old room’s small bed just wasn’t going to be best for everybody. As a compromise, we booked rooms in a hotel that was just a couple of blocks from the family home in a part of town called “San Diego,” to my amusement.
The modern hotel was built using the shell of an old colonial convent- it was big and imposing, with thick stone walls and a pair of ancient but still very stout wooden doors that were swung open to reveal the modern glass sliding doors just inside.
The interior was very, very stylish, with the blend of very old and new elements. A fair bit of the four hundred-year-old stonework was left uncovered by the contemporary interior treatments, adding to the European feeling that the anachronistic design gave me.
Our suite was on the top floor, with its own private balcony and deck looking out over the city wall and out to the turquoise waters of the Caribbean.
“Look!” Angela exclaimed, leaning out over the glass railing of the smaller balcony. Pointing downward, she said, “Right there is the house of Gabriel Garcia Márquez!”
“Really?” Emmy asked, joining her to look down.
“The family sold it after he died,” Angela explained, “so you can’t go in or anything, but that is where he lived all while I was growing up.”
“You promised me you would read his book to me,” I teased.
“I will,” she said, turning away from the view to give me a kiss.
“Are you happy to be home?” I asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Angela admitted. “I’m happy to be here for a visit. I want to show you everything, but we only have four days, you know? I love Cartagena, but it is no longer my home. My home is in the US with you two now."
“And London,” I reminded her, getting a smile for my effort.
“And London,” she agreed, snuggling into my embrace.
We stayed like that for a while, the three of us on the balcony, enjoying the view and the warm breeze coming off the water, but eventually we returned inside to unpack.
“I told Mamá to not make dinner tonight- we are all going to have dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. It is considered among the finest in the country,” Angela explained. “Mis papís don’t go out for dinner very often, so I thought it would be a treat for them.”
“Sounds good,” Emmy said. “Do we have time for a siesta?”
“Of course we do,” Angela replied with a smile, taking Emmy’s hand and leading her to the bed.
I didn’t feel like sleeping, though, so I settled down with my laptop out on the suite’s deck and used the hotel’s excellent wifi to get some work done while the two took their nap. Sure, it was a bit hot and sweaty out there, but the breeze felt good and the big umbrella’s shade kept the direct sun off, so it was O.K. The sound of the city four stories below was muted, allowing the bird calls in the trees to gain the upper hand. My first impressions of Angela’s home town were positive, but we really hadn’t seen much of the city yet.
Dinner that night was excellent, a sort of French-inspired cuisine that took advantage of the ingredients that could be found growing in the region. The tasting menu and wine pairings were world-class, befitting the restaurant’s position on Condé Nast’s list.
Conversation was easy, too. Nobody brought up the incident the night before, preferring to write it off as an unpleasant encounter and nothing more. We mostly talked about how The Downfall’s tour had been going, and of course Cecilia reiterated that the concert the night before was one of the highlights of her life, which made Emmy smile.
Rafael was a source of information about the convent the hotel was built from, in addition to local history in general. He was very proud of his country, but of Cartagena most of all. His family had lived in the area for most of the city’s almost five hundred year history, after all, so a lot of it was the history of his ancestors.
“Rafael is very… proud,” Mamá said, teasing her husband.
“He could never live anywhere else,” Angela agreed.
“I lived in Bogotá and Medellín when I was a young man,” he protested.
“When you were in the army,” his wife countered. “You did not have a choice.”
“That is true,” Rafael admitted, hanging his head in defeat.
After dinner we all walked back to the Castro household, which was literally two and a half blocks away from the hotel. In the historic neighborhood of San Diego the houses were all built up against each other, facing the narrow cobblestone street directly with the front doors opening right onto the narrow sidewalks. The street itself was, by necessity, one-way only, since no two cars, no matter how small, could ever pass each other.
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“When I was a girl,” Angela said as we walked, “I was ashamed of our home. My friends in school lived in new apartments in Bocagrande, or had big houses in Castillo Grande, with garages and swimming pools… But we lived in an old house on a tiny street and had to park our car in a garage a block away,” she explained. “It wasn’t until I got older that I realized that this house is special in a way none of their houses were.”
“This house was built by Juan Julio Castro in 1832,” Rafael explained. “He was a captain in the army that captured Cartagena from the Royalists. He decided to build a house here in the city, leaving to his brother the family lands in the area now called ‘El Libertador’. Our branch of the family has lived here ever since,” he said, unlocking the old wooden door that led into the white-painted two-story house.
Angela led Emmy and me upstairs while Mamá made tea and fed pastries to Grant and Tiny, who had to still be stuffed from the dinner we’d all just eaten. They seemed pleased by Mamá’s attention, though, and it made her happy to have guests to fuss over, so it was a win all around.
Angela’s old room was still the same as she’d left it when she went off to college in Bogotá, which embarrassed her, but Emmy and I both found it very charming, seeing how she’d been. And yes, the bed was way too small for the three of us even on our most cuddly days.
“I can’t believe that Mamá kept my room this way,” Angela said in wonder, looking around at the decorations.
“I’m glad she did,” I said, pulling her into my arms. “I get a little peek into what you were like as a girl.”
“I’ve seen Emmy’s old room in Paris, but I’ve never seen yours down in Temecula,” Angela said.
“And you won’t. We used to live in a three bedroom apartment, but Mom and Tiff moved into a house I bought them a few years ago. I’ve never lived in that house.”
“That’s too bad,” Angela said. “I would have liked to see your old room.”
“I liked that apartment,” Emmy said, remembering back.
“You got to see it?” Angela asked, surprised.
“I moved in with them for a few months when we were in high school,” Emmy confirmed. “It was wonderful, living with Leah, her mother, and Tiffany. It was so comfortable.”
“What was her room like?”
“She had a small bed, the same size as this, but we were smaller then,” Emmy said, indicating Angela’s old bed.
“Well, I was smaller. You were just about the same size as now,” I said.
“I am getting bigger all the time,” Emmy said fondly, resting her hand on her tummy.
“You have some catching up to do,” Angela replied, patting her own significantly larger baby bump.
When we made our way back to the kitchen we found Grant talking about Luis Cardeño with Rafael.
“Do you think he’ll follow us to Cartagena?” Grant asked.
“He followed Angela after college, when she returned home,” Rafael said, thinking about it. “But he may not know that we have left Bogotá. If he understands that Angela is traveling with Emmy De Lascaux, he may assume that she left with everybody else to go to México. If he somehow does hear that she is in Cartagena, he may follow, but I would not expect it immediately. It would take someone he knows to spot her here, and report to him, then for him to get here. So the day after tomorrow, at the earliest, and then you will only have one more day here after that.”
“Does he know where you live?” Grant asked.
“It would not be hard for him to find out,” Rafael replied. “But he has never come to this house before.”
“I think we’re probably pretty safe, then,” Grant said. “But we should still stay on our toes.”
“I liked your family’s house,” I told Angela that night while we got ready for bed. “It’s cool. The courtyard is really pretty, and the fact your family has lived there for so many generations is amazing.”
“I appreciate it now,” Angela agreed. “But when I was a girl it just seemed old and unfashionable.”
“The many people out on the street at night, enjoying walking and seeing the city- to me, that was very special,” Emmy said as she lathered up Angela’s hair. “The city felt so vibrant.”
“This part of the city, and the barrio called Getsemani, they are full of life at night,” Angela agreed. “Most of Cartagena is not like that, though. These are the touristic districts, and are very safe so people can enjoy themselves. El Libertador? The barrio that is now on our old family lands? I would not want to be there at night.”
The next morning Angela led us on a walking tour of the old walled city of Cartagena De Indias, pointing out this landmark or that. The two that really stuck out for me were the old Spanish castle and a big plaza with tons of trees so filled with birds that it was almost deafening. There were monkeys, too, but Angela said we shouldn't encourage them.
“If you offer them food, they will take it,” she explained, pointing out some tourists doing just that. “But if they don’t like what you have for them, they will turn mean. It is better to just look at them from a distance.”
“I’ve never seen monkeys outside of a zoo before,” Jeremy commented, amazed.
“Sometimes they bite,” Angela cautioned. “People forget, but they are wild animals.”
“I’ve seen some in Asia that will come right up to you and go through your pockets or any bags you’re carrying, and if they don’t find anything to steal, they, like you said, get real mean,” Grant said as we watched one of the monkeys start screeching at the tourists that had been feeding it moments before.
As lunchtime approached and it grew too hot, we retreated back to the hotel to eat and relax until it cooled off a bit.
“I like your city,” Emmy told Angela as we ate. “It is so different from what I am accustomed to, but it has its own beauty.”
“Don’t let Papá hear you say that,” Angela warned. “He already thinks too highly of this place.”
We’d let Grant and Tiny know that we weren’t going anywhere until dusk, since relaxing in the hotel was all we had planned for the afternoon. Angela and Emmy just wanted to sleep, but I had too much energy so I made my way down to the hotel’s pool. There was one family there, the two kids splashing and having a grand old time while their parents sat under a big umbrella and drank what looked like mimosas.
I laid my towel out on one of the chaises and signaled the pool’s waiter. I hit him up for a Coke and he served it ice cold, which made me very happy. After finishing off my drink, I slipped into the pool, which was delightful after roasting in the sun.
Since the kids were content to stay in the shallow area nearest their parents, I had no problems swimming laps for a while. I’d always been a decent swimmer, but rarely ever just swam like that for its own sake since I was little.
Needing a break after a while, I returned to my chair and ordered another Coke, which arrived just as Grant took the chair next to mine.
“Nice day for a swim,” he commented, then turned to put in an order for a tall glass of tonic water.
“So, Leah,” he said after the waiter had gone. “I’ve been thinking about this Cardeño kid. The more I think about it, the more questions I have.”
“Yeah, me too,” I admitted. “Rafael told me at one point that he was too connected to simply have arrested for harassing Angela, but I don’t know exactly what that means.”
“Well, the guys he had with him at the club the other night, they weren’t professionals, if that’s your worry. Those were just whatever random idiots he could talk into grabbing a girl off a sidewalk. If they were real heavies they would have been better fighters and they would have gone for weapons much faster than they did.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I agreed, then shut up as the waiter returned with our drinks.
Once he’d gone again, I said, “I guess I really need to talk to Rafael about what risk Luis Cardeño really poses. Honestly? My thoughts have been straying to rental cars, shovels, and remote jungle areas.”
Grant laughed at that, saying, “Don’t ever change, you psycho, you.”
“Hey, a quick bit of ultraviolence here and there has worked out for me so far,” I protested.
“Not every problem can be, or should be, solved with the pointy end of a blade,” he admonished.
“No, I know,” I admitted. “But this is Angela’s safety and security we’re talking about, you know? For her, I’d erase the Cardeño name from the phone book.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Grant agreed. “But realistically, we have two possibilities. One, he got his ass handed to him and he decides that she isn’t worth any further trouble. In this case we can just forget about him from now on, right? Maybe skip any further visits to Bogotá, but otherwise, case closed. The second is that he can’t accept the humiliation of having his ass handed to him and he goes looking for payback. Now, he might not have put it together that she was with Emmy. If he doesn’t, he’ll ask around to find out where Angela is in Bogotá at first. When nobody knows where she is, he immediately thinks of Cartagena, since he knows she’s from here. But like Rafael said last night, there are a metric assload of Castros here in Cartagena, right? So even if he does come here, he has a big haystack to search for that needle. Angela and Emmy will be long gone by the time he can connect her to the family home.”
Grant took a drink from his tonic water and continued. “Now, if he does connect Angela to Emmy, he has to know that she’s an international star, and that’s how she had bodyguards that put the beatdown on him and his pals. This brings us back to A, does he give up, or B, does he swear vengeance will be his? If he gives up, done deal. If he decides to pursue, then the shallow grave looks to be back on the table. It’ll be a problem if he goes missing while hunting for Angela, though… so it’d need to happen in a way that points suspicion elsewhere.”
“That’s pretty much where my thoughts have led,” I agreed, sipping my ice-cold Coke. “Staging the scene is going to take some planning.”