Maggie leaned in the door. “This is a hospital, and not everyone feels as well as you do this morning.”
Santos sneered at the reminder and repeated his question in a hoarse whisper. “Rafael saw the mirror and so did the security guards on the shady side of the ring. How can they call me clumsy?”
Juan waved away his concern. “Forget them. We all know you’re too skilled to fall over your own feet. What did the doctor say? How long will your recovery be?”
“I’m not certain. He hasn’t been in yet today.”
Libby backed away from the doorway. “He’s going to be out for months,” she whispered.
Maggie understood. “Martinez won’t earn any money if Santos can’t fight.”
“Then he’ll pressure him to fight before his knee is fully healed, and it could end his career.”
“I don’t believe anyone can pressure Santos.”
“Would you like to get coffee?” Libby asked. “I’d rather not stand out here in the hall while he talks to Juan.”
“Fine, let’s go.” As soon as they were seated in the cafeteria on the first floor, Maggie pulled a notebook from her purse. “Let’s concentrate on the wedding for a minute. I have my dress, and Santos recommended a florist. We found a minister through the consulate and have all the paperwork ready, but when it comes to writing vows, nothing I’ve come up with is any good.”
It was the last thing Libby wanted to do. She added more cream to her cup. “You’re a much better writer than I am, so I doubt I can help. Don’t you have some favorite poetry?”
“Not really, and Rafael won’t tell me what he’s written.”
“Then ask the minister to perform his usual ceremony. No one is going to give you a low grade if you don’t contribute something original.”
“The minister is a young woman, and I’m sure she knows ceremonies by the dozen, but I want to say something heartfelt. Maybe an idea will come to me, but it has to be soon. Do you suppose Santos will be able to stand by Saturday? I don’t want to have the wedding without him.”
Libby knew she could count on Santos to stall if she asked him, but so far she’d been favorably impressed by Rafael, although she couldn’t discount his prison record. It didn’t seem real to her, though. “I wouldn’t worry about Santos. Rafael and Dad can help him down to the shore, and he can sit in one of the patio chairs.”
“Good idea. I just hope nothing else goes wrong.” She pulled her sleeves over her scars.
Libby reached for her hand. “I like Rafael, and he seems to be able to handle whatever comes along.”
“Yes, but he shouldn’t have to. This should be a happy time, not a damn roller-coaster ride.”
“Wait until Patricia gets here. She’ll cheer up everyone.”
Maggie sighed unhappily. “She’s a whole different kind of trouble.”
“Be grateful for the change,” Libby teased, but she knew exactly what Patricia would think of Santos and her stomach did a painful flip-flop.
When they returned to Santos’s room, Juan Martinez had gone and Rafael soon joined them. He brushed Maggie’s cheek with a light kiss and moved to the foot of Santos’s bed. He looked grim. “The police doubt any crime has been committed. Instead, they suggest a woman applied makeup or lipstick, looked up to watch you and didn’t realize her mirror had caught the sun.”
Santos responded with a string of most uncomplimentary words for Catalonia’s Mossos d’E’squadra’s investigative prowess. Libby vowed right then to learn Spanish or Catalan, whatever he was speaking so she could follow all the really good parts of the men’s conversation. “May I assume that’s the equivalent of bullshit?”
Santos felt too sore to laugh. “It was a more eloquent version of bullshit, but yes, that’s a fair translation.”
Rafael shrugged. “I’ve such little respect for the authorities, I walked out of the station rather than risk being arrested for aggressively prodding them with the truth.”
“So we’ll have to find the culprit ourselves?” Libby asked. She pulled the list of women’s names from her purse. “On the off chance it wasn’t one of the protesters, we do have some suspects. You’ve dated a lot of women, Santos. What if one of them wanted you dead?”
He gazed up at the ceiling and swore under his breath. “I’m single, and I like women. I’ll not apologize for it.”
“You needn’t,” Libby replied. “Ann Santillan was in a row near us, so she didn’t make the list. What about Rosalba Valdez?”
“Where did you get her name?” Santos asked, startled by the question.
“Tabloids have archives,” Maggie offered.