“I’m not running background checks on people I’ve known most of my life,” Santos countered. “Let me know what you discover at the protesters’ meeting tomorrow night.”
“I will. I’ll wait for the locksmith. If entry was actually made through the roof, we may not need to change the locks, but it might be wise to do so anyway.”
“I think you’re right. Thank you.” Santos waited until he was gone to speak. “Was I too hard on him?”
“No, but his job is to look beyond the obvious for clues. He doesn’t know Manuel or the others who work for you like you do.”
Santos was silent a long moment. “I know there’s a Mr. Lopez, but if he’s ever come here to drive Mrs. Lopez home, I’ve not met him. I don’t know Tomas’s wife, and while Manuel is more of an uncle than an employee, I don’t know what he does with his free time, other than being an avid soccer fan. My employees’ private lives will remain their own business, not mine.”
His troubled frown made his discomfort plain. “You’re right,” Libby said. “Privacy is important in any relationship, and you trust the people here. Now I have to have something to eat.”
In few minutes, she reappeared with a ceramic bowl filled with fresh fruit and a plate of small pastries. “These are so good. Has Thomas been baking them long?”
S
antos eyed the puffed pastry topped with cherries. “They were one of my favorites when I was a child. He must want to offer all the comfort he can.”
Libby took another. “I feel comforted already.” He leaned over to take a bite of hers and licked his lips. She felt warm all over. His unshakable confidence shone in his dark eyes, and she was so easily lost in him, the pastries could wait. “The house is filled with people. Could we hide in the Hispano-Suiza?”
He moaned softly. “That’s exactly what I want to do, but I don’t want the arson investigator to come looking for us. Please go read on the beach, or go shopping, or go for a walk and give me time to handle everything that has to be done. Then, I’ll meet you in the car.”
She took the last bite of the pastry, picked up an orange and looked over her shoulder with a sultry smile as she walked away. “I’ll never want to be in your way.”
Santos nearly slid out of his chair. With Libby there, he didn’t care if the house burned down.
Chapter Ten
As she walked along the shore, Libby bounced the orange between her hands. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up the sex-kitten routine, and while it was fun, it was playing a part rather than being true to herself. But nothing was real here. Santos was a dream man Spanish women idolized but few had the opportunity to actually meet. She’d gone much further and taken up residence in his magical house for the time being. She’d never had a relationship with an expiration date, and it saddened her she did now.
Before she realized how far she’d walked, she reached the marina. She moved up on the sand to a bench to eat the orange and watched the boats sailing along the horizon. Gliding over the sea, they were as beautiful as swans. Santos’s knee would keep them on land, but she wished they could have gone sailing again. It was easy to forget anything else existed while on the water.
“Good morning. Do you mind if I join you?”
Libby looked up and found a darkly tanned young man dressed in khaki shorts and a white shirt. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. “It’s a public bench. I’m just sitting here watching the boats,” she said.
He sat on the other end of the bench. “Would you like to go sailing?”
She would, but not with him. “Thank you, but not today.”
“You’re American, aren’t you? Where are you from?”
He was a good-looking man with bright green eyes, and it bothered her she couldn’t place him. Growing uneasy, she gathered up the orange peels and her sandals and rose to her feet. “I’m from Minnesota, and I’m staying here with my boyfriend.”
He rose as well. “Does he live near here? Maybe I know him.”
Santos wouldn’t appreciate her using his name. “I’m sure you do, but he guards his privacy well.”
“How mysterious. May I walk you home?”
Libby backed away. “I’d rather you didn’t.” She turned to dump the orange peels in the nearby trash container and carrying her sandals, went down to the shore and raced away to leave him far behind.
Juan had joined Santos on the patio, and the men looked up when Libby reached them. She could tell by their wary expressions the news wasn’t good. “Is there another drawing? You might as well show me.”
“I’d rather not,” Santos replied.
She extended her hand. “Let me see it anyway.”
Santos sighed and reluctantly gave her the drawing. It was easily recognizable as by the same artist. This time Santos had been drawn with eyes, but the throat had been slashed with a jagged line. “It’s the same angular writing. What does he say this time?”