“Talentless bastard,” Juan said sadly. “If the same lunatic set the fire last night, he’s not content merely to draw insults. We should arrange for the security service to station armed guards here.”
Ignoring Juan’s advice, Santos shuffled through the rest of the fan mail. “Here’s another one from the woman who wants tighter pants. That’s a nasty kind of strangulation.”
“Santos,” Libby whispered. “Please be serious.”
He slapped the letters and e-mail copies on the table. “I am. I’ve got my knee to worry about. Tomorrow I’ll do the ads for Aragon cologne, and Wednesday I plan to see Orlando Ortiz. I refuse to have armed guards following me around like some third-world dictator.”
Juan shrugged and glanced toward Libby. “After the bulls, nothing is a threat. I understand, but I don’t agree.” He shoved to his feet. “The envelope with the drawing was a common type with adhesive on the flap, so there’s no spit to test for DNA. I’ll let you know if we receive another one. There’s been a wealth of letters from fans hoping you’ll be well soon. Do you want to read any of those?”
“No, toss them, but have Sylvia put a sincere thank you for their concern on the website.”
Juan nodded to Libby and left with his odd rolling step. She waited until the agent had rounded the corner of the house to lean forward. “I talked to a man down at the marina—”
“You went all the way to the marina?”
“I went for a walk, and it isn’t that far. Anyway, a young man spoke to me, and I knew I’d seen him somewhere. Maybe at the bullfights, I don’t know. He was too friendly. Where are those photos Javier took of the protesters?”
“On top of the desk in the den.”
Libby hurried to bring them out to the patio and sorted through them quickly. “Here, he’s the man with Victoria.”
Santos sat up in his chair. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, he was dressed in shorts, looked like he belonged at the marina and asked if I’d like to go sailing. He asked too many questions, and I left as fast as I could.”
“Now we need armed guards for you. Did he mention the name of his boat?”
“No, but we could take this photo to the marina and ask at the office who he is.”
“Have Manuel take you, and don’t walk that far from the house ever again.”
Libby was too surprised he didn’t want to go with her to argue over his terse order. “This won’t take me long.” She squeezed his shoulder as she walked by, and he didn’t even blow a kiss. Annoyed, she found Manuel outside the garage, washing the Mercedes.
Doubting he spoke much English, she spoke slowly. “Excuse me, will you please take me to the marina?”
“It will be my pleasure,” he responded. He quickly dried off the sedan and opened the back door for her.
Libby slipped in, but she felt ridiculous having a chauffeur. “Thank you. I have a few questions for the office personnel, and I won’t take a minute.”
Manuel drove her there without making any effort at conversation. When they arrived, he circled the car to open her door. “I will wait as long as you need me.”
There was a teasing shine in his eyes, and Libby thanked him again. They had walked past the office the day Santos had taken her sailing. Today, she went right in and approached the woman seated at the desk.
“Hello, do you speak English?”
“I do,” the woman replied. “How may I help you?”
Libby thought this was the time to use Santos’s name and did so. The woman smiled with delight. “Mr. Aragon is here often.”
Libby had brought the whole folder but showed the secretary only one photo. “I spoke with this man as I walked up to the marina this morning. I know we’ve meet, but I can’t recall his name. I believe he has a boat here.”
The woman studied the photo a long moment. “We don’t give out the names of members, but I’ve never seen him. Perhaps he’s been here as someone’s guest. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“You have, thank you. Have you worked here long?”
“I’ve been here six years. I love being near the water.”
“I do too.”