“Did you ask Patricia? She might know.”
Libby winced and looked at Santos. “Why didn’t we think of something so obvious?”
“Give her a call,” he encouraged. “This is Javier Cazares, a private detective; my sister, Magdalena Mondragon.”
Cazares was standing and responded with a slight bow.
Libby checked her watch. “It’s too early in the morning to call Patricia now.”
“If it’s really important, call her anyway,” Maggie urged.
Santos nodded, and Libby made the call. Patricia gave a groggy hello and then complained, “You don’t need to call me at three in the morning to talk about Fox. I’ll tell him I’m staying here next year.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Libby replied. “When you talked with Victoria on the beach, did she ever mention where she lived?”
“Why are you looking for her at this hour?” Patricia asked through a wide yawn.
“It’s midmorning here, but it’s important, Patricia. Did she point out a house or say anything that would help us find her?”
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“I mentioned Santos’s beautiful vintage car, and she said something about her father being a chauffeur. Maybe he lives at one of the big houses near yours.”
“Thank you. That’s a big help. Love you.” Libby ended the call. “Victoria’s father is a chauffeur. Would Manuel know him? He saw the photo of Victoria and Rigoberto when we gave it to Nuñez, but he didn’t say he recognized her.”
Santos swore in Catalan. “I have the sick feeling he does.” He used his phone to summon the chauffeur to the house.
“I’m lost,” Maggie interjected. “What’s going on here?”
“Libby will tell you later,” Santos promised. “Everyone keep quiet. Let me talk to Manuel without interrupting.”
Manuel stopped at the den door. “Yes, sir, what do you need?”
Santos gestured for him to come in. “Victoria’s father is a chauffeur at one of the homes nearby. Do you know him?”
Manuel folded his hands behind his back and looked down. “I know a few of the chauffeurs, not all of them.”
Santos didn’t raise his voice, but his threat hung in the air like smoke. “You know Victoria’s father, though, don’t you? Why didn’t you speak up when you knew we were searching for her?”
Manuel frowned and, struggling with his response, cleared his throat. “Your father asked me to forget she’d ever been here.”
“Why?” Santos asked.
Manuel glanced toward Maggie and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say this in front of you. Miguel met Victoria on the beach one Sunday when everyone had the day off. She went home the next morning. He said she was lovely, but he’d had enough and avoided her. I’d forgotten about her, and Miguel wouldn’t have wanted me to mention he’d spent a single night with her. When I saw the photo, I’d hoped you’d find her without my having to disrespect Miguel’s memory.”
“God forbid,” Maggie said. “Santos and I know what our father was like, so keeping his secrets is absurd.”
“I’ll handle this, Maggie, after he shows us where Victoria’s father works. Does he have his own apartment over the garage?” Santos asked.
“Yes. It’s the white house with the huge aqua glass windows, a few houses down the beach. His name is Luis Rubio.”
“We should call Nuñez,” Libby said.
“The way he called me?” Santos countered. “I’ll call him, but only because I’d rather he got shot than one of us.”
“Shot? Is there a real danger of it?” Maggie asked.
Libby walked up to Manuel. “How many gunshots would it have taken before you finally told us what you knew? Rigoberto might have been arrested before the accident that killed him. Has that occurred to you?”