Go Go Gato

by Max Everhart

on Tour at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours October 2014

Veronica pushed her sunglasses atop her head and produced a key. She unlocked a little red box above the other elevator buttons and pressed the only button inside. “The penthouse,” she said. “Top floor.”

“So you’ve already seen her today?”

“Yes, I drove from the airport to DMSI Investigations and then straight here.”

“So you lied to me.” Eli stood on his tiptoes and looked down. “You’re taller than six feet.”

The elevator opened directly into the fifth floor penthouse.

“This way,” Veronica said, and Eli followed.

The apartment was open concept with more white marble floors and walls. The main living area had twenty-foot ceilings and a large glass window overlooking the downtown cityscape and the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond. There was a 50-inch plasma screen TV mounted on the wall, and a red velvet loveseat and matching armchair arranged around an ultra-modern coffee table made of dark wood with a white lacquered surface. Marquez’s novel Love in the Time of Cholera lay dog-eared on the coffee table along with a Statistics textbook. Eli shuddered at the memory of taking STATS 215—all those nights spent guzzling instant coffee and staring at a blank sheet of graphing paper. Something spicy was cooking somewhere, and his stomach groaned.

“Wait here,” Veronica said and clicked her heels into the kitchen, which was separated from the rest of the space by a wall that only reached halfway to the ceiling.

Eli sat down in the velvet armchair and picked up Marquez’s novel. He didn’t read Spanish, but as he stared at the opening paragraph, he remembered the book’s opening, something about death and the smell of almonds. He put the book back where he found it and walked to the large picture window. The traffic inched along Biltmore Avenue below. Sunlight gleamed off the hoods of cars and neighboring buildings. A small band of Phish fans milled around the fountain, strumming guitars for spare change and smoking cloves. Eli walked to a door leading out to the terrace. A selling feature for most, but he didn’t care for heights. Or stainless steel furniture. He returned to the red velvet armchair and waited.

Several minutes later Veronica waved Eli toward the kitchen. She leaned in close, grabbed hold of his jacket lapels, and stared into his eyes. “No bullshit, Almario is all she has.” She bit her lip and let go of his jacket, smoothed out the wrinkles she’d made. “At the moment, he’s all I have.”

Eli got his first look at Maria Gato in the kitchen, which was massive and cold like the rest of the apartment. Raven-haired with a dark brown face sprinkled with pimples, Maria stood over a steaming sauce pan, her marble-black eyes focused on what looked like chicken bubbling in a reddish sauce. Her skin tone was much darker than Almario’s, and standing next to Veronica, Maria appeared dwarfish and plump, bordering on fat. Her clothes weren’t flattering either: a baggy tie-dyed T-shirt splattered with flour and red sauce and Jordache blue jeans that hung loose off her wide hips.

Eli introduced himself, and Maria lowered her eyes as she shook his hand. Firm grip. Strong, callused hands.

Veronica opened a drawer, removed a clean white apron, and slipped it over her pencil skirt, tying it off in the back. She put a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “Eli Sharpe, the quiet one here is Maria Gato, Almario’s twin sister. Maria, Mr. Sharpe is the private investigator I hired to find Almario. He needs to ask you some questions. Don’t worry, he’s here to help.”

Maria nodded a second time and continued stirring her pot with a wooden spoon.

Veronica nodded at Eli.

Eli said, “Veronica tells me you received an email from Almario yesterday. Is that right?”

“No, it isn’t,” Maria snapped. “The email was from Almario’s address, but it wasn’t him.”

“Do you mean someone other than Almario wrote it?”

“Yes, someone else wrote it.”

“How do you know?”

“The grammar. It was full of mistakes.”