Free The Argentina Rhodochrosite by J. A. Jernay Page B

an unnerving intensity. The air felt heavy with unspoken words. Ainsley shifted in her seat, feeling unsettled.
    Finally the psychotherapist broke the silence. “ Bueno . If there are no more problems, I hope that I have managed to please you.” He offered his hand.
    “Thank you for your time,” she said.
    Ainsley rose, exchanged cheek kisses, and left the parlor.
    As she descended the staircase towards the main floor, she couldn’t help feeling that El Oido knew much more of this mystery than he was willing to reveal.

17

    Downstairs, the party had swollen to at least a hundred and fifty people. Men leaned over the staircase railing, shouting to friends on floors below. Groups of men stood arranged around fireplaces in private rooms, socializing loudly, their women standing at the elbows, looking insecure.
    She moved through the crowd, looking for the guest of honor, but he was nowhere to be seen.
    She ordered another glass of Torrontés from the downstairs bar, admired the woodwork, the well-dressed people, the unbelievable ambience, and felt her thoughts turn towards love.
    Love.
    She was alone, again, in a foreign country, on a moony night, dressed to the nines, holding a drink in a beautiful old mansion now converted to a chic nightclub. All this—and not a single romantic prospect on the horizon.
    This was a missed opportunity. Ainsley would regret this evening in her old age.
    Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t a vacation. This was work . She was on assignment to find a rhodochrosite necklace.
    Through the doorway, she spotted Facundo on the balcony. He was socializing with a fury. His face had turned bright red, his laughter more forced, his shoulder-squeezes more ferocious.
    Ainsley guessed that she knew the reason. Ovidio hadn’t arrived yet. Facundo was feeling the pressure to provide the entertainment.
    She weaved through the partygoers until she was standing at Facundo’s side. He noticed her immediately.
    “Was El Oido helpful?” said the host.
    “A little,” she said. “Where is Ovidio?”
    Facundo could barely contain his emotion. “Why bother with such silly questions?” His smile grew bigger, his stance grew straighter. “Let’s all just have a good time! Mix together!” He hoisted his glass violently into the air; liquid sloshed out onto his sleeve.
    Ainsley watched the other attendees. The other partygoers were waiting patiently, but the signs of impatience were there. They seemed like important porteños . They’d come to meet Ovidio, to get a picture with him; in return, they would promise their support in his run for president. Who knew how long their patience would last? This was a moody culture.
    Ovidio skipping out on his own political gathering was unthinkable. Ainsley figured that he was probably planning a grand entrance later in the evening, when the time was right. And she also figured that the best place to watch his grand entrance would be from the back garden.
    Ainsley descended the outside staircase with careful steps, hand touching the balustrade. She felt vaguely like a queen. She also felt eyes watching her.
    Two in particular.
    Standing on the ground, beneath a canvas umbrella, was a man about her age. She noticed his above-average height, his flat abdomen, his observant air. He carried an observant air about him.
    Ainsley smiled at him. That was the only trigger he needed: these Argentine men acted fast. As she neared the bottom of the staircase, he walked over and extended his hand.
    “I would hate for you to trip,” he said.
    “Thank you,” she replied.
    He helped her across the gravel, which really was hellish on her shoes. When she reached the paving stones a few meters away, he let go of her hand.
    She turned to look at her suitor. Up close, he was even more attractive, blessed with the killer combination of blue eyes and dark hair. He wore the mandatory three days’ scruff that was apparently de rigueur in Buenos Aires.
    “Thank you,” she