Free A Second Chance at Murder by Diana Orgain

Cheryl. “I’ll do the show if meals are included.”

Eight
    T he narrow streets of Jaca were crowded and noisy. It seemed the entire town had come out to celebrate. There was a loud band on a makeshift stage that alternated playing Spanish folk songs and contemporary hits, but no matter what music they blared, the crowd joyously danced.
    The cast and crew pressed up against me, almost in a protective manner. The heat of the day had passed, but the cement and the crowd still pulsed with fire and I felt nauseous. I regretted letting Becca talk me into the fiestas.
    The crowd was dressed in the traditional white fiestas outfits with red sashes and bandanas, some wore red
boinas,
too. Kyle had pulled one of his magic tricks and had produced white outfits for the group. I’d refused tochange into the transparent white dress he selected for me, so in essence he wasn’t speaking to me. He occupied himself with DeeCee and Daisy, showering them with attention like it was going out of style.
    They were dressed in matching outfits; white short-shorts that left little to the imagination and halter tops so clingy and revealing that no one would forget their team name, Double D.
    Victoria had attached herself to Cooper, who seemed happy to let her stick to him like a second skin. Her brother, Parker, chatted amicably with the mother-and-son team, Helen and Eric. While Todd seemed to sulk by himself.
    Most of the cast was drunk on red wine and when the band played the chicken dance, they went wild, jostling up against me and driving me crazy. My nerves were so on edge that each time someone bumped into me, my skin crawled.
    â€œHow long are we going to be out here?” I asked Becca.
    She pinched my cheek. “Cheer up, monkey. Aren’t you having a good time?”
    â€œI have a headache. The music is too loud,” I said.
    Daisy shook her behind in front of me and screamed. “Shake a tail feather, Georgia!”
    I moved away from her, not able to get Annalise out of my mind. Juan Jose, one of our local crew members, was near me. I asked him, “Juan Jose. Did you know Annalise? The woman who was killed in the woods.”
    He stiffened. “No. I did not know her. She was ETA, why would I know her? I hate ETA and their Molotovcocktails and their bombings and their killings!” His face grew red. “They are savages!”
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s only that—”
    DeeCee grabbed Juan Jose’s arm. “I heard there’s going to be fireworks!”
    Miguel, our other local crew member, pointed toward a grassy mound in the distance and suddenly the cast began to peel off in different directions.
    Which was entirely fine with me.
    Just as I was enjoying the breathing space, a raucous Spaniard danced right into me, spilling his wine on my shirt. He assailed me with a fast string of Spanish, which I assumed was an apology. I held up my arms and tried to wave him off, indicating I didn’t speak Spanish and I hadn’t been hurt when he boogied into me. He grabbed my wrist and spun me around, undeterred.
    â€œÂ¡Olé guapa!”
he yelled.
    The music kicked into another folk song and soon everyone was bouncing around in a dance I didn’t know.
    The man was my age and had such a disarming smile that I felt guilty disentangling myself from him. I glanced over to grab Becca, only to realize she’d been swooped up by another overly eager gentleman.
    Under different circumstances, I would have loved these fiestas; these beautiful friendly Spaniards in their bright white outfits, everyone offering each other a “hail fellow well met,” but as it was, the sadness that had rooted itself into my heart since Scott left now throbbed. I stepped away from the crowd and rounded the corner, looking for a little quiet space to catch my breath.
    On the first street, there was still a throng of people dancing and heading toward the