Free A Not So Perfect Crime by Teresa Solana Page B

knows what to say, how to say it and to whom. She’s up-to-speed on everyone’s ups and downs, but never one to run and pick up the phone and gossip with her woman friends when she’s just come across a juicy titbit. They say her discretion and advice have saved more than one marriage.
    â€œMariona, we’d like you to tell us what you know about Lídia Font,” Borja asked her. “You do know her, don’t you?”
    â€œDo you know what you’re getting into?”
    Her question, expressed in a tone of voice that wasn’t at all innocent, alarmed us. All we wanted to know was what people were saying about our client’s wife on Barcelona’s upper side. What kind of person she was, whether she’d a reputation for having affairs with other men, whether she got on well with her husband ... If at the end of the day it was all down to infidelity and a jealous husband worried about his political future, as seemed to be the case, Mariona’s comment seemed quite uncalled for.
    â€œYes, but do you know her?” Borja persisted.
    â€œOf course, I know her!” She sighed. “Do I have any choice? She’s one to look out for. Lídia is also a kind of second cousin of mine. Didn’t you know that?”
    We shook our heads and she sipped on her drink before launching into an explanation.
    â€œDo you see, I had a cousin on my mother’s side, who was older than me and rather dim-witted, and she had a daughter ... My cousin, poor thing, died quite young – she died from a broken neck one winter skiing in Cortina – and her husband, Esteve Vilalta, we called him Estevet, remarried, this time to Ernest Pou’s daughter, one of the Sabadell Pous, the textile manufacturers, when everyone thought she’d end up dressing saints in church – Rosa, I mean, the Pous’ daughter, because she was so wet and without a spark ... But who’d have thought it, she married
Estevet, who now looked at her as if she were a supermodel, and they had another daughter, Lídia, although Rosa was getting on by this stage ... Obviously, in fact, Estevet and I aren’t family, but Lídia is a kind of second cousin, don’t you think?”
    â€œI suppose so,” I replied trying to digest the whole story.
    â€œProperly speaking, there is no blood link, but given that Lídia is step-sister to my other niece, she is in a way, you know, what English people would call my second cousin-in-law ...”
    Borja interrupted her genealogical disquisition: “You must have things you can tell us,” he insisted. “I believe Lídia is married to a politician who’s now an MP. I bet she likes the busy social round.”
    Doña Mariona Castany smiled again, offered us a second martini and lifted a cigarette to her lips and waited for Borja to offer her a light. My brother was quick to show off the gold lighter Merche had given him for his birthday. After a couple of drags, Mariona settled down on the sofa, toyed with a cushion, and began holding forth.
    â€œDear old Lídia is a nasty piece of work. And you know how I hate to run anybody down, but ...”
    â€œYou know that nothing you tell us will go beyond these walls,” Borja assured her.
    â€œYes, though everyone knows whatever I can tell you. Let’s see, where should I begin ... You could say Lídia is the sort that mistreats her staff and looks down on all and sundry. She doesn’t dare try that on with me, naturally ... She’s hoping one day she’ll wheedle me into letting her redecorate this old house of mine. She’s ambitious, much more so than her husband Lluís. And always has been.” Then added, as if confidentially: “When she was a youngster, she played that dirty trick on her step-sister Sílvia. The poor girl even attempted to commit suicide ...”
    â€œGood heavens!”
    â€œLots of people are gunning for her, and lots try to