experienced. Wryly, I thought to myself how awful it would be if Eduardo turned out to be some long lost Spanish cousin.
When we arrived at the inn, Eduardo seemed reluctant to let me go. Slowly, he turned the engine off and unclicked his seatbelt. “Let me walk you inside.”
“I’ll be okay. It’s broad daylight…”
“I’m walking you inside,” he asserted as I shut my mouth and let him come around to the passenger side to open my door.
Passing by the reception area, we waved simultaneously to the owner who reciprocated with a wide, knowing smile. He probably assumed that Eduardo and I were lovers, which was exactly what I wanted if I were being truthful with myself. But it was much too soon for that kind of intimacy. Besides, we could be cousins, right?
At the door to my room, Eduardo lingered, towering over me and drawing closer until his lips were hovering centimeters above mine. Oh, how much sweeter it would be to kiss him now than after those potent garlic chili shrimp. This was the perfect moment, and the chemistry crackled so fiercely that I knew there was no way he could be anywhere in my bloodline.
“I guess I should go,” Eduardo whispered as his breath touched my face.
“Not yet,” I ordered softly, standing on my toes in an open invitation for a kiss.
Tenderly, deliciously, and much too briefly, he kissed my lips. Crackling chemistry turned explosive in the fleeting moment that our mouths touched. Just as I was twining my arms around his neck to bring him closer, he started to pull away.
“I better let you get some rest,” he said reluctantly. “How about breakfast tomorrow?”
“I would love that,” I breathed.
“Good. I’ll come by around 8:30. Sleep in a little bit.” Eduardo placed a hand over my cheek and stroked my skin softly before hesitantly walking away.
***
Two hours later, I awoke from a well earned nap, stretching and yawning in bed. That brief space of unconsciousness had been necessary for me to refresh and not think about the investigation. Not think about anything. But now I was wide awake and wired even without a caffeine jolt. Grabbing a spiral notebook and sharpened pencil from my suitcase, I jotted down the names of the three prime suspects in my aunt’s murder. Next to their names, I recorded my gut instincts about their involvement in the crime.
Marcelo Sanchez . Sad old man, bitter, lonely, dejected. Not likely the perpetrator. Jorge Canton, Sr . Highly suspect. Shady family. Detective Mendez, please do your job and figure this family out. David Garcia . A wild card. As a cheating married man, he had more motive than anyone else. But did he do it?
All roads seemed to lead back to Jorge Canton, Sr., but I couldn’t establish a motive. Yet. Then my line of thinking shifted to other possible suspects. The murder hadn’t been overly violent or gruesome. The weapon of choice had been a pillow. Perhaps that meant that the smothering had been carried out by a woman who might have been squeamish about the sight of blood? But I wasn’t sure if that theory held much weight. After all, how squeamish could a murderer be? Supposing the murderer had been a woman, though, opened up a whole new Pandora’s Box of suspects. David Garcia’s scorned wife could have been the murderer. Perhaps Jorge Canton, Sr., had been dating multiple women and one of them had become enraged with jealousy over his relationship with Aunt Silvia.
I sighed in massive frustration, feeling like I was a hamster running around on a wheel that wouldn’t stop. Ripping the page out of my notebook and crumpling it up, I leaned back against the pillows and stared listlessly up at the ceiling. As I was contemplating how to spend the rest of the long, lonely day until nightfall, my cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand.
“Hello?” I held my breath, hoping to hear Detective Mendez’s voice on