Diamonds & Donuts Read online

  Miss Patty’s gallery was only a half a block up the street, and I saw the painting through the window. My breath caught in my throat.

  It was beautiful.

  Next thing I knew, I stood in front of it, not knowing exactly how I had gotten inside the showroom.

  An indigenous woman with thick, black hair braided down her back and wrapped in a bright, woven ribbon sat in a field of hydrangea bushes — the same periwinkle color of the hydrangeas by the back porch of my parents’ house. She wore a diamond and amethyst tiara, making her look like an ancient Incan princess. One side of her mouth curled up, and her eyes twinkled as Miss Patty’s had when she’d first told me about this painting. One of her eyebrows arched up slightly, looking like she wished to let me in on a mischievous secret. I nearly leaned in to hear it.

  “They call that a huango,” Miss Patty said. She’d been chattering nonstop since entering her gallery, but this was the first time I’d comprehended a word.

  “Huango?” I asked.

  “The way her hair is wrapped up.”

  “She’s beautiful. I love it.” I hoped it was in my price range because I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted another piece of art. It perfectly fused elements that reminded me of the home I grew up in and my new home here — fond memories and a hopeful future. My heart felt warm and fuzzy, and I had a difficult time pulling my eyes away from her to look at Miss Patty as she told me about the artist responsible for creating the garden princess.

  “His name is Eduardo. He’s a shy kid, and I’m trying to help him express himself and his unique way of seeing the world.”

  I looked at her quizzically.

  “Oh, Eduardo is a natural-born artist. He thinks in images. His perspective of his surroundings is unique — a gift which should not be hidden.”

  I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer. “Well, I love his work! It fills me with happy nostalgia and promise.”

  Miss Patty clapped her hands together. “You really get his vision! I’m so glad! She looks like she’s got a secret, doesn’t she? Eduardo named her Illari. That’s Light of Dawn in Quechua.”

  “It suits her.” Though it was a new name to me, I knew I wouldn’t forget it. Illari. What a lovely name. “How much are you asking?” I asked before I got more attached than I already was. The price would be hefty, but I counted on getting a break because Eduardo was as yet an unknown artist. Once his work was recognized, there was no way I could afford him.

  “Now, since you’re a friend and the painting isn’t framed yet, I’ll give you a special price. His other paintings have sold for five hundred each, but since this piece spoke to you, I’d be happy to chip in a little. What do you say to two hundred dollars?”

  It was too good to be true. “What about your commission? Are you sure that’s enough?” I knew when I was getting a steal of a deal. To attempt to haggle the price down further would be an insult (plus, I was really bad at it anyway).

  She wiggled her fingers dismissively. “I don’t take commissions on Eduardo’s paintings. He deserves every cent. Please, accept my offer, Jess. It would make me so happy to know one of his paintings has a worthy home where it’s appreciated.”

  “Then I’ll accept if you and Eduardo will come over for coffee and doughnuts as soon as the painting is framed and on my wall.”

  We shook on it.

  The front door burst open and a man with a red face barged in. He wore wrinkled slacks, an equally wrinkled white linen shirt, sunglasses, and a Panama hat with stains around the headband. He looked angry.

  “That’s my painting! I came to buy it!” He took off his sunglasses, pointing them at the hydrangea princess and pulling a wad of dollar bills out of his pocket.

  I stepped between him and Illari, feeling like I needed to protect her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she’s already sold.”

  “I have cash. I’ll pay in full. Five hundred dollars,” he ignored me, pushing the money at Miss Patty.

  My heart sank a little.

  He interrupted Miss Patty before she could give an answer. “You said you’d let me know when you had another. If you’re a woman of your word, you’ll take my money and let me have the painting.”

  That was a low blow. Struggling between my wish to keep my painting (which I hadn’t even paid for yet) and defending Miss Patty’s character, I widened my stance. I wouldn’t give Illari up easily.

  Miss Patty crossed her arms and huffed. “I offered to let you know when I got another painting. I never said I’d sell it to you. This young lady is a friend of mine and she clearly loves this piece. Art should be enjoyed by all, not horded by a few.”

  I concurred wholeheartedly with an affirmative jerk of my head. Take that, Angry Art Man.

  He pointed his sunglasses at Miss Patty. “I want his next one, and if you’d be so kind as to tell me who bought his previous works, I’d like to contact them.”

  Miss Patty closed the open ledger on her desk, dropping it in the drawer and closing it firmly. “I don’t share my clients’ information.”

  “I’ll pay in cash. Seven hundred per painting, plus an extra hundred for you if you’ll be my go-between.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”

  His eyes ran from her frizzy brown hair to her Birkenstock sandals, sizing her up. Miss Patty wasn’t dainty. And the look on her face discouraged further argument.

  Angry Art Man backed toward the door. With one more wave of his sunglasses, he said, “The next one is mine.” Then, he turned and left.

  I watched him until he turned down a side street. “Wow. He really likes those paintings. What’s his deal?” I asked.

  Miss Patty sighed, relaxing her arms at her sides. “He bought one a couple weeks ago, then he just showed up demanding more yesterday. He’s not a true lover of art. I can tell. I regret selling the painting to him.”

  Feeling a little guilty, I added, “But he did offer you a lot more money.”

  Holding up her hand, Miss Patty said, “Don’t feel guilty for buying the painting before he did. It suits you, and so you must have it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Don’t worry about me, honey. Eduardo is pleased with the extra income he’s earning, and I’ll make sure he gets what he needs. His work deserves to be seen and appreciated. That is what feeds inspiration, not money.” She sounded so much like my dad, I knew I’d be wasting my breath to argue with her. Plus, I really wanted the painting.

  I peeked out of the window. I had no desire to meet Angry Art Man on the street when I could avoid him, but I was itching to get Illari home.

  Agreeing to swing by later to pay, I waited a couple more minutes in Miss Patty’s gallery just to be on the safe side.

  Carefully, I carried my painting home, feeling like I was being watched all three blocks until I reached my street corner.

  The sensation was so strong, I paused before I reached my door, turning quickly. Angry Art Man flinched when our eyes met, and in an obvious attempt to prove he hadn’t been following me, he ducked into the store nearest him. Nice try, Dude. It was a tattoo and piercing parlor.

  I was tempted to stand there for a while just to see if he’d choose a ring or some ink. But I was too nice … and more than a little creeped out. It was a day for the crazies. First, Sal, and now this.

  Gripping my painting, I speed-walked to the security door of my building, bumping into Patricio when I tried to peek behind me.

  He grabbed me by my shoulders before I lost my balance completely. “Whoa, there, Jess. Where’s the fire?”

  Once the ground felt stable under my feet, I held Illari up to make sure I hadn’t hurt her.

  “I’m sorry. I was just trying to get this beauty home.” I looked down the street, but there was no sign of Angry Art Man.

  Patricio held out his hands. “Let me help you with that.”

  I hesitated. Then, realizing how silly I was, I handed her over, pleased when Patricio took a moment to admire
the artwork he held in his gentle hands.

  He smiled. “I was taking a little break from Abuelita. Now, I’m glad I did. This painting is exquisite. The lady looks real,” he said, adding, “like she’s going to tell you a grand secret someday.”

  “That’s what Miss Patty said. You have great taste,” I said, jogging up the stairs and flinging my door open for Patricio.

  He set the princess down gently, leaning her against the naked wall. Pulling a hammer out of a loop on his jeans, he dug inside his pocket and pulled out a nail. “Where do you want her?” he asked.

  After holding Illari up against every wall in my living room, we agreed she would be happiest on the wall above my couch (once I got one). It would feel like coming home to a friend when I opened my front door and saw her.

  That done, Patricio departed, and I stood back to admire my painting again. It needed a frame. I couldn’t leave it dangling crooked from a nail.

  Taking a couple of close-ups, I sent the pictures to my mom for frame ideas. Many an art piece was ruined by an ugly frame, and I wanted my princess to stay as perfect as she already was.

  She messaged me back almost instantly. She’s stunning! Keep it simple. Wooden frame with a chestnut finish.

  There was no time like the present. The frame shop wasn’t far.

  I took a peek out of my window to see if Angry Art Man was still hanging around. Once satisfied that the coast was clear, I stuffed two hundred dollars in my pocket for Miss Patty and made my way down the street to get my first piece of artwork framed.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning, I woke to the sun glaring across my pillow. I looked at my clock. Six thirty.

  I groaned, deciding to add curtains to the long list of things I still needed to buy for my apartment. I’m not a morning person — never have been, and even though I’d chosen a profession that guaranteed I’d be up before dawn every day (Oh, the irony!), I doubted I ever would be.

  After tossing and turning, trying to sneak in a few more precious minutes of slumber, I finally got up.

  I washed my grumpy pessimism down with a mug of coffee and, feeling much more optimistic about the day, I changed clothes and grabbed Lady’s leash. A walk before breakfast was just the thing. The streets would be quiet on a Sunday morning.

  Unfortunately for us both, I had turned down the street heading toward the waterfall at the other end of town before I saw Sal standing outside his bakery. I scrunched down and lengthened my stride, my gaze firmly set on a point beyond him. If we walked fast enough, maybe we could sneak past him unnoticed.

  “Ladrona,” he hissed as we walked by.

  I stopped, balling my fists on my hips. It was an insult to the three months of language classes I’d been taking for him to think I didn’t understand a simple Spanish word. “I know what that means, Sal.”

  “You steal my best worker, you steal my customers. I wonder what you’ll steal next.”

  Lady growled at him like a good girl, and I tugged on her leash. I knew she wouldn’t attack Sal, but I wanted him to think I was doing him a favor by holding her back. She wasn’t part German-Shepherd for nothing. “Steady, Girl,” I added for good measure.

  Sal took a step back, albeit with a lot less force so as not to provoke my furry and fierce protector. Stubbornly, he repeated, “Ladrona.”

  Seriously? The man didn’t know when to stop. “Maybe you’d hang onto your customers if you used real ingredients instead of cheap replacements.”

  “I’m not the problem. Business was great until you moved into town.”

  “How is that even possible? I used to buy bread from you when Martha worked here.”

  “You push people’s buttons.”

  “What?” Did he even know what that meant?

  “You push my buttons,” he added.

  “If I am it’s because I’m looking for your mute button.” Shazam! Another zinger! Too bad no one else was around to hear it. Figures.

  To drive my point home, I added, “And I didn’t steal Martha. You lost her. That’s on you, Sal.”

  He grumbled, retreating into his bakery when an unsuspecting tourist with her nose buried in a map wandered into his shop.

  Too riled for the easy stroll to the cascade, I turned to the mountainside flanking the length of town, looking for a trail. I needed to climb.

  Halfway up the footpath, my heart thundering in my ears and my breath an inch shy of gasping heaves, I paused to look over my town. Trees blocked the view, so we continued up. Lady trotted alongside me like our hike up the mountain ridge was nothing more than a leisurely ramble, but I comforted myself that I had to work twice as hard as she did because she had twice as many legs to help her up the steep grade.

  Elation held me upright when we finally reached the top. My legs quivered and burned, but the view was priceless.

  I looked down at Baños from our perch at the peak of the precipice. It was my town now. It was my home. And a charming place it was. A traveler’s haven brimming with artisans, retired expats, and people drawn to the laid-back, happy atmosphere nestled in the valley at the base of the imposing Andes Mountains. As if that wasn’t cool enough, the Amazon jungle was only a bike ride away. That was a trip I’d like to take someday. So long as I rode faster than the mosquitoes flew. My daddy always said I was sweet, but the local insects didn’t need to agree with him so enthusiastically.

  It was difficult to be stressed out about anything when the balmy breeze smelled like tropical fruit and fresh baked bread (not Sal’s), ruffling the hammocks hanging in the shade of avocado trees.

  Taking a deep breath, I let my surroundings work their enchantment on me.

  If my only trouble was Sal and a creepy guy obsessed with my painting, then I still had it pretty good. Angry Art Man had probably gone by now anyway. That just left Sal, and I was pretty sure I could handle him.

  My rumbling stomach encouraged a quick return home. I was sure Lady had worked up an appetite too. We made it down the trail in half the time it had taken to climb up it, sweaty and covered in dust for our haste.

  First, I’d feed Lady. Then, I’d take a nice, hot shower before heading to Sylvia’s to see if she had any more of the fruit salad she’d made the day before. I could live off that stuff.

  Dreaming about pineapple, mandarins, and mangoes topped with homemade granola and honey-sweetened yogurt, I came to an abrupt halt when Lady growled. Her ears perked up, and she sniffed the air.

  I didn’t see Sal anywhere around.

  Her hackles rose when I opened the door of our building.

  Something was wrong.

  Slowly and quietly, we crept up the stairs to my apartment. Adi’s door was undisturbed. I paused to listen for trouble, but Lady pulled against her leash as she continued up the stairwell to my apartment.

  My heart pounded against my ribs as hard as it had during our earlier uphill climb. I shivered, the hair on my arms standing on end.

  When we reached the top of the landing, I dropped Lady’s leash, my hands clasping over my mouth. My door swung ajar from its hinges, the wood splintered where it had been forced open.

  Someone had broken into my apartment.

  I listened for any noise signaling me that the burglar was still inside, but I couldn’t hear anything over my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears. Oh my goodness, what if the criminal was still inside?

  Lady’s nose twitched as she stretched her neck forward, her ears flicked back and forth. When she dashed inside, I lunged for her leash, but I was too late.

  Left with no other option but to go after her, I followed.

  Standing in the middle of my living room, I looked around to see if anything was stolen. It was an easy feat accomplished in one quick scan because I had nothing to steal. My beat-up laptop was still on the counter by my coffee maker. It didn’t look pretty, but it was a beast under the chassis.

  My e-reader was still on the pillow in my bedroom. With its unimposing cover, it didn’t draw much attentio
n. Thank goodness! After what I’d been through to recover it, I wouldn’t take its loss lying down.

  Opening the closet doors, I pulled out the middle dresser drawer, feeling for the envelope with my passport and emergency cash stash taped to the back. It was still there.

  Nothing was missing. Not one thing.

  I was grateful Illari was at the frame shop. She was the prettiest thing I owned.

  The thief had probably taken one look at my place and turned around in a cloud of disappointment at seeing nothing worth stealing. It was then I realized I’d probably ruined the crime scene, sad scene that it was.

  I tiptoed out of my apartment, going down to Adi’s to call the police. It felt odd not to be able to close the door.

  Lady stuck with me, and I appreciated her loyalty. The thought of a stranger invading my home gave me the heebie-jeebies. It made me not want to go anywhere alone ever again. Then again, hiding out in my apartment wasn’t as safe as I’d thought it was either.

  Adi’s hair was still wet from a shower, which explained why she hadn’t heard anything. She liked to blast her latest song obsession on repeat while she got ready for the day. When I told her what had happened, she didn’t believe me until she looked up the stairs and saw my smashed door.

  “You call the police station, and I’ll make us some coffee,” she said, shoving me into a chair and handing me the phone. “No wonder you’re trembling. I’d be scared out of my mind, too,” she said, pouring water and coffee grounds into her French press and handing Lady a dog biscuit.

  Adi saw to more important matters … like drying her hair and putting on some makeup before Gus could appear.

  At least she’d seen to the coffee first. Priorities.

  My call was brief, so I leaned my head against the back of the chair and tried to calm down. Just because my home had been violated didn’t mean it would happen again. The odds of that happening were so small, they didn’t merit much thought.