The Plaza de Toros was at the end of a long street lined with pubs and restaurants. The cab dropped us off in front, but the aroma of calamari and potatoes frying that came from a nearby bodega nearly detoured Dad.
I pulled on his shirtsleeve and directed him toward the main door of the plaza. The entrance was large enough for horses and carriages to enter and above the door was a central balcony decorated with wrought-iron metalwork. On either side of the balcony were two tall Tuscan columns with the royal shield of Spain in the center, bordered by Baroque edging that depicted images of bullfights.
“Wow,” Dad said as we entered the ring. “This is amazing!”
There was a matador in the center of the ring, dressed in a white shirt, gold close-fitting tights, and a short red jacket that had rich embroidery and sequins. The matador waved a red cape, and Dad looked around nervously.
“Are we sure a bull’s not going to pop out of nowhere and charge at us?” he asked.
As we rushed toward the matador, Kyle snickered. He ran ahead of us and positioned himself for the next shot.
When we approached the matador, I realized it was a woman. She must be Carmen, but she had a rather surprised expression on her face.
“Hello! We’re here for the clue!” I said.
Her expression turned from surprised to confused. “Clue?” she asked, with a heavy Spanish accent. “I’m sorry?”
“The clue,” Dad said.
She blinked thick black eyelashes at us. She was breathtakingly beautiful and I knew instantly why Cheryl had hired her. “Are you Carmen?” I asked.
“Carmen? No. I am Monica.”
Dad frowned. “We’re looking for a clue. We’re on the show Expedition Improbable.”
A moment of recognition crossed her face as she looked from Dad and me over to the camera Kyle had fixed on her. “The show? The American show that everyone in Jaca is talking about?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kyle smirking and I knew something was wrong.
“Have you come to film me?” Monica asked. She raised a coquettish shoulder at the camera. “Because I am a woman matador. There are few of us. Will you put me on American TV?”
“No, no, no.” I turned to Dad.
“Is it because we are reopening the ring for the first time this summer after the ETA attack? Have you come to do a story on that?”
“This is a mistake,” I said. “We made a mistake. Let me see the clue again.”
At this, Kyle laughed outright.
I glared at him. “Shut up! If you’re not going to help you can just—”
“Georgia!” Dad admonished me. “It’s not his fault. Let’s just take a look.” He dug around his pocket for the clue.
“Maybe I can help,” Monica said. “What are you looking for?”
Dad pulled the clue of his pocket. “At the bodega find your bullring and enjoy a calimocho with Carmen,” Dad read.
Monica laughed. “Ah! It’s like a scavenger hunt, no? I know because my cousin’s, cousin’s, second cousin’s, brother-in-law is working on the show.”
“What?” Dad asked.
Monica smiled. “My cousin Maria Fernada’s cousin, Maria Juliana, has a second cousin, Juan Gabriel, who is married to Harrieta—”
“You had to ask,” I said to Dad.
“And Harrieta is Juan Jose’s sister. Juan Jose works on your show, no?”
Dad looked at me, confused. “I didn’t hear a Carmen in there, did you?”
Monica laughed. “Carmen owns the bodega across the street. Come, I will show you.”
Dad and I nearly flew out of the bullring, although we were slowed down because of my ankle. As we crossed through the main gate, Monica pointed to one of the Tuscan columns. She indicated new plaster at the base. “This is what we had to reconstruct last year after the bomb.”
We exited the plaza and in front of us was the bodega with the aromatic frying foods. Dad smiled, despite himself. “My nose knows!” he said, happily.
Monica ignored him and continued. “It’s terrible what ETA does. I told Juan Jose not to get involved with that woman Annabelle . . . or AnnaLuisa? Anna, whatever, it doesn’t matter now.”
I froze.
Annalise?
Suddenly we saw Cooper and Todd dart out of the bodega. They were startled to see us and Cooper waved madly, a large gold bull ring in his hand.
“See ya later, suckers!” Todd yelled, as they dashed to the corner to hail a cab.
Dad grabbed my arm, but I shook him off. “Wait, wait. What did you just say?” I asked Monica.
She frowned. “About what?”
“Juan Jose and Annalise? Was it a woman named Annalise?”
“¡Sí! He was in love with that woman from ETA. Somebody killed her and I can’t say that I’m sorry.”
• • •
Dad wanted to rush into the bodega, have a calimocho with Carmen, and get the bullring, but I remained frozen in place.
Juan Jose?
Could it be that he’d killed Annalise?
If he had been in love with her, it didn’t seem likely, but what did he know that he hadn’t told us?
“Come on,” Dad said, pulling me forward.
“I need to talk to Juan Jose,” I said.
“Later!” Dad insisted. “Come on, Cooper and Todd aren’t that far ahead of us, we can still win this thing.”
Inside the bodega, there was a transgenerational mix of an old crowd playing cards along with young families eating tapas. The bar was so dark in contrast to the bright daylight that Kyle had to boost the light on his camera. The light didn’t seem to bother the people at the bar much, as Cooper and Todd’s cameraman had probably done the same.
There was a musky smell in the bar that made me want to root myself to a bar stool and hibernate.
The woman behind the counter smiled expectantly and quirked a finely shaped eyebrow at us. “¿Calimocho?”
“Carmen?” Dad asked.
“Sí,” she said, filling two glasses with ice and mixed red wine and cola together.
“Do you have a bull ring for us?” I asked.
“Sí,” she said, “but first enjoy!” She pushed the calimochos in front of us and suddenly someone with a guitar began to strum and sing a folk song.
Dad downed his drink. “That hit the spot! Do we have to stay for the show in order to get the ring?”
“I think so. It must be someone’s cousin’s, cousin’s, somebody that cut a deal with Cheryl when she was out drinking yesterday with Becca, Kyle, and Harris.”
Dad laughed. “Well, do you think I can at least have some fried potatoes?”
“Don’t order food. I’ll kill you if we lose the competition because you were sitting here stuffing your face instead of having your head in the game.”
Dad looked longingly at the card game going on near us and eyed their plate of jamón serrano. “Drink your cali-whatever. It’s not bad,” he said.
I pushed it toward him. “You can have it. Let’s wrap this up, I want to find Juan Jose and talk to him.”
Dad polished off my calimocho, just as the singer finished his solo.
We applauded, then looked at Carmen. She smiled and handed us the gold ring.
INT. BODEGA DAY
Cooper is smiling good-naturedly at the camera. He is dressed in a white shirt and chinos. He sits in the chair with his back to the wood paneled wall. He is holding a tall tumbler filled with dark liquid. In the background faint Spanish guitar music plays.
COOPER
(Sips the drink) I’m Cooper Bowman. One of the contestants on Expedition Improbable. I’m competing with my buddy Todd Nelson. He’s a strange cat, I know, but I put up with him and he puts up with me. Not that he hasn’t pissed me off this trip, but . . .
(shrugs) Winning this game is important for me. I have some bills . . . well, the wife and I . . . ex-wife? (shrugs again in a repeated fashion) I don’t know what to call her anymore. Expect that it’s over and she’s taken everything! Not that she doesn’t deserve it, cuz she does, but then . . . (He sips his drink.) I gotta earn some money for me. That’s all. And I can do it. This here race is going to put us over the top.
(He switches positions in the chair and grimaces.)
CAMERAMAN (O.S.)
You okay, Cooper?
COOPER
Oh, yeah, yeah. It’s only the old football injury; sometimes it rears its ugly head. I just wish I had my pain med . . . (He stops suddenly as if he recalled something disturbing.) Uh, never mind. I’m fine.