The threats written to Viktoria fluttered around the residents like confetti.
“Who would write something so vile to you, Viktoria?” Pauline asked, horrified.
“I thought of María José, Ted, and you,” the German mother replied in an emotionless tone.
“Me?” the French woman snapped, her cheeks flushed.
“Yes. I told you I had three suspects.”
“But why would I threaten you?”
“Because I talk to your husband from time to time.”
“Why would that bother me?”
“I don’t know. Everything bothers you,” Viktoria threw in one last jab.
“That’s not true!” Pauline fumed.
“You’re angry now, too.”
“Because you’re provoking me!”
“That’s enough,” Ted cut them off sharply. “We’ve got enough problems already—we don’t need a catfight on top of it.”
Meanwhile, the man with the Coke bottle glasses nervously wiped down the box that contained his notes.
“What’s in there?” Adrian reached for the container. “Let’s open it together—just in case something jumps out of that one, too.”
“This is mine,” Ted barked.
“Okay, man, calm down! I’m just trying to help.”
“Help yourself,” Ted hissed through gritted teeth.
He snatched up the box and stormed off toward his house.
At the same time, Carlos was trying to figure out who might have sneaked into his garage without being noticed. Disturbing thoughts crept into his mind: Maybe he didn’t realize there had been a break-in because he simply wasn’t home at the time? And what if someone—or some people—had been wandering in and out of his house whenever they pleased? He had to finally admit to himself: this wasn’t the first time the question had crossed his mind. But, of course, he had always brushed it off. After all, he was the private investigator, the former secret agent, the one with decades of experience in silent break-ins! So who could it be—someone living in this community—that he hadn’t spotted yet or hadn’t taken seriously enough?
It couldn’t possibly be Ted. That guy’s nervous system was in such bad shape, he would never pull off a proper break-in. Besides, Carlos had no doubt Ted was hiding from something. That man hadn’t come to the island for the sunshine. The guy with the Coke bottle glasses had definitely fled to Calle la Rosa to escape the law.
At least this morning’s chaos served one purpose: Carlos finally realized it was time to pull his head out of the sand and take action. His eyes swept over the residents once more. But this time, everyone seemed suspicious. Viktoria—harmless moms don’t usually receive threatening letters. Günter—way too calm and simple-minded. Ludmilla and Israel—a bizarre pairing, unless it’s just a cover. María José—there’s something shifty in her eyes. The French-American couple—it’s obvious from a mile away they’re hiding something. Dajana and Adrian—just by looking at them, you could tell they’re capable of anything. And the Dutch couple… yeah, they were definitely involved in this. At least, as the triggering factor. Since their diving suit was also lying on the inflatable armchair, they probably weren’t the culprits, but they were connected to it somehow. Carlos suspected they were clumsy, small-time criminals, but he still hadn’t figured out what exactly they were involved in. He pictured them as low-level smugglers or petty financial fraudsters.
He took a sip of his now-cold coffee, grimaced, and set the cup back on the table. Oh well, his stomach had already tightened from all the excitement anyway. It was time to act—he would put an end to this madness in a matter of days. Ted, and the Dutch too, would have to answer for this.