“Doesn’t María José have some kind of pantry or storage room?” Esteban scratched his head.
“Every house has a small room downstairs, next to the entrance. Why do you ask?” Ludmilla asked, surprised.
“I thought maybe the kidnapper hid something there—something they didn’t want left in plain sight.”
“What exactly are you thinking of?”
“Like that bag she had with her the night she went out to dinner with Carlos.”
“You really think a kidnapper would bother with something like that? Why would they?”
“It’s less risky to hide something at the victim’s house than to throw it in the trash. Anyone could search a bin.”
“There’s some truth to that,” Ludmilla nodded appreciatively.
Esteban gestured for the German woman to lead the way to the storage room, silently hoping they would actually find something there. On the one hand, he wanted to finally get closer to solving the case; on the other, he couldn’t help but want to impress Ludmilla.
“Well, would you look at that…” Ludmilla marveled when the door wouldn’t budge. “Why is this locked?”
She jiggled the handle. It wouldn’t open.
“Let me try.”
In an instant, Esteban was at the lock. He pulled a folding tool from his pocket and, with one swift movement, slipped it into the keyhole. The door immediately gave way.
Ludmilla watched, mouth agape.
But just as Esteban was about to step inside, the elderly woman suddenly blocked his way, holding him back with her arm.
“Wait, Esteban…” she panted, her voice filled with excitement. “What if there really is something hidden in there? Something that’s better left untouched…”
The man froze. He looked deep into Ludmilla’s eyes, as if trying to read exactly what she was thinking. Was there perhaps something she herself didn’t want Esteban to find? Some shared secret the two friends were hiding?
For a few seconds, heart and reason fought a fierce battle. In the end, reason triumphed over the love-starved heart.
“Please step aside. I have to go in,” Esteban said, his voice warm and velvety. “Even if there’s something compromising inside. The most important thing is finding our friends—alive, if possible.”
The words “alive, if possible” hit Ludmilla like an electric shock. Her hand dropped limply to her thigh, her head sank forward, and she stepped aside with weightless steps.
Esteban pushed open the half-closed door.
It took him minutes to process what he was actually seeing. The storage room was crammed full of all sorts of things: towels, flip-flops, rubber balls, decorative cushions, clothing items, a box of jewelry, another box of coasters, spice jars, menus, glasses, hairbrushes—and a thin jacket. Not just any jacket: his own feather-light windbreaker that he’d lost months earlier—and had been annoyed about ever since. How many times had he cursed himself for managing to lose it!
So that’s why the storage room was locked. And that’s why Ludmilla had tried to keep him away from it. The old woman had wanted to protect María José’s secret. The fact that she was a kleptomaniac—one who stole the most absurd objects from the people around her and from every place she’d been over the years.
Ludmilla trembled. If it was even possible, Esteban found the woman even more attractive now—this woman who seemed so cold on the outside but had such a tender heart inside. He was touched by the gentle care she showed for María José. Instinctively, he reached for Ludmilla’s hand. He cupped her wrinkled, yet surprisingly soft palm between his own, and gently pulled it toward his chest.
“Don’t worry for a second…” he whispered tenderly. “Your friend’s secret is safe with me.”
Ludmilla looked up at him, flustered, as if she didn’t quite understand what he meant. Then a flicker of relief crossed her face.
“María José’s secret…” she murmured. “Yes. Hers. Only hers…”