Chapter 9 Thalia
The next day, Ariella and I help Enrique decorate for Dia de Los Muertos. The hotel already gives Halloween all year with the skull décor, but we always buy fresh Marigolds for the entire month of October. It is a chore to replace the flowers every week, but we are faithful to the traditions of my grandmother, traditions she started when Calavera Hotels was nothing more than a bed-and-breakfast.
It was a dream of mine to get into real estate and start a string of spooky AirBnB’s across the West Coast. The more I grow lonely inside the walls of Calavera, the more I daydream about the idea of venturing out. Which is why I agreed to my three o’clock meeting.
I leave Ariella to finish the decorating while I make my way back to my office. My guest is waiting for me at the front desk.
“Se?or Gallardo, come on in.”
Fellipe Gallardo has spent the last three months hounding me about a business proposal. He is a well-established realtor in Houston, as well as the owner of a small investment firm. I lead the way up the stairs by the front desk, and Fellipe follows behind me. He takes in the dark décor. I had opted for dark green walls to contrast the purple of the wandering jew plants and lilies placed strategically throughout the room. All the black furniture and obscure art pieces had been handpicked by me.
Well, except for whatever the hell Ariella had going on in the corner that I lent her. Fellipe’s brows furrow when he recognizes the out-of-place bright pink everything.
“My cousin is interning here as my personal assistant,” I say to explain why it looks like death everywhere else but her little corner. It looks like the Trolls movie shit all over the place.
Once he’s done taking in the room, he takes me in as well. His eyes roam from my eyes to the black lace blouse I’m wearing, over the tattoos that cover my chest and arms, all the way down to the black open-toe Louboutin’s I’m wearing today. His scan is quick and casual, but when his eyes reach mine again, I offer him a less than casual smile.
“Mrs. Macias, thank you for finding time for me.” I choke on the air. It had been a very long time since anyone called me that. I take my seat behind the desk and motion for him to sit.
“Macias was my late husband’s name. It’s Consuelo, now.”
“My deepest apologies, Miss Consuelo.” He sticks out his hand, and I offer him mine. He is an attractive man, around his mid-forties, single and childless. His peppered hair is combed over neatly, his glasses sit on a straight nose, and straight white teeth. He’s every woman’s silver foxed fantasy, but I know better than to mix business with pleasure. Even if the pleasure part was acting itself out in my head—visions of his naked body slamming into mine over this very desk. Why must I have the sex drive of an Australian mouse?
“I wanted to discuss some of your assets left behind from your late husband. Are you aware you have over twelve thousand acres in Tamaulipas?” He hands me a piece of paper. Here we go.
A knot forms in my chest when I see the land he is talking about. It belongs to the Macias family, and I had inherited a small portion of it when Silas was pronounced dead. This is the property my father wanted me to hand over to him. In my defiance, I held off on claiming anything Silas had left behind. It was my first step in reclaiming the power my father had taken from me. I stare at the blueprint on the paper. Fellipe clears his throat.
“I have a client willing to pay you triple the price for the land.”
I continue to skim over the paper, but all the letters are a blur to me. Maybe this is a sign.
“What are your client’s plans for the land?” I ask.
“At the moment, they wish to restore the home and fertilize the land with crops and animals. They want to help feed the local homeless population.”
I’ve never even seen the property, so I’m not sure what it looks like. I’ve waited a few years to see if Josefina would turn up to claim the land, but she never did. The property is like a thorn in my side. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want or need it, but I also can’t let it go.
A few years ago, I purchased a plane ticket but canceled the trip last minute. The land is not mine. I have no right to it, but I also know there is one person out there who does have the right to it, and it will one day be her decision whether or not she wants it.
“To be honest, Mr. Gallardo, I haven’t seen the property for myself, so I would rather make a trip out to see it first before I make a big decision like this.”
“Of course. I just know the offer is there.” I nod and lean forward. His eyes drop to my cleavage briefly before finding my narrowed eyes.
“How did your client find out about the property?”
“I didn’t ask, but I would be willing to find out. We could discuss it over dinner?” He stands up and offers another firm handshake before placing a business card on my desk. I lean back in my chair, starting the rocking motion. The more I feel like these threats are closing in on me, the more unsettled I become. I am tired of being strong. I want to rest. I want someone to take care of me for a change. A light knock comes to the door.
“Come in.” A smile grows when I see my friend step in.
“Who was that?” Alma says. She stares at the door, then wiggles her eyebrows at me.
“Some hot shot investor, trying to wine and dine me.” I flip Fellipe’s business card in my fingers. Her expression turns grave as she looks down at the small box in her hands.
“Here. I didn’t want to say anything, but this was sent for you today,” she mutters. I grab the small box, examining it. It is a small, black coffin-shaped box tied shut with a red ribbon. Alma closes her eyes as I remove the ribbon and open the box. Inside, I find a dismembered finger along with a small rolled up note.
The next man who puts his hands on you will lose more than a finger. I don’t make threats, diablita, I make promises .