Dressed in White Read online

  Santa Barbara is crowded, as usual. Between the regular workers, the residents, and the tourists it’s busy. I find a place to park three blocks away. That’s fine. I’ve eaten, I can walk. There’s the shop, tucked into a little old building. This was here before trendiness hit the area.

  The 6-foot sign is dark, weathered wood, but the CUBANO’S script in gold lettering looks carefully maintained. Lion silhouettes are burned into the wood, along with a fancy border. It looks like a lid from a wooden cigar box, and it sets the tone for the snug and well used shop.

  The door is open, both inviting guests, and letting in the fresh ocean air. It is reasonably easy to breathe inside. They must have a vent system.

  A big man greets me. I wonder if he’s the equivalent of the Walmart greeter. Since he’s at the door, I bet it keeps grabbers from walking in, grabbing a bottle of spirits and exiting at a run. “Welcome to Cubano’s. Is there something I can help you find?”

  “Hi. Yes, I’m meeting friends here.”

  “The lounge is to your left, they could also be in the humidor.” he indicates the different rooms.

  “Thanks. I’ll have a look around.”

  The shop is lined with shelves. Floor to ceiling with bottles of rum, scotch, and brandy—all with gorgeous labels and colorful liquid. It isn’t just row after row of the same stuff. There are so many options, each bottle looks like it’s the only one.

  An old-time Cigar sign in red tube lights catches my eye. It’s behind a glass door containing thousands of cigars. I open the door, step in, and close it behind me. Wow, it smells like wood and tobacco plants. It’s a clean, forest-like smell. Open boxes with perfectly made cigars are there for the aficionado’s perusal. It’s like a farmer’s market where the fruit speaks to you, and you have so many flavor options. I wonder how you choose.

  There are small wood boxes from Nicaragua, Honduras, and the Dominican Republic. Actually, I love the boxes. I wonder what I could do with them. The cigars themselves aren’t my thing, but…

  “Jessica! Thank you for coming!” Alyssa dashes in the door.

  “Hi, Alyssa.” I open my across the shoulder purse and pull out her necklace. I don’t even do the ta-da here it is, kind of thing. She looks too fragile for that.

  “I never thought I’d see it again. How can I thank you?” Her voice wavers.

  “I’m glad to get it back to you.”

  “I have to show Matthew! He was so nice about it.” She looks excited.

  “You have a good man.” I put my hand out to stop her dashing off. “Be careful wearing it, the spring ring is twisted open.”

  “Oh, thanks,” she hurries away.

  I take another appreciative breath in the giant humidor. Their vent system is pumping in moist air to keep the cigars from drying out. My skin likes it too. I absolutely love this room. It smells like my grandmother’s cellar where she stored apples for the winter—fruity and woody.

  That story ended well, and it justified their generous tip. I step out to the smoky front room and remember the surgeon general’s warning. It’s a meeting place for guys to hang out and get cancer, but every pursuit has its drawbacks. Many people have been hurt around horses too.

  The sun is warm on my face, and the ocean air is fresh on my skin. It’s a good day to be here. What should I do now? I could take a walk on the beach? Dip my toes in the water, and, and what? I’ll start with that and see what happens.

  My phone dings an incoming text: “Where are you?”

  “Here.”

  “You are?”

  “Yup.”

  “No you aren’t.”

  I won’t reply until I get better info. That’s more than enough for a text with a strange number.

  The phone goes back into my pocket. When the traffic light turns green, I cross.

  “Jessica, wait up,” a man calls out, behind me.

  Oh, it’s Matthew. I head back a few steps.

  “I’m glad I caught you. You left before we could thank you.” He’s looks concerned.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help.”

  “Do you have time? Can we offer you a cigar, or a glass of Port?”

  “I was only going for walk on the beach. Port sounds nice.” It will give me something interesting to do.

  He leads the way past the wall of liquor bottles to a more private room. It’s darker and the smoke is heavier. Alyssa is sitting with their other friends. I think I remember their names but I’m not positive.

  “You remember Clint and Viviana?” He stands, and she waves.

  “Yes, hello again.” I’m glad he told me. That wasn’t what I remembered. I kept thinking Venetia.

  “Have my chair, I’ll sit with Alyssa,” he directs me to the brown club chair. I take a seat and sink into the leather. The worn arms have seen many a day. He leaves to get my sweet drink.

  “I’m sorry for running out, I didn’t think you’d leave.”

  “That’s okay, I’m fine with it.” I smile, no hard feelings. I didn’t expect a friendship.

  Matthew returns, “Here you go. It’s a 30-year-old Taylor Fladgate. The girls are drinking it—I hope you like it.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I will,” I take a sniff and softly say, “Rich and fruity.” After a sip, “Mmm, smooth and nuanced—this is wonderful.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Would you like a stick? I’m enjoying Hoyo De Monterrey.” He respectfully examines the cigar between his fingers.

  “No, but thanks for asking.”

  Alyssa leans over, “The boys like the camaraderie in cigar shops. They claim it gets them in touch with their masculine side after being with us for a few days.”

  “Does the cigar have any flavor? The room over there smells great.”

  Both men look at their cigars the way a mother looks at her baby. “It’s mellow with almond flavors that move into honey and graham cracker.”

  Yeah, I can see he’s hooked on them.

  Clint has to rave about his. “Mine is a Montecristo. It was Cigar of the Year in 2006, and years later it’s even better. Now it’s sweet and nutty, but there’s still a rich, earthiness of leather and coffee.” He’s glowing with compliments over his choice of smoke.

  “Cigars improve with age? They don’t just turn to dust and go flavorless?” I wonder aloud.

  “Absolutely, they’re like fine wine. If you treat them right, they get better with age. It begins with fermentation. Then the blender decides which leaves he wants in his cigar. He’ll introduce the amount of flavor he wants to impart.”

  “That’s interesting. So you can choose the flavor and other things…” I don’t know how else to choose one.

  The girls are talking between themselves, they don’t care about this cigar-talk. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He stands and waits for me to bring my Port. This may be interesting.

  I grab a Cigar Aficionado magazine from the table as we head to the humidor room, back to Granny’s basement. I’m glad I don’t mention Granny. Especially when he begins with “This Churchill is elegant and stately.” He picks up a commanding sized cigar.

  “What flavors do you actually taste?” This is smoke, not food. I don’t really believe it.

  “I don’t notice the specific flavor. I’m not an expert yet. Sometimes I want a Churchill because they last over an hour, and they have a commanding presence.” He pulls a brochure from the shelf and reads, “The flavors vary from molasses and brown sugar, from chocolate malted with sour apple, to caramel and wood.”

  I flip open the magazine with a good looking manly-man on the cover. The subtitle reads “The Good Life Magazine for Men.” So that’s the gig.

  “Why do you smoke if the flavor isn’t the reason? Is it like wine, where it makes you feel like you’re doing something decadent?”

  He pauses with a thoughtful look, “It’s a time for me to relax, hang out with friends, and treat myself after a hard week… or day,” he chuckles.

  “I love the boxes. Th
ey’re beautiful. The art and the way the logo is burned into the wood makes them seem special. I wouldn’t know how to choose.”

  “I try them until I find the ones I like. Some are full-bodied, and will give you a nicotine buzz for a half-hour. Others are milder. What I smoke depends on my mood, and if I want something with a bite.”

  “Is price an indication of quality?” It looks like they start at $3.99 and go to $16.99. I bet these are the basic ones. Like a good wine, or a good anything, these are the everyday ones.

  “Partially, but there are some good ones that don’t cost a lot.” He looks from the cigar between his fingers to me, “Are you sure you wouldn’t you like to try one?” He sounds eager.

  “I don’t think so, but thanks. I like the idea of treating yourself. But I don’t believe I’ll taste chocolate and honey in smoke.”

  “You know, they plant tobacco in former coffee and sugar cane fields. The leaves pick up the nuances from the soil.”

  I think he’s trying to make me believe it’ll taste like a cup of coffee mixed with hot chocolate. Nope, I don’t think so.

  “It’s like a wine with the aroma of berries, or chocolate. Then the fermentation process enhances other flavors. But if you really want chocolate, I think it’s best to grab a bar of it.” I giggle to let him know I’m not slamming his joy of the cigar—and I take a sip of the Port. Which is sweet, thick, and luscious.

  As I follow him out the door, I realize the whole industry—from fermenting, blending, and rolling, to smoking has become an art. Excellent marketing has convinced men that a stick with tequila or Port shows style. Interesting. I’ll have to keep my eye out for things I do that could fall into that category…

  ... Horses.

  10

  The Text

  The smoking room has a few more people, and I seem to have lost my seat. It isn’t a problem, another two sips, and I’ll have finished my drink.

  Alyssa and Viviana are perching on the same chair, looking upset. Clint is leaning back, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He sees Matthew and his expression perks up.

  Hmm, is a dispute brewing? I’ll make my exit.

  Alyssa looks up with hope in her eyes. “Darling! Melani just texted me… This time she knows Tony is having an affair.

  “Ladies, I’m not getting involved in your little world. You stay out of mine, and I stay out of yours,” his tone shows disinterest.

  “No you don’t understand—she accidentally saw his new text. It came up on his screen when he was in the bathroom. She—

  “I’m not listening.” He waves to Clint, “Come on, bro.” They hurry to the backgammon table.

  “Jessica, maybe you can help?”

  “Me?” Oh no.

  “Wait, not like that. Maybe you can be the impartial person?” She springs up and shows me her phone.

  “Yeah… I guess I can offer my opinion, without knowing the players involved.”

  “That makes it better,” she nods.

  Viviana jumps up, and suddenly I know I’m involved in their little world for a while. “Let’s go outside, it’s quieter, and not so smoky,” she waves her hands in front of her nose.

  I guess when you’re with men who smoke you’re stuck with it.

  I’m closest to the door, so I lead the way into the wonderful air. I stink like burned tobacco—but they don’t seem to notice the difference. They launch into the story the second I turn around.

  “OK, this is what happened….”

  “Tell her the background first…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I will.” Viviana begins again. “We live in Palo Alto. We three girls are friends and do everything together.” She looks at Alyssa, “Is this a good beginning?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s fine, go on!” She hurries her along. “And tell her about the first time.”

  “So, uh—oh yes, so Melani’s husband cheated on her last year. He swore he wouldn’t do it again. But he did!”

  “The rat bastard! She’s such a sweet girl to put up with him.”

  “He doesn’t deserve her, does he?” Viv and Alyssa become immersed in their own conversation.

  This is rather amusing watching their little show. I don’t need to hurry them along, this is kind of fun. It’s not like I have to interview them, write the crime report, and then get back on patrol.

  I know I didn’t act this goofy at age 25. I was on the police department arresting car thieves, burglars and wife beaters. I’d been on LAPD for four years and always worked the wee hours of the night. The good guys went to bed, and the bad guys came out to play. And I cruised around looking to rescue someone who hadn’t made it home in time.

  I tune in when their story gets back on track. “Just the facts, please.” I say with a smile.

  “Fast forward to last night. Tony had been acting weird lately. He’s been distant and cold. He keeps his phone on him all the time and gets texts at odd hours.”

  “That sounds familiar. My ex-husband of 4 years cheated on me with his flashy secretary. I almost don’t care anymore—I’ve been having so much fun in the wine country in my new life.”

  “Ooh, do tell. How did you know he was cheating on you?” It looks like Melani’s cheating husband will have to wait.

  “He went emotionally cold and was always picking on me for what I was wearing.”

  “See. She said Tony is cold.” They look at each other like I made a breakthrough.

  “What did the text say?”

  “Oh, this is proof. He left his pants on the bed when he was in the bathroom. She had been shopping for something cute and found exactly the right thing, so she came home early. He was singing in the shower and didn’t hear her in the bedroom.

  “She heard the ding of a text from his pants. She told us she needed to look, just so she wouldn’t wonder,” Viv explains.

  “She didn’t want to worry, if it wasn’t needed.” Alyssa agrees.

  “So she pulled it out of the pocket and pressed the button. It’s locked, she knows that, but she read the last message!” She stops, leaving me in suspense.

  “Was it good?” They’ve hooked me.

  “The message was from Pussy Galore!”

  “Who?”

  “She was a James Bond girl. I looked it up. She was gay, then Bond converted her to men.”

  “Whoa. That sounds—strange.” I’m not sure what it means.

  “Then it said: James, transform me at Chumash!”

  What can I say? It could mean a lot of things, though with her name, only one thing comes to mind.

  “Well, Melani put the phone back in his pocket and got out of the room. She went to the garage and sat in her car pretending to have just gotten home. Remember I said he cheated on her before? She had a feeling and was going to check it out.”

  “She came in the house again with her bags across her arms and made more noise. She pretended to be on the phone with me, and laughed, and told the fake me about her day. When she came in the bedroom he was out of the shower and getting dressed to go out.”

  “She asked where he was going and he told her he had to meet an out of town business friend.” She shakes her head. “She didn’t believe him, but didn’t say anything. The minute he left, she called me and had me look up Pussy Galore on Google. She didn’t want him to know anything in case he checked her phone.”

  “Last night, he tells her he’s going away for a few days on business.” She holds up one finger, “And guess where?”

  “Chumash Casino?”

  “Bingo,” she grins.

  “He’s going to transform her. Yuck.”

  “Well, the thing is—he knows what we look like…” she leaves the rest unsaid.

  I feel a request coming on. No. I’m not getting involved.

  “Jess, he doesn’t know what you look like.” She smiles sweetly, like a little girl used to getting her way. “Would you be able to go there and find out who he’s seeing?”

  “I’m not a private eye. I don’t know how to follow
people. I don’t even know how to gamble.” I’m trying to think up other good reasons.

  “You don’t have to gamble. Just play the slots. You’re friendly, you made friends with us—please, I know you can do it!” She glances at Viviana for confirmation.

  “Absolutely, and you’re honest too. We never thought she’d see the necklace again. Who else would return something like that? And you even drove it down here!”

  “Yes, we can trust you not to be bought off by him.”

  “Why would he buy me off?”

  “Because Mel has money. He lives off her. She said she’d kick him back to his mother’s house if he did anything like that again.”

  “So you think he’d try to slip me a few dollars to keep me quiet?”

  “He did it before, he’ll try it again.”

  “Is he dangerous?” I’d rather he tried to pay me off than kill me.

  “No, he’s a weasel.” They both agree.

  “I don’t have time to follow someone. I work.”

  “You said you’re not doing anything today... He’s probably there now. He took the jet last night.”

  “Jet?”

  “Yeah, Mel’s dad is wealthy. He lets them use it.”

  “Did she find out if he landed at Santa Barbara? I don’t know if jets can land at Santa Ynez.”

  “I’ll find out.” She steps back and pulls out her phone. I’m left trying to dissuade Viviana from trying to convince me.

  A few minutes later she’s back, “He landed at Santa Ynez last night. He’s still there!” She sounds triumphant. “And the flight plan calls for him to leave tomorrow night.”

  “See, you have time. Lots of time. Just get a picture of the two of them together. Then she’ll know for sure and kick his ass out of her life forever!”

  “Uh,” I start…

  “We don’t expect you to do this for free, right Viv?” She looks at her friend for confirmation. “How much do you want?”

  “Well, it depends how long it takes. He may not be there. They could be in his room, being transformed, and I’d never find them.”