Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or intellectual property of CSI Miami. If I ever do, you'll never see me again. That's a promise. Having returned from Rio, Yelina longs for a new life with Horatio. She even prays for a miracle. Meanwhile, a mysterious, lonely woman moves in across the street. Yelina is about to learn that God works in mysterious ways. Mystery, Romance, with just a little supernatural. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1—All I Need Is A Miracle Horatio strode up the sidewalk, studying everything through his sunglasses as he usually did when he visited his sister-in-law. Ray Jr. walked ahead of him, head down, hands in pockets. His uncle knew that that was just Ray’s way of saying everything was going as well as could be expected for a teenage boy who had just been through so much. “Hey, thanks Uncle Horatio” he finally said, turning around to him. He nodded with a slight smile. “We’ll do this again next month, Son?” “Yeah. Definitely.” There she was at the screen door, looking at him with those magnificent eyes. Much as he tried, Horatio couldn’t concentrate on anything else when Yelina was in sight. “Back so soon, Horatio?” “Yelina. Ray Jr. can only eat so many burgers in three hours.” She laughed a little and opened the screen door. “Why don’t you come on in for a while?” “I’d like that very much.” The redheaded Lieutenant stood in the hallway as Yelina was in the kitchen. He could keep his mind on little else as she poured lemonade into two glasses and came out to him. “Here. One of the neighbors brought me some lemons off his tree, and I made a batch of lemonade while you were gone.” With that smile he took the glass and took a sip. “Delicious.” She sat down on the old blue sofa and motioned toward the easy chair. “Have a seat. Stay a while.” “I think I will.” Neighbors. Neighbors. Horatio furrowed his eyebrows as he looked out the front window. “What is it?” Yelina wanted to know. “That old house across the street?” Yelina looked through her window as she sipped the delectable lemonade. “Mmmmm. I see the For Sale sign is gone. I never noticed. Guess they finally found a buyer. That house was vacant for months after the foreclosure. Whoever bought that place got it for a good price.” She smiled to herself now. “I wonder what kind of neighbors we’ll have. Be nice if there’s another family that has some boys that Ray Jr. could be friends with.” Horatio grinned. “I might have to come over and check on him twice as often.” The beautiful Colombian’s smile changed from one of wondering to one of deep longing now. “I would really like that.” He tilted his head at her thoughtfully. “As would I.” Horatio and Yelina simply looked at each other for several minutes. “How long, Horatio?” she asked with a sadness. “How long for what, Yelina?” She closed her eyes and dipped her head. “How much longer are we going to avoid how we feel about one another?” That smile turned to a sadness as well. “Yelina, I—“ She closed her eyes as the slings and arrows hit her heart again. “I know. I’m still your brother’s wife. Ray’s gone now, Horatio. Why let it go on?” Because of those “boundaries”, somehow it would never go any further. It seemed hopeless. Horatio took a deep breath and picked up his empty lemonade glass. “Yelina, you make wonderful lemonade. I think I’d better go now.” She nodded. “Thanks for looking after Ray Jr. He really looks forward to those burger nights with you.” As her brother-in-law walked down the driveway to the Hummer, she simply stood at the door. Watching. Longing. Hoping. She watched that Hummer leave until it turned at the end of the street. Just like she always did. The weight of the world was on her shoulders as she slipped into her tee shirt and leggings. Ray Jr. was just as happy as he could be after spending the evening with his favorite uncle. Her eyes fell on his closed door as she could hear the sound of the Xbox game and his shouting at the screen. She was glad he was happy to be back from Brazil. Away from that gilded cage in Rio. Away from the drugs. It was a long, hard road after Ray died. But now they could smile again. Yelina shut the door to her bedroom, just like she always did. She turned out her light and lay on her back on that lumpy old bed, staring at the ceiling. Horatio had urged them to come back to Miami. He would look after them. And he had done that. But she still longed for more. And she knew that he did as well. A tear trickled out of her eye. It could be so frustrating at times, she thought, as she sniffed and gently wiped her eye. And then a strange thing happened. Yelina began to pray. She hadn’t prayed quite like this since the danger in Rio. When she was a little girl in Colombia, she had learned to pray along with her devout great aunt. But this was different. This was an open, heartbroken prayer. God, if you’re really out there, I need a miracle. You saved Ray Jr. and brought us back safely to Miami. I wish that Horatio and I could finally love one another. I really wish we could start a life together. I really wish we could get past those boundaries of his. God, please, if you’re real, if Horatio and I fall in love, I promise that I’ll never ask for anything else again. Silence. What’s the use, she thought. Out of the depths of her mind she remembered the wizened old woman who would be on her knees in prayer every morning until she could kneel no more. She reminded little Yelina that God would always give her what was best for her. Heat lightning lit up the balmy Miami skies. Her eyes followed the light. Her great aunt was most likely in Heaven now, looking down on her. “If you’ll grant me this one thing, God, I’ll never ask for anything ever again” she whispered as she held the pillow close to her chest. “Amen.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Yelina was jarred awake by a SLAM! The police officer in her reacted as she bolted up from her bed. Bleary eyed and still tired, she squinted at her clock. Half past midnight. She lay back down and closed her eyes again. Voices. In the street. She didn’t recognize them. One of the things Yelina always appreciated about this little neighborhood was how quiet it was. This was definitely out of place. She put on her sateen robe and, in the dark house she crept to the front window and peered through the blinds. A medium-size moving truck had parked across the street. Two men slid out the ramp and had begun quietly bringing out boxes and carrying them into the house. As a private investigator, Yelina was naturally curious. She stood and watched for a long time while the two shadowy figures carried in box after box, furniture after furniture, down the ramp, across the grass, into the house. They seemed to take great care in keeping everything secret, private, concealed from the rest of the neighborhood. Great. I hope we’re not getting a meth lab across the street. Mystery always made Yelina uneasy. She was about to close the blinds and lie back down when she saw something else. There was a woman. She too looked out of place for this neighborhood. Instead of the young blue collar families that lived in these small old houses, this woman looked rather highbrow. She was much older. Even in the middle of the night she stood straight and tall, careful of her appearance. She wore a long skirt and full sleeves. And were those…white gloves on her hands? In Miami? At twelve-thirty in the morning? As someone whose job it was to read people, Yelina couldn’t help but notice that this woman had a strange sadness about her. When moving into a new home, most residents would be happy, tired or excited, looking around at their new neighborhood. This woman just looked forward. Sadly. Quietly. Vacantly. Like this was just another stop along the way to her death. In the darkness she watched only the boxes and furniture that marched mysteriously into the house. She didn’t seem to care that the movers might be making noise in the middle of the night on this otherwise quiet street. She didn’t seem to care that her new neighbors might be watching her. She didn’t look like would be interested in making friends. She just stared forward and then dipped her head. Somehow, it was as though her heart was frozen in another place and time. Something about this woman intrigued Yelina. Was this her new neighbor? Did she have a husband? Children? Grandchildren? Finally, under the streetlights, the moving truck closed up before it rumbled to a start and then drove off just as mysteriously as it arrived. The woman never looked up. She simply walked into the house, locked the door, and turned the lights off. Within minutes, the street was just as dark and quiet as it had ever been. Yelina stared out at the quiet darkness for a long time. Finally she went back to bed. As she closed her eyes, little did she suspect that this mysterious, lonely woman would be her miracle.
This is so great as always. I love your writing, Jag. Plus it doesn't hurt that I'm a closet H/Y shipper. I can't wait to see what happens next
Thanks, DetHiggins. Glad you're enjoying. Chapter 2—And Who Is My Neighbor? It was nine in the morning. Ray Jr. was in school. There was nothing for her to investigate, so Yelina sipped her coffee and basked in the silence for as long as possible. But there lay those bills in front of her, taunting her, reminding her that she was nearly broke again. One by one, she thumbed through them. Car insurance. Electricity. The funeral home. The cost of moving what she could salvage from Brazil. Cable. The credit card that was just about maxed out. Getting Ray Jr. some new clothes for school. Her new job as a P.I. paid most of the expenses, but not all. At least she had her pension from Dade County. The money Raymond had brought in from those drug runs was now completely gone, spent on that huge house in Rio. Raymond insisted that the house would be good for them, up and away from all the crime in Rio de Janeiro, but she had felt like a bird in a gilded cage. Besides, Ray Jr. still found his way to the drugs, to Riaz and the Favellas. With a sigh, she just slapped the papers on the brown table again. Yelina didn’t want to admit it, but she felt trapped. Alone again. Helpless. She had forgotten all about that desperate, lonely prayer she’d prayed that night. Still, that dark, shadowy figure stood out in her imagination. She found herself staring out the front window. Who was she? Where did she come from? A stately woman like that should be jetsetting and surrounded by friends. She should be on the arm of a rich husband, arranging flowers, or maybe working for a charity. But not locked up all alone in a plain, barren little house. Curiosity won out. Figuring she’d take a break from her finances, Yelina picked up her coffee cup and stepped out into the balmy morning breeze. The little blue stucco house was still quiet, just as though nothing had ever happened. But this time, instead of just being a vacant house, it was just quiet. The blinds were closed. Still, she found herself drawn to look. That pale blue four-door car in the driveway. Was that an old Buick Regal? Around 1986? It was certainly in pristine condition for its age, she thought. Yelina knew a lot about American cars from her days with Homicide, and that old Regal looked as though it had just been driven off the lot. It bore a Minnesota license plate. She committed the number to memory and headed back inside to her laptop where she clicked keys and searched the Minnesota Motor Vehicles website. The car was registered to Adelaide Johannsen, born June 9, 1955. Using her search function, she then went to the Minnesota Bureau of Licenses and typed in Adelaide Johannsen. Staring back at her on the screen was the stone-cold face of a beautiful, stately woman in her fifties. License photos were hardly ever flattering, but the loneliness and sadness in this woman couldn’t be missed. Her last known address was in the tiny town of Graceville, Minnesota, just a stone’s throw from the South Dakota state line. This looked like the shadowy figure, she thought. She then went to another search website to find out about recent home sales in the city of Miami. She typed in the address across the street and hit Enter. The house had been purchased by Adelaide Johannsen. No other useful information. She had simply moved here from Minnesota. Yelina was tempted to run more information based on Adelaide Johannsen’s name and birthdate. But at the same time, she felt like it was wrong to be nosy. After all, this woman’s only crime was wanting some privacy. She then ran a simple search on Adelaide Johannsen of Minnesota and hit return. Some news notes included a house fire in Oklee, Minnesota in 1986. No details. She scanned over more articles to include a Michael Johannsen whose little league team took Minnesota State Championship that year. No wedding announcements. No obituaries. No births. Nothing else that might shed some light on this woman. No arrest records. Only a driver’s license from the state of Minnesota. She thought about doing a Lexis-Nexis search under the name, but she could not afford the fifty-four dollars, she reasoned. Not for something like that. Yelina just watched out the window when something moving in the back yard of the house caught her attention. She stepped outside and looked again. The woman wore a lavender beach hat and long sleeves in the Florida heat. She looked as though she was pulling weeds, slowly and painfully, paying no attention to anything else around her. She kept her head down, shadowed by that lavender brim, bending down, pulling weeds, looking around, then very delicately taking a cloth and wiping her brow. Yelina craned her neck. It sounded like the woman said something to someone in the house, but she was too far away to be heard. Slowly, step by step, Yelina came to the edge of the curb, across the street, and watched again. The woman had her back turned and seemed unaware of her presence. Finally she was at the edge of the front yard. “Hello? Miss Johannsen?” Yelina called. “Miss Johannsen?” The woman turned with a start, head down, sure to keep her face covered, but Yelina could see from her body language that she was shocked, scared, and angry at the intrusion. She held her white-gloved hand over her lavender hat and bolted into the back door and slammed it shut, sure to let Yelina know that she wasn’t pleased about this disruption in her routine. Stunned, Yelina stopped. At this point she wasn’t sure whether to go back into her house or try to apologize to the woman. Probably best to give her some space, she reasoned. She walked back across the street, glancing behind her, just in case the woman might change her mind and come back out, or maybe at least peer out from those closed blinds. As she stood safely back in her own front yard, Yelina studied the plain house. Except for the old Buick Regal in her driveway, everything stayed just as plain and barren as though it were still vacant. Lonely ladies in their fifties typically liked to adorn their yards with flower pots, mail box flags, or at least a welcome mat. Not even a noisy little dog to keep her company. Everything about this yard seemed to say “You're not welcome here!” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was after dark when Yelina heard that familiar tap on the door. Given the day’s events, she came to the door more cautiously. Horatio stood at the door expectantly. “Yelina.” She smiled. “Checking up on me, Horatio?” “I left my sunglasses here when I brought Ray Jr. home.” She opened the screen door. Somehow she sensed that wasn’t the real reason he came over, but she would accept that. “Come on in. I haven’t seen them, but you’re welcome to look.” As Horatio followed her into the living room, he couldn’t help but notice that her stack of bills lay face down as though she didn’t care to look at them. “How are you doing?” She glanced at the floor. “All right.” “Are you sure?” “Positive.” Yelina turned her attention to the front window when she saw a light come on across the street. She came to the window and watched, trying not to be too conspicuous. Curiosity got the better of Horatio, and he crept behind Yelina, also peering over her shoulder. “Have you met your new neighbor yet?” he wanted to know. Yelina turned around, smiling to see Horatio so close to her. “No. She’s very quiet. I think her name is Adelaide Johannsen. I did a search on real estate transactions in this neighborhood. Not a lot of information.” The woman came out of the dark house. She wore the lavender hat, full sleeves, long skirt, and those white gloves again. She had her head down so that nobody would see her face, even in the darkness. Quickly and quietly she climbed into her pristine blue Buick Regal, started it up, and drove away. “She seems very lonely” Horatio observed. Yelina looked over her shoulder at him. “Mmm. She does.” Both of them watched out the window in silence for a moment. “Do you ever feel lonely, Horatio?” He looked into her eyes. “Why do you ask?” She looked out into the dark street again. “Lonely like that?” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The P.I. lay in her bed, alone again, when she heard a car door slam. She glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty. As Yelina peered through her blinds, she could see the woman again, mysterious as ever, holding several bags of groceries in her white-gloved hands. She had just moved in, so maybe she was just buying cleaning supplies. Should I go outside and offer her some help? She squinted at the plastic bags. Cocoa Puffs? Juice boxes? Flintstone Vitamins? Hardly something a lonely woman in her fifties would eat. The woman had been there for several days now and had no hint of family. She came out to collect the rest of the white plastic bags, never looking around, and then shut the door behind her. The house went dark again. Yelina shook her head. Something was very strange about this. She would meet her neighbor tomorrow.
Chapter 3—The Counsel of Others Yelina peered out the window when her doorbell rang. It was Rudy, her neighbor from down the street. He had some boxes in on the doorstep front of him. She cleaned her hands quickly and opened the door. Rudy was a large, rugged man in his forties, with brown curly hair and a big, bushy mustache. He wore an old tee shirt and raggedy jeans. He drove a truck for a local grocery chain, which meant he was gone much of the time. Yelina checked on his wife and children whenever he was on the road. In exchange, Rudy would bring her leftover produce from his hauls. “Well hey, Miss Yelina” Rudy said in a cheery voice. “How you doing?” “I’m fine, Rudy. Thanks for coming by.” He reached over and picked up one of the boxes. “Got you and Ray some leftovers. Mind if I come in?” She held open the screen door. “Sure, come on in. Let me help you with that.” The neighbor loudly set the boxes on Yelina’s counter and pulled the flaps open. “Hope that’ll do you for a while. Got some bagels, some apple juice, and cans of soup.” With a smile Yelina picked up the dented soup can and looked it over. “Forklift have another accident?” He grinned. “Yeah. You just drop a twenty dollar bill in front of a forklift, and they get accident-prone in a hurry.” She smiled as she put the can back in the dusty white box. “Well, thank you.” “My pleasure. Thanks for looking out for my family.” The man nodded as he looked back out her window. “So hear anything about the new neighbor?” Yelina shook her head. “It’s a lady. She lives alone, I think. I tried to see what I could find out about her. I think her name is Mrs. Johannsen.” Rudy scowled a little. “Don’t know. My wife says she goes out alone real late at night. She’s awful quiet, and she dresses kind of funny. You never know anybody moved in. I don’t like it, Yelina. Don’t it make you suspicious?” She shrugged politely. “Work’s a little slow right now, so I’m gonna make something to take over there. Ray Jr.’s gonna help me make some cocadas to take to her.” “Cocadas?” Yelina nodded. “They’re a dessert we used to make in Colombia made from coconut flakes and caramel sugar. I’ll take them over to her later.” As long as she could remember, Yelina enjoyed making cocadas. They were quick, cheap, and delicious. Now she stood in the kitchen with Ray Jr. and emptied bags of coconut flakes into a large mixing bowl, ready to coat the caramel. Ray Jr. huffed as he sat at the kitchen table, kneading and pounding the sugary caramel. He said nothing, but the loudness of his actions made it loud and clear. Teenage boys didn’t help their mothers cook desserts. Especially not when friends were hanging out and ready to play Xbox. “Why do we have to do this, Mom?” Yelina leveled her eyes at her son. “Because it’s the right thing, Ray. Mrs. Johannsen is lonely, and she needs to know that there are good neighbors on this block.” “I don’t know. The way she wears those hats and those long sleeves? She’s….” The P.I. faced him fully now. “She’s what, Ray?” “She’s just weird. And she hides all the time! I mean, you’re alone all day, too. Why can’t she come talk to you?” He slapped the huge brown sugary blob on the kitchen counter. With her fingers his mother delicately pinched off small pieces and dipped them into the bowl of coconut shavings. “Ray, how many of the boys in school thought you were weird in Brazil? You couldn’t even speak Portugese. Remember how they made fun of you?” He sniffed. “Yeah, I guess. But she’s just, I don’t know. Why do you care about her so much?” “Maybe if the kids in Brazil had taken the time to know you, you wouldn’t have started hanging around with those Fovella boys and getting into trouble.” She smiled her motherly smile again. “Just help me get these cocadas finished, and I’ll take them over to her by myself. You don’t have to meet her if you don’t want to.” “Thanks.” “Besides, having her around has already brought you and me together, don’t you think? How long has it been since you helped me make Cocadas?” The boy smirked. He then licked the sweet ingredients off his fingers. “We done?” “Yes. Thank you, Ray.” One by one Yelina put toothpicks into the little dessert balls and placed them carefully on a Styrofoam plate, then covered them with plastic wrap. Even though her grocery budget was a little tight this week, she still felt like she should reach out to this lady. Plateful of cocadas in hand, Yelina stood at the doorway of the plain house and rang the bell. Silence. While she waited, Yelina glanced at several boxes that lay at her feet on the doorstep. The Emporium for Kids. Gentlemen's Clothiers. These came from right here in Miami, she noted. Nice clothiers for a lonely lady who seemed to live so simply. Minutes had passed. Yelina was determined this time. She rang the doorbell again. Still silent. Finally the door slowly opened with a creak. That lavender hat showed itself. “Mrs. Johannsen? I’m Yelina Salas. I live across the street, and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Slowly brim of that lavender hat rose. Looking up were the same sad, vacant brown eyes that she had seen on the Minnesota driver’s license. For just a second the eyes met hers very slowly. Sadly. Suspiciously. The woman’s skin was rather wrinkled for her age, reflecting years of sadness, worry and pain. And on her throat, just above that closed collar. Was that a burn mark? The P.I. in her knew she would have only seconds to study this woman. She glanced over that lavender hat and into the dark foyer to see what else she might learn. But those brown eyes were watching her every move. The P.I. decided she’d best take this slowly. “I made these for you. They’re called cocadas. They’re a dessert of my native Colombia. My son and I made them from coconut and caramel. I hope you like them.” Gingerly she handed the plate to the woman. Slowly Mrs. Johannsen lowered her eyes to the plateful of treats. Just as slowly she held out those white-gloved palms. Yelina gently set the plate on her palms, determined to let her know she could be trusted. Yelina used this moment to try to learn more as she glanced at the immaculate white gloves and the long white sleeves that covered her arms completely. Slowly the woman lowered her head again, shielding her face with the lavender hat, and studied the cocadas. “Would you like—“ Yelina began. Without a word, the woman quickly backed in and slammed the door shut. Yelina could hear the CLICK! of a door lock. Then silence. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The quiet, breezy, balmy evenings were one of the few things Yelina could enjoy. The ocean breezes would blow, making that familiar hissing sound in the palm trees. But this evening, she couldn’t help but feel frustrated and even a little angry. Private investigation work was kind of slow right now. She had tried to be nice to Mrs. Johannsen and had the door slammed in her face. As a homicide detective, Yelina Salas was used to having doors slammed in her face. But this was different somehow. I hope she at least liked those cocadas. As she paced along her front lawn, she began to wonder whether it was worth the effort to try to be nice to this woman. Those sad, drawn brown eyes haunted her, though. It was more like she was scared, angry, fearful. Like she was hiding. Somehow it was like this woman wanted to come out of this strange prison but just needed a little help. The P.I. glanced across the street again. The boxes were gone, and the house looked just as plain and quiet as it ever did. She was still in deep thought when, out of the corner of her eye, Yelina saw something white on the windshield of her car. A small, neatly-folded piece of paper waved in the evening breeze. She walked up and pulled it out from under her wiper. Yelina unfolded what was elegant stationery. Not something from a computer, she thought. The note was obviously written by someone with a shaky hand. MY DEAR MRS. SALAS, THANK YOU FOR THE DELICIOUS DESSERT. IT WAS ENJOYED BY ALL. PARTICULARLY THE CHILDREN.