Page 45 of For Better or for Ransom

“He says he won’t do the show until that fool Leonardo Pascual is found. As if…” Isabel sighed, frustration edging her features. “I need to figure out a way to convince him and change his mind.”

“Can’t you just wait a few days, until Leonardo is back?” Sol was threading a thin line while trying to remain professional and make Isabel believe she was worried about her play. Once again she was reminded how much harder than a journalistic interview that kind of questioning was.

“Leonardo won’t be back.” Isabel deadpanned.

The director had one of the more solid poker faces Sol had encountered. The journalist couldn’t tell what the other woman was feeling or thinking. That, added to the fact that the two detectives also in the room didn’t speak Catalan, didn’t bode well for their chances as a team to decipher if Isabel was somehow involved in Pascual’s disappearance.

“Why are you so sure?” Sol asked Isabel.

“I told you already when we talked the other day. Because he’s dead.”

The certainty in Isabel’s words made Sol’s heart tighten. Sol didn’t want to even contemplate the possibility of Leonardo not being all right. She also noticed Isabel was no longer wiping her runny nose and crying about her certainty in Leonardo’s death like she did a couple of days before. Sol guessed Isabel considered Leonardo mourned. Or had she been just pretending to be distressed the first time they’d met her?

“So, will you help me then?” Isabel asked Sol.

“Help you?” Sol didn’t follow.

“Will you publish something about the play and Sandro being a difficult brat? No one likes being called out in such a way in the media. With a bit of luck we may even get him half cancelled—not totally cancelled though, I still need him to be my star. But that ought to convince him to do the play and vindicate his name.”

Sol’s face slackened, her mouth was agape. She was tempted to tell the director Sandro wasn’t a difficult brat but a man in love and worried sick. But she didn’t want to betray Sandro and Leonardo’s secret. “I’m afraid I’m not here as a journalist, but helping the detectives.” She signaled to a confused-looking Divya and Luke seated across from them.

“Pfffff,” Isabel pouted. “Everyone is set on ruining me and my play!”

“What makes you say so?” Sol tried asking that in a measured way but there’d been something in Isabel’s words…

“First Leonardo left the play, no matter how much I asked him not to…”

“He had previous commitments, right?”

Isabel made a dismissive gesture. “Actors, they can abandon any previous commitment if it suits them. But he didn’t want to continue doing my play. Said he didn’t like my directing style. Can you believe it?”

Sol tried smiling, but wasn't sure she pulled it off. But yes, she could absolutely believe that working with that woman was no picnic.

“But we were fortunate. Leonardo dies,” Isabel continued, completely oblivious about her insensitive comment. “Everyone is talking about the show. Whoever had been at the theater for what was supposed to be the play’s last performance with Leonardo saw Sandro instead and decided that he is brilliant.”

“You don’t think Sandro is brilliant?”

Another dismissive gesture from the stage director. “He’s an actor. They’re easily replaceable. What matters is the talent behind them.”

Sol chuckled nervously, looked in Divya and Luke’s direction, hoping they’d see the discomfort in her eyes. Isabel had just plainly told Sol that actors could be replaced.

“And now that we have a new offer to continue with the play,” Isabel continued blabbering, seemingly unaware of Sol’s many objections about her, “Sandro decides he’s not available. As if he’s going to get a better chance than this!”

Sol was at a loss for words. She truly wished Divya and Luke understood Catalan right then so that one of them would assist her. She had no clue how to continue that conversation.

“Can you ask her if she’s not worried about looking a bit too suspicious,” Luke told her and Sol sighed, relieved. The environment had been so tense, she’d almost forgotten that he could understand some Catalan due to his Italian. She was immensely thankful for it, “She’s not even trying to conceal she was not happy with Leonardo and the whole ordeal is benefitting her.”

“If I get Sandro to do the play, that is,” Isabel cut him, in English. “And no, I’m not worried.”

Sol was stunned.

“What can I do so that you help me?” Isabel addressed the journalist in Catalan again.

Sol blinked nervously. Was Isabel suggesting what she thought she was suggesting?

“What can I do for you so that you publish an article to pressure Sandro to do the play?”

Yes, she was.