The Altogether Unexpected Disappearance of Atticus Craftsman by Mamen Sánchez Read Free Book Online

for him: on the thirtieth floor of a Manhattan skyscraper, a successful businessman, prestigious lawyer, famous architect, or ruthless banker. But none of these dreams of hers had come true. At college in Boston, more bored than he had ever imagined possible, he discovered that his cowboy’s hands were made to caress more interesting things than the current accounts of his future clients. Women and paintbrushes, in that order, began to take up most of his time.
    To his mother’s horror, he left business school and enrolled in art school. When he finished, he got a grant to travel to Paris, the city of light and art, and became one of the pioneers of digital design, which his mother naturally thought was a load of mumbo jumbo.
    There he met Gaby, bright as a button, full of hopes and dreams, with everything ahead of her. He started to work the old magic on her, like they used to do in Córdoba back in his grandparents’ day, with presents and sweet nothings.
    He painted a portrait of her in oils in which he emphasized her lynx’seyes staring out from the other side of the canvas. What greater proof of love was there than those months of work, holding in his mind’s eye the image of the color of her skin, the softness of her curls, the curve of her chest? She was always catching him looking at her from his desk, sometimes using a pencil to measure the distance between her eyes, or the length of her neck.
    When the portrait was finished, he invited her to see the hovel where he lived, a student room in a building in the fifteenth arrondissement. It was there that their love story began, with an artist’s attentiveness. Or rather, two artists: he the brush, she the paint.
    Sometimes Livingstone would come to the office midmorning. He would bring the girls cakes, flowers, ice cream, or alfajores . He would say to Gaby, “See you at home, princess,” and it still made her legs tremble.
    They had been married for more than five years. They wanted to have children. It wasn’t happening.
    â€œRight when you least expect it, Gaby, you’ll see,” Berta consoled her.
    But every month, Gaby emerged from the office bathroom with a sour look on her face.
    â€œYou’ll see,” Berta would assure her once more, “right when you least expect it.”

CHAPTER 10
    I nspector Manchego started to lose his balance on his second whiskey. When he was out of earshot, Josi assured the others that Manchego was simply out of practice.
    â€œHe’s always been more into sangria than spirits,” he told the others as soon as the inspector left the game. “In the garage at his parents’ house we used to get a big tub, fill it with half red wine and half Fanta, add a good splash of vodka—not that you could taste it in so much liquid—plenty of ice and plenty of sugar. We’d open the door and they’d be queuing up outside. We were the life and soul of the party.”
    â€œDid you used to drink out of a botijo , a bota , or a porrón ?”
    â€œ Porrón , Macita, what a question! Manchego used to drink straight from the jug. Back then, he had some stamina . . .”
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    The street was dark and empty. The streetlights and the pavement were moving a bit, as if the ground had been paved with waves. Manchego had lost forty euros, Christ on a bike, what bad luck, his four kings had been beaten by the four aces that Carretero pulled out of his sleeve at the last minute.
    He was walking home so he could get some air, with his gun tucked into his belt, just in case. He had bought one of those made-to-order harnesses that combine braces with a gun holster, and although he knew he shouldn’t drink when he was armed, he justified it to himself, saying that they weren’t allowed to use the siren without good reason, but all his colleagues used it to get out of traffic jams. It was a trade-off. He was very conscientious