Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (23 page)

I look down. My shoes. Two pair of flats and
a pair of Nikes. I ease open a drawer in the chest. Bras, panties,
and pajama tops—all mine.

Then I see the faint outline of the door
leading to the master suite. It’s the same setup as Anacacho, no
handle or lock on my side. Paul is free to come and go as he
pleases.

After hanging up my pantsuit, with trembling
fingers I remove my underwear. As the last piece of my clothing
drops to the floor, my body is quaking so I have to clasp my arms
tight about me to stop quivering.

I’m too exhausted to think straight. I don’t
even know where I am other than miles from the rest of the world.
Somewhere south of the border. Without a passport.

Then I remember Adelena’s admonition to
hurry. Paul is waiting.

The living room is dark except for a
crackling fire that flickers on Reena’s collection of paintings
above the antique Spanish table. The room is an exact replica of
the living room at Anacacho down to the turquoise-studded cigarette
box on the mantle. I shudder, remembering my run through the empty
ranch house, then shudder again at what this means.

“
Allie.” Paul rises from
the sofa and comes to meet me, arms open, a broad smile on his
face. “Welcome to Anacachito. Not as grand as my childhood home,
but what I have here is just as good.”

“
I see you have Reena’s
paintings.”

“
Oh, yes. They were a
vital part of the move.” My eyes question his.

“
I believe I told you they
were being cleaned and re-appraised.” He gives a knowing smirk.
“Not quite the truth. Several million from the street sale of a
coke stash were sealed beneath the back papers of those paintings.
One of my major coups.”

He tries to draw me close and I slide free.
“It’s been a very long day. I sure could use a drink.”

If I’ve offended him, Paul doesn’t show it.
Instead he ushers me to the couch. “What’s your pleasure?”

“
Scotch, on the rocks,
please.”

Miguel steps into view. “Sí, Señorita.”

He disappears as Paul takes his place next
to me and covers my hand with his. “I’ve been waiting for this
since I last saw you and now that it’s here...” He bends forward to
plant a kiss just as Miguel appears with the Scotch.

After a long sip of my drink, I ask, “What
happened that day, Paul?”

He studies me for a moment, then says, “It’s
a long and complicated story. One that needs to be told in the
proper sequence so you’ll understand the ‘why’ of everything.” He
smiles as he combs my body from head to toe. “How lovely you look
in the firelight.” Follow his lead, my inner voice says. Savor his
seeming adoration and enjoy the Scotch.

Miguel announces dinner and Paul offers his
hand and turns me toward the dining room. No surprise there. The
Navajo rug and the long refectory table sit beneath the same
wrought-iron chandelier that filled the dining room at Anacacho
with a golden glow.

Once Paul has seated me to his right and
poured a fine Chardonnay, he raises his glass. “To my dream of
dreams. You’re here at last.”

The kitchen door swings open and Miguel
appears with the first course.

I dip into clear broth floating with
shredded chicken, tomato and lime slices, then give a satisfied
sigh. Adelena’s agitation has not affected her culinary talent.

Paul nods his approval of my gusto. “You see
why it was absolutely necessary to bring Miguel and Adelena, don’t
you?”

He’s given me an entry and I take it. “That
was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“
Yes. To duplicate my life
at the Anacacho as closely as I could. This house and the stables
took more than a year to build.”

“
What happened to
Anacacho?”

Miguel’s entrance to remove the empty bowls
puts an untimely end to my first probe. He quickly returns to place
a beautifully garnished platter before his master.

Disregarding my question, Paul beams.
“You’re in for a treat. Grilled marinated pork loin.”

Miguel nods and disappears, leaving Paul to
carve, then serve both gilded plates with the meat topped by a
roasted corn and poblano chile relish.

After filling a second wine glass with
Merlot, he raises his again. “To you, to me, to us. We’re going to
have a perfect life.” We finish the meal in silence. Though there’s
some tension in the air, I don’t feel the need for small talk. I
have more important questions to think about.

Paul’s revelation that this second ranch
took over a year to build means construction must have begun months
before Reena asked me to the Anacacho. But it must have taken
longer than that for Paul to secure the property and have plans
drawn.

Paul’s hand covering mine startles me from
my thoughts. “Adelena made piñon flan with caramel sauce especially
in your honor. Do you have room?”

The look is tender, the voice solicitous,
and for one small instant, Paul becomes the man I once loved so
much.

I reach for my glass of Merlot and take a
sip to steady myself. “How sweet of Adelena to remember.”

The creamy flan slips down my throat and I
relish the heaviness of the caramel and the pop of piñon nuts
against my tongue. I must betray my pleasure because Paul laughs
that deep, low laugh I used to adore.

“
After watching you eat
all that food, I’m afraid you’ll founder.”

I laugh for the first time in what seems
like a decade. “Only horses and cows founder. Goodness, do I look
that bad?”

Paul rises to stand by my chair, brushes the
top of my head with his lips, and whispers, “To the contrary,
you’ve never looked better.”

When the first pale offerings of dawn paint
my room in deep gray tones, I come to and sit bolt upright. The
desperation and depression I left behind during the long night
catch up and shove me to the edge of panic.

I have made it through the night untouched.
I grab the bottle of water from the nightstand and guzzle what’s
left. At that, some semblance of rationality returns and I head for
the closet.

Before retiring I placed the vanity stool in
such a way that if Paul came through the door he would run into it.
If he tried to breach my flimsy fortification, there’s no sign.
Still, the fact that he easily could have is very disturbing.

Paul is already at the dining table and
rises to greet me. “Did you sleep well?”

I nod. In truth, I sat propped against the
headboard, watching both doors until first light.

I settle next to him as Adelena appears with
coffee and for one brief instant the moment is déjà vu until I
notice the hand that pours is trembling.

When I look into her tears, she gives a
slight “no” shake, then asks my pleasure. I order huevos rancheros
and she disappears through the swinging door, leaving me with my
captor.

Paul beams and pronounces, “I can’t wait to
show you around. Of course there’s still much to be done. Miguel
and Adelena are temporarily housed behind the kitchen in what will
become storage and a utility room. But I suspect they’ll be
starting a family soon and will need a house of their own.”

I lower my hands to my lap so he can’t see
them tremble and put on a look of pained disappointment. “I’ll have
to take the tour some other time. I’m booked out of Houston to New
York this afternoon.”

His smile dies. “New York this afternoon?
That won’t be possible.”

The huevos arrive, more coffee is poured,
and Adelena vanishes.

The tone of his voice is unbearably
solicitous. “I didn’t know you had a trip scheduled.”

Didn’t know? Was someone feeding him
information? The Gibbses? Bill? I stanch my rising panic, hoping my
anxiety doesn’t show and my voice won’t quaver.

“
My first deposition is at
ten tomorrow.” Before he has a chance to speak I hurry on. “But
that’s no problem. I can make the early afternoon Continental out
of Laredo and still have ample time to make any one of several
evening flights from Intercontinental.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. Perkins, Travis
will have to send someone to New York in your place. It will be an
inconvenience, but most law firms are quick to recover from the
loss of a partner.” Perkins, Travis? He knows the name of my firm.
Were the bugs Paul’s? Anger overrides my anxiety. “I’m not a
partner—yet—and I won’t be if I don’t make that flight.”

“
I was hoping this
wouldn’t be so difficult for you. That you would
realize...”

“
That I’m your
prisoner?”

He smiles through cold eyes. “I would hardly
call ‘wife,’ ‘prisoner.’”

Wife? The man is demented.

Careful. Careful. I’m not sure where the
warning comes from but I’m grateful some part of my confused brain
is still operational.

Fingernails dig into palms. Immediate escape
is out of the question. My only choice is to play along. For
now.

Words form, then reform, until what finally
comes is a muted, “Oh, Paul. I don’t know what to say.”

“
There’s nothing to say
except ‘I do.’” His voice is warm, but he warily probes my face. “I
remember your saying that I needed to get things straightened out
before we could be together. Well, now they’re all straightened
out.”

“
By that do you mean
Reena’s death?”

“
I didn’t kill Reena. You
have to believe that.” “But you know who did?”

“
Does it matter? What’s
done is done.” “And Fanny?”

“
She means nothing to me.
Never did. Yeah, we fooled around, but it was mostly a business
proposition.”

I remember the ring on her finger and the
way she acted. Some business. But he said “means.” Use of the
present tense startles. “I thought Fanny was killed.”

“
As far as the police are
concerned, she was.” He chuckles. “Fanny is one of the most
upwardly mobile women I’ve ever met. She not only found this
property and helped me build, she arranged for my
‘escape.’”

I look away, too stunned to speak. Paul has
covered all his bases. Reena’s death, Fanny’s disappearance. Yes,
it seems he has everything figured out—except for my feelings. But
it’s obvious my feelings don’t matter.

He rises and places a heavy hand on my
shoulder. “I’ll get the horses. Adelena has managed to scrounge
some jeans and boots for you as well as a warm jacket. It was
forty-five this morning.”

As his footsteps fade, I stare into my
half-filled plate, my appetite crushed beneath the growing stone in
my stomach.

Paul’s wife? A few years before—something I
desperately wanted. Now—a life sentence.

The door swishes and I feel Adelena at my
side. She touches my arm, then motions me to follow her through the
exact duplicate of the kitchen at Anacacho into the pantry.

After shutting the door, she turns to
whisper, “I heard everything, Señorita. What will you do?”

“
Do you know where we
are?”

Adelena shrugs. “Quien sabe. We were herded
like cattle into that—that—” She makes the circular motion of a
helicopter rotor and whirring sound. “I couldn’t see out, but we
flew forever.”

“
Then, we are in
Mexico.”

“
Señor
Carpenter—Jefe—he—he’s muy loco. We hate it here.”

“
Who is we?”

“
Miguel and myself. Some
of the hands.” She crosses herself and mumbles some benediction
beneath her breath.

“
What about your
children?”

Adelena lowers her head. “The good Lord did
not bless Miguel and me before we were spirited away. And now—there
seems no good reason to bring a child into—this.

“
Can you help us,
Señorita? We must get home to our families. Miguel’s mother was
very ill when we left. Perhaps Jefe will listen to you.”

“
I don’t have much hope
for that. I was kidnapped yesterday morning on the way to the
Laredo airport.”

“
But we were told of your
arrival several days ago. Jefe was so pleased your clothes came
before you did.”

My pulse picks up a beat. “And just how did
they get here?”

“
A little yellow plane
brings in supplies and fresh food every day. They came on
that.”

A little plane? Is there a way out of this
hell after all? “How many people are on the ranch?”

She thinks a minute. “Jefe, of course. Señor
Luke, his cousin Señor Jed, and maybe three hands. They run the
ranch. Miguel and me. Eight of us. Now, nine, counting you.”

“
No other personnel? Like
the pilot?” “That’s Señor Jed.”

I allow myself a small taste of hope. “Any
others?”

“
Though I am not allowed
to go to the barns, I have often seen many men down there. None
come to the house.”

“
What a dreadful existence
for you. I suppose you have to do all the cleaning and cooking for
everybody?”

“
I work only for Jefe. I
don’t know who takes care of those other men. Thank heavens the
house is big. If I didn’t have all this to do, I would go insane.
The days here are very long.”

Outside steps freeze. Then we hear Miguel’s
voice. “Lena?”

She cracks the door, peeks out. When Miguel
sees me, fear fills his face. “Ándele, ándele. Jefe’s coming from
the barns with the horses. He’ll expect the Señorita to be
ready.”

I STEP INTO THE EARLY MORNING chill to see Paul,
eyes pinpoint bright, nostrils inflamed, standing between his roan,
Chief, and the mare I rode into the Anacacho Mountains over a year
before.

I try to ignore the obvious signs of his
addiction by hugging the mare’s neck and greeting her by her name.
“Hey, Sugar, remember me?” I warm at her whinny of recognition.