Dial (11 page)

“What do you say?” she asked.

Danielle smiled. “I
do
think you girls deserve a little time out—but only for a few days.”

Jo grinned at Chico. Her first
real
smile all day. “You're on, Chico. For the next few days we're going to let our troubles melt in the sun.” Caylin laughed aloud. This was exactly what they needed. Peace, quiet, and a chance for holiday romance. Before long, everything in the world o' the Spy Girls would be back to normal.

•  •  •

“Have I at all mentioned in the last five minutes just how totally awesome Danielle is?” Theresa asked the next afternoon. “I don't think I've been this relaxed since before Spy Girl training camp.”

She picked up a bottle of SPF 30 to apply yet another layer of sunscreen to her face. The Brazilian sun wasn't
something to mess around with, no matter how amazing it felt washing over Theresa's body.

Caylin flipped a page of a magazine that was Brazil's answer to
People
and glanced at Theresa over the top of her huge mirrored sunglasses. “If we had known what a way Danielle has with Uncle Sam, we could have begged her to scam us vacation time from day one.”

“We didn't
need
the vacation on day one,” Jo commented. “Now we do.”

“Good point,” Theresa said.

After Chico's visit the night before, Danielle had dialed up Uncle Sam and managed to wheedle a few Spy Girl vacation days from their demanding—if lovable—boss. Go, Danielle!

The trio had spent the rest of the evening packing and waxing nostalgic about the details of their previous missions. By the time they had arrived at Chico's this morning, Jo had been at least semirestored to her old self—which was evidenced by her promise to give yet one more go at trying to teach Theresa the samba.

Theresa had closed her eyes against the bright sun, but
now she felt a presence beside her chair. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at Chico—and the promised grandson. Yes, indeed, said grandson lived up to grandpa's handsome description. Even a self-confessed geek like Theresa could appreciate green eyes, jet-black hair, and well-sculpted chest muscles.

“Why,
hello
,” Caylin greeted them, beating both of her fellow Spy Girls to the proverbial punch. “We have been
so
looking forward to making your acquaintance.”

“Girls, this is my grandson, Pedro. He told me by the window that he never sees girls this beautiful.”

“Pull up a lounge chair, Pedro,” Jo said, stretching her legs in a way that practically made the grandson's oh-so-
very
-green eyes pop out of his head.

Chico laughed. “Good. You are all friends now, yes?”

“Yes,” Theresa said quickly. She had to say
something
before one of the other SGs cornered their latest prey.

“I must go now,” Chico said. “The other men and I . . . we have what you call to complete unfinished business at the boss's home.”

Theresa shuddered. She wouldn't set foot in that vast
place again for a million dollars. She much preferred ­Chico's pad, which was just large enough, comfortable, and homey—not to mention loaded with yummy food and hottie grandsons.

“Good luck!” Caylin called to Chico, obviously eager to usher Chico past the pool and out to his car so that she could focus on reeling in Pedro.

Theresa giggled. At last things really were back to the way they should be. Ah . . . paradise.

•  •  •

Jo smiled and nodded and flirted as Theresa and Caylin anxiously studied her face for signs that she was over the trauma of the last few days. But she wasn't over it. Not even close.

In her mind, Jo replayed almost every word of every interaction she'd had with Diva over the past several days. How could Jo have been so naive as to trust someone with such a treacherous heart? It seemed impossible. And as for Diva—could even Meryl Streep have faked the kind of emotion that Jo had read on her face and in her eyes?

“Jo! Earth to Jo!” Caylin was snapping her fingers in front of Jo's dark sunglasses.

“Sorry . . . I guess I sort of spaced out.”

“Would you like a limeade? Or fresh orange juice? Pedro is waiting for your answer.”

Jo glanced at Pedro. Mmmm. He really was a cutie. At any other time, she would have been turning on the flirt. “Oh . . . limeade, I guess.”

As she watched Pedro retreat into the house, Jo allowed her thoughts to wander back to Diva. Their so-called friend had been so adamant about her father's innocence and her desire to help the Spy Girls.

Was it possible . . . ? No. Definitely not. All of the evidence established Diva's guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. But then again, Jo knew that sometimes evidence had a tendency to fall through the cracks.

Remember the gun.
Diva's words echoed over and over in Jo's mind. The gun. What gun? Where? Clearly Diva had thought that the image of a gun would resonate with the Spy Girls. There had to be something there. . . .

Suddenly Jo sat up straight in her lounge chair. She
had a crazy, irrational, nutso idea. But it was an idea nonetheless.

“Hey, Trixie, do you have your laptop handy?” she asked Theresa.

“Sure. It's upstairs in my room. I never leave home without it. Why?”

Jo jumped off the lounger and grabbed her enormous beach towel. “I want to go upstairs to surf the Internet. There are some old
Miami Herald
articles I have to read.”

“What articles?” Theresa asked.

“The ones about my father,” Jo said gravely. “I think it's time we do a little more investigation—Spy Girl style.”

“Are you sure you want to be doing this, Jo?” Theresa had turned on her laptop and logged onto the Internet, but she had made it clear that she wasn't convinced Jo had all her wits about her.

“Positive.” Jo was hovering behind Theresa's shoulder, staring at the screen.

“You haven't had to dwell on the details of your dad's murder for a long time,” Caylin pointed out. “Going through all of those articles is going to bring back a lot of awful memories.”

“I appreciate your concern—I really do,” Jo insisted. “But I live with the fact that my father was killed every day . . . and if there's even the slightest chance that I'm missing some piece of the puzzle, I want to find out.”

“Okay . . .” Theresa clicked onto an Internet search
engine, then typed in instructions for the engine to browse archived issues of
The Miami Herald.

Jo focused on the whir of the computer as she tried to mentally prepare herself for this journey into the past. Shortly after that joke of a trial for Diva's father, Jo had forced herself to shut out the specifics of the case. Pondering the evidence had been driving Jo crazy—so crazy that she'd had to forget the majority of the evidence just to put her life back together and find the strength to move on. Well, she had moved on. But as the saying went, the past had always been close behind. And now Jo was about to turn around and face it.

“Here you are, Jo,” Theresa said, interrupting her thoughts. “I managed to narrow the search to
Miami Herald
articles specifically relating to the trial. Just click the mouse . . . and you can read as much—or as little—as you want to.”

Theresa slid out of the desk chair, and Jo took her place. She clicked onto the first article: “Miami Judge Shot and Killed.” And there it was, in black and white. The story of her father's murder, complete with a photograph of a blood-spattered Jo crying at the scene of the crime.

“Do you remember anything about the case?” Theresa asked quietly. “It might help to refresh your memory before you go any further with this.”

Jo bit her lip. “There was something about a murder weapon—or a lack of a murder weapon. I remember that being mentioned over and over again on the local TV news.”

“We'll find out soon enough,” Caylin said. “If they talked about the murder weapon on the news, they'll definitely mention it in these articles.”

Jo clicked quickly through several more articles, searching for one that discussed the details of the trial at length. Finally she found a feature that had been written shortly after Diva's father had been freed. Yes. This was exactly what she had been looking for. She perused the article while Caylin and Theresa read over her shoulders.

“Now I remember,” Jo said slowly. “According to the police lab, my dad was killed with a bullet fired from a rare gun. There were only five of them made.”

“Wow . . . that's a pretty strong piece of evidence,” Theresa said. “I can't believe they couldn't convict the guy with that.”

Jo shook her head. “That's the thing. Four of the guns were being kept in museums or stored away safely in known private collections at the time. There was no way any of them could have been used in the shooting.”

“And the fifth gun was never located,” Theresa read aloud. “Whoa . . . that's pretty creepy.”

“The gun Diva's father had in possession at the time he was arrested was a different make,” Caylin continued. “And lab reports proved that the second gun wasn't fired that day.”

“Which is why that evidence was thrown out of court and the guy was ultimately acquitted,” Jo concluded. “Have you ever heard such a suspicious story?”

“No kidding,” Theresa said. “It sounds like
somebody
paid off a crooked judge or a dirty crime lab official.”

“Exactly.” Jo stared at the article, paragraph after paragraph explaining away the guilt of her father's murderer. “At the time, that's exactly what I thought. Which is why I had to make myself forget all of this.”

“What do you think now?” Caylin asked hesitantly.

Jo sighed. “I don't know . . . but I think that fifth
gun might prove to be the key to learning the truth.” She paused. “I
have
to know where that fifth gun is. Period. And something tells me it's somewhere in Rio.”

•  •  •

Caylin glanced at Theresa. She knew that her friend was thinking exactly what Caylin herself was. Jo's interest in the fifth gun spelled trouble.

“Jo, your dad's killer is finally in jail. Don't you think it's time to let it go?”

“Maybe. But I can't.” Jo left her post in front of the computer screen and flopped onto the large bed. “I want to know the truth.”

“We understand where you're coming from,” Theresa said, perching beside Jo. “But the mission is over. It's time for all of us to relax. We need to regain our strength so that we'll be properly geared up for the next mission—­whatever it is.”

“You guys can go ahead and relax all you want,” Jo said firmly. “I want to find that gun.”

“This is crazy, Jo. You know Uncle Sam wouldn't approve of us poking our noses into Tower business at this
stage of the game.” Caylin had raised her voice to emphasize her point.

Jo remained silent, staring into space with an eerie expression on her face. Caylin was about to try a different tack to get Jo's mind off the fifth gun—but she swallowed her words when there was a knock on Theresa's bedroom door.

“Yes?” Theresa asked, opening the door.

“Mr. Chico is home,” Maria, Chico's housekeeper announced. Then she said something in Portuguese that Caylin couldn't follow whatsoever.

“She says dinner is in fifteen minutes,” Jo translated. At last she seemed to have come out of her trance.

After Maria was gone, Theresa slung her arm around Jo's shoulders. “Will you promise us to let this go?” she asked.

Jo nodded. “I will. At least for now.”

Caylin breathed a huge sigh of relief. Jo was a reasonable enough chick. Once she'd had a chance to sleep on her decision to find that gun, she would realize that she was making a big mistake . . . hopefully.

•  •  •

Jo had continued to ponder the missing fifth gun throughout the first and second courses of dinner. But she was careful to mask her thoughts behind a bright, interested exterior. Above all else, she didn't want Theresa and Caylin to know just how serious she was about her quest for the truth—whatever it was.

“Brazil really is a gorgeous country,” Theresa was saying to Chico. “Someday I would love to come back and spend more time here.”

“You will always be welcome as our guest, eh, Pedro?” Chico said, winking at his grandson.

“Of course,” Pedro returned. “All of the girls are welcome.”

Jo was handing her plate to a white-jacketed male servant as the telephone rang somewhere deep within the house. Instantly Jo tensed.

A moment later Maria appeared at the entrance of the dining room. “Excuse me, sir, the
telefone
is for Miss Jacinta.” Although The Tower had been convinced that Chico was on the up-and-up, the girls had continued to use their aliases. By now, everyone was used to them.

“Who is it?” Caylin asked, her voice laden with suspicion.

“She say Danielle,” Maria answered in her somewhat broken English.

Jo pushed her chair out from the table. “I'll just be a second,” she told Chico. “Danielle probably just wants to talk about travel plans or something.”

Jo followed Maria farther into the house and picked up the receiver of a phone in a small den off the living room. “Hello?”

“Josefina, it is me.”

She had known, somewhere deep inside her, that Dani­elle wouldn't be on the other end of the line. And Jo had been right. She recognized the traitor's voice immediately.

It was Diva. Jo whispered, “Where are you? Why are you calling me?”

“I cannot talk now. But I need to speak with you as soon as possible. It's about the gun.”

The gun. Diva had implored her to remember the gun. But Jo wasn't a fool. Diva wasn't going to win back her trust by mentioning a gun that turned up missing four years ago.