Heaven Is High (27 page)

When they were ready to leave, Bailey said, “You parked over in long term?”

She nodded.

“Give me the keys and I'll get your car. Have another cup of coffee or something. It'll take half an hour and I'll meet you at the United exit.”

She found her keys and handed them to him. “Third row from the gate, left side.”

“Okeydokey. And, Barbara, I'll drive us down, take you to a motel, not your place.”

“What about your car? I'm perfectly capable of driving. Don't be an idiot.”

“Alan and another guy can pick it up in the morning, or even later tonight. See, if you drive, sooner or later I'd have to scrape you off a tree. Worse, I'd have to try to explain to your old man, and he would hand me my head. Half an hour.”

He left and she had to admit that she was grateful not to have to drive, not to have to do anything except sleep.

Not until they were on the interstate heading south, heading home, did she tell him the whole story. Frank had always said Bailey had to know it all in order to do his job, and she knew that telling him was like telling a rock. Classified secret be damned, she thought.

He did not interrupt her. When she finished, with her head resting against the side window, her eyelids so heavy she had to concentrate to keep them open, Bailey said, “Jeez, Barbara, you're messing with big-time trouble. You know that?”

“I suspected as much.”

“Yeah. You think Binnie and Martin will buy it?”

“What choice do they have?”

“Right. So our local hotshot, Marcos, is part of it. Any idea what to do about him and the goons on stakeouts?”

“No idea about them or anything else. No ideas, period.”

“Right. Let's think.”

“You think,” she said wearily. “Bailey, I've been kidnapped, threatened with death at dawn, assaulted, alone in a pitch-black jungle in the middle of the night, a jungle complete with jaguars, alligators, poisonous snakes and spiders, part of an insane car race on a highway where a guy was gunned down a few weeks ago, a prisoner on a luxury yacht, flown in a boxcar overnight, sleep-deprived two nights in a row, and my brain has shriveled up and died. Maybe permanently.”

“Gotcha,” he said. “You want pictures of the stakeout goons?”

Her answer was a groan as she closed her eyes.

“You ought to use a sleep mask and earplugs on airplanes, let's you get some shut-eye.”

She wanted to kill him.

*   *   *

“We're here.” She heard his voice as if from a cave, and tried to shrug off the hand on her arm shaking her.

“Come on, Barbara, wake up. You've got a bed just a few feet away.”

She pulled herself away from the window, stiffer and sorer than she had been before. Blinking, she saw a motel entrance, and knew they had arrived.

“I'll go in with you, see you get to your room, then take off,” Bailey said. “I won't let you fall asleep on the way, promise.”

She didn't even bother to tell him to just shut up. They went inside, she registered, he took her key and found her room for her, put her suitcase inside.

“There's a restaurant next door,” he said. “I'll be there waiting for Sleeping Beauty in the morning. See you.”

As soon as the door closed, she began to pull off her clothes, and minutes later fell into the bed and a dream-laden sleep in which she was chased through a black jungle alternately by Santos with a machine gun and alligators with mouths big enough to swallow buses.

24

Barbara was happy to see her own car parked outside her room when she left it, and happier to see Bailey's outside the restaurant next door. Inside the restaurant she spotted Bailey reading a newspaper in a rear booth.

“Hi, ya,” he said, putting the newspaper on the seat beside him. “I was down to the classifieds. Obits were next.”

“Keep a book on hand at all times,” she said, and helped herself to coffee. A waitress came to the booth and she ordered scrambled eggs and juice, then waited for the woman to leave. “Bailey, I haven't had thinking time yet, but there are a couple of things for now.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“About the only thing going for us is the fact that no one here knows I'm aware of the bigger picture. I want to keep it that way. You said something about pictures of the stakeouts. Have any of them spotted you?”

“Barbara, come on. But they might have a clue since you walked away from their locked room, don't you think?”

“I don't know, but chances are they believe Robert's jungle pals got us both out.”

He looked skeptical. “So, what about pictures?”

“They might come in handy sooner or later, but not at the risk of being spotted. Can do?”

“Already got two of them. Barbara, some really big-time effort is at work here. And real big-time bucks are at stake. At least six guys are working shifts keeping three places covered. Could be more, but I know of six. I'll get Alan to get more pics, and maybe another guy if we need him. Then what?”

“A couple of prints of the Binnie pictures.” She opened the bulging envelope and brought out the picture of Anaia and Shala. “I'd want Binnie's image to be about that size.” She passed the picture to Bailey, and he whistled softly.

“She could be their sister,” he said, handing it back.

“I know. And she's even more like her grandmother.” She returned the picture to the envelope. “I also want prints of the stakeouts. I don't know if I'll use them, but I'd like to have them on hand, just in case.

“If what I was told goes as planned, Santos was arrested yesterday, charged with some serious felonies, and he was to be held incommunicado for at least twenty-four hours, to give him time to repent his sins. That means his bosses won't know what's going on until later today, or maybe not for several days. And that means that whatever the plan was for Binnie and me probably won't be altered or dropped right away. We'll have to base everything on the assumption that those goons intend to shoot on sight. I doubt anything less than murder is on their minds at this point. Earlier you said you thought they were not locals. Do you think they're imports from Colombia, Mexico, somewhere like that?”

“Best guess,” he said. “That's all, a guess. Could be L.A. imports, or from Texas or somewhere else.”

She nodded. “My guess is Central America. Again working on assumptions, if they're immigrants, illegal aliens, or even homegrown with unlicensed weapons, they're at risk if they're fingered. I'm going to keep that in mind.”

She became silent as the waitress approached with her breakfast. Another assumption, she thought, was that Anaia had survived, and would continue to survive for the next few days, until Santos was under control and his drug lords realized that the estate had moved beyond their reach.

As soon as they were alone again, she said, “I watched the weather report this morning. Rain moving in tonight, heavy rain tomorrow.”

Bailey grunted. His usual gloomy expression became even gloomier. “Your fault,” he said. “Not a drop of rain while you were gone, and now days of it in store.”

She ignored that. “This morning I have some things to do, shop for a briefcase and stuff to put in it. And a hooded raincoat for Binnie. I'd bet she doesn't have one with her, and I want her hidden as much as possible tomorrow.”

“Something else,” Bailey said. “You shouldn't be tooling around in your own car today. There's heavy-duty stuff going on, and they might have been alerted to watch for your car. Eugene's not like L.A., where you could ride around on an elephant for a month before anyone noticed. Nicholson had plenty of time to get a take on your car at your place. I'll drive you to a rental agency when we're done here. Something dark, cheap, tourist-type car.”

Slowly she nodded. She hadn't thought of that, but he was right. Heavy-duty stuff going on, money being spent, six or more guys sent in to do a job. God alone knew where Nicholson was or when or where he might pop up, or anything else about him. And she had some driving around to do.

“Okay,” she said. “After I shop I'll go out to talk to Binnie and Martin. I hope to God I can think of a game plan for in the morning while I'm driving out there. Come over to the motel at about four.” She began to eat her eggs.

“Okeydokey,” Bailey said. “If you're not back yet, I'll wait in here.” He was eyeing her toast.

She pushed it closer to him. “Help yourself to one. One,” she repeated, and nudged the little jar of jelly his way.

*   *   *

Driving usually was a distant second to walking to turn on her thought processes, but it was not working that morning as she drove out to Turner's Point. She couldn't even stop at the small general store in Turner's Point and walk the rest of the way. Someone might recognize her and word would get back to Frank. She had not been willing to involve him at first for her own personal reasons. She had not wanted his rational argument to try to make her see how foolish it was to take on this case. Now she knew she didn't dare let him get involved in any way, put him at risk.

Stop that, she told herself. Stop veering off into irrelevancy like that. He was not involved and would not become involved. But she needed more time, that refrain kept intruding. “You don't have more time,” she muttered. “Get on with it.”

It hadn't helped to give herself orders. When she pulled into the driveway of the big house at Nell's property she still didn't know how she would manage the following morning. She parked, took out her briefcase and a shopping bag along with her purse, and went to ring the bell.

Martin met her at the door and took both of her hands. “Did you find anything for us?”

At his side Binnie's eyes were very wide with apprehension. She reached out and put her hand on Barbara's arm.

“I have a load of stuff,” Barbara said. “Anyone else at home?”

Martin shook his head. “Tawna's teaching and has a meeting, and James is making house calls, or barn calls all day.”

“Good. Let's sit at the dining-room table where I can spread out some stuff.”

She shrugged off her jacket and they went to the dining room. Before she opened her new briefcase, she said, “First, I want to tell you what's been going on in Belize. You need a little background to prepare you for the rest. I found Anaia Santos Thurston. That's the name of the man she married, Lawrence Thurston. Her father, Augustus Santos, was murdered a month ago, and his brother, Julius Santos, is the prime suspect. That's your grandfather and your great-uncle, Binnie.” She sketched in the rest of it, without a mention of a drug cartel.

“Apparently Julius has nursed a grudge, resentment, even hatred for his brother all his life, and he saw a chance to grab the whole estate, but only if Anaia died before the thirty days ended. No one knew about you, Binnie, except him. And he was the one who tried to get you deported and out of the way, because you would otherwise be in line to inherit it all.”

Binnie was holding Martin's hand with a white-knuckled grip but she made no sign, and Martin did not say a word. Barbara was aware that his gaze had lingered on the bruise on her face, although it was fading and no longer so obvious.

She brought out the pictures of Anaia, Shala, and their mother, Lavinia. Spreading them on the table in front of Binnie and Martin, she said, “It can't be denied that Binnie belongs in that family.”

Binnie caught her breath, released Martin's hand, and picked up the picture of Anaia and Shala reverently. Tears filled her eyes, and she turned to Martin and signed.

“That's how she remembers her mother,” he said huskily.

He picked up the other picture. “Binnie's grandmother,” he said in a low voice. “Lavinia, Binnie's name. She's almost exactly like Binnie.”

Barbara nodded. “When I was taken out to talk to Anaia, she told me a story that took me by surprise. I won't try to paraphrase it, but let you read her own words for yourselves.” She found Anaia's statement about the birth of her daughter and sending her away from Belize with Shala. She handed it to Binnie.

She and Martin read it together. Binnie began to shake her head violently and her hands flew as she signed to Martin.

“She doesn't believe it,” he said. Binnie continued to sign until he put his hand on hers. “Shh,” he said. “Let me. She knows Shala was her mother. What about the letter she left her? The one rolled up in that sealed tube for years? Why would she lie about it? She never lied.”

Barbara held up her hands. “I know this is a shock, but let me tell you what Anaia said to me. She and her father were estranged after she married Lawrence Thurston. She believed he had completely disowned her and they hadn't spoken since the wedding, not until they were notified that Shala had died at sea. At a memorial service he told Anaia that he was glad Shala had died because she had brought dishonor to him. For the next eighteen years they did not speak to each other, and he never learned about her child. She believes Shala lied to Domonic to save you, Binnie. A mother will do anything, including commit suicide to save her child, and she thinks Shala saw it as the only way to protect you, to lie to him and say you were her daughter. If he harmed you she would kill herself. Why she didn't tell the emissary when he arrived, no one knows, unless she was afraid Domonic would have exacted a terrible revenge. Remember, no one knew Anaia had a daughter. Would the emissary have believed it if Shala had told him? Anaia doesn't think so. And, Anaia said, if the emissary had reported back to Augustus Santos that his younger daughter, Shala, had an illegitimate child, he would have abandoned her to preserve his honor. She thinks he knew you existed and he believed you were Shala's child, and we know that Julius Santos must have found out about you.”

Binnie was watching her as if hypnotized. Gently Barbara said, “It's a dark and filthy story of the misplaced pride of one arrogant man and the filthy overwhelming greed of another. And neither one has anything to do with you or with Anaia.”