“I hadn’t thought about writing a book, but maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” he told a publishing colleague. “Olga, sweetheart, please make a note about that. I’ll have to get back to you on that, Dan. But if Signet thinks it’s a good idea, Buckley House may entertain the notion.”
They had rarely left each other’s side. Olga had parked Vaughan on the sofa in the living room, sitting beside him and forming a human barrier to keep everyone at a safe distance. “Don’t you dare get up when people come in,” she said, frowning at him. “All that up and down will tire you out. No one will think you’re being discourteous.”
“I’m not an invalid, Olga. I’m feeling better by the minute.”
“Humor me.”
“I guess I’ll have to,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’m afraid you’ll get violent if I disobey.”
“It’s a definite possibility,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t tempt me.”
Dina pulled at my sleeve. “Isn’t it exciting, Jessica? And so romantic. Roberto and I are thrilled he’s safe.”
Roberto’s expression didn’t match his wife’s words. “I don’t suppose you’ll have time now to work with me on our book,” he said.
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“It could have been a big bestseller, you know.”
“Well, in that case,” I said, “you should continue working on it. I’ll be happy to read it when you’re finished and, if you like, make some suggestions.”
“I’d rather you gave it to your editor.”
“Why don’t you get it written first,” I said.
“Roberto, did you see the buffet?” Dina asked, tugging her husband toward the dining room. “Excuse us, Jessica.”
“You look pretty good, considering,” Guy Kovach said to Vaughan. “Doesn’t he?” he asked his wife, Nancy, as well as Cathie Harrison and Eric Gewirtz, who sat on the sofa across from the Buckleys.
“That’s because you can’t see the scars inside,” Vaughan said.
“You’re kidding, right?” Nancy said. “They didn’t beat you or anything?”
“No. They decided tying me to a chair all day long and dumping me in a crate at night was sufficient torture.”
“He’s a lucky man,” said Roberto, who rejoined us, balancing two plates of food. Dina put down her margarita to turn a desk chair around for her husband to sit. “You know the odds were against you,” he said to Vaughan.
“They weren’t going to hurt him till they got the money,” Guy said. “You saved a bundle by getting rescued.”
“He’s worth more than all the money in the world to me,” Olga said.
“I never thought of San Miguel as being dangerous,” Cathie said, “or I wouldn’t have brought my children here.”
“There’s no place without crime,” Eric countered. “We’ve taught them to be cautious and not to trust strangers. And there’s no chance they’ll be driving after dark on these roads. You do what you can, and then you have to trust their judgment.”
“This isn’t Mexico City,” Roberto said. “We have a pretty low crime rate, all in all.”
“Except for theft,” Dina put in.
“I’ve never had anything stolen,” Nancy said.
Sarah entered the room, her expression serious. “Thank God,” she said when she saw Vaughan. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you.” There was none of the flirtatiousness that had marked her previous exchanges with him. “I prayed every day that the police would find you, and my prayers were answered.”
“Actually, it was Jessica and Father Alfredo who found me,” Vaughan said. “But thanks for your prayers. I’m grateful for all the concern about me and especially for all the support everyone gave Olga. I was more worried about her—and Woody—than about myself.”
“Woody’s funeral is tomorrow,” Sarah said. “I hope you’ll be able to make it.”
“Without question, I’ll be there. How is Philip?”
“He’s doing okay. He’s here somewhere.”
“He is?”
“I brought him with me. He was glad to hear you were rescued.”
Vaughan ignored Olga’s instructions and struggled to his feet, his muscles still sore from his ordeal. “I’d like to talk with Philip,” he told her.
“Of course,” she said, taking his arm. “Let’s go find him.”
Sarah took Olga’s place on the sofa. “You’re quite the sleuth, I hear,” she said to me.
“I’ve been lucky at times,” I said.
“With the kind of luck you have,” Guy said, “I’d like to take you to Las Vegas with me.”
“Guy!” his wife said, but she flashed a smile at me.
“You can come too, Nancy. I wouldn’t leave you home.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
Guy slapped his thighs. “That’s a great-looking plate of food our friend Roberto has over there,” he said. “I’m going to get something to eat. C’mon, Nancy.”
The Kovachs went off to the dining room, and Cathie and Eric followed them.
Roberto waited till they were out of hearing range before commenting, “See? What did I tell you? He’s always looking for the easy buck.”
“Not now,” his wife said, frowning into her empty glass.
Maria Elena came to me and whispered that Chief Rivera and Captain Gutierrez were in the courtyard.
I went to find them. “Chief Rivera, I hadn’t realized you’d returned,” I said, shaking his hand. “I’m happy to see you again.”
“And I, Señora Fletcher, was very pleased to learn that your good friend has been found.”
“He has, and thanks to Captain Gutierrez, he’s safely at home.”
“I understand from my captain that you have been very busy in my absence.”
“Captain Gutierrez has been most helpful,” I said, eyeing Gutierrez and daring him to contradict me.
“Is that so?”
“We were in a precarious position last night, in a deserted part of town, afraid the kidnappers might come back, and with no one to help us. If the captain hadn’t turned up when he did, I don’t know what would have happened.” I smiled at Gutierrez.
“Señora,” the captain said, nodding at me. His face was set in a scowl. I had thought we might have come to some kind of acceptance after the previous night, but it was not to be. Captain Gutierrez wasn’t about to drop his macho façade, no matter what.
Rivera smiled. “I didn’t hear the story quite the same way.”
“Come in and join the welcome home party,” I said. “Everyone is so grateful for Vaughan’s safe recovery.”
They followed me inside.
“You know we finally traced the murder weapon,” Rivera said. “The gun belonged—”
“To Woody,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Yes, I know.”
Rivera’s eyebrows shot up.
“You see?” Gutierrez said.
Vaughan was back on the couch. The day’s social activities had taken an obvious toll. He was drawn, and the dark crescents under his eyes that a good night’s sleep had softened were starting to reappear. He perked up at the sight of the policemen, however, and stood to greet them.
“Señor Buckley, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Chief Rivera said after I’d introduced them.
“The pleasure is mine,” Vaughan replied. He shook hands with Gutierrez. “Good of you to come.”
“Actually,” Rivera said, “we’re here on official business.”
“I thought you might be,” Vaughan said. “Would you like to go upstairs to my study where it’s quiet?”
“I don’t think so.” Rivera raised his eyebrows at me. “Señora Fletcher, my colleague informs me that you might have some knowledge to contribute about the crime. If that’s the case, I would like to hear it.”
“I do have a theory,” I said. “After talking with Father Alfredo last night, I’m convinced the men responsible for the kidnapping were simply hired thugs, working for someone else.”
“Who would that person be?” Rivera asked.
“It had to be someone who not only knew that the mail run was going to take place but also knew the precise timetable.”
“That could be anyone in this room,” Guy said.
“Yes, it could.”
“You’re not accusing one of us, Jessica, are you?” Sarah asked.
I didn’t answer, letting the silence speak, and looking at each person in turn. My eyes rested on Roberto.
He was visibly nervous. “Buckley and I haven’t always gotten along,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with this.”
“They’re not accusing you,” Dina said. “Roberto would never hurt anyone, would you, Bob?”
“Shut up, Dina.”
She closed her eyes momentarily, then got up and walked away.
Philip had come into the room after the police had arrived, followed by the editor of
Noticias,
but they kept their distance from the others, Philip obviously uncomfortable among his father’s friends and Guillermo Sylva reluctant to draw attention to himself and possibly be asked to leave. Maria Elena and Hector stood in the doorway.
Philip spoke up. “You don’t think those men were just bandits waiting for whoever showed up?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “They were waiting for Woody and Vaughan. They knew they would be returning, and they had a good idea what time it would be.”
“That should cut down the number of people with inside knowledge, Jessica,” Vaughan said. “I called Olga, so I presume you and Maria Elena knew we were on our way home. Woody must have called Philip. Am I right, Philip?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell anyone?” Vaughan asked.
“That my father was on his way back? I—I don’t know. I might have mentioned it to a few friends. That doesn’t mean they were involved. I told you, too, Sarah, didn’t I? Did you tell anyone?”
“No. I don’t believe I spoke with anyone about it. No offense, but it wasn’t something of great interest. Woody went on mail runs all the time.”
“How do you know,” Captain Gutierrez asked me, “that these criminals were waiting to ambush Señor Manheim and Señor Buckley?”
“Father Alfredo told me that they had been recruited by a man they called El Grande.”
“El Grande? That’s funny,” Nancy said. “That means ‘the big one.’ That’s what they call Guy at the local market. Got to watch that tummy, hon.”
Her husband glared at her. She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. “No, no, it couldn’t have been Guy,” she said. “We had no idea when Vaughan and Woody would be back.”
“No, we didn’t,” Guy confirmed, his face grim.
“The padre, he knows who these men are?” Gutierrez asked.
“If he does, he’ll never tell you,” Vaughan said.
“Why not?” Nancy asked.
“He would likely claim the sanctity of the confessional,” I said. “Whatever he learns when someone goes to confession must be kept strictly confidential. That’s a rule of the Church. If he breaks that rule, he could face excommunication.”
“But what if what he found out about them wasn’t from confession?” Philip asked.
“I don’t know if he knows who they are,” I said, “or has only heard about them secondhand. Another man was supposed to participate in the kidnapping, but he backed out at the last minute.”
“At least there was one smart one,” Roberto said.
“It was this man’s replacement who shot Woody, according to Father Alfredo. He said he was told it wasn’t supposed to happen that way. It was supposed to be a kidnapping for money, with no one hurt.”
“So, who hired the men?” Sarah asked.
I met her eyes and waited to see if she would look away. “Don’t you know?” I asked.
“Me?” Her voice was shrill. “Why would I know?”
“Because you wrote the note that was delivered to the newspaper the night of the kidnapping. And you sent an instant message to Olga demanding the ransom, knowing it would be me or Maria Elena reading it, since you were at the house when Olga left for the airport.”
Sarah laughed. “You have a fanciful imagination, Jessica. You’ve been writing too many novels. Woody and I were friends. Why would I kill him?”
“I didn’t say you killed him. I said you wrote the message that was published in
Noticias,
the one that resulted in banner headlines about the kidnapping. You jumped the gun by sending the message in early. I guess you didn’t want to be late for your gallery opening. As a result, the editor knew about the kidnapping before Olga or the police did.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Sarah said. “You’re making it up. I’d like to see you prove such allegations.”
“So would I,” Rivera muttered.
“It shouldn’t be too hard,” I said, turning to the editor. “The letter you received, Señor Sylva. What distinguishing characteristic did it have?”
“You mean the ink smudge on the corner?”
“Yes. And what color was it?” I asked.
“Blue. It was blue ink.”
I turned back to Sarah. “The day I met you, your fingers were stained with blue ink. Yesterday, when I visited your studio, you warned me about the ink being permanent. You showed me the blue stains on your smock.”
Sarah smiled, but her eyes were hard. “So what?” she said defiantly. “Lots of artists use ink in their work. I’ve been experimenting with a new medium. That doesn’t make me a criminal.”
“I imagine if the police want to compare the fingerprints they found on the letter with yours, they would find a match. Here is your rebel leader, Chief Rivera. No wonder the soldiers have had a hard time finding the revolutionaries. They never thought to look under their noses at an artist who puts her political beliefs in her paintings.”
Captain Gutierrez grabbed Sarah’s wrist. “I think you had better come with me, Señorita. We have some questions.”
Sarah pulled her hand away. “My father’s a lawyer. You’ll never get away with this.”
“Hold up a minute,” Chief Rivera said. “Don’t tell me this is El Grande. Are you saying she hired those men to kill Señor Manheim?”
“No,” I replied. “She didn’t. Woody’s death was an accident. He was showing off for Vaughan, challenging the men. He didn’t realize that one of them was not in on the playacting. The gun that killed him was his own.”
“Then who is El Grande?”
I gazed around the room, taking in the taut faces of those in attendance—Vaughan and Olga, Chief Rivera, Captain Gutierrez, Roberto and Dina Fisher, Guillermo Sylva, Guy and Nancy Kovach, Cathie, Eric, Maria Elena and her brother Hector, Sarah. My eyes came to rest on Philip. “I’m sorry, Philip,” I said. “El Grande was your father.”