Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (13 page)

“He’ll be fine. There are grandparents, aunts.”

“But his mother?”

“I’ll see to it she doesn’t get pregnant again.”

“That’s all?  What about her selling herself for a few pretty things?”

“I can’t change that now.  She’s used to the life.  I’ll try to encourage her to get some schooling that will take her out of here.  Perhaps she could work in an office somewhere.  These things are unpredictable.”

“But this is a crime, it’s against the law.  Can’t you report it to the police?”

“I could do that, yes.  But they wouldn’t intervene.  Tourism is so important here, it’s what feeds our economy these days. He reached and covered her hand with his as they watched the moon slip behind a veil of clouds. The frenetic mood of the evening had altered, replaced by a subtle intimacy.  They had shared a wondrous thing.

“Julie,” he said, “Would you care to dance with me? It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the company of a beautiful woman.”

She rose wordlessly as his arms encircled her waist, and they began swaying to the music.  The stubble of his beard against her cheek aroused a surge of desire low in Julie’s belly that she struggled to control. 

“Don’t you miss San Jose?” she asked.  “Don’t you get tired of it here?”

“Sometimes.  But then, it’s what I want to do.  God spared my life for a reason.  I no longer care for fine things, a place in society.  It seems trivial, without meaning.”

“That much I can understand,” she said.  “I, also, turned my back on a promising career and a life devoted to accumulating material possessions.”

“Then something happened to you, too. Your loss made you see the futility of all that, the emptiness.”

“A loss?” The lump in Julie’s throat thickened. “The only thing I lost was the thing I treasured most--a happy family.”

“Your family was killed, too?”

“Killed?  Not physically.   But the dreams are all dead.” The cool mountain air whipped across her face, and a memory was seeping into her mind like a poison gas
.

That last trip to the Smokies with Mom and Dad. They’d rented a single room for the sake of economy. Julie slept in one double bed, her parents in the other. Tired from a hike through the mountains, they’d had an early dinner and gone to bed early. In the middle of the night, she had been awakened by screams outside her window. She parted the curtain, and out under the brightly lit parking lot, she saw Mom crying, Dad yanking her arm, his fist pummeling her stomach. Mom’s face twisted in pain would always be imprinted in Julie’s brain, coming back time and time again in her dreams, no matter how far she ran.

But this she could say for Mom: it may not have been the first, but it was the last time it happened.  Maggie filed for divorce the minute they got back to Lewiston and that was the end of their happy little family.  Julie graduated high school the next spring.

Enrique lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Why are you weeping,
Pobrecita
?”

Julie wiped the dampness from her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said.  “I seem to be losing it.   My feelings are bubbling up like a mountain spring.”

Enrique pulled back her hair and held her face in his hands. “You are too beautiful to be unhappy, Julie,” he said.

Julie moved back a little. It was too soon after Kevin. But how long did she have to live if the killer tracked her down? What was that Latin expression about seizing the day?

His lips were soft and warm as he kissed her gently at first, then again more urgently. His tongue found hers while he slowly unbuttoned her blouse.  She clawed at his shirt but he stepped back. “Let me remove your skirt,” he said. “I want to see your lovely body in the moonlight.” Her heart pounded and her body ached for him as he held her back firmly by the shoulders before kneeling to kiss her breasts.

Julie trembled with desire as Enrique’s hands moved up her thighs and between her legs. “Please,” she begged, “hold me close.” And finally, she was in his arms, her nipples buried in the soft dark hair of his chest.

Carpe Diem
.

* * *

Palm fronds rattled against the window.  For a moment, Julie saw only feathery shadows dancing on the wall, and there was a numb feeling in her head.  Where was she?  She ran to the window and stood on her tiptoes.  In the east, dawn was breaking. She heard a tinkling sound like a thousand wind chimes; it was the tiny singing birds up and down the mountain that she had read about.  Beyond the great oak trees surrounding the clinic, a line of patients had begun to form.  Now she remembered leaving Enrique’s bed during the night to fix another bottle for baby Oscar, then creeping back to her own room in case he woke up again.

She heard the low soft voice of Enrique, the higher feminine ones of his female assistants. Everyone was already at work, and she felt guilty at having slept so late.  She dressed hastily and found Juan in the waiting room.

His face crinkled into a broad smile when he saw her.  “You had a busy night, I hear.”

“Oh?  You must have talked with Dr. Rojas.”

“Yes, he said you were a great help.” Julie looked into Juan’s dark eyes for some clue as to what he was thinking.  If he knew she and his friend had slept together, he showed no signs of disapproval.

“I was hoping to see Dr. Rojas for a moment before we leave,” she said.

“Of course,” Juan said.  “We can stop back after breakfast at the restaurant and see if he’s free.”

“Breakfast?”  Julie thought about the tumultuous plane ride ahead.  “I don’t think so.  But I’ll be happy to wait while you have something.”

“In that case, we’ll go directly to the airport,” Juan said. “We’ll be in Liberia shortly, and I’ll have something there.  I need to pick up some passengers and get back to San Jose as quickly as possible.”

Julie walked back toward the examining rooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of Enrique. At that moment, the clinic door burst open and a craggy-faced old woman limped into the room carrying a large bundle.  A small boy covered with a dirty blanket screeched hysterically, his small chest heaving as dark red blood oozed from a gash on his forehead.

“My Jacinto,” the woman yelled. “The mule kicked him in the head.”

Julie caught only a brief glimpse of the cowlick on the back of Enrique’s head as he hastened to look at the boy’s wound.  There would be no time to say goodbye.  Reluctantly, she followed Juan to the front door.

* * *

When Julie saw the plane again, she remembered she’d sworn never to climb back in what she now regarded as a torture chamber. But what choice did she have? It had been refueled during the night, so after picking a few lizards off the wings, it was time to go. The winds were tame as they approached the International Airport of Guanacaste.

They glided smoothly down through the cerulean sky and taxied across the runway for a perfect landing. A couple of uniformed employees came out to greet their plane, but the immigration office was empty.  She saw no buses or taxi cabs on the dirt road leading into the forest.  The beach was fifteen miles away.  Juan assured her that another flight full of tourists was coming in within the hour and there would be vehicles to pick them up.

Fortunately, there was a ladies room--clean and modern with Formica countertops and ceramic sinks and real toilets that flushed. Julie surveyed her reflection in the mirror for signs of wreckage. Was it only two weeks since she’d come to Costa Rica?  Although she hadn’t been outside very much, her hair had already begun to lighten, and her skin had acquired a rosy glow from simply walking along the sun-drenched streets of San Jose.

She’d been looking forward to seeing the ocean, but after last night she was in no mood for lolling on a beach with nothing to do. She’d call Nellie tonight and see if the men from Lewiston had come back.

Still dejected about not saying goodbye to Enrique, Julie sat outside at a dark mahogany picnic table while a red parrot teetering on a tree limb screeched. Her bare legs stuck to the bench as the hot humid air pressed down like a vise around her head.  Just breathing and moving seemed like a chore.  It was hard to believe she was only a few hundred miles away from the cool mountain air in San Jose. She put her head on the table, closing her eyes against the bright sunlight reflected from the parking lot.

“
Senorita.  Hola
.” Julie heard a familiar voice. She opened her eyes, blinked, and looked again.  Her mind seemed to be slipping gears. Although his back was to the sun and his face shadowed, the person standing a foot away looked exactly like David, the van driver from the Cariari.  He took three short nervous puffs on his cigarette, each producing an incrementally larger cloud of smoke.  No one else smoked like that.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

He gave her a lopsided yellow-toothed smile. “I didn’t.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“The same thing I do in San Jose.  I work for the tour company and they sent me up here for awhile to transport customers to the hotel.”

He pointed to the parking lot and Julie saw the familiar turquoise and white van with the same logo as the one that had taken her to the Cariari. “Can you give me a ride again?” she asked.

“If you’re going to the Villa de Costa.”

“What’s that?  Another overpriced hotel for gringos?”

He laughed.  “If you want more economical accommodations, I can show you another small place on the beach.  But first you’ll have to let me deposit my passengers.”

In the distance they heard the drone of a jet. An American airlines 747 appeared in the sky, dipping its wings like a giant bird and touching down on the runway.  The attendants snapped to attention while David rushed out to wait for the tourists to disembark.

Once again, Julie was in the company of her countrymen from the USA.  She decided to remain silent on the ride to the hotel so that she could avoid their probing questions about where she was from and what a girl from the States was doing here alone.

* * *

The hotel was at the top of a small mountain with the ocean swirling below in foamy streaks of turquoise, green and pale blue around the Olympic-sized pool. White coated waiters brought colorful beverages to tourists who lay slathering perfumed oils on their scorched skin and listening to music plugged into their ears.  What a contrast to the house where baby Oscar had been born last night.

“You sure you don’t want to stay here?” David was standing closer than she thought necessary, so close she could feel the hairs on his arm.

“I’m sure,” she said, drawing away quickly. “You said there was someplace on the beach?”

“Hop in,” David said.  In seconds they were careening downhill so fast she was afraid they’d land in the water. At the bottom of the hill, he jammed on the brakes as they came to a black sandy beach curled around the ocean, fringed by palm trees and tropical vegetation. The beach was nearly deserted, dotted with only with a few sunbathers.   It was as if they’d been transported to an ancient world, pristine, untouched by modern civilization.

David drove up a path gnarled with trees and vines to a two-storied white stucco building where he arranged for her to book a room with a sweeping view of the sea.  Lace curtains flapped in the breeze over a large, fluffy bed, and there was a small chest of drawers made of fragrant mahogany.  The maid brought a vase of amaryllis and birds of paradise as soon as Julie checked in, placing them on the center of a small writing table.  Birds called back and forth from the lush greenery outside her window, and the sound of ocean waves washing against the sand were a balm to Julie’s jangled nerves.  No one from Lewiston would ever find her here.

She had a late breakfast at her small hotel, but the kitchen closed at two. As dusk descended, she was forced to venture out of her safe little haven to search for sustenance. The choice of nearby restaurants was limited to three.

There was a small rustic spot about a quarter of a mile down the beach, with rough wooden tables and wide plank floors that served a smattering of cuisines: steak, seafood, fish, beans and rice. The place was jammed with down-to-earth types who had opted out of the fancy dining room up at the hotel.

Some Canadians, already well into their rum-filled fruit drinks, welcomed her to their table and let her listen to their rowdy conversation without the usual “what is a girl like you doing here alone?” routine.  A plate of boiled squid she found decidedly tough and tasteless, but the usual beans and rice, accompanied by some fried plantains, more than satisfied her hunger.  The night wore on, and the purple twilight deepened into a still, primitive darkness where only the stars and the moon cast a luminous glow over the water.  Julie looked out the window and saw ocean waves lapping at the side of the building.  The tide was in.

“How will I get back to my hotel?” she asked one of her inebriated dinner companions, a thickset blonde man with a fiery sunburn and a solemn, studious wife who constantly referred to Fodor’s.

“Just wade,” he shouted. “We all walk back through the water.”

“Kind of spooky out there, isn’t it?”