Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (17 page)

NINE

Maggie had called Mike Basinki about Cody accosting her in the parking lot and he’d promised to look into it.  Why hadn’t he called her back?  She found an empty conference room and dialed Mike’s number on her cell phone.

  He answered after two rings.

“Mike Basinki here,”

“It’s Maggie. You haven’t called, I was worried.”

“I know,” he said.  “I’ve been trying to decide what to do.”

“Decide what? Have you heard something?”

Mike cleared his throat; Maggie’s stomach quivered with nervous hope as she waited for him to speak. “I’ve heard a rumor about Cody,” he said. “But I can’t be sure it’s true. There’s a chance he’s gone looking for Julie.”

“Where?  I thought you said she had left the country.”

“She has left the country, I told you she flew into San Jose.  The thing is, he may have followed her down there.”

“You mean he knows where she’s staying?”

“He probably doesn’t.  But from what I understand, he hooked up with some Puerto Rican who probably speaks Spanish, and they’ve gone looking for her.”

“But it’s a big country.  Why would they try doing that? It would be a wild goose chase.”

“You’re right. But from what I understand, Cody’s desperate. He thinks she has some money that Kevin owed him.”

“Julie isn’t a thief, that’s crazy.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. At least he’s out of town and won’t be popping up in unexpected places.”

“But as long as he’s out of the country, I’ll worry that he’s been able to find her.”

“The chances are slim,” Mike said.

“So then, why did you say you were trying to decide what to do?  What were you thinking?”

“I was worried that if I told you what I heard, you’d get it in your mind to try and go down there yourself.”

“Well, what if I did?”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said. “You don’t speak the language and neither do I. Why don’t we wait a day or so and see what happens?  Cody’s in a money squeeze.  I have a feeling he’ll be back soon.”

“Would there be a way of finding out?”

“I think so,” Mike said.  “I’ll let you know the minute I hear something.”

At five o’clock, Maggie and Jed sat in their living room, sharing their day over a glass of Chardonnay.  In a few moments, Maggie would go in the kitchen to cook.  They didn’t eat out often, since both of them preferred broiled meats and steamed vegetables along with a large tossed salad, as opposed to the usual restaurant fare. 

“I’m afraid,” Maggie told Jed.  “Mike seems so sure they won’t find Julie.  But what if they do?”

“It’s like he said,” Jed told her. “Not too likely.  If they go around asking for an American female in her twenties, there are lots of young women who fit her description.  Naturally, we think she’s unique, but…”

Maggie’s hand went to her heart, thinking of the sweet curly headed daughter she’d sent off to college.  She’d been so different before that.  Her eyes went to the end table next to the chair beside the pillar where Julie’s picture was prominently displayed.  But something was wrong.

Had the pictures been rearranged?  Had Jed done some housecleaning in the past few days?  There should be five framed pictures on the smoothly polished walnut tabletop: a group picture of her niece’s wedding last summer with all the relatives; Jed and Maggie on their honeymoon at the Grand Canyon; Jed’s two grandchildren at Christmas time;  Maggie’s own mother and  father on their 50
th
wedding anniversary, and Julie’s high school graduation picture.

“Where is Julie’s picture?”  Maggie knelt on the floor and looked under and around the table. 

“What is it?”  Jed put a hand on her shoulder.  “What in the world’s happened?”

“It’s gone!” a wave of apprehension washed over Maggie.  “Julie’s picture is gone.”

“That’s crazy,” Jed said. “It can’t be. You’re always dusting it off; you’ve just put it somewhere else.”

Maggie went to the coffee table, then into the dining room.  Could she have picked the picture up and put it on the buffet?   The picture had to be someplace.  Panic rising in her chest, she lifted magazines, books, and throw pillows back in the living room. Maybe she’d moved it upstairs for some reason.  She headed for Julie’s bedroom.  Jed was a few steps behind, helping her move furniture and running his hands across high shelves.

Like a tightly wound mechanical toy, she careened back down the stairs and darted to the end table for another look. But it was no use.  She lowered herself into a chair and collapsed.  Julie’s picture was gone.

TEN

La Casa Verde’s manager--a young man with small honey-brown eyes, slicked back hair, and a wisp of a smile--watched her load the jeep.  Usually Freddy sat at his green metal desk, tapping on a computer.  Embracing the casual look he’d observed in the States, he wore cotton checked shirts and khakis instead of the usual dark blue suits worn by San Jose businessmen.

“Need some help?” he asked.  “I can get one of the maids to assist.”

Julie knew that women doing grunt work in Costa Rica was frowned upon, unless you actually were a maid.  The look on Freddy’s face told her that he was distressed to see one of his tenants sweating under the heavy loads of boxes she was carrying up and down the stairs.  It wasn’t proper. 

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him.  “I appreciate the offer, but it will go faster if I simply do this myself.”

He, of course, would not lower himself to carry out such menial tasks, but Julie didn’t want him nosing around in her boxes, anyway.

“So where are you off to?” he asked, not looking up from his computer screen.  His apparent disinterest didn’t fool her; she knew he was dying to know where she was going.

“There’s a mission group up in the mountains.”  Julie put the last of her boxes in the jeep and draped them with a blanket so it wouldn’t look like she was transporting anything of value. The rental car company had provided a map, and she thought it seemed pretty simple.  All she had to do was follow the International Highway.

Freddy seemed to share Bud’s opinion that Julie shouldn’t make the trip alone.  “You’ll need a driver,” he insisted.  “I’ll call my cousin.”

“No, Freddy.”  She started the motor and backed out of the driveway, determined not to let his dour expression weaken her resolve.  The highway was rutted with deep potholes, hardly better than the road back from Liberia.  Julie soon encountered endless miles of coffee plantations, wide clear rivers, and mountainsides dotted with cattle grazing at such sharp angles that they looked as if they were held there by magnets.  She drove slowly while most of the vans and tour buses impatiently whipped around her. 

After passing through Alejeula, the traffic started to thin out.  She noted in her rear view mirror a gray sedan had been with her since she left San Jose.  She let up on the gas pedal so it could pass, but it kept its distance.  Evidently in no hurry. She hummed, thinking about the fun it would be to see Rosita’s baby.  She’d bought diapers, shirts, dresses, shoes, baby blankets, and toys--not just for him, but for the other children she’d seen. 

A sign on the road pointed to the turn-off for Sarchi, a town she’d read about in the guidebooks.  It might be interesting to take a detour, stop and see the ox-cart factory, have a bite to eat.

As she approached Sarchi, the sky deepened to dark blue, smudged with black clouds that hovered over the mountaintops. Rumbling thunder shook the car and heavy pellets of rain splattered across the windshield.  Julie welcomed the lack of visibility, hoping the she would lose the gray car.

She had expected to see a quaint village with a few vendors displaying their wares.  Instead, Sarchi looked to be a major tourist trap with busloads of visitors and mini-vans parked in special lots. She parked her car and put on a windbreaker, walking through puddles with several other determined bargain hunters snatching up brightly painted trinkets reflecting the ox-cart theme. 

“May we help you,
Senorita
?  We take Master card, Visa, whatever.”  The clerks in the store called out as she walked by, and she couldn’t resist buying a few key chains and small purses to help them out. 

The residential areas were a mish-mash of styles and economic classes.  Out in the Central Valley, it appeared that there were no ‘neighborhoods.’  Modest cinderblock houses bravely painted in bright colors were next door to luxurious yellow and white stucco mansions.

It seemed to Julie it must be uncomfortable for everyone.  Wouldn’t a rich family feel guilty being so privileged when the people next door wore no shoes and lived on beans and rice?  And would it be galling to hear the cries of children playing in the pool next door when your own children didn’t have a bathtub?  She wondered if this strange juxtaposition was the basis for the claim that there are no social classes in Costa Rica

With rainwater dribbling down her neck, she stepped inside a small café where the air was heavy, and fat sleepy flies crawled all over the wooden tabletops.  She ordered a cup of coffee and flan with fruit: a sweet, tart, crisp, mushy mixture that left her satisfied but not overly full.  The tourists--preoccupied with the minor discomforts of wet clothes and muddy shoes--ignored her. It was comforting to be lost in a crowd.

The tropical rain came to an abrupt stop and the sky cleared.  As always, the strong coffee had lifted her spirits.  Her mind was sharp, focused once again on getting to Santa Clara.  Time to hit the road.

The outside air was cool and still and the fragrance of eucalyptus wafted through the village.  Julie drove up through mountains, down over narrow bridges that provided a heart stopping view of rivers and streams flowing several feet below. Cows and Brahmin bulls blocked the roads, lifting their heads in bovine annoyance as she invaded their territory.  Young women carrying cupie-doll babies and curly-headed moppets walked nonchalantly as cars passed inches from their bodies. 

Julie checked her watch.  Three p.m.  Plenty of time to get to Santa Clara before dark.  She looked in her rearview mirror and felt a tingling at the base of her spine.  The gray car was still there.  Wait a minute. Maybe it had stopped at Sarchi and was on its way to Arenal.   If someone was after her, wouldn’t they have shown themselves back at the restaurant? She patted her backpack, reassuring herself that she had the protection of a loaded gun.  But her hands were slippery on the steering wheel. It wouldn’t be wise to go on the lonely roads up to Santa Clara unless she lost that car.

A large tour bus cut in behind her, and she hoped it would pass, but there was too much oncoming traffic.  None of the drivers were shy about using their horns and each impatient beep-beep or blast pumped more adrenaline through her system as she inched her way around the narrow mountain passes.  Many of the tour buses were turning off on the road to Toubacan Hot Springs at the foot of Arenal, and she sped up, getting herself sandwiched between two towering metal monsters.  Exhaust fumes blew into her face, making her head spin as she struggled to stay between them.  It was unnerving to see the nose of one bus almost in her hatchback, the back of another one nearly touching the front of her jeep. Finally they reached the entrance to the parking lot.

When they pulled in to stop, the bus driver from behind jumped out to confront her, speaking Spanish.

“You crazy woman, you could have been killed!”  He had a hawk-like nose with dark eyebrows angled together in an angry V. Dampness ringed the underarms of his gray uniform shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, answering in his native tongue. “I was afraid to pass, there was so much traffic.”

“Woman like you, why don’t you take a bus?  Gringos shouldn’t take these roads.  They’re dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Julie looked toward the people disembarking.  “You’re right,” she said.  “Sorry if I caused you any problems.”  She fell in behind a large group, trying to mingle in.  The smell of chlorine told her that they were entering a large pool area.  The attendant at the entrance hesitated when she said she had no tour ticket, but agreed to sell her one quickly so that she could go through the gate.

The women parted from the men and entered a cavernous, steamy dressing room to change into bathing suits.  Brisk attendants issued locker keys, but Julie decided not to check her bag and leave Nellie’s gun unattended.  She figured if she didn’t put on a bathing suit, she’d be too noticeable in the pool area, so she changed quickly and used her shorts and sweat shirt to double wrap the scary weapon, making sure the safety lock was in place.

Five brightly-lit oblong pools were spread out at the foot of a mountain waterfall. The largest one was furnished with small stone tables and underwater seats where people sipped cocktails they’d obtained from a bar that rose like a sphinx from the middle of the water.  Julie wondered how much hot pee was circulating through the pool.

She sat at the edge, behind one of the larger tables where a group of tipsy tourists were giddily imbibing huge goblets of colorful fruit drinks. A buffet of food was being served on an upstairs porch, but she didn’t feel hungry. Loud music from a mariachi band lent an aura of wild abandonment as people from Minnesota and New York and God Knows Where reveled in the novelty of getting drunk at the bottom of a tropical waterfall in the middle of January.

Julie dangled her feet in the warm water and scanned the crowd, mostly middle aged couples who appeared harmless. On the other hand, someone could be lurking in the shadows or behind a post.

A cloud cover had descended and--just as Bud had warned--there was not going to be a show of red lava tonight. Not that it mattered. She wanted to leave now. If she walked away in her bathing suit, it would look like she wasn’t going anywhere except maybe to the bathroom or the gift shop she’d seen on the way in.  She tried to appear semi-sloshed and forced her stiff lips into a half smile as she zigzagged through the crowd with a bottle of beer in her hand. 

The attendant frowned when she said in Spanish:  “Left something in the car.  I’ll be back in a minute, all right?”

He shrugged, his eyes going up and down her body, taking in her bikini and beer.  Well, who cared what he thought?  She spotted the jeep next to the bus, and made a run for it.

                                                                  
* * *

“Not leaving, are you?”  Julie heard a low guttural voice coming from behind a mass of bougainvillea. She whirled around, and froze with shock.  That white crew cut.  The heavy body.  Those evil eyes that had watched a man die. It could only be Kevin’s killer. He was accompanied by a dark skinned man with tattoo-covered arms and long black hair skimmed back in a ponytail.  The air bristled with tension and hostility.

“What do you want?”  Julie looked wildly about in hopes that some tourists would come trooping out and she could attract their attention.  But everyone was inside getting pleasantly inebriated in the swimming pools or gorging at the buffet.

“This here is Carlos and I’m Cody.”  The man’s small eyes were like chips of blue glass in his swollen red face, and he spoke through half-rotted teeth. “Me and Kevin DuFrain was partners.”

She struggled to keep her voice steady but the words came out scratchy. “Partners?  The only partner I knew was Jason Weathers at the restaurant.”

“Oh, yeah, the restaurant.  Is that what you think was gonna pay for his new Porsche?  That hole in the wall?” Cody moved closer, his stale beery breath filling her nostrils.  “Look, I don’t want to play games or waste time.  You’ve got some money that belongs to me.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Oh sure, that’s how you flew down here with cash.  Your big tips at the Kensington made you rich, right?”  

“I had some savings.”

“ I seen you that night with him in the car, you was there.”

“So what?  It was just an accident.”  She wanted him to believe she wasn’t accusing him of murder.

“Then why didn’t you stay and wait for the police?  Not too nice, running out on your boyfriend, was it?  Leaving him there to die?”             

“I was going for help when the car exploded.” 

“That still don’t explain why you got on a plane and left the country.”

Julie heard a sharp click as Cody came closer, his eyes steady and unblinking. Her ears filled with internal noise.  Who would know or care what happened to her in a foreign country?  But she had one trump card.  They wanted their money and they wouldn’t do anything to her until they had it.  She swallowed hard before speaking, hoping her fear didn’t show in her face. “Let me get in my bag,” she said.

“You mean you’re carrying that much cash around with you?”  Cody stepped back while she put her head down and rooted through her belongings.  She felt the hard smooth steel of the gun handle and wrapped her hand around it, moving as far away from the two of them as possible while she released the safety.  They looked at her expectantly, greed all over their faces. She lifted the gun from the bag and pointed it at Cody.  “Come one step closer and I’ll scream, now get the hell out of here!”

Cody’s mouth dropped open, a string of saliva hanging from his lower lip.  “You wouldn’t use that thing,” he said. 

Carlos seemed cool. “You don’t think you’re going to lose us do you?” he asked.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” she called out.  “Now get in your car. March!”

Carlos laughed without humor. “What are you planning to do?  Call the Police? Come on, Julie, you know they won’t care about some gringo.  You really think they’re going to help you?”

He was probably right.  Otherwise, she would have made them go inside.  She was at a decided disadvantage in this country where the police were unpredictable. Anyway, she didn’t want to attract the attention of any law enforcement agencies.

“The thing is,” she said, “you don’t know what they’ll do, that’s why you’d better go.”