Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (4 page)

“Maybe you should have, it could have affected your divorce settlement.”

“No.” Jed’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Connie had a right to half of whatever we’d accumulated together.  She was a good mother to our children and a fair wife.  We married too young; it wasn’t her fault that our marriage fell apart.”

“Talk about Catholic guilt, sounds like you’re carrying some around, yourself.”

“Maybe.  I’m not one to show my emotions and talk things to death, and I know I can seem unfeeling at times.”

Maggie thought of him sleeping peacefully upstairs while she sat on the sofa all night fretting about Julie.  In truth, she had wished he’d been more sympathetic and shared some of her worry. And yet his coolness was one of his attractions, a refreshing respite from her first husband’s raging temper and uncontrollable outbursts.  But now she couldn’t buy into Jed’s passive wait-and-see approach to problem solving.  She had to do something, and fast.  She said, “I’m going to call the Mike Basinki Agency this morning and try to make an appointment today.”

“Want me to go with you?”

“No. You have classes.”  Maggie thought that maybe she should go alone.  She’d never been to a PI before, and she supposed they pried into people’s personal affairs. Basinki might want to know about Julie’s feelings for Jed, and whether they might have influenced her to run away.

FOUR

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching Juan Santamaria airport. Prepare for landing.”

Julie heard the crunch of the landing gear and looked into the velvety blackness outside her window.  The city was spread out below with lights twinkling up and down the mountains.

She looked for the sparkle of moonlight on water, then realized that there would be none.  They were far from the ocean, descending deep into the heart of Costa Rica.  The tension in her neck relaxed as the plane shuddered and swooped down for a landing along a runway lined with palm trees that undulated in the wind.  Away from the icy Midwestern winter, the sharp images of Kevin’s bloody face and orange flames lighting up the sky became a blur in her mind.  The waves of anxiety churning in her stomach began to subside.  There was an illusion of safety.

Suddenly, it was summer. In the small room where hundreds of passengers waited to go through customs, the air reeked of mildew and body odor.  The long line curled back and forth between rows of iron railing.  Julie pulled off her sweatshirt, but her jeans were heavy and damp, and her T-shirt stuck to her skin.  The airport waiting area, with its dirty yellow cement walls and littered tile floors, was decidedly seedy in comparison to the luxury of the one she’d just left--but lack of sophistication had its own charm.

It was going to be a long wait, but no one seemed to mind.  There was a festive, holiday feeling of escape from the uptight American scene. Several people swigged openly from bottles of beer as they chatted with fellow travelers. A slightly overweight man of about thirty stood beside her.  She studied his face, oddly mismatched with his sandy hair and ruddy Nordic complexion.

His eyes were dark brown, nose slightly bent at the tip, cheekbones flat.  When he smiled, deep dimples formed in his pudgy cheeks.  He wore a faded green golf shirt hanging out over a pair of wrinkled khakis, no doubt to disguise a less-than-flat mid-section.  Perspiration ran down the sides of his face while he took long deep drinks from his beer.  He turned to look at Julie.

“Where are you stayin’?” he drawled.

“I...I’m not sure.”  Julie turned toward the glassed-in area at the front of the terminal.  On the sidewalk outside, hordes of cabbies and drivers waving tour company placards stood shouting at the tourists temporarily trapped inside.  Behind them a crescent moon shone brightly against the darkened sky.  Julie realized that daylight was several hours away, and she didn’t even have a tour book to help her decide where to go.

He gave her a long curious look. “You here on vacation?”

“Sort of.”  Julie looked over her shoulder, hoping the Indianapolis couple wasn’t close by.  “This was just a spur-of-the-moment idea.  How about you?”

“Me?  I’m staying at the Cariari.  It has a great golf course. My name’s Bud Jimenez, by the way.”

“Hmm, I don’t play golf.”

“Even so, it’s a safe place to stay; you might want to try it.  Lots of Americans, so you’d feel at home.”  He looked out at the mob of Costa Rican men pressing their palms against the dirty smudged windows.  Their dissonant voices rose and fell as they pushed each other aside in a frantic attempt to entice customers into their waiting vehicles.

Bud continued: “My hotel has sent a van; I see the driver waiting out there.  You’re welcome to come if you’d like, it’s free for hotel guests.”

“But I don’t have a reservation.”  Julie knew she should return the introduction, but she hadn’t decided whether she was going to use her real name.

Bud waved his hand in the air.  “No matter.  It’s never full during the week.”

Julie felt herself attracted to his suggestion.  She was comfortable around this stranger for reasons she couldn’t quite identify.

A tall man wearing a sombrero stepped forward out of the line and clapped his hand on Bud’s shoulder. “You’re the guy they stopped the plane for last night, right?”

Bud looked embarrassed.  “Yeah, it was a mix-up, I was making a late connection.”

The cowboy leaned forward, a spray of whiskey breath coming from his flushed face.  “You must be some important dude!” he bellowed.  “I ain’t never had no one turn a plane around for me.”  The nearby passengers stared while Bud’s cheeks turned pink.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Bud said, and turned his back. 

But the man wasn’t giving up.  “See here,” he shouted, pointing a finger toward Bud.  “This is some Very Important Person.”  Some of the airport officials and baggage men were staring with disgust at such boorish behavior and Julie, too, turned away. She’d seen it before in other foreign countries, but it always embarrassed her when her countrymen showed their asses.  Yet what the drunk said had her worried.  Was she wrong to trust Bud?  Why had they stopped the plane for him?

“About the Cariari,” she said.  “Is it expensive?”

“Not too bad,” Bud said in a neutral tone.

Julie hesitated.  It would probably be rude to ask what he was paying and he didn’t seem inclined to share.  But one thing she knew, there was plenty in her bag to cover even the glitziest place.

The trip through customs entailed nothing but a quick glance from a friendly inspector and a stamp on the passport.  The local officials weren’t about to upset free-spending tourists with unwelcome scrutiny.  Bud showed her the way through the crowd toward a tall kid who looked like an American basketball player in his Nike shirt, khakis, and tennis shoes.  His black hair was trimmed short and neat, and he had a smooth clear complexion that suggested a healthy diet that included plenty of tropical fruits and vegetables.  He stood next to a large van trimmed in turquoise letters bearing the name of a tour company.

“Good evening Mr. Jimenez,” he said, in perfect English.  “Did you have a good flight?”

“No flight is ever
good
David, but we’re here, and I’ve brought you an extra passenger.” Bud motioned toward Julie with an expansive wave of his left hand.  He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

“Sure, hop in.”  David smiled and extended a long arm in a welcoming gesture.  During the trip he stood in the aisle of the bus and pointed out all the new American hotels along the narrow streets of the city.  Within fifteen minutes they were into residential areas where cement block homes in pastel colors sat on tiny lots and every window was barred.  David began touting various day trips, distributing colorful brochures describing volcanoes, beaches, rain forests, and butterfly farms.

Julie was glad his spiel made ordinary conversation impossible, because the tourists from Indy sat behind her. Apparently, the Cariari was part of their tour package. She turned away before they could ask any more questions, and leaned forward to rest her head on the seat in front of her.“Something wrong?” David’s hand was on her shoulder.  “Miss?”

“No, it’s just that my ears are ringing.”

“It’ll clear up,” David said.  “Happens to a lot of passengers.  Such a steep descent coming into the mountains.”  He held out a stick of chewing gum.  “Here, this will help.”

His cheerful manner made her relax.  He seemed so familiar.  “How long did you live in the US?” she asked as they pulled into the hotel driveway and prepared to step off the bus.

His face broke into a delighted grin at her misjudgment. “Never been out of Costa Rica, haven’t even been on an airplane. But I want to go to California, it’s my dream.”

“Well, you certainly won’t have any trouble with the language,” Julie said, fishing in her pocket for a tip.  God, what if she gave him a hundred-dollar bill?  Then she remembered the change from her ticket, loose in the pocket of her jacket.  She scooped up a wad of bills and thrust them into the large warm palm of the hand he’d offered to help her disembark.  The Indiana couple gave her a sharp look, then reluctantly handed him a dollar.  She supposed they were upset that she’d shamed them into giving him any tip at all.  Happily, they lost interest in her as they hurried toward the desk to inquire about their room.

Julie stopped and took in her surroundings as the sweet scent of mahogany rushed to greet her.  A highly polished gold and onyx marble floor set off burnished wood paneling and overhead beams.  In the center of the lobby was a round glass table, with an opulent centerpiece of scarlet flowers that trembled beneath an oscillating ceiling fan.  All of the outside doors were open, and a tropical breeze flowed through.  The doormen--at once exotic and romantic with their Latin good looks enhanced by crisp white shirts and tight-fitting black pants--were elaborate in their courtesy and efforts to please.  This was definitely going to be expensive.  Best she take a few moments to inspect her cache of bills before checking in.

The Ladies Room was down a hall lined with small shops displaying gold jewelry and designer clothes.  Near the end of the hall she came to a darkened room, saw the glitter of slot machines, heard the click-click of a roulette wheel, and went past large tables where sweating men and women pored over playing cards and colored plastic chips.  The casino was going strong, and no one was looking her way.

Julie decided it might be a good chance to get rid of some hundred-dollar bills and exchange some dollars for Costa Rican currency without attracting much attention.  From the looks of the high rollers in the casino, no one would bat an eye if she bought a stack of chips.  Sure enough, the haughty young cashier with blood red lipstick and breasts bulging out of her white satin shirt was accommodating and blessedly uninterested in her.

“How many, please?” she asked, looking over Julie’s shoulder at the action taking place at the blackjack table.  Julie decided to play the tourist role and speak English.

“Thirty in quarters, twenty in chips.”  She shoved a few bills across the counter, hoping she wouldn’t get change in American dollars since she hadn’t requested it.  Sure enough, back came stacks of chips, piles of strange looking coins, and an assortment of colorful colones.

A cluster of Asian men stood transfixed at roulette as the wheel turned and their chips disappeared.  Julie worked her way between them and threw a bunch of chips on numbers two and four.  These had to be unlucky, because she was born February fourth, and if ever there was a screw-up, it had to be her.  A voluptuous woman with lustrous black hair and sullen dark eyes spun the wheel.

“Four,” came the final call.  Julie stared at the white numbers on green felt and realized she had won.

“You lucky lady.” a small man with rimless glasses whispered in her ear.

“Just a fluke,” Julie said, dismayed now to be the center of attention.

“What number you playing next?” he persisted.

“I don’t know, the same number.”  The gambler threw a stack of chips on the number along with hers, and she was relieved when the wheel stopped on number eight.

“Shit!” he said.

“Sorry, I told you, it was beginner’s luck.”

“Maybe, maybe not, pick another number.”  His companion smiled encouragement. “Buy you a drink?”

“No, I’m taking a break.”  Julie backed away.  For someone trying to keep a low profile, she wasn’t doing well.  She’d have to dump the rest of the chips later.  Right now she wanted a room with a hot shower and a soft bed.  She turned and walked back up the hall to the registration desk, relieved to see that her fellow travelers were out of sight.

The desk clerk wore a long-sleeved white shirt and yellow silk tie.  Were there any Costa Rican men who weren’t heartbreak handsome?  With their dark thick hair, deeply tanned skin, finely sculpted features, and mobile lips, they oozed sensuality.

“May I help you?” His English was elaborately precise.

“I need a room for the evening.”

“A single room?”  His eyes dropped to her breasts, and Julie shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes, it’s just for me.”

He looked down at his computer.  “I’ll need some information.  Your name?”

Julie hesitated.  She needed a new name, quick. “Stephanie Talbot,” she heard herself say. Why was the name of that snip from Lewiston the only one that came to mind?  She’d have to come up with something better than that.

“King sized bed?”  The question was discreet, softly spoken, and he averted his eyes.

Julie raised her voice an octave.  Sure.  Fine.  By the way, what is the rate?”

“That will be $247,
Senorita
.  How will you be paying?”

“Cash, in advance.  Is that agreeable?”

Slowly, the black eyelashes turned up, and he regarded Julie with a small smile.  “Certainly.” a subtle fragrance drifted across the desk: exotic, spicy.  Ordinarily, Julie disliked men who wore cologne or shaving lotion, but this scent was faintly arousing.  He looked directly into her eyes.  “Your baggage?”

Julie felt momentarily flustered.  “I only have my backpack, I won’t need help.”

He was suddenly all business, producing a large gold key.  “Your room is down the hall, to the right, and halfway down the corridor to 1016.”

Relief swept through Julie’s body.  She had a comfortable place to sleep, and Bud had been right, this looked like a safe spot.  Nevertheless, it was too pricy, even with all the cash in her bag.  How long would it have to last?  The possibility of a job didn’t seem too likely, and from a magazine on the plane she’d learned that the average wage was around $400 a month,  which meant that her room tonight represented over half a month’s salary to this man.  His suave manner betrayed no resentment.