Murder on the Equator Box Set

by Becca Bloom

  Duh! My cell phone! Pulling out phone, I dialed the restaurant. They'd be wondering where I was. Agent Vasquez would be at the grocery store asking about me by now.

  I started talking as soon as someone picked up, hoping my cell phone signal would hold long enough to get help. "I ran into Christian at the grocery store. I totally panicked, might have overreacted a bit, and now I'm in the back of a pickup heading to Lord knows where."

  Silence.

  "Hello?" I asked, checking my signal strength on the screen.

  The speech started out garbled, but it cleared enough for me to hear Sylvia’s voice. "Describe the pickup to me. Describe everything you see around you.”

  "It’s a white and green pickup with a black tarp covering the back. It said something about Luna and tuna on the side." Like the name of that place Martin had mentioned. It sounded ridiculous even to me, but I hoped my friends would have more sense than I did. I wasn't feeling too smart kneeling down in the back of the pickup driving to some unknown destination with something disgustingly smelly behind me.

  "That's a pickup taxi. Was it parked in front of the market?"

  Hope surged within me, soon to be dashed as my phone beeped at me and the call cut. Yanking the phone away from my ear, I looked at the screen again, tapping it in disbelief. Dead battery.

  “It figures," I complained aloud, shoving my lifeless phone back into my pocket.

  I felt the weight shift in the pickup as we drove down a hill and a crate rolled toward me. Something scratched against my leg. To my horror, it was a crate full of dead, plucked chickens with their feet poking out of the sides and their heads flapping over the edge. I had to open the tarp before I tossed my cookies in the back of the pickup.

  The top of the tarp lit up as we went by some kind of a light. I pulled it back enough to avoid gagging and saw dozens of dead, plucked chickens in the stacked crates behind me. I squealed as something wet pooled around my bare knees and toes. Why had I worn sandals?

  The crates and chicken goo slid back as we went up an incline. We drove for quite a distance. I would've guessed it to be at least a half an hour, when in reality, it was probably closer to ten minutes. Being a stowaway and kneeling in squalor had a way of making the time crawl.

  Finally, the pickup stopped. Pulling back the tarp, I climbed out, trying to go unnoticed but having a hard time walking on numb feet. How on earth would I be able to explain what had happened?

  The pickup had parked in front of a small house off of a main roadway that wasn’t used enough to be paved. It was dark and I was in the middle of nowhere. I couldn't see any other lights anywhere around, but knew that if I went downhill, I would eventually get out to the main highway and to help.

  It would be a long walk in my flip-flops.

  A man's voice called out behind me. I had not escaped detection after all. He pointed to me and he pointed to the back of his pickup. While his voice didn't sound angry, he certainly sounded puzzled.

  Doing the best I could with my limited Spanish, I said, "Gracias. Um, problema, er — Sorry?” Man, I needed that Spanish class. I wasn’t off to a very good start.

  The guy scratched his head, but he didn't appear upset. That was something. I asked, "Baños?" I was pretty sure which direction to take, but I hadn't made very many intelligent decisions that evening and didn't want to leave anything to chance.

  He gasped at me. "Baños?" He said a bunch of other words I had no idea what they were. I couldn’t very well ask him for a ride back to town. I didn’t know how to ask anyway. Backing out of his driveway, repeatedly apologizing, I headed down the hill in the direction he had pointed.

  After stubbing my toe for the third time on the uneven rock drive, I prayed for a taxi to show up. Or a bus. Anything to get me back to Baños and civilization. A long, hot, spider-less shower would put me to rights. I would claim one of the pot scrubbers to exfoliate my skin from the chicken juice I had been obliged to sit in.

  When I had reached the point where my aching toes challenged my determination to walk back to Baños, I saw two headlights turning a corner and going up the hill toward me. Please, let it be a taxi.

  When it came around the corner and I saw the yellow paint, I raised my face to the heavens, exclaiming aloud, "Thank you!" for the providential gift.

  The driver rolled down his window and poked his head out. It was Martin. "Jessica? What are you doing here?"

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “Do you need a ride?”

  I climbed in, relieved he didn’t ask for any explanations and that the worst of my night was done.

  Martin turned around in the middle of a blind corner. With my luck, a bus would smash into us before he could find reverse. I was almost tempted to offer to drive his car for him, but he would probably consider it an insult and so I kept my mouth shut except for the exclamations which escaped me as I slammed around in the backseat.

  He finally managed to get it turned around. He was the sort that needed forty acres to turn his rig around. Jamming the gear into first, we hopped forward so violently, the contents of his dashboard which had wedged themselves into the passenger corner of the dashboard, flung off. A flash of red caught my attention. I would recognize a packet of Big Red gum anywhere. I had looked all over Baños and hadn’t found anyone selling my favorite gum.

  "Do you like Big Red?" I asked, hoping that the ride wouldn't be so painful if I engaged Martin in conversation.

  He looked at me in the rearview mirror, ignoring the road in front of him until I screamed when I thought we would plummet over the edge.

  Without missing a beat, he asked, "What is Big Red?"

  Opening my eyes and reassuring myself that we were still alive, I said in a squeak, "It’s the cinnamon gum that just fell off your dashboard. I'd like to know where you bought it so I can get some." How could he not know what Big Red was when he must have bought it?

  He didn't answer right away, thankfully paying more attention to where he pointed the front of his car than to me. Finally, he said, "I got it from a friend."

  Well that was vague. His eyes flickered to me in the backseat, and I decided that it was probably a better idea to allow him to concentrate on the road than on talking with me. His conversation was disconcerting at best.

  I sat back in my seat and tried to get comfortable, but something kept whacking me on the shin. Looking down, I saw something dark wedged between the consul and the driver seat. I shoved on it, but it didn't want to budge. I moved it to the side, but that did nothing either. I considered just moving and leaving the thing be, but we went over a small precipice which made the whole car shake and it whacked once more against my throbbing shin. That would leave a gooseberry.

  That was it! Pulling on the obstruction with all of my might, I lost my breath when I saw a neon yellow smiley face painted on the handle of a machete.

  Chapter 25

  It was Martha’s missing machete. Dropping it onto the floorboard, my eyes met with Martin’s in the rearview mirror and I knew I was in danger. That hadn’t been just any packet of Big Red. It had been my pack of Big Red. The gum had been in my backpack, which he must have taken from Maria after he killed her. And the weapon he had used to kill her lay at my feet.

  He held my eyes. I knew his secret. He knew I knew his secret.

  "Why?" I didn't need to explain my question.

  I reached down, grabbing the handle of the machete before he could. I wouldn't know how to use it without poking myself, but he didn't know that. For all he knew, I was a machete-wielding ninja warrior.

  When my family sent me to Ecuador to have the adventure of a lifetime, I seriously doubted this is what they meant.

  Gripping his steering wheel so hard the leather cover squeaked, Martin banged one of his hands against the dashboard. "I work harder than they do and they buy the big TV and the new car. I learn English to improve business and I save my money to buy a new car. The bank approved my loan and I was so happy, I went to
Dario’s bar to celebrate. Next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital and have to use down payment for my car to pay the bill. I lose the new car.”

  His mother must never have given him the “life is not fair” talk.

  "That's no reason to kill someone, Martin," I mumbled, scared to remain silent and scared I would say the wrong thing and turn his anger on me. But hey, I was the one holding the machete.

  "I tried to be nice. My car broke down one block from her house. I ask Maria for help and you know what she do? She makes fun of me. She call me lazy. She call me drunk. She call me loser. I tell her shut up but she did not listen, so I…" He sliced his finger across his throat. The gesture creeped me out worse than if he’d said the words.

  "And José? Why did you kill him?" The more he talked, the slower he drove. Leaning over, I popped the lock on the passenger side door up as quickly and quietly as I could. It wasn’t a very good escape plan, but it was consistent with my series of bad decisions. And it sure beat staying in the car with a psycho.

  Slowing down just a little bit more, he said, "José no drive, but he need help transporting liquor to Baños. I ask him for work, and he refused me."

  Play nice, Jess. Keep Martin talking. “Why would he do that? I mean, obviously he owed you after everything he and Maria put you through.”

  He gunned the engine to go around the corner just as I had gotten into a crouch position to jump out of the door. We drifted over the dirt and stone road as he swerved the car out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. I couldn't see the vehicle very well, but I prayed it was Vasquez coming for me.

  Martin got some control over his car and I saw my chance. Kicking the door open, I flung the machete out of the open door and I leapt out hoping to land in a tuft of soft grass. I landed in a puddle of mud. My dreams of being a stunt woman effectively crushed, I crawled over the side grateful all of my limbs worked.

  Up the road I saw what I could now clearly identify as Agent Vasquez’s rig as it twirled around in a perfect Rockford. The backseat window rolled down and Abuelita yelled at me, "Get in!"

  Scrambling to my feet, I had the sense of mind to grab the machete glinting in the moonlight on the side of the road and hobbled over to him with one sandal on and the other one lost.

  He stepped on the gas before I had even closed my door.

  Tia Rosa asked, “You okay?”

  I was too shocked to know if I was okay or not. That paled in comparison to what I knew. "It was Martin!"

  "I gathered as much," he said, his eyes never leaving the road as he accelerated.

  My body shook so hard with adrenaline, I had a hard time buckling my seatbelt. "I got a confession and everything."

  In a low growl, he said, "Of course you did."

  He flashed his lights at the taxi, but Martin did not slow down. He lurched forward just as we reached the highway. Agent Vasquez braked so hard, my seatbelt locked. Ouch! I hated to think of how many bruises I would find on my person in the morning.

  Martin made it across one lane of traffic, but he got no further than that. He slammed into the back of a truck hauling two cows and a horse, crunching the front of his car like an accordion and sending a poof of dark smoke into the night sky.

  Agent Vasquez hopped out of his SUV, pointing at me. "Stay here," he demanded.

  I still trembled so hard, I didn't think I could've moved had I wanted to. The inside of his car felt safe. I put the machete on the floorboard before I cut myself with it.

  Abuelita and Tia Rosa scooted forward and they each took one of my hands, stroking them until my shaking calmed. No wonder cats liked to be pet.

  “How did you know to come here?” I asked.

  “Street girl run to restaurant and tell us when you call.”

  Tia Rosa grimaced at her sister. “You try throw her out.”

  “I no allow riffraff in restaurant.”

  “She not riffraff. She save Jessica.” Tia Rosa narrowed her enormous eyes in a blistering glare at Abuelita.

  I vowed to learn that little girl’s name to thank her and buy an entire box of her mints. “I want to buy her lunch.”

  Abuelita reacted instantly. “No! First you have Lady. And now, you want little girl. Is no good!”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said, changing the subject to avoid a fight I didn’t have the strength for. The adrenaline was wearing off and an overwhelming exhaustion took over my body. “How did you convince Agent Vasquez to let you come with him?”

  Tia Rosa said, “We no give him choice. We climb in car before he say ‘no’.”

  Abuelita patted my hand. “You in trouble. We come.”

  I squeezed their hands while I still could, then let go to settle into the worn, leather seat to observe the scene before us. Several police cars with their sirens screaming and lights flashing surrounded Martin and his car.

  In a matter of seconds, the resentful taxi driver was escorted to the back of a police car, handcuffs holding his arms behind his back.

  The police got traffic moving again in no time, getting the truck off the road as well as the totaled taxi. The animals were unharmed, but made their displeasure known by leaving steaming heaps of manure on the hood of Martin’s car.

  Agent Vasquez came back to his vehicle with a plastic bag. He opened it up to me and I dropped the machete into it. Without a word, he turned around and gave it to one of the policemen waiting behind him.

  He got back into the car and the engine rumbled to life as he turned the ignition.

  "What happens now?" I asked.

  "Martin is being taken to Ambato to await his trial in jail. I'll need to get your statement tonight while it’s still fresh in your mind."

  I sighed. All I wanted was a hot shower and my comfortable bed.

  "But first," he held his hand out to me, "you owe me five bucks."

  I looked at him questioningly.

  He raised his eyebrows and looked over at me. "That is, unless you want to go to jail tonight too for shoplifting."

  The chocolate and powdered sugar! I’d forgotten all about that. It must still be in the back of the pickup with all the dead chickens.

  Agent Vasquez chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Jessica. You make me a batch of your famous goofballs, and we'll call it even.”

  “How’d you hear about those?”

  He smiled. “Abuelita and Tia Rosa argued over which was better before the little girl told us what had happened to you. Your goofballs or your doughnuts.”

  “The fried balls,” voiced Abuelita.

  “The doughnuts,” countered Tia Rosa.

  Agent Vasquez raised his hand for silence. “But first, we must get you into a shower. I can’t interview you with that stench and I doubt Sylvia will want you in her restaurant in your current state. You stink."

  Oh, and I knew it. If only my family could see me now. Shoplifter. Detective. Stowaway. Heartbreaker … The list got longer the more I thought about it. The past week had been the stuff of novels, which gave me an idea….

  "May I borrow a piece of paper and a pen?" I asked.

  Pulling out a notepad from his pocket, Agent Vasquez tore out a page toward the back and clicked his pen as he handed it to me.

  In the five-minute drive back to Sylvia's restaurant, I scribbled out an outline. I had a feeling about this one. I had started and stopped dozens of comics (Come on, I’m a web developer and graphic designer, not a novelist). I felt a bit like Joan Wilder in Romancing the Stone, but if it worked for her, why not me too? Just change the genre from romance to mystery … or adventure … with a touch of chick lit and comedy. My family would love it. They’d be happy I was drawing again.

  Agent Vasquez looked at me funny, but he didn't ask.

  I was too gross to walk through the restaurant, so we went through the side door, past a very happy Lady, and into the kitchen through the screen door.

  I had no sooner entered the room than I was bowled over by Sylvia and Adi. Abuelita and Tia Rosa would not be out
done by the younger members of their family and I soon found myself surrounded by friends, all of them jockeying for the best hugging position. Abuelita used her bony elbows and Adi used her superior height to advantage. None of them complained that I was dirty and smelled like deceased poultry. I stood as close to the roses Christian had sent over as I could. Poor guy. I was so convinced he’d done it, I’d acted like a complete idiot to avoid him. On the other hand, maybe he’d leave me alone if he thought I was crazy.

  Like she could read my thoughts, Adi said, “Christian was flattered you thought he was an edgy bad boy. You’re not going to get rid of him easily.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course he’d like that.”

  And then the questions came. Agent Vasquez poured coffee for everyone in a ring around the island as I related everything that had transpired between the time I had last seen them until that moment. Agent Vasquez soon took over the questions, frantically jotting down every detail I shared in his notepad. I was grateful I wouldn't have to relate the story again. But there were some details I didn’t understand.

  “How come we didn’t suspect Martin? Did you check his alibi? And how did he murder Maria without being seen by Christian or Dario?”

  Agent Vasquez scowled. “I had one of my lieutenants check his alibi. Martin said he’d gone to the store on the corner of the alleyway to buy beer for the guys at the auto shop. The storekeeper and the mechanics confirmed his story. He had to have done it then. That he did it quickly is evidenced by how Dario found Maria. She was in her car with the engine running. When I took Dario’s statement, he told me he’d waved to Martin on his way up the alleyway. He was close enough to the store, we assumed he was only buying beer.”

  “What about the machete? He took it with him. Didn’t anyone notice?”

  “Until I read through his confession and talk to him myself, I can’t know for sure, but hadn’t you asked Maria to return your backpack? If she was on her way to you, your bag would have been in her car and Martin could have used it to hide the machete and stow it somewhere until he could hide it.”