“Come on,” Justin said, taking my arm. “I read about this on the plane. It’s the Fuente del Agua Danzantes.”
The growing crescendo guided us to a crowd gathered by a large fountain where distant flashes streaked through the clouds. Bursts of color rose like the breath of some exotic creature. The pounding of my heart echoed the rhythm.
My knees weakened and I leaned against him. Without speaking, he took my arm and steadied me. We remained close for the rest of the show.
As the lights dimmed to a faint glow, a sense of peace descended, and the crowd grew quiet. We had been a part of something beyond ourselves, something that obliterated thoughts of where I was and why I’d come. But as the final chord faded, and the last firework split the heavens, Stella came to me, her face lit with the wonder of it.
Silent again, we returned to the hotel. In the glass elevator, I searched the night sky for a trace of color but only found a brilliant spray of stars. When we reached our floor, Justin spoke. “I was hoping we might finish going through Stella’s letters. I have a bad feeling about sending you to Ben without looking at the rest of them. If you’re okay with it, let’s read them tonight, unless you’d rather do it by yourself.”
I didn’t want to do it alone. Seeing her precise handwriting made my heart ache. After two unsuccessful swipes, my key card worked. I stepped inside and gasped. The comforter and blankets lay in a tangled pile on the floor. Blank index cards were scattered everywhere, and drawers had been tossed on the bed. My computer bag was upside down, empty except for the dangling power cord.
“You okay in there?” Justin called from the hallway. When I couldn’t find my voice, he rushed in. “Holy shit!”
We stopped and stared at the mess before he took a few tentative steps. He waved me back when I started to follow. “Don’t touch anything before we call the cops and hotel security.
I didn’t need a bunch of men in uniforms to tell me what the thieves had taken. Other than my laptop, the only things missing were our stack of notes and my sister’s letters.
Chapter 18
It was after two before the investigation wrapped up. I had been right about the stolen items. The officers were unconcerned about the letters and offered little hope of recovering my laptop. Only the hotel manager was disturbed by the break-in. He insisted his system was the best in South America, and he trusted his staff implicitly. Having seen the living conditions of the people who resided near the property, I imagined it would be easy for a person to bribe one of those employees.
After the authorities left, I sat on the freshly done bed. Justin joined me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take the manager up on that offer to change rooms? It’s not like they’ll come back. They got what they wanted. But wouldn’t you sleep better somewhere else?”
“I am not giving Ben the satisfaction of knowing how freaked out I am.”
“You understand, your ex might not have done this, right?”
“How could anyone even know I had the letters? And why would they want them?”
“We can’t be sure who Rhett is. Whoever he is, he might not be the only one she was seeing. And I doubt she mailed them herself.”
I thought of Eva. Had she betrayed my sister to Ben? Or was she working for someone else who wished Stella harm?
“Either way, I’m not leaving this room.” Mostly because I felt as if a leaden chain was twisting around my body, squeezing the air from me.
“Then I’m staying with you,” he announced. “No argument. It’s not safe for you to be alone.”
Too drained to put up a fight, I accepted the offer. And although I hated to admit it, I was glad I wouldn’t be alone.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I slipped into a T-shirt and a loose-fitting pair of gym shorts. While I was in the bathroom, Justin found an extra pillow and blanket and was lying on the sofa bed looking at his phone.
“Whoever broke in was sharp enough to take our note cards, but I can have the pictures printed and blown up.”
“If hadn’t been such a baby, I would have gotten through all the letters, and we’d have a better idea why they were stolen.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. If you rushed through them, you might have missed something. And if we hadn’t read them in order, they wouldn’t have made sense.”
“But now I’ll never find out what Stella went through in her last days.” Those letters were the only remaining piece of my sister, and they were gone.
“We’re not finished, Grace. There are other ways.”
Was “other ways” code for beating the information out of Ben? Before I could decide if I wanted to know, he shut off the lights.
“Since we have to be up in a few hours, let’s try to get some rest.”
Light from the hallway outlined his body as he stood and slipped out of his shirt. The springs squeaked when he sat, and the change in his pockets jingled when he tossed his pants on the floor.
Before I wished him good night, his breathing settled into the rhythm of sleep. I’ve always marveled at how quickly men fall asleep. I lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about how much had changed. Stella’s death created a void that I hadn’t had a chance to acknowledge. In a little over a week, I catapulted from my safe world into a strange and dangerous land. Once angry and bitter, I had become burdened with a sorrow I never imagined.
And now I was sharing a room with a man I barely knew but had entrusted with my life.
Chapter 19
At 6:30, the hotel alarm jolted me from a disturbing dream about Uncle Roy. All I could recall was Stella standing behind him, her fingers to her lips. The reason for her insistence on silence seemed important but eluded me.
Justin had toothpaste-glued a note to the bathroom mirror.
“I don’t think I’ve ever spent the night with a woman who snores as loud as you. See you at breakfast.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, before stepping into the shower. I gave my hair the usual fluff and dry and spackled the dark circles under my eyes with extra concealer. I packed most of my things after the police left, so I made it to the lobby at 7:15. The men still beat me.
“Justin told me about the break-in,” Harry said. “I believe we should rethink your meeting. If he stole the letters, it means he suspects something. Even with the wire, we might have a problem getting to you.”
I was adamant we stick to the plan. So what if Ben took them? He couldn’t be sure how much I’d read. And once I got him talking, I was certain he’d be so eager to prove his innocence, I could easily manipulate him. Men with egos his size often let their big mouths get the best of them.
Over breakfast, they continued to point out potential problems with the plan. What if Ben was threatened by my questions? What if he got angry or abusive? Didn’t we suspect him of hurting Stella? What made me think he would have a problem harming me?
I brushed off their concerns and told them I had never been afraid of him and would not start now. They weren’t happy but agreed we would pick up a rental car for me, and they would follow in the Bronco. Harry came up with a safe word for me to use if things got weird. He suggested I say vase if anything spooked me. I laughed at the image of being in the middle of a dangerous situation and coming up with ways to work vase into the conversation. I could croon “what a lovely vase” or ask “did you get that vase as a wedding present?” or announce “I’m going to hit you over the head with that vase.” Neither of the men thought I was funny.
Harry explained the drive to Montañita was a little less than two-and-a-half hours. But we were traveling during the busy season. Scores of surfers flooded the area, chasing waves often as high as twenty feet. Sun-wo
rshipers and partygoers thronged the beaches.
Despite our expectations of heavy traffic, we made good time getting out of the city and, except for two llamas crossing the curvy road and one donkey watching as we passed, the drive was as familiar as any coastal trip. As soon as I saw the bright blue of the ocean, I opened my window, closed my eyes, and stuck my head out, the way Stella and I used to do on our way to the beach. The wind whipped my hair across my face as I breathed in the salty air.
“Hey, Grace, maybe put that up a little.” Justin protested from the backseat. “I’m getting blasted back here.”
I shut it partway and ran my fingers through my tangled curls. “So, this is Montañita.”
What the travel brochure described as a “vast expanse of golden sand” was vast all right, but more dirty beige than golden. Tiny thatch-topped huts, bright beach umbrellas, restaurants, and bars dotted the landscape. Surfers bobbed in and out of foamy waves, and everywhere young people strolled along the water’s edge. Despite the clutter of commerce and humanity, the ocean retained its power. Stretching until the horizon melted into the water, it reminded me of my insignificance.
Harry pulled off the main highway and turned onto a paved two-lane road. It wound upward until we reached a clearing where a sign announced we had arrived at El Parasio. He parked, and we walked down a stone pathway lined with palm trees. A fat iguana blocked our way. He paused for a few seconds, gave us the lizard eye, then sauntered into the thick ground cover.
Management had painted the entryway to the hotel office in dazzling tropical colors, outlined in startling neon green. A thatch-covered roof erupted in gables just over the entrance and seduced guests with the illusion they were walking into a nature-made palace. Pink and green tiles led us to the front desk where a very tan man sat with his feet propped up, reading Transworld Surf, the swimsuit edition. His bleached-tipped blonde hair reminded me of the lead singer in one of Stella’s favorite boy bands.
He looked at us and flashed a hundred-watt smile. When his eyes met mine, the wattage dimmed, and his gaze flickered. He regained his beach-boy poise so quickly I wondered if I imagined it.
“Greetings, fellow travelers. I’m Preston Allen, but you can call me Prez. You guys must be, like, the Davenport party.”
“We aren’t just like the Davenport party,” Harry said. “We are the Davenport party.”
Our greeter seemed puzzled, then connected the dots. “Right, I get it, dude. That’s funny.”
The sixties-seventies vibe of the lobby suggested we might have slipped into a time warp. The skunky-sweet smell of marijuana completed the aura.
Prez checked us in, handed Justin the room keys, and pointed toward our villa. He added that they set up for happy hour daily from four to six at the Cabana Bar. Although it was only a little after ten, I suspected he had already started his happy hour. Or was every hour happy in Montañita?
Our unit was clean and well-lit, my two main requirements for lodging. The men gave me the room with the queen-size bed and private bath. They took the singles and shared a bathroom. The living area was furnished with a jungle-patterned sofa and plush recliners trimmed in wicker. Since my meeting wasn’t until one-thirty, the plan was to let me freshen up while Harry and Justin made a reconnaissance trip to Ben and Stella’s house. They would decide the best vantage points, pick up the rental car, then return to base camp to wire me up.
I was disappointed to discover the devise was only a tiny transmitter that I slipped into the lining of my bra, not the dramatic body-taped affairs they wear in the movies. I cheered up, though, when Harry gave me a can of military strength Mace to put in my purse.
While the men were on their surveillance mission, I checked out my wardrobe. I wanted to go with something subdued but sexy. I laid out my outfits and realized I needed someone else’s wardrobe. I decided on a short floral skirt and a knit top with a plunging V-neck that, thanks to a painful push-up bra, provided an ample view of cleavage. I added eyeliner and more mascara along with blush and lipstick. Three-inch open-toed power heels perfected an image that said, You’re going to want to touch me, but if you do, I’ll shove my shoe up your ass, pointy end first.
They returned about an hour after me. Justin looked startled when I opened the door. “Jeez, Grace.”
“What Mr. Smooth meant to say is you look very nice.” Harry took out a digital camera and sat down at the round wicker table in the kitchenette. “I think it would be a good idea for you to check out the house ahead of time.”
He showed me a pamphlet he picked up in a real estate office on the way to Ben’s. Montañita Estates was a proposed subdivision of luxury homes with a clubhouse, tennis courts, and pool. Next, he took out his camera and scrolled through pictures of vacant lots with incredible views of the ocean and a few construction sites occupied by skeletons of unfinished structures.
The last series began with a shot of an enormous structure of three rectangular two-story, boxlike sections. The gray stucco exterior gave the house an industrial look alleviated somewhat by the sparkling glass-paneled front.
“We couldn’t get a good view of the back without drawing too much attention. But there’s at least one balcony off the master bedroom.” Harry shook his head. “Looks like a giant fish tank, no privacy. Of course, Ben’s is the only house for miles, so that’s not an issue.”
“It also means we won’t be able to get as close as we need to,” Justin said.
“That makes it even more important for you to be careful,” Harry repeated. “I think you should act as if he’s nothing more than a grieving husband. Show him a little sympathy to keep him off guard.”
“I’m not sure I could convince him I felt sorry for him. If I remember correctly, the last time I saw him I told him to rot in hell.” The men exchanged looks. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
We left before one. Justin would ride with me in the rental car most of the way. When we were within a few minutes of Ben’s, I would drop him off, and they would drive to the overlooking hill.
“The turnoff is just ahead,” he said.
I edged to the side of the road, and Harry came up behind us.
“I’m serious, Grace,” he said before opening the door. “Don’t do anything crazy.”
I promised once more to be cautious. Then they left me alone with my wire and wits.
I was less than a quarter of a mile from where Stella had spent her last few years and possibly where she died.
The house was more oppressive in person than in Harry’s pictures. It sat on an incline separated from the roadside by a concrete and stone wall. Short, thick shrubbery lined the top of it, dividing the native beauty of the area and the man-made obstruction above it. Rather than navigating the steep driveway, I parked on the street and followed the pathway up to the entrance. There was no porch, only an alcove constructed of open beams. The door was camouflaged amid all the glass.
At the entryway, I strained to glimpse what lay beyond. But sunlight on the windows bounced back, leaving the interior dark and lifeless. Instead of a luxury dwelling, I was looking into an elegant prison. For a moment, I felt as if I were Stella trapped in this rectangular cage far from home and family.
I rang the bell and waited for what seemed like forever before a boy who was still in his teens opened the door. His thick, dark hair hung low on his forehead. He pushed it back, and I noticed a small half-moon and three shooting stars tattooed on his slender wrist. He smiled and motioned me into a two-story foyer with an elaborate chandelier of metal cylinders composed of organ pipes. While I marveled at the fixture, he disappeared down a side hall.
Standing alone there, I began to lose my nerve. What made me think I could outwit my ex? I turned to bolt for the door.
“Grace!” Ben called from the winding staircase. “I knew you would come.”
Chapter 20
Clad in a pink polo and khaki shorts, he descended with outstretched arms. The rubber soles of his Ralph Lauren boat shoes stuck on the marble tile, and he stumbled. He regained his balance and stood in front of me, still in hug-mode.
The changes in Ben were shocking. He had taken great pride in his body, working out daily and running ten miles a week. The result had been impressive: broad shoulders, washboard abs, narrow hips, strong calves and legs. His sun-streaked hair had been thick and smooth, and, with the aid of twice a month two-hundred-dollar haircuts, it retained a casual look suggesting he was a bit of a rebel but still respected the establishment. Ben’s dark-brown eyes remained clear even after a night of heavy drinking. With a firm chin and muscular neck, he had exuded the confidence of someone who thinks money can solve all his problems.
The man standing in front of me was not the person I’d found dangerously desirable. Seeing this ruined version, I couldn’t fathom why losing him had been so devastating. It was like that moment when you look at a picture from your high school yearbook, the one with your hair in a pile, bangs teased and tufted, and think “What the hell was I thinking!”
This Ben had melted into himself. His shoulders were still broad but stooped. The line of demarcation between his chest and stomach had blurred into a small, but definitive, beer belly. The shorts hung on his butt, not quite low enough to hide scrawny thighs. A network of deep lines etched jaundiced brown eyes, and his once firm jawline had slackened. The hair he’d been so proud of was greasy with the specter of baldness looming over it. Despite his physical decline, he reeked of arrogance.
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