Don’t panic, don’t panic, I told myself while searching for an escape route. Even if I found it, I doubted I could outrun him. My best option was to slow him down and return to the main road.
From my hiding place, I wriggled my way close to the landing and waited, pool cue in hand, for him to reach the last three steps.
“There’s nowhere to run, Grace.” He stopped inches from me. I held my breath. “This is not cool. I only want to talk.” He resumed his descent, and just as he reached the third step from the bottom, I jabbed the stick upward. He let loose a guttural cry, and I slid it sideways, then cracked it across his ankles. Now his scream was more of a high-pitched squeal. His feet slipped, and I heard a sickening thud as he bounced off the rail and flew down the last few steps. There were no more screams.
Without checking to see if he got back up, I bolted toward the front of the house. The driveway was as steep as I remembered, so I scrambled crablike down the incline and rushed to the road, hoping I could make it before he recovered.
Continuing along the rough shoulder, I moved as fast as I could. A motor roared around the curve, and I resisted the urge to flag down the approaching vehicle. If the car was headed to the house where Prez and Ben held me captive, the driver was more likely foe than friend. I hid behind a cluster of boulders and waited. Glaring headlights made it impossible to identify until it was beside me. It was Harry’s Bronco.
He skidded to the side of the road, and the men jumped out.
Justin reached me first and crushed me to his chest.
“Jesus, Grace! What happened to you?” Harry asked.
Justin relaxed his grip and held me at arm’s length, surveying what must have looked like heavy-duty damage.
My hair was matted to my head. I could feel grit on my face and arms and realized my sundress was hanging by one strap, exposing what was once my sexiest bra. Now it was mud streaked and sad. My skirt was torn and covered with dark red spots from my shredded knees, and somewhere along the way I lost a sandal.
“I’m not sure, but I might have killed someone,” I confessed before my legs buckled. Justin got me in the car, and I explained what had gone on since I’d seen them.
When I finished my story, no one spoke for a moment. Then Justin said, “I think we should go to the villa.”
“I’m not sure what happened to Ben, but Prez could need an ambulance.” I protested.
“It’s not a good idea for anyone to see you here,” Harry said while turning the car around. “Remember that restraining order? The authorities might not believe the man who took it out would want to kidnap you.”
I hadn’t thought about that. In my defense, I hadn’t had time to think about anything other than getting away. But they were right. Leaning against Justin’s body, I tried to shut out the image of the hole in Javi’s head.
“Wait. How did you guys know where to find me?”
“Eduardo. He watched as you started toward the villa and saw the guy shove you into Ben’s car. He wasn’t sure where they’d taken you but had heard about the Point house. It was our best bet, so we came.”
It was after midnight when we returned to the hotel. I sat on the sofa while Harry cleaned and bandaged my knees. Justin watched with a grim expression on his face.
“So, Ben’s missing and Prez is disabled, maybe dead,” Harry surmised, putting the finishing touches on my bandages. “The two of them were at odds with Balsuto. Could he be aware of the double-cross?”
“I doubt it. Because if he was, I don’t think they would be around to talk about it.” Justin turned to me. “You wouldn’t either.”
I couldn’t get past the notion Aldelmo would hurt me or Stella but didn’t argue the point. Instead, I reminded them about what Eduardo had told me and insisted finding Eva was more important than ever now that we knew she had been with Stella before she died.
“You’re right, Grace. But I think we all need to get some rest before we decide what to do next,” Harry said.
“I agree.” Justin stood and offered me his hand. “You’ve had a busy day.” He pulled me to my feet. He led me to my room and shut the door behind us.
“Please don’t be upset with me. All I meant to do was shop.”
He put his finger to my lips and said, “I’m just glad you didn’t get killed. But you’re muddy and exhausted. You take a quick shower, and I’ll sit here to make sure you’re okay. We can talk tomorrow.”
As tired as I was, I wanted to invite him to join me. But I remembered his reaction when I said what we had was no big deal. So, I showered alone, checking for any additional injuries sustained during my ordeal. I was in surprisingly good shape, with only a few sharp pains in my shoulders when I pulled my gown over my head.
When I finished brushing my teeth, I found Justin snoring on top of the covers. I turned off the lights, slipped under the blanket beside him, and fell asleep faster than I had since we arrived in Montañita.
When I awoke after ten the next morning, I heard the men talking from the other room, pulled on my robe, and joined them.
“We ordered in earlier, but you were out,” Justin said. He motioned to a platter of assorted pastries. “Saved some for you.” It had been over twenty-four hours since my last meal, and I was starving. I took a turnover dusted with powdered sugar and bit into it.
Harry poured coffee while I demolished the first pastry and chose another one. Justin watched and smiled at me from across the narrow table. He picked up a napkin and reached over to wipe some fruit goop off my chin. “I forgot what a dainty eater you are.”
The intimacy of the gesture brought a lump to my throat. When Stella was little—and sometimes not so little—I would laugh at how enthusiastically she dove into a piece of cake or pie. Like Justin, I would clean errant crumbs or cream from her face.
My expression must have revealed the tidal wave of emotion because he drew back his hand and dropped the napkin by his plate. “Hey,” he said. “I was kidding. Are you okay?”
Not only was I not okay, I might never be. I couldn’t imagine a time when random thoughts of Stella wouldn’t pierce my heart.
“I’m still just a little out of it.” I stirred cream into my coffee and watched it lighten. Harry sat beside me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“You’re entitled. You had a hell of a day.”
I sipped the coffee, then remembered that I hadn’t asked how things had gone for them. “What did you find out from your source?”
Harry started the update. “Luis’s union guy tried to track down the personnel at the local morgue when they brought the body in. Funny thing about that. The two guys on duty have disappeared without a trace. Probably got a pay-off and changed careers. Word is somebody’s been trying to move in on Balsuto’s operation, but he wasn’t sure Ben was involved. Your visit with him answered that question.”
“So, your friend wasn’t much help.” I sighed.
“No.” Justin took over the narrative. “But the government guy in Guayaquil made some calls and found out where they sent your sister’s body to be, uh….”
“You mean cremated.” I helped him out. “And?”
“And Ben never picked up her ashes.” He stood, walked to his room, and came back with an ornate gold-plated urn. “We got them. It’s not much, but at least your family can have some closure.” He placed it in the center of the table. I wrapped my hands around the cold metal.
“It’s a lot,” I said and wiped at my eyes.
He handed me his handkerchief. That old-fashioned gesture made me feel warm and safe. Without thinking, I blew my nose with it.
Harry cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what our next step should
be. We’ve figured out what Ben and Prez were hiding. The question is how does Stella fit in. Sounds to me like your sister’s housekeeper knows more than anyone else about the situation. I’ll work on tracking her down. You guys see what the cops know about what happened at the Point.”
Justin agreed and Harry set out, leaving us alone with the harsh reminder of Stella’s death. Even more than those horrible pictures, that urn signaled the finality of my loss.
“I don’t have a clue how Stella would feel about the whole cremation thing. We never talked about dying.” I ran my fingertips over the bronze container. “There are so many things we never got the chance to talk about.”
“Oh, God, Grace.” He wrapped me in his arms. “I can’t stand to see you hurt like this.”
He rocked me back and forth the way Gran had whenever I suffered a fall or a broken heart. I wanted to stay there forever. But I would find no peace or safety with Justin until I answered the questions left from Stella’s death.
I placed my hands on his chest. He tilted my chin up and looked into my eyes, then brushed his lips across mine and kissed me on the forehead before releasing me.
I excused myself to get dressed. I winced when I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hair was sticking up in weird angles all over my head. And despite sleeping in, the dark circles under my eyes transformed me into a frumpy raccoon. I needed concealer and fast. I scanned the room for my make-up bag, and my stomach flip-flopped.
My sandal wasn’t the only thing I’d left behind. My purse was still sitting in the bathroom of the house on the Point.
Chapter 29
Justin sat on the patio waiting for me. The sun was out, but the air was thick and wet. I sat on the wicker chair beside his recliner. “We’ve got a problem.” I told him about my missing purse.
“Shit! It won’t be good if the police, or anyone else finds out you were there. There’s been nothing on the news, so there’s a good chance no one has discovered the bodies. If I go now, I can get in and out without drawing too much attention.”
“That sounds like a great plan, except I’m going with you. I’m familiar with the layout. Plus, you need a lookout.”
I expected him to protest, but he shrugged and said, “At least that way I’ll know where you are.”
Around us, greenery glistened. The sweet, heavy fragrance of Montañita’s version of honeysuckle saturated the air, reminding me of Georgia summers. Lesroy, Stella and I would pick blossoms from the vines and suck nectar from them. She pretended she was a butterfly, laughing and prancing from vine to vine. The memory soured as I remembered reading that butterflies like the taste of blood.
His voice brought me back to a reality where my sister would never laugh again.
“I’m going to grab some water from the lobby.” He tossed me the keys to the rental. I rolled down the windows, blasted the air conditioning, and waited.
When he returned, he handed me a bottle and took hold of my hand as I reached for it. “You look better this morning. Maybe a little worse for the wear, but not too bad.” He grinned.
“Thanks a lot.” I dreaded returning to the scene of my captivity, fearful of what I might find. I wasn’t about to give Justin an excuse for dumping me, though, so I smiled and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.
After an exaggerated wince, he asked if I could find something on the radio that wasn’t salsa or reggae.
It wasn’t an easy request, but I located an oldies station, and we listened to Aretha belt out her demand for respect. I recognized the rocks lining the right side of the road, but today I saw wildflowers blooming and armadillos scuttling by.
A cloud came between us and the sun, and I flashed back to the pitch-black surrounding me in my hiding place under the stairwell. I hit the automatic button on my window and stuck my head out, inhaling deep breaths of air the way Stella and I had sucked the nectar from those delicate petals so long ago.
The terrain got rockier as the road narrowed, and I recalled the sensation of bumping along the same route less than twenty-four hours ago.
“That’s the turnoff to the house.” Justin pointed up a steep drive lined with manicured shrubbery. “I’m thinking we should park the car and walk if you’re up to it. We can duck behind the bushes if we see anyone approaching.”
He removed a gun from the glove compartment, then unsnapped the holster and stuck the weapon into the back of his waistband. Despite my mother’s and grandmother’s predilection for guns, I hated them. After my experience last night, however, I could hardly question the sensibility of being armed. We climbed out of the car and started toward the house. By the time we reached the summit, I sweated the band-aids off my scraped knees.
“The stairs to the deck wrap around the side of the house. You can’t see them from here, but if I’ve got my bearings right, Prez fell just behind those flowery bushes.”
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” he said, removing the gun from his waistband. “Let’s go around back and try getting in through the doors to the deck.”
We followed a stone-paved pathway I missed the night before. I stopped at the corner of the house, dreading the possibility of seeing Prez’s body sprawled at the foot of the stairs.
“Why don’t you wait here?” he suggested when he noticed I wasn’t right behind him.
I shook my head and resumed walking. Prez wasn’t lying dead on the ground below the deck. Justin examined the decorative pebbles. “No blood, but it looks as if someone smoothed the gravel here.”
We climbed the deck stairs. When we reached the top, he pulled me into a crouch beside him. It was a short distance to the glass doors, but out in the open the way we were, it seemed to take longer than our hike up the hill. He reached the entrance first, covered his hand with the bottom of his T-shirt, and pushed the door open.
Except for the hum of the air conditioner, the room was silent.
“The kitchen’s that way,” I whispered and braced myself for the sight of Javi’s bloody body. But the kitchen was empty. Every surface—granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, hanging light fixtures—was so clean it sparkled. There was no blood and gore smeared on the built-in refrigerator. If not for the scent of bleach in the air, there was nothing to suggest anyone had been there.
“I don’t understand. Javi was right there.” I froze at the spot where Ben’s henchman had slumped against the fridge, mouth open as if his friends had just popped up to yell surprise. “How did they get the place so clean so fast? They must have had a team of mini-maids in here before dawn.”
Justin pointed to the door leading downstairs. “This way?” he asked.
He held the gun in front of him just like in the movies as we went downstairs. We paused at the bottom. Colorful throw pillows I hadn’t noticed the night before covered the leather sofa. I walked to the place where I had smashed Prez’s face with the tequila bottle. No glass, no blood.
“You’re right about this being a professional clean-up job. But it wasn’t mini-maids. Where did you leave your bag?”
I walked down the hallway to the bathroom and eased the door open. The same cleaning crew must have wiped the counters clean. There was nothing there. If Harry and Justin hadn’t found me careening down the hill last night, I might have thought I imagined everything.
“No purse?” I jumped at the sound of Justin’s voice. “Sorry,” he said. “After the job they did on the rest of the house, I’m not surprised. Come on; let’s get out of here.”
We left the way we came. I froze at the spot where I saw my first murdered thug. Still no Javi.
“I don’t understand,” I said, as we drove down the mountain. “How could someone wipe away everything th
at happened last night?”
“One thing’s for sure,” Justin said. “It wasn’t the police. What worries me is that goddamn bag of yours. Whoever has it knows you were there last night, and that you witnessed a murder.”
“I didn’t actually see anyone get shot. Just because Prez came down after I heard the gunshots doesn’t mean he killed Javi.”
“Right. But odds are he did. Besides, professionals did this clean-up job. And they don’t leave loose ends. You’re a loose end.”
I turned up the radio. Gloria Gaynor was belting out “I Will Survive.” I wondered if I would.
We stopped at a Mexican cantina and picked up tacos to go, then ate on the patio of our villa. We were sitting there, staring at the ocean, when Harry joined us with a six-pack of beer.
“Not much luck tracking down Eva. No one’s seen her since your visit, or no one will admit seeing her. How about you guys? Did you get the bag?”
The prospect of listening to Justin recount our morning was more than I could take. I excused myself and went to lie down. With the blinds drawn, the room was cool and dark, so I didn’t notice it until I turned on the bedside light. Dead center on top of my bed sat my missing purse.
Chapter 30
I rubbed my arms against the chill bumps popping up in response to what seemed like a ten degree drop in temperature. Shivering, I wracked my mind to come up with an explanation for the bag’s return.
Instead of a logical reason, I thought of the year we discovered Stella’s involvement in a series of petty thefts. Although I knew it was impossible, I was certain she was the one who had engineered the reappearance of my purse.
When my sister was five, we called her magpie, not because she was chatty or quarrelsome. Because she liked to steal bright, shiny objects and hide them. She started with random articles from around the house: Gran’s clip-on earring, a jeweled crown from my one and only ballet recital, a lipstick from my mother.
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