Sweetheart Deal

by Linda Joffe Hull

  “There are different windows for night guiding too,” Trent added. “Like a lighthouse, but without a light.”

  As our designated tour guide detailed the Mayan obsession with the movements of the heavens, their uncanny ability to mathematically predict almost every astronomical event, and their eerily accurate calendar thousands of years ago, we all agreed the Mayans were a brilliant bunch. We also marveled not only at the architectural achievement of the Temple of the Descending God, but that this and all of the structures were built without the help of machinery or modern technology.

  The only real surprises of the afternoon were Eloise’s lack of distress about the geckos darting about (Ivan had warned her about them and assured her they were friendly) and the notable break from stress. Despite the minor headaches inherent in TV production, the tour itself was enjoyably sunny, scenic, and predictable. My admiration of the Mayan aesthetic grew as we hiked down and around the sheer cliffs for our 11:00: Family beach frolic on one of the most beautiful stretches of beach I’d ever seen. We took in the view of Cozumel off in the distance, took off our various cover-ups, and were basking in the sun and, in fact, frolicking in the stunning turquoise Caribbean surf as though we truly were on vacation.

  That was, until I was reminded that the feeling of too-good-to-be-true was as potent a warning (at least for me) as the blood-curdling cry that echoed suddenly from atop the cliff.

  “What’s going on?” I asked a fellow tourist after counting to make sure everyone in my family was safe, present, and accounted for.

  “I don’t know, but we were supposed to meet for our tour right where the screams are coming from,” she said as we scrambled along with the crowd in the direction of the high-pitched shriek. “Thank goodness they’d already changed the location.”

  Eloise, who’d rushed ahead along with the boys, looked up and stopped dead in her tracks. “OMG!”

  “Frank,” I said breathlessly. “I’m afraid there may be a—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” FJ said, as we reached the kids before I could utter the words serial and/or killer, much less add anything along the lines of on the loose.

  The scene unfolding before us was almost as shocking. And, judging from the strategically placed camera, crew, and assorted equipment, it was a highly choreographed scene at that.

  At the top of the steep, crumbling stairs of El Castillo, in front of the shrine, a body lay on a makeshift altar.

  Body—as in Anastasia’s shapely sister Sara—covered from head to toe in blue paint.

  Face, AKA Sally, stood over her, along with her son Liam, Hair’s husband Michael, and Dave, Body’s weekend squeeze. All were dressed as Mayan priests.

  Face held a sacrificial knife.

  “That was good for a rehearsal,” Anastasia, announced through a megaphone from the bottom of the stairs. “But remember, Sara, it’s an honor to be sacrificed, so I need a scream that’s feels as much like pride as it does fear.”

  I didn’t quite know whether to laugh, cry, or simply give in to what seconds before had felt like an imminent heart attack.

  “This time, we’re running through the whole scene,” Anastasia announced. “And remember folks, we’ve only got one take.”

  As Dave helped Body up off the slab of stone and everyone headed back down the steps, an assistant rushed over from behind the shrine to re-prep the area. The actors reached the bottom of the stairway and disappeared around a corner. Hair, AKA Susan, remained in front of a second camera positioned at the bottom of the steps.

  “I just can’t believe this,” I said to no one in particular as we watched the reenactment from about twenty feet away, along with the rest of the vacationing crowd.

  “Believe it,” muttered one of the assistants assigned to accompany us. “Anastasia’s sisters wanted more lines so they could get their Screen Actors Guild cards.”29

  “They want to be actresses?”

  “Ready, Susan?” Anastasia asked.

  The assistant sniffed. “You’d have thought the scenes she already wrote them into would have been enough.”

  “To qualify for a SAG card?”

  “As if any of them have what it takes to act. They make perfect Hollywood siblings, I suppose.”

  “And action!” Anastasia said.

  Hair tossed her luscious locks and gave it her all:

  “Sacrificial scenes have been depicted in many ancient Mayan ceramics, sculptures, and murals,” she said in a stiff documentary voice. “Typically, animals—including crocodiles, iguanas, dogs, peccaries, jaguars, and turkeys—were sacrificed to appease the Mayan gods. While it may seem shocking to us, ancient peoples did not view sacrifice as a devaluing of life, but believed that life was being given up for a greater purpose. The supreme sacrifice being the human life.” She paused meaningfully. “Truly, it isn’t all that different than our modern-day willingness to give up our loved ones for the cause of war. In fact, the ancient Mayans actually battled it out through games to compete for the opportunity and honor of being sacrificed.”

  The camera panned to Body attempting to look equal parts honored and horrified while being dragged around the corner and up the steep steps by Face, Michael, Dave, and her nephew Liam.

  “I can’t believe Liam never mentioned a thing about this,” FJ said as they forced her onto the slab and held her down.

  “Probably sworn to silence,” Trent whispered.

  Hair spoke once more. “After being painted blue, the sacrificial victim was led to the summit of the pyramid and laid over a stone altar. Then, with his or her arms and legs firmly held by assistants, to the high priest, known as the nacon—”

  “OMG!” Eloise said as Hair recited something in what had to be a badly mispronounced Mayan dialect. As she brandished the obsidian knife, Body let out a shriek that sounded more like a cat in heat than a terrified maiden about to be sacrificed for the greater good.

  “This is horrifying,” I said.

  “It’s not too accurate either,” a voice said from behind us. “In Tulum, they celebrated the God of Life, so only animals were ever sacrificed.”

  A hint of patchouli wafted in the breeze.

  Eloise turned and hugged Ivan, who had maneuvered his way through the crowd and was standing behind us.

  “I heard you guys were coming here while I was down at the police station,” he said. “I thought I would make sure everyone is doing okay.”

  “That’s so sweet!” Eloise said, all but batting her lashes.

  “I also didn’t want to miss how they were going to try and reenact this whole business,” he said before the boys had time to roll their eyes at their sister. “Particularly the cutting out of the heart.”

  “They’re not really going to …?”

  Michael plunged the knife in the general direction of Body’s heart and blood (fake, I could only pray) spurted high into the air.

  “Whoa!” FJ said over the gasps of the crowd.

  We all gasped again as Face reached down and grabbed a bloody, dripping rubber heart from wherever the blood had come from. She held it over her head.

  “Cut,” Anastasia announced.

  “Wow!” Trent said, looking almost as wide-eyed as I’d ever seen him despite the various incidents we’d already witnessed. “I don’t see how they can top that.”

  “Which has me wondering why you’re out and about?” I asked Ivan. “It can’t be safe.”

  Frank made a show of nodding in agreement. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “I figure there’s safety in numbers,” Ivan said, lowering his voice and confirming his concern about the walls having ears. “At least I hope so.”

  “Let’s move on to the second half of the scene,” Anastasia announced into her megaphone.

  Face, Dave, Liam, and Michael stepped back. Body sat up, got off the slab, and disappeared into the shrine area. A moment later, an assistant emerged with a bloodied, blue-painted dummy with a gaping hole in the chest and set it in Body’s p
lace.

  “Places everyone,” Anastasia said to the remaining members of the cast.

  Everyone rearranged themselves accordingly around a latex corpse that I hoped satisfied Zelda’s bad news comes in threes body count.

  “And action,” Anastasia announced.

  Over the sound of seabirds, the group proceeded to do a ceremonial chant of dubious historical accuracy.

  The crowd, aware of their role and/or caught up in the pageantry of it all (not unlike the ancient Mayans and every other culture who engaged in public displays of punishment, torture, and sacrifice), buzzed with energy.

  “Ivan, I really am worried about your safety,” I said, using the commotion as cover.

  “Thanks Mrs. F.,” he said, but with fear in his eyes. Particularly as the priest and her assistants lifted the stunt maiden and carried her above their heads. “But I hope they’re done coming after me.”

  A hush descended on the audience of tourists, employees of the ruins, and onlookers as the body was heaved over the edge of the temple steps.

  It tumbled with a sickening series of thumps and stopped at the foot of the stairs in a tangled bloody blue heap.

  “And scene!” Anastasia announced.

  I pulled Ivan just far enough away so we could talk without anyone overhearing.

  “They?” I asked. “What do you mean by they?”

  “Alejandro’s murder had to be an organized effort,” he said, confirming my suspicions. “It’s the only scenario that makes sense.”

  “By the Espinoza Garcia clan?”

  “They’d never kill one of their own.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, finally getting a few straightforward answers to my ever-growing list of questions.

  “Especially not him. A lot of money funnels through that timeshare department and out to other interests in the family.”

  “But his brother took over.”

  “Antonio isn’t even close to what Alejandro was capable of—financially or otherwise.”

  Which went a long way toward explaining why the family seemed to be so forgiving of Alejandro’s less than stellar qualities. “What about a group of Hacienda de la Fortuna employees, then?”

  “No one from the resort is crazy enough to kill him.”

  “You don’t think that someone, or a group of someones, could easily have had enough of his bullying and just snapped?”

  “Definitely,” he said. “But everyone around here knows that if you even cross someone from La Familia de la Fortuna, you’re out of a job. Get involved in a murder of one of them and no one in your extended family will ever work again. And that would just be the start of your troubles.”

  “They have that much power?”

  “Look around you.” Ivan glanced at the crew assigned to hose the fake blood off the steps of El Castillo. “It doesn’t just happen that a producer from your TV show decides she wants to reenact a sacrifice scene at a sacred Mexican landmark, much less drip fake blood all over it, and she just gets to. Not without power, connections, and some money changing hands.”

  “But someone killed Alejandro, not to mention tried to kill you.”

  “The police think whatever happened to Geo was supposed to be more of a warning,” he said, grimly.

  “A warning?”

  “To keep me quiet.”

  “How do they know?”

  “Someone called the police tip line and left a message for me to keep my mouth shut or next time we’ll get the job done.”

  “Were the police able to trace where the call came from?”

  “They’re working on it.” He shook his head. “I just wish I knew what it was I’m supposed to shut up about.”

  “You have no idea?”

  “The only thing I can think of is that I recently took a group of VIPs sailing. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary beyond a little drinking and some flirting with the pretty girls they always have on the Hacienda de la Fortuna sailboat, but I must have heard something—or someone thought I did.”

  “And you have no idea what?”

  “I mean, at one point, I went to use the bathroom and heard chatting outside the door. When I came out, Alejandro, one of the high-roller guests, and our mayor were standing there. They did look at me like I’d full-on interrupted them.”

  “Did you hear any of the conversation?”

  “Only jumbled random words,” he said.

  “Like?”

  “Deal, money, development—you know, typical businessman speak.”

  “And you didn’t hear anything else?”

  “Not really, but they sure eyeballed me like I had.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “I made it very clear to the police that I didn’t hear or know anything.” Ivan lowered his voice. “Whoever killed Alejandro is … big.”

  “Big?”

  “So powerful they aren’t afraid to scare the extended Hacienda de la Fortuna family enough to try and pass off a murder of one of their own as an accident.”

  “Are you saying you think they’re—”

  He shook his head so I wouldn’t utter the word mafia, or whatever the Mexican term for it was.

  “Ivan,” I said. “You need to fly back to the States with us when we leave on Thursday.”

  “No can-do,” he said. “That would definitely make it look like I know something I don’t. I figure it’s better to stay in Mexico and keep my head down. When I don’t say anything, they’ll think I’m following their directions and leave me alone.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said, shaking my head. “We come down here for what was supposed to be a sunny, fun, bargain wedding shoot and now were in the middle of a …” With Ivan’s panicked expression, I stopped myself from saying gangland retribution or anything remotely similar. “I can’t even say I’m taking any comfort in the fact that Geo might really have been attacked by accident, or that I don’t have to worry about there being any involvement by the TV network or anyone involved with The Family Frugalicious like I originally thought could be the case.”

  Ivan narrowed his eyes. “You sure about that?”

  My heart, still very much inside my chest began to thump. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d say it’s a pretty big deal to have a reality TV show filming around here,” he said. “I know we all thought so when we heard you were coming down.”

  “Are you saying you think the show could be connected to Alejandro’s murder after all?”

  We both watched as a suit-clad man and an official from the ruins approached Anastasia. As they began to confer, I realized the man looked vaguely familiar. While I’d never met him, I’d seen his picture in the leather-bound welcome binder back in our hotel suite.

  “Isn’t that—?”

  “The CFO of Hacienda de la Fortuna,” Ivan said.

  “Great news, folks,” Anastasia announced into the megaphone a few minutes later. “We’ve been authorized to do one more take, so I’ll need everyone and everything ready ASAP.”

  “Like I said,” Ivan said, “nothing happens around here by coincidence.”

  29. Becoming a member of the Screen Actors Guild is often a conundrum for aspiring actors because you can’t get a SAG card until you are hired by a SAG production, and you can’t get hired by a SAG production unless you have a SAG card!

  twenty-two

  One blood-soaked, scream-laden take later, we—cast, crew, and our homegrown police escorts—regrouped in the small tourist village just outside the archeological site.

  “Quite a scene,” I commented to Anastasia, my eyes on the traditional dancers, acrobats, and various barkers hawking everything from made-in-China commemorative shot glasses to the much more authentic leather sandals. “Of course, it’s hard to follow up the last one at the ruins.”

  “I really should have had the crew set up here too, but the sacrifice went longer than I expected,” Anastasia said, watching Body and Dave transfer stray smears of blue pain
t as they flirted, kissed, and fed each other tacos from the hole-in-the-wall stand where half of us had been served and the other half awaited our order. “Plus, everyone was starved and needed a breather.”

  Out of concern for Ivan’s well-being, I didn’t tell anyone what he had told me, other than to share what we all knew: that he’d been to the police station, confirmed the threat had been meant for him, and that he had no idea why. My bigger concern, at least for the moment, was an answer to the question he’d asked about how my family had gotten tangled up in these increasingly sinister south-of-the-border dealings in the first place.

  Did Anastasia contact the Hacienda de la Fortuna and offer them the chance to host her televised wedding, or was it the other way around? he’d asked.

  “I had no idea you were planning something so involved today,” I said to Anastasia as Frank grabbed a tray filled with tacos. “I didn’t see anything about it on the call sheet.”

  “I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, mainly my own, until I was sure we’d be able to pull it off,” Anastasia said.

  “I’d say you killed it with that second take,” Frank said as we neared the picnic bench where Face and Hair were already seated. “You’ve gotta get the sacrifice in the promos—it’ll make a perfect teaser for the real murders.”

  “Don’t you mean murder, singular?” I asked.

  “Murder,” Frank said, putting the tray on the table. “Of course.”

  “The sacrifice scene is only going to end up as a promo?” Body said from the next table, not breaking eye contact with Dave.

  “Stasia …” Face, sitting at our table, was suddenly the face of consternation. “I thought you said this scene was going to be key to the overall story line?”

  The sacrifice scene, which no one had mentioned but everyone but me seemed prepared for, was key to the overarching story line?

  “No worries,” Anastasia said.

  Hair looked almost as worried as I felt. “When was this story line devel—”

  “We’re done eating,” FJ said, appearing at our table with Trent, Eloise, and Liam. “We’re going to check out the shops.”

  “But you’ll stick together?” I asked. “Right?”