Sweetheart Deal

by Linda Joffe Hull

  “You should talk to Raul,” Octavio the groundskeeper said. “He thinks he might have seen something interesting near the pool area the night of the murder.”

  “Benito was fighting with his girlfriend, Carmen, by the bridge,” Raul said. “She was begging him not to do something, but he said he had no choice.”

  “One of the other ladies from the salon told me Benito and Carmen are madly in love and never argue,” Eloise said as Anastasia collected us for a quick note-comparing shot. “So they certainly weren’t breaking up.”

  “According to Victor in food services, Benito was obsessed with how Alejandro constantly got away with bad behavior toward the employees in general, the food service workers in particular, and most of all, his sister Elena.”

  “Could it be that Benito …?”

  We all looked at each other meaningfully.

  “Has anyone spoken with Carmen?” I asked.

  “We heard she’s not here tonight,” FJ said.

  “She went home just before the dance lessons with a headache,” Trent added.

  We all looked at each other meaningfully again.

  “Did Benito have a grudge against Ivan, though?” I asked. “I mean, wouldn’t he have to hate Ivan too for us to consider him a suspect?”

  “Victor said that Benito considered Ivan’s dreadlocks a health violation,” Frank said.

  “But that doesn’t seem like a motive for murder,” I said. “Besides, almost everyone mentioned Ivan’s appearance in some way or another.”

  “Seriously?” Ivan said, appearing from behind a scrim.

  “They obviously just don’t get style down here,” Eloise said with a sweet smile as he joined us on camera. “But they all like you. A lot.”

  “Cut!” Anastasia said. “That was great.”

  She handed Ivan her personal copy of the suspect list we’d all been working from. “This is what everyone is talking about.”

  “Wow!” he said looking at the list as though it were for the first time. “This is heavy.”

  “No one say another word until we’re rolling, then I want all of you to fill Ivan in on what you’ve found out this evening.”

  The moment she yelled action we did our part by recounting the various details, from Alejandro’s misdeeds and flirtations to the mounting evidence that the killer hailed from Food Services and might well be Benito.

  “Whoa,” Ivan said when we were all finished. “I guess I’m not entirely surprised to find out that Alejandro didn’t limit himself to one drink.”

  “What do you think about this Benito business?” Frank asked.

  “Benito is a great guy,” Ivan said. “Although he does have a temper.”

  “And more than one motive, according to Victor and pretty much everyone else.”

  “I know Benito was protective of Elena, but I never would have thought he could be capable of murder,” Ivan said, clearly still processing everything. “I can’t deny that he seems like a strong suspect, though.” He shook his head. “Really strong …”

  “Let me guess,” I said to Ivan the moment Eloise ran into the pool house to change into her bathing suit for the moonlight swim. “Beti thinks Benito did it too.”

  “It’s like everything’s getting wrapped up in a nice bow.”

  “I don’t believe this could really be happening.”

  “It’s scary stuff.”

  “Do you think Benito had something to do with Alejandro’s death?”

  “I’m sure he resented him for all the reasons you’ve heard, but Benito got his job as head chef because of Alejandro in the first place.”

  “So you don’t think Benito did it?”

  “I think he’s got a problem on his hands.” Ivan looked as distraught as I felt. “But there could be bigger problems for all of us if everyone else doesn’t go along with what’s going on.”

  “Did Beti tell you all of this?”

  “She didn’t have to.” He took a deep breath. “She did tell me something surprising though.”

  “Which is?”

  He took a deep breath. “So, the thing is, it’s no secret that Alejandro had been trying to annex some adjacent land that would have made the Hacienda de la Fortuna the only resort with a full-service marina and waterfront shopping complex.”

  “That sounds pretty amazing.”

  “And that much more attractive to potential timeshare owners. The problem is, it’s theoretically impossible because the land is public and can only be purchased and owned by a Mexican business.”

  “Doesn’t the Hacienda de la Fortuna qualify?”

  “Yes, but they don’t have enough capital to make it happen.”

  “So what you overheard was part of a financial transaction with a potential American investor or something?”

  “I figured it had to be. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time an international company funneled money into this area through an established local business. Especially if the right people are paid off.”

  “Like the mayor?”

  “Exactly,” he said. “I also figured someone wanted that deal to be dead and buried badly enough to kill Alejandro over it.”

  “But now you don’t?”

  “The situation might be a little more complicated than that.”

  “Do you think the mayor’s in danger?”

  “As long as the deal is over, any risk has passed for him—at least, I hope.”

  “What about the American?”

  “I asked Beti to try and find out who he is.” Ivan sighed. “In the meantime, she told me that when Alejandro got back from sailing that day, he was in a really good mood and bragged to her that he was about to be a big star. ‘In more ways than one.’”

  “This boat trip—was it right before we arrived?”

  “The weekend before anyone showed up from your crew.”

  “Then that’s not entirely surprising,” I said. “I know from Frank that they decided to fold in the whole timeshare element as part of the show in exchange for promotional consideration.”

  “Apparently, the plan was a bit more involved,” Ivan said.

  I felt my blood pressure tick upwards. “How much more involved?”

  “He confided in Beti that he’d all but inked a deal for his own reality show about the resort and the world of timeshare sales—starring him, of course.”

  “That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” I said.

  But was it?

  Thank you for bringing your show down here to our resort, he’d said to me. If everything continues to go this well, the payoff will be even better than I imagined …

  “So you think the conversation you weren’t supposed to overhear was related to that instead?” I asked, more queasy than I wanted to admit.

  “It certainly seems to put an interesting wrinkle into things.”

  Anastasia had called me a total pro, but I hadn’t come close to flexing my acting muscles until I had to do three takes of kissy-face with Frank in the moonlit water and then transition directly into poker face while Philip debriefed us:

  “We’ve had someone positively ID Benito as being in the area where Alejandro was found at approximately the time of the incident, and we’ve discovered that he may not have been in the kitchen overseeing prep work as scheduled during the time Geo was attacked at the water park.”

  It took all my strength not to say, Of course you have.

  Or, more appropriately Oh, what kind of tangled web did you weave?

  “Sure sounds like a slam dunk to me,” Frank said.

  “Nothing’s a slam dunk if you don’t cross your t’s and dot your i’s,” Philip said, already sounding so much like a TV detective, I had to wonder if he’d been promised a show of his own too. “Which means we have legwork to do before we can bring him in.”

  “What kind of legwork?” FJ asked.

  “The local authorities are going to locate Benito and keep tabs on him so he doesn’t venture too far from here. While he’s under
surveillance, we want Frank and you boys to spend tomorrow morning continuing to question anyone and everyone you can about possible motives for killing Alejandro and for the water park incident.”

  “Isn’t that going to seem even more obvious than what we’ve been doing tonight?” FJ asked.

  “Not if you’re playing golf while doing it.”

  “And tennis?” Trent suggested.

  “Or any other resort-based activity you guys are interested in taking on.”

  “What about me?” Eloise asked.

  “We’ve set you up for a hair appointment in the hotel salon tomorrow morning,” Philip said. “You can have a nice, casual chat with Carmen.”

  “She’s not touching my hair after what I saw come out of there the other day,” she said, looking nearly as traumatized as Hair had been at the mere thought. “I think you need to send Maddie.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I said.

  “I’m afraid it has to be you, Eloise,” Philip said. “Maddie’s got a bigger job to do.”

  “Which is?” I asked.

  “It’s time for you to locate and talk to the Sombrero Lady,” he said.

  30. If all else fails, have a drink before you get out on the dance floor. Don’t drink? Try some herbal tea, or anything that relaxes you. The more calm and confident you are, the better you’ll be at salsa.

  twenty-five

  Despite feeling equal parts manipulated, scared, and sure the only people I could trust had the last name Michaels (but not the first name Frank), it was time to figure out exactly who had really killed Alejandro, injured Geo, and sent Ivan a threatening note before Benito was arrested. As soon as I did that, I planned to cancel my TV contract on the grounds of false pretenses. No way was I continuing on as the star of a reality show where the true premise was murder on the cheap or whatever it was that had been negotiated with heaven knew whom.

  I spent all of Tuesday night awake trying to figure out exactly how I was going to go about that. By Wednesday morning, I found myself in town with a bare-bones crew consisting of a cameraman, an assistant director, and a local police officer to translate and play bodyguard.

  Unfortunately, I still had no idea what I planned to do.

  We began with a street-by-street search starting outside the jewelry store where I’d first noticed the lady in red and her sombrero cart. Needless to say, there seemed to be as many vendors selling sombreros as there were sombreros for sale.

  And everyone seemed to know the particular woman I was looking for:

  Ah yes, Conchita …

  Sí, Yolanda …

  You mean Silvia?

  And everyone seemed to know her schedule:

  I was just talking to her last night …

  She only works weekends …

  Mañana …

  But no one knew exactly where she was.

  Lured by the smell of vanilla, cinnamon, and the promise of a badly needed café Mexicano, I suggested we continue our so far fruitless search at a nearby coffee shop. We grabbed our drinks and were about to continue on when the assistant director’s cell phone rang.

  Our police officer/bodyguard/translator’s also rang at the same time.

  I understood the only two words of his rapid-fire Spanish I needed to know: Señor Geo.

  Combined with the translation provided by the assistant director via his own phone call, I got a pretty good idea what was going on:

  “When did they move him into a regular room?”

  “Una gran noticia!”

  As they each listened to what seemed to be the dual language details of Geo’s upgraded condition, I looked up at the prominent red cross atop the five-story building looming in the distance.

  “Qué hora están visitando horas?”

  “So Anastasia and Philip are leaving their hotel for the hospital in fifteen?”

  I knew immediately what I had to do. I needed answers, and I needed them now, before anyone else filled Geo in on everything that had happened since he was attacked at the water park and taken away in an ambulance.

  “We can be there in thirty to set up and get some arrival footage. No problem.”

  And I needed to be there a lot sooner than that if I was going to have a chance to talk to him alone.

  “Geo’s doing better?” I asked as the assistant director hung up.

  “He’s doing so well, he’s been moved into a regular room.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said. “But it only gives us a half hour to try and find the Sombrero Lady and get to the hospital before we need to get some footage of the three of you greeting Geo.”

  A woman from a nearby group of tourists asked a passing local, “Donde está el baño?” in an overloud, too slow voice.

  As the man pointed to a freestanding public restroom very much like the one where I’d actually met Sombrero Lady, my wholly unoriginal, downright plagiarized, and already misused plan came together.

  “We better get a move on,” the director said, taking a big sip of my coffee.

  As everyone agreed, I slid my hand to my stomach and made the same face Frank had made to facilitate my initial meet-and-greet with Alejandro.

  “Are you okay?” the cameraman asked.

  “Fine,” I said, adding a heaping dose of impending-GI-distress to my voice. “I think.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Actually”—I forced, then stifled a belch—“I’m not sure at all.”

  “You don’t look so well,” the cameraman said.

  “I don’t feel so well all of the sudden,” I said.

  “Ah,” the police officer/translator/bodyguard said. “They come out of nowhere.”

  “I need to use the restroom,” I said with urgency. “Now!”

  Without waiting for a response, I took off in the direction of the bathrooms, rushed around the building toward the door to the ladies’ room, and ran inside. I looked around for anyone resembling Sombrero Lady, just in case, then took off down an alley concealed from view by the building.

  “Maddie,” Geo rasped, his voice rough from the breathing apparatus that had been removed from his throat. He reached for my hand and squeezed it weakly. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

  “We’ve all been here, waiting for you to get better,” I said, trying to ignore the assorted tubes and wires attached to him and hanging beside him.

  “Thanks,” he said groggily. “I’m starting to feel better.”

  “How much do you remember about what happened?”

  “Not much,” he said sounding choky and as though he was reliving the panic. “I remember being trapped, out of air …”

  “You do know that whoever grabbed you was really after Ivan?”

  He looked as if he was trying to shake off whatever sedating drugs he’d been given by the hospital. “Ivan?”

  “No one told you?”

  Geo looked thoroughly confused. “No.”

  “The police believe it was the same person, or people, behind Alejandro’s murder.”

  “Murder?”

  “He drowned because someone slipped a roofie into his drink and lured him into the pool.”

  Geo looked more confused than ever.

  “You don’t remember that we were investigating his death?”

  “I do, but that wasn’t …”

  “Wasn’t what?”

  “You’re saying he was really murdered?”

  “Definitely.”

  Geo now looked as pale as his sheets. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, which is why I need you to tell me everything you know, starting with how we ended up in Mexico at Hacienda de la Fortuna.”

  “Anastasia,” he finally said.

  “She did the research, found the name of Hacienda de la Fortuna, and called them?” I asked. “Or someone contacted her and proposed the idea?”

  “She contacted the hotel, then they got right back to us with a fantastic proposal,” he
said.

  “Who got back to us? Alejandro?”

  “I know he was involved, but Anastasia handled most of the arrangements and logistics.”

  “Which were?”

  “The wedding with all the bells, whistles, and extras in exchange for showcasing the resort.”

  “And the timeshare department?”

  “Especially the timeshare department,” he said. “The whole vacation-property angle fit with the overall bargain-hunting theme of the show.”

  “What about a reality show for Alejandro?”

  “We were in talks. Until he …”

  “Died?”

  Geo nodded.

  “As in, another murder for Mrs. Frugalicious to solve?”

  “That didn’t happen,” he said.

  “But it did.”

  We were both silent for a moment.

  “I’ll admit we had Frank at the ready for when you objected to signing a contract without doing all the proper research,” Geo said. “The hair, makeup, and romance stuff with Anastasia’s sisters was all planned in advance. And a few other details.”

  “Like?”

  “Like after Alejandro died, we were told to rework the story line to make what we all believed was an accidental death worthy of investigation.”

  “Did reworking the story line include you wrapping things up by having me come up with a bad guy by the end of the episode?”

  “Just someone we could hand over to the local authorities for them to quietly let go after we were gone.”

  “Which is exactly what’s happening, except someone’s going to be arrested for a bona fide murder.”

  “Holy—”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who?”

  “Benito, the head chef,” I said.

  “But he was on that initial list of suspects that were …”

  “Family members?” I offered.

  He nodded. “And not legitimately suspicious.”

  “But now, suddenly, he’s the prime suspect because he openly hated his brother-in-law, Alejandro.”

  “Is it possible he did it?” Geo asked.

  “I suppose, except he had no reason whatsoever to come after Ivan,” I said. “Or you.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  Geo listened carefully as I laid out everything that had happened since he’d been hospitalized.

  “Whoa,” he simply said when I’d finished.