Sweetheart Deal

by Linda Joffe Hull

  “Everyone around here is terrified …” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “They believe the actual killer acted on behalf of a cartel who wanted Alejandro dead and Ivan silenced in order to halt a land-development deal that may have been tied into Alejandro’s TV show.”

  “Who did you say the American was?” Geo asked.

  “I didn’t,” I said, dread fluttering across my belly.

  Geo glanced down at the IV taped to the top of his hand.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “When we were in the planning stages of all this, I walked in on the tail end of a conversation Stasia was having with one of the execs.” He took a raspy breath. “He was complaining that the wedding alone wasn’t going to be interesting enough or cost-effective enough to justify the expense for all of us to come down there. Even with the perks.”

  “And how did she respond?”

  He looked up at me. “She guaranteed him the show would be a hit.”

  “As in, everything is playing out exactly as it was supposed to?”

  “I can’t rule out that Anastasia got us involved in something heavier than she ever imagined.”

  The phone beside Geo’s bed rang.

  “That’s got to be her,” I said. “She and Philip are on their way up to see you. In fact, I’m supposed to be meeting them up here with the film crew.”

  “You need to find out who the American was in that meeting,” Geo said.

  “Yes, but I should check in with the crew before I do. I kind of ditched them in the midst of looking for Sombrero Lady.”

  “They’ll be fine without you,” he said and picked up the phone.

  I looked at him quizzically as he greeted Anastasia and confirmed they were in front of the hospital and would be up in five minutes. Geo hung up the phone.

  “Why will they be fine without me?”

  “There is no Sombrero Lady.”

  “What?”

  “The woman you met was a local actress,” he said. “We thought it was a pretty clever way to get you to buy into the investigation.”

  “We?”

  “Actually, the Sombrero Lady was Frank’s idea.”

  “Frank’s idea?” I could barely get out the words.

  “When we let him know about the reworked story line, he said you’d balk about investigating, just like you’d balked about signing up for a free timeshare. He said Sombrero Lady would give the investigation the legitimacy you’d need to stay and look into things.” At my horrified expression he added, “Because you’re way too smart for the usual reality TV rigmarole.”

  Clearly I needed to be a lot smarter. “Frank said all that?” I managed.

  “Yeah. And I say you better get a move on fast before Stasia and the crew get up here.”

  I rushed out of Geo’s room, raced down the hallway opposite the elevators, and exited the building via the stairwell.

  Once outside, I ducked into a nearby T-shirt shop.

  “Teléfono?” I asked, offering the clerk everything in my pocket, which came out to be the peso equivalent of approximately three dollars and fifty cents.

  In exchange, he led me to the phone and helped me to dial the main number for the Hacienda de la Fortuna.

  “May I speak to Ivan, por favor?” I asked after being forwarded to the Activities office. I wanted to question him further about the identity of the American he saw meeting with Alejandro on the boat.

  “He’s at the dock,” the young lady who answered the phone said. “I think.”

  “Can you transfer me there?” I said. “It’s important.”

  “You probably won’t be able to reach him,” she said. “But I’ll try.”

  “Not sure where he is,” said whoever answered down at the dock.

  “This is Maddie Michaels and I really need to speak to him. Can you please have him contact me if you see him?”

  With his lackluster no problemo, I was certain the dock attendant hadn’t bothered to put pencil to whatever scrap of soggy paper might have been laying around the equipment shack.

  Clearly I wasn’t going to be able to connect with Ivan quickly, so the only logical Plan B was to get back to the resort and see what, if anything, I could find out, starting with Beti in the timeshare office.

  Seeing as my money and credit cards were in my purse, which was locked in the crew van, how I was going to get there was another problem.

  I quickly decided my best chance was to plead my case to a nearby cluster of taxis, the drivers leaning against their cars, waiting for fares.

  I was halfway there when I heard a familiar pitch.

  “Hola, Señora! How would you like to treat yourself to a spa day or treat your entire family to free water park tickets?”

  From my research on timeshares, I recognized the smiling man as an OPC.31

  While other people avoided direct eye contact with him as they hurried by, I stopped.

  “There’s a water park nearby?” I asked.

  “Only the finest, most breathtaking eco water park you will ever experience,” he said, with a decided gleam in his eye.

  “How would I go about getting those tickets?” I asked.

  “It’s quite simple …”

  I nodded along with interest as he launched into his spiel about the gourmet lunch and ninety-minute no-obligation tour of one of my choice of resorts that would qualify me for my free passes.

  “Does that include the Hacienda de la Fortuna?” I asked.

  “No reason to bother with that place.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Mucho problemos,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What kind of problems?” I asked.

  “We don’t talk about that around here,” he said, looking around. “The resort you really want to tour is Cielo en la Tierra—Heaven On Earth.”

  “Sounds great, but my friend said I really needed to see Hacienda de la Fortuna.”

  “How about—”

  “My friend owns a timeshare there and she loves it.”

  “You won’t.”

  “The pictures looked spectacular,” I said.

  “Pictures lie,” he said, offering photos of his own. “I will show you Heaven.”

  “But you can’t take me to Hacienda de la Fortuna?”

  “How about I give you the spa day and the water park tickets?”

  “I bet they’ll make the same deal for me at Hacienda de la Fortuna,” I said.

  “You can try,” he said, looking disgusted. “But I doubt it.”

  After another few minutes of haggling, he finally relented, pointing to a similarly dressed man standing across the way with a nearly identical setup of brochures and information. “Go talk to Raul if you really think you have to go to that place, but tell him he owes me for this one.”

  I stepped across the plaza.

  “Hi Raul,” I said with a smile. “I’m Maddie and I’m interested in a timeshare.”

  Five minutes later, I was in a prepaid cab on my way back to the resort.

  31. Many potential timeshare clients are approached off-site by a person offering a free gift or discounted attraction. These are known as an OPC (off-premise contact). Located at high-traffic tourist areas, their job is to direct as many potential buyers to the timeshare sales center as possible.

  twenty-six

  The front line salesman32 was waiting to greet the car, looking like a pet snake gazing at a baby mouse dangling above his cage. His enthusiasm gave way to surprise and then quickly disappointment as he opened the door for me.

  “Aren’t you—”

  “Mrs. Frugalicious,” I said. “And I’m sorry to have misled your representative in town and now you, but I need to talk to someone in your office ASAP and I had no other way of getting back here.”

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, less than enthusiastically.

  “Actually, I need to talk to Beti.”

  “Beti, our receptionist?”

  I nodded.


  “Whatever,” he said, looking more than a little annoyed and motioning me to follow him to the timeshare office.

  Our silent walk together was even more uncomfortable than my interchange with the OPC, who’d thought he’d chanced upon a sure-fire sale, only to have to pass me along to his frenemy, Raul. When we finally reached the office, the front line salesman opened the door just long enough for me to pass through.

  “Must be on break,” he said.

  I looked at the empty desk receptionist’s desk.

  “And everyone else is in the middle of a sales conference, so …”

  “I’ll wait.”

  I’d assumed Beti’s break would likely last fifteen minutes—as in a standard, OSHA-mandated, American-style morning coffee break. Why it took me until well past the twenty-four-minute mark to remember I wasn’t even in my home country, I wasn’t sure, but it likely had something to do with the sales presentation by the master closer filtering into the lobby from the sales floor:

  “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, so every step in the timeshare sales presentation is equally and critically important. Yes, folks, everything—the meet and greet, the warm-up, touring the resort, the discovery, and closing the deal.

  “There’s one even more important, more crucial, element if you want have any chance of making it in this business.

  “Listen,” he said in a near whisper, and then shouted, “LISTEN!

  “What I’m saying here is don’t just give an ear. You have to LISTEN to prospective owners. That means monitoring facial expressions and body language and then adjusting your conversation accordingly and constantly, from the very moment you shake hands until the ink is on the contract.

  “Fail to listen and you won’t hear what they like, don’t like, would use, not use, and most importantly, what you know they need!”

  I couldn’t help but think I hadn’t been listening from the moment I signed on for this whole Family Frugalicious TV odyssey.

  “Despite what you may or may not have heard, you must not only listen, you must PRE-JUDGE as well in order to understand your prospects and adapt the presentation to fit the prospects’ wants, desires, vacation lifestyle, finances, and so on.”

  I thought I could pretend to play happily married and no one would be anything but bargain wiser. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that I might just as easily be played too?

  Before I could ponder that particular question, a door creaked open from the private hall on the other side of the sales floor. I looked up hoping to see Beti emerge from the kitchen/break area. Instead, Antonio appeared from inside a conference room with a familiar-looking older gentleman. I assumed he was an executive I’d met briefly or passed on one of the pathways over the last few days, until two men in suits emerged from behind him, took positions on either side of the man, and attempted to look nonchalant.

  As if the reek of aftershave and steroids didn’t give them away as bodyguards.

  “The pros can, like a winning sports team, modify their tactics at any time during the presentation in order to achieve maximum results and victory …”

  My heart began to thump as Antonio and the man shook hands like they’d just completed a business deal.

  Followed by an emotional hug.

  Then I realized that I’d seen him at the funeral, seated beside Elena.

  The mayor.

  “One of the greatest mistakes I see is the salesperson who finally starts to listen but must make adjustments in the presentation during the close, Hail Mary–style.”

  “Mr. Mayor?” I blurted as he started past me.

  His goons closed in around him.

  “I’m Maddie Michaels,” I said, before either of them decided they needed to strong-arm me into leaving him alone. “Mrs. Frugalicious.”

  He stopped, dropped the haughty VIP veneer, and flashed the smooth polished smile of a consummate politician. “Mrs. Frugalicious—of course.” He smiled that much more broadly as he stepped over and offered me a kiss on each cheek. “I understand you and your crew are doing an excellent job of bringing peace and safety back to our community.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I was also hoping you might have a moment to talk to me about a few things.”

  “I’d love to,” he said in accented but impeccable English. He looked at his watch. “But I’m afraid I’m already running late for another appointment.”

  “I’ll only need a second.”

  One of his goons gave me the back off or else eye.

  “Please?”

  “Very well,” he finally said, motioning his bodyguards outside and Antonio away.

  “Thank you,” I said, as Antonio disappeared into the sales conference.

  “Whatever I can do,” he said, somehow not entirely convincingly.

  “Sir, it has come to my attention that you were in the midst of some negotiations with Alejandro and a third party,” I said as soon as we were alone. “An investor of some sort?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Police intelligence,” I said, to avoid any mention of Ivan.

  “The deal was totally on the up and up,” he offered so quickly that I could only doubt that was true. “All by the book.”

  “Was the third party an investor?”

  “More of an interested party, I would say.”

  “But foreign?”

  “American born with Mexican citizenship,” he said. “So, as I said, completely legitimate.”

  “Of course,” I agreed. “There’s been some speculation that Alejandro might have been killed to keep the deal from happening.”

  “That simply doesn’t make sense,” he said definitively.

  “Maybe his murder could be related to the investor?”

  “I don’t see how,” the mayor said, glancing nervously out the window at his bodyguards.

  “What about the connection with the TV show deal?”

  “TV show deal?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

  “Surely you’re aware of the reality show Alejandro was in the midst of pitching my producers?”

  “He’d certainly been bragging about something along those lines,” he said with a nod. “And while there’s no denying the possible notoriety such a show would bring to the resort specifically, and our community in general, it had nothing to do with any negotiations in which I’ve been involved.”

  “So the events were unconnected?”

  “Completely,” he said. “Just as I’m completely sure the facts will prove to be different than whatever it is that may have been speculated regarding what did or didn’t happen.”

  Now that was politician-speak if ever I heard it. “You’re sure about that?” I asked.

  “Positive,” he said.

  I was downright confused about where to go or what do to next as I left the timeshare office, headed down the path, and almost walked head-on into Beti, her nose in a Spanish romance novel.

  “Just the person I thought I was looking for,” I said.

  “I’m just getting off break,” she said. “But I’ll be back at my desk in five minutes to help you any way I can.”

  “How about we talk now?” I asked.

  Without waiting for her response, I led her over and into a nearby ladies’ room, where I was reasonably sure we wouldn’t be observed by any security cameras. As soon as I was certain we were alone I said, “Ivan told me he trusts you and that he spoke with you yesterday.”

  She nodded.

  “I just talked with the mayor.”

  “In our office?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And when I asked him about Alejandro and his plans for a reality show, he claimed he knew about it, but it had nothing to do with any negotiations he was conducting with the American investor.”

  Beti considered. “Alejandro told me he just needed to jump through a few hoops and the Hacienda de la Fortuna empire was going to explode because he’d all but inked his own reality show about the resort and the world of ti
meshare sales.”

  “That’s pretty much what Ivan told me,” I said. “But did Alejandro specifically say he’d been discussing the terms of the deal that day on the boat?”

  “Not specifically,” she said. “But Alejandro did say you were key to making it happen.”

  “Me?”

  “He definitely mentioned you.”

  “I wonder why? I don’t have any ability to get him a show beyond suggesting it might be an interesting idea.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But he said the producers told him his best chance of getting it green-lighted was to somehow convince you.”

  “Convince me?” I heard myself repeat.

  “He also said he planned to do whatever it took.”

  As I stood there trying, unsuccessfully, to digest what had to be the unsavory truth of the whole Alejandro-romance subplot, Beti asked, “Is the mayor still there meeting with Antonio?”

  “You already knew he was meeting with Antonio?”

  “It makes sense that he would,” she said.

  “Because he’s the new manager?”

  “Because I’m sure the mayor is helping Elena to settle estate matters.”

  “Why would he help Elena?”

  “Well, he is her father.”

  I felt like the wind had just been knocked out of me. “Did you just say the mayor is Elena’s father?”

  “Most important marriage around here in years,” she said. “When Elena and Alejandro got married, there was a ceasefire in the decades-long feud between the two richest, most competitive families in the region.”

  “But if Elena is the mayor’s daughter,” I said, doing the math, “then Benito is—”

  “His son.”

  Alejandro had been set up to seduce me in exchange for a TV show. The mayor knew about Alejandro’s plan for stardom, but claimed it had nothing to do with the “totally on the up and up” land deal they were transacting. In addition, the mayor was “completely sure the facts will prove to be different than whatever it is that may have been speculated regarding what did or didn’t happen,” where the murder of his son-in-law was concerned. The son-in-law he hadn’t thought to inform me was the husband of his grieving daughter.

  Did that include the speculation about his own son, who everyone, including him, would have me believe killed Alejandro, almost killed Geo, and sent Ivan that threatening message to keep quiet?