Songs for Perri

by Nancy Radke

  Crystal and Walt had married when Owen was sixteen and Perri was twelve. Delighted in obtaining an instant sister, and one that was part tomboy, Owen had taken Perri skiing and fishing, and as she got older, taught her to drive. He’d tried to get her to go parachuting and hang gliding, but anything higher than six feet caused her to panic, so he'd given up on those sports.

  He'd been all an older brother should be, honest and strong, with a sense of humor that never required someone else's pain for its pleasure.

  Walt and Crystal had had to keep him in hand, or he would have spoiled his new sister rotten. When she was at Virginia Tech, he had visited a few times, and instantly impressed all her friends. He had double dated with her and her cousin, Stormy, and a young man Perri was going with at the time. The man didn’t match up with Owen, and she soon dropped him.

  Where was Owen now?

  Leaving his room, Hugo raced down the nearby stairwell, resuming a normal pace once he opened the doors to the lobby. He could outrun the elevator, a fact that would probably come in handy often this trip. He crossed the few blocks to Walt's hotel and slipped a piece of paper with his name on it under the door. A second later the door opened. If anything, Walt looked even more haggard than before.

  "How did it go?" Walt asked.

  "A disaster," Hugo declared, stepping inside. "The female photographer, the one I was telling you about...."

  "Yes?"

  "Well, she showed up at the airport and followed me out to the cabs."

  "You couldn't shake her?"

  "Perri invited her into the cab with us."

  Walt grinned, shaking his head. "Ah, that must have cramped your style."

  That's the most genuine smile I've seen this trip, Hugo thought. He'd never seen Walt so low; his old friend was taking this hard. He grinned back. "Somewhat. Your stepdaughter is quick-thinking."

  "Pretty, too, isn't she?"

  "Like you said. Prettiest woman on the plane." He paused, remembering the way his heart had soared when he saw Perri. Not just pretty, but stunning. Beautiful. She looked and talked so much like Crystal, whom he had always admired, that he’d had to watch himself not to call her that. "She didn't like Hugo Brandt, but I invited her out to dinner anyway."

  "She accept?"

  "No."

  Walt frowned, his eyes puzzled. "Then what makes you think she'll go?"

  "I lifted her credit card."

  "Hugo!"

  Feeling no remorse, Hugo grinned widely. Walt had wanted him to stick close to Perri. The only way he could figure out how to do that was to create some kind of immediate crisis in her life; one he could rescue her from. "The lady in distress. I'll be the gallant knight," he said.

  Walt didn't seem impressed. "She's traveled all over the world. She won't be distressed. You had better contact her again, as Joe."

  "You don't think she'll figure out it's the same person?"

  "Not with you doing it."

  "You have a lot of faith. Perri strikes me as a sharp-eyed woman who tends to look beyond the surface. She'll tumble after awhile."

  "Don't worry. She won't be here that long. I'm drafting a letter."

  Hugo looked at the wastebasket full of wadded up paper. "For the past three hours?"

  "Yes."

  "Can I see it?"

  "It's not written yet. And stop grinning. I'll send it to her when it is."

  "Then I had better get moving. Perri must meet all my disguises immediately."

  "All?"

  "The more, the better. The theory is that when you meet several people at once, you might notice some similarities but don't think that much about them."

  "Then it's no problem."

  "Depends. It's harder to maintain the differences if you spend much time with any one person. So you better get her headed home fast."

  "I will." Walt sat down at the small table, propping his injured leg up on the chair he had placed nearby. "I'll get this ready, then send it over. What's the number of her room?"

  Hugo picked up a pencil and wrote down two numbers. "This is mine. This is Perri's."

  "You think it's wise, being that close?"

  "Of course. I don’t want to be running down the hallways. How's your leg holding up?"

  "Better now I've rested. I'll go downtown and stand on a busy street corner and wait for Owen to come to me."

  "Take it easy. You can't help Owen if you're unable to move. You've got to remember—”

  "I know. I know." Walt tapped his fist sharply on the table. "How can I forget? Carlos might just as well have killed me, for all the good I am sometimes. If I had been standing a little closer when Paul started my jeep, I'd have died in that jungle, with him."

  "Carlos is dead, isn't he?" Hugo said, reminding himself how touchy Walt was about his injuries. As he had heard it, Carlos had everyone fooled into thinking that he was an honest freedom-fighter. Walt was the first one to discover the truth, and Carlos tried to kill him to keep his secret.

  "Yeah. His plane crashed. I hate double-agents. He acted so sincere. A devoted anti-Communist. My ‘good friend.’" Walt laughed bitterly. "Might as well have killed me," he repeated.

  "You would never have met Crystal. Or Perri."

  "No. You're right." Sadness darkened his features. "Take care of Perri for me."

  Perri slipped on a light pink cotton shell, white denim skirt and sandals. The heavy drapes kept the room cool, but they made her feel oppressed and enclosed, so she drew them aside. The sliding glass door opened onto a sunlit balcony with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. Her room was situated above a narrow strip of sand lying between the hotel wall and the water. She took one glance downward and stepped hastily back.

  A room one or two stories down would not help her, it had to be right on the ground. She'd need to stay away from the rail and focus her eyes outward. Out and up. Walt had always told her, "Don't look down," and it helped when she followed his advice.

  From here the sunsets would be spectacular. If she had any free time after Owen was safe, she was going to enjoy the smell of fresh salt air while watching the sun set.

  If he made it. Her stomach tightened again. Would they be able to rescue him?

  Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts...running uncontrollably through Perri's mind. Try as she might, she couldn't banish them for more than a minute. She was getting no rest at all, remaining here idle. The nervous strain pressed in on her, increasing in its intensity.

  Perri closed and locked the sliding doors, paced five times around the room, then picked up her purse and key and went down to the main lobby. She needed movement; distractions.

  The pest wasn't in sight. She checked at the desk for a message from Walt. Finding none, she strolled around the various public rooms, wandering in and out of the small shops, looking at the clothing and Mexican jewelry on display.

  Perri didn't need to buy an outfit for the concert, having followed her usual packing procedures and thrown in her champagne crepe dress. Long and gossamer, looking dressy but not garish, it was one of those outfits that would carry a woman through a range of situations, fitting well into a formal dinner or an evening out on the town; dressed up or down with accessories.

  Coming out of a store, she stopped abruptly. Anna was off to one side, her camera focused on her. Had she taken her picture? Perri smiled and waved at the woman. The redhead waved back, then went outside.

  Perri found the hotel's lounge and stepped into the room for a quick look around. It was already set up for the concert, with ample seating and a small stage, ornately decorated. The rock star, Donegal, was performing from nine to eleven. Pictures of the longhaired singer were posted on a billboard next to the doorway. He looked cheerful, although his dark scraggly locks covered his head like a mop, coming down past his eyebrows.

  The show would be a good place to meet, she decided. The music would be so loud no one would hear, even if she were planning to blow up the town.

  A few tourists joined her, wandering
around the room or crossing to exit through the opposite door. Their excited comments revealed that Donegal had suddenly replaced a mediocre group performing there.

  "Um...hi. Uh...you a fan, too?" A clean cut, extremely good-looking young man appeared beside her, and Perri almost lied and said yes. She had a feeling she had seen him before, or someone like him; the tilt of the head as he spoke alerted her subconscious to take note of him.

  With thick eyebrows and clear gray eyes that viewed her with charming good humor, a firm jaw line and short brown hair, he was the antithesis of the pest. The only thing they had in common was a slightly sunburned nose and well-muscled body—yet there was something about the one that reminded her of the other.

  Or...of someone else; a forgotten TV actor perhaps, Perri decided, wrestling with her subconscious linkage of the two men.

  This neatly dressed man in his early thirties was instantly impressive. Her heartbeat registered an immediate attraction to the strong all-American look of him. A sudden wave of awareness swept through her, but she refused to let it reflect in her manner.

  "No," she said. "I have to admit...I've never heard of Donegal."

  He stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. "Never heard of Donegal? Where have you been? Lost in the Rockies?" His voice was soft and pleasantly easy to listen to, with an almost Irish lilt to it, and she waited for a second, hoping to hear him speak again.

  He didn't, so she shrugged, self-consciously. "Not quite. I've been flying all over the world. I lost touch with the rock scene. Actually, I never was much interested in it to start with." Even as Perri spoke, she realized it was the wrong thing to say. She might have to sit through two hours of rock tonight. "I'll go and see what I've been missing," she added quickly and was rewarded with a responsive twinkle from the laughing gray eyes, as if he had guessed her reluctance.

  "You a jet-setter?" he queried with suspicion, eyeing her hairstyle.

  "No." His far-out guess made her grin wryly. She should never have allowed that beautician in Paris to talk her into such an unusual cut. It was so far removed from Perri's old hair style, it still had the power to startle her whenever she looked into the mirror. One thing though, it did attract men — which could be a problem for her while looking for Owen. "Nothing as grand as that, I'm afraid. I'm a buyer for a department store. Decorative accessories."

  "I see." He sounded like he didn't quite believe her. That too was a normal reaction.

  She turned her level gaze fully upon him. "And you?"

  "Uh...me?" His voice dropped to a mumble. "Uh...I'm a mechanic. Cars, boats; nothing spectacular. Vacationing."

  "From what city?" she asked, when he offered no more information.

  "L.A."

  "A mechanic from L.A." She nodded. "I expect you have lots of business."

  He grinned in return, a little-boy sideways grin that was totally disarming. "Right. I make enough to come here every few years." He looked around at the other people filtering into the room before continuing. "Where're you from...if you don't mind?"

  "Phoenix."

  "Hum." He shrugged, offhand, half-apologetic. "If your car breaks down you can't very well bring it to me, can you?" He glanced around once more at the large room. A bar was being opened at one end, and more people were arriving. Carl Freedman and Junior wandered in, looked around, nodded to Perri and walked out again. "You...umm, staying here; in this hotel?"

  "Yes."

  "Same here. Uh...if you'll excuse me, I gotta go now. See you."

  "So long." She followed him out of the dimly lit lounge and watched him move quickly over to the elevators. She wouldn't mind getting to know him better, but was thankful he wasn't as persistent as the pest.

  It was growing late. Perri found one of the hotel restaurants and looked at the displayed menu. The smell of charcoal broiled steak increased her hunger, but the prices made her wince. That would put a hole in her bank account.

  How much cash did she have? She might need extra for this trip.

  Curious, Perri opened her wallet and looked inside. As she reached for the few bills, she saw something that stopped her short.

  The place where she kept her major credit card was empty, its slot like an open mouth, mocking her. A hurried rifling through the rest of her cards showed she hadn't misplaced it.

  Lost? No, stolen. Shocked anger crashed over her. She had had it when she registered. It was on the counter when she dropped her key and would have been easy picking for the pest.

  She'd probably never see it—or him—again.

  Her in-hand cash totaled three dollars and twenty-two cents. Until she got a new card—or Walt arrived—she would have to put things on her hotel tab. How long would it take him to get here?

  Deeply upset, she thrust her cash back into her wallet, not noticing the approaching man until he grasped her firmly by the arm.

  "Well, well, well...you came after all." The softly spoken words, drawled slowly with a hint of simulated disbelief, alerted her. Her eyes traveled rapidly from the black, well-shined boots, dark trousers and white shirt—open halfway down the front to reveal dark brown, curly hair—up to the reflective glasses. Him again!

  If she were blind, she would still have known who it was...from the slow, measured cadence of his speech. If he had stolen her card, what was he doing here?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Perri glanced around the lobby at the people all going about their normal business. No thief would be this brazen, would he? Was she wrong? Maybe the "pest" hadn't taken her card.

  "You weren't expecting me to take you in there, were you?" he asked, as he tipped his head toward the hotel restaurant.

  "Of course not!" Perri snapped. She wasn't planning on eating with him, anywhere. She pulled away from his restraining hand, her chin lifted, gaze defiant, as she prepared to tell him where he could go. And it wasn't with her.

  He ignored the rejection obvious in her manner. "Good," he said with an emphatic flick of his fingers. "Their food doesn’t live up to their prices." Impervious to her resistance, he clasped her arm again in a grip that was firm and commanding, and propelled her toward the main door. "I know where there's a good restaurant. Authentic Mexican fare...it hasn't been Americanized."

  "Wait a minute." Planting her feet, she stopped them both. "I was not waiting for you!"

  "Sure, you weren't," he drawled, making her temper rise again. It didn't sound like he believed her any more than the clean-cut young man had. "Then what were you doing?"

  "Finding out—” She stopped short, nearly biting her tongue.

  "Broke?" he mocked.

  "How did you know—?"

  "Your face," he explained. "It's very expressive. Beautiful, but easy to read. Besides, you were looking through your wallet and chewing on your lip."

  "I lost my credit card. Or someone stole it." Giving a sharp tug, she pulled her arm away, glaring at him. "You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"

  "Me?" he replied; his expression behind the dark glasses as unreadable as ever.

  "I'll check at the desk." Her words were curt and she turned her back in dismissal, but he followed, as tenacious as a pup determined to beg a ride with its owner.

  The clerks were profusely apologetic, they hadn't seen it. This happened too often—they had the company's phone number if that would help. Soon Perri was promised a new card, to arrive the next day.

  She sighed heavily, the emotional tension of the day having worn her down. "Now what?" she asked, feeling more alone than ever.

  "You can eat here," the head clerk told her. "Put it on your bill."

  The pest shook his head. "Breakfast, maybe. I'm hoping Miss Linn will have the evening meal with me."

  "No, thank you. I'll eat here."

  "Having trouble, Hugo?" the head clerk teased with an upward glance of masculine understanding.

  "She seems to think I'm not to be trusted." He hung his head in mock chagrin.

  "I'll vouch for him," the clerk said. "Hug
o's my friend."

  Hugo. The name tugged at Perri's memory. Her mother had known a man called Hugo. Had counted him as a good friend.

  If Hugo stayed at this hotel, he had to be sufficiently well off; so wouldn't need to steal credit cards. Or was that why he stayed here? How confusing.

  "You’ll vouch for him?” she said and the clerk nodded. She wondered how long he’d actually known Hugo. Still, if anything happened, he would know who she’d left with.

  “Go to the Shrimp Factory,” the clerk suggested.

  ”Too far,” she said.

  “I know a place close by. It’s small, but the food is great," Hugo said.

  Perri struggled with her feelings. His type of man—one unrestrained by the convention of normal manners or common courtesy—usually made her feel uneasy. Yet she wanted to go with Hugo. "Oh...okay." Her agreement sounded reluctant because it was. "But I need to be back by eight."

  "That's fine with me. Let's go."

  As they walked across the polished marble floor, Perri wondered if she was being unwise to go with him. Yet she had to eat, didn't she? And she hated to eat by herself. You've done that hundreds of times on your buying trips, she scolded herself. Admit it, you're attracted to this man. There's something about him that draws you.

  "If you like, I could loan you some cash," Hugo said, as he flung open the outside door.

  His comment stopped her abruptly, mid-way through the opening, forcing him to lean hard against the massive door to keep it from swinging back on them. Was he being generous? Or feeling badly because he had left her with no funds?

  "You heard the clerk; my credit's okay," she said.

  "You aren't a rich heiress, though?" Hugo asked in that slow musical drawl of his, eyebrows lifting hopefully above the blankness of the glasses.

  "Hardly." If he was looking for that, he'd be disappointed. "Were you wishing I was?"

  "On the contrary. Rich heiresses aren't my style."

  Outside the sun was still shining, but had lost its fierce heat. Hugo led the way out to the curb, where he stopped and looked down the street. Instantly a taxi slowed down, its driver looking expectantly at him, but he shook his head and the taxi moved on. A yellow bus came next. Stepping out into the street, Hugo held up his hand and it stopped.