by Nancy Radke
"But you are him, you are Donegal."
"I don't feel like him."
"Why not?"
"I feel like Hugo. I am Hugo."
"So?"
"The other man, Donegal; he's like Santa Claus—a costume I put on, an act I carry out."
"I see."
"I don't relate to him or even to his type of music much at all. One of these days—well, I thought I'd bury him. Quietly. Let the press wonder what happened."
"And will you then reappear as a new singing sensation?"
"Ha!" He paused. "I dunno. A lot of Donegal's popularity is stage presence...knowing how to hold a crowd. He's not a very good singer."
"I disagree. You're too hard on yourself."
"No—just hard on Donegal."
"But you're very musical. I can't write songs. I even sing slightly off key."
Her admission changed his introspective mood to one of gentle humor. "Most people do, a little. They just haven't been trained to hear pitch, that's all."
"And you were trained?"
"Oh yeah. All my life. Both my parents sing opera—supporting roles. I grew up with music."
"How exciting."
"Huh!" He smiled wryly in bitter reminiscence. "I didn't think so, not at the time. They were gone so much during opera season."
"And the rest of the time?" Her voice was gentle.
"They sang around the house, and trained me, trained my voice for speaking and singing. They wanted me to sing opera and I'm grateful for what they did. But I didn't want to play at life; I wanted more excitement."
So that was why his voice carried with such a beautiful, almost echoing resonance. "I would think being a singer is very exciting."
"Being Donegal sure is."
"Then you don't sing classical music at all?"
"A little. I notice a lot more power in my voice as I'm getting older, so I might do more. I made some records—three of them. Mostly to repay my folks. I'd rather compose."
"Your records. What name—?"
"There you go again. Asking...."
She smiled. "...what I shouldn't?"
"How do you know I use a different name?"
She just knew. "You do, don't you?"
"Hugh van de Veld. My manager thought—”
"I've heard you!" That name was much more impressive to her than Donegal and she was suitably awe-struck. Ellen Craig, one of Perri’s sisters at Virginia Tech, had a large collection of classical music...including two CDs by Hugh van de Veld that she had played constantly. "You...you're good. Very good!"
"If you say so." Casually, he dismissed her words. "Always call me Hugo, though. Never use my other names...unless that's who I am, at the time."
"Of course. Don't worry."
"I won't, love. You're the least of my worries."
"Good." She knew people in show business used endearments all the time, so maybe Hugo didn't mean the word "love" the way it sounded. Did she want him to? She could still back out of forming a deeper relationship with him...if she did it pretty soon. While her heart was still whole.
"Shall we head back? The boys want to do a little practicing tonight and I said I'd join them."
He put his arm around her as they traveled back to the hotel. It felt natural and right, as if it belonged; and she felt a great contentment. She could be happy with Hugo, if Donegal stayed out of the way.
Hugo had a letter at the front desk which he glanced at briefly, then smiled. "Things are looking up," he told her. "Another engagement...this time in Las Vegas."
He was bouncy with the good news and when they reached her room, he followed her inside and kissed her; his left hand slipping under her shirt, low on her back, his right hand lifting her chin so that his lips met hers in a kiss so perfect, so exquisitely given, Perri's senses reeled from desire.
His kisses were like his eyes—freed once more from the dark glasses—powerful and able to penetrate to the very center of her emotions.
Taking a step forward he pushed her gently against the closed connecting door. With the hard wood of the door at her back and Hugo softly pressing her against it, it was like being surrounded by him...immersed in his love. She could feel it, sense it in the care he took with her...the almost delicate touch of his hand, the gentle questing of his lips.
There was respect in the way he held her, almost reverence. His touch was firm and commanding, but Perri knew he would release her instantly...if she asked him to.
For the first time in her adult life, Perri felt herself reaching out towards someone she totally admired. Somewhere during their days together, Hugo had been slowly stealing her heart.
Was this really happening to her? Was this fascinating man finding her fascinating too? Her heart leaped to keep pace with his, which she could feel pounding furiously under her fingers.
Senses reeling, she asked herself if he was falling in love with her as she was with him?
This was not the time to try to find out, she reminded herself severely. Joe was due. Until she knew that he had made contact with Owen, she had to put that first.
Reluctantly Perri forced herself to turn her face away enough to discourage Hugo’s kiss and reclaim her emotions before they skyrocketed totally out of control.
It was time to call it off.
"No," she murmured. "Hugo, cool it!"
He pulled back, looking down at her from his advantageous height. His voice was rough with emotion. "That's hard to do. You send me up in flames."
"So I noticed." Free of his arms, she stepped back and motioned with her thumb toward the connecting door. "I'm not ready for a full scale fire. Let's put things on the back burner...you can cool off in your own room."
Hitching his jeans higher on his hips, he eyed the door grudgingly, then her. "Kicking me out, eh? Okay for now, love. I can wait. I'll meet with the band, maybe see you later."
"Thanks for the lovely day, Hugo."
"My pleasure. See you soon." With a wink, he departed.
Alone in her room, she sank down upon the edge of her bed, her legs trembling. The bed was too handy in a hotel room. It was not a wise place to be alone with an overly-possessive man who had already, capably, demonstrated a tremendous power over her feelings.
His movement could be heard in the other room and he was whistling as he got ready to go out again. His door shut with a thump and he called out "Bye," as he walked away.
Yet less than a minute later there was a rapping on her outer door. Hugo again? What did he want? She opened to find Joe, his hand raised ready to knock once more.
He stepped inside quickly, pushing the door closed behind him. "I thought he'd never get you back. I've been waiting up the hall."
He was dressed in tan slacks—pressed with a crease in them—and long-sleeved white shirt, lacking only a tie and suit coat. He wore the same minty aftershave that Hugo preferred. It smelled like it had been freshly applied, and Perri sniffed appreciatively.
"Any news?" Her query was abrupt, caused by a guilty feeling that perhaps she should have returned sooner, so he could have reached her. She hoped she didn't look as well-kissed as she felt.
“Walt got a note this afternoon delivered to him by a young boy from someone in the Golden Zone. He couldn't tell if it was from Owen or not."
"What did it say?"
"It asked if he wanted to buy any crystal."
"Crystal."
"Exactly. The note said to come to the zone...nothing else. It wasn't Owen's writing, Walt would have recognized that."
"Is he going?"
"No. I talked him out of it. For now at least. We want you to shop in that area tomorrow. Take Hugo. You covered ground today," he praised her. "It may have been that Owen saw you." Praise from him seemed exceptionally sweet. She doubted he gave it out often. He looked like a man who did things by the rules. But she had to give credit where it belonged.
"Hugo's idea, actually."
"Have you told him what you're doing here?"
&nbs
p; "No."
"Good."
"Joe?" she asked softly.
"Uh huh?"
"This man, Hugo...." Her voice faltered.
He turned those clear gray eyes on her fully, seeking the rest of her request. "Yes?"
"I...I don't want him to get hurt."
He paused for a moment, considering the motive behind her request. "Fallen for him, have you?"
"I don't know," she answered. "Maybe." She tried again, wanting to be truthful. "Well, sort of."
His mouth kicked up in a grin just like Hugo's. So this was to be the way it was, was it? Everything reminding her of Hugo? Maybe she had a worse case on him than she had figured.
"He'll be okay. Once we contact your brother, you and this Hugo will be out of the picture. You can do what you want. We won't want you around."
"Thanks," she said, dryly. She wouldn't want to remain in Mexico anyway...unless Hugo was staying longer. She'd have to ask him how long he'd be here before going to Las Vegas.
Joe sat down on the edge of her bed and caught her hands in his. They were large and strong, and—she laughed at herself—reminded her of Hugo's. Even the calluses were in the same place.
"Listen, Perri. When I talked to Walt last night, he said something about a scorpion in his car causing Crystal to crash. I know it still hurts to talk about your mother, but at the time of her death, Walt was so emotionally overwhelmed, he wasn't able to grasp it all. He said she had left him in town and come home alone instead of bringing him with her as planned."
"That's true."
"What happened, Perri? I need to know." It was the most serious she had ever seen him. He was almost begging.
"Why?"
"Because...well, this happens to be a very dirty business we're in. When someone dies, we have to check it out. Thoroughly. I asked Walt if the car was examined and he said the insurance people had looked at it. That's not good enough if an expert had worked on it."
"An expert? What do you mean? I guess I'm dense, but just what are you implying?"
"Someone might have been trying to kill Walt and got Crystal instead."
CHAPTER TWELVE
The words, spoken so simply and precisely, hit Perri hard. She stared at Joe. Here was someone who would leave no point unchecked if there was even the slightest indication of foul play. There was a hard determination in him that refused to give up.
"It was Walt’s car," she said.
"Right."
"And the person killed Mom instead? By accident?"
"Yes. Or...planned to kill her."
Perri bowed her head for a moment in disbelief before looking at him again. "No. That last couldn't be right."
"Why not?"
"Mom wasn't involved in anything. So why would anyone want to kill her? Or Papa, for that matter." It didn't make sense and Perri felt he had carried his suspicions too far.
He didn't relent. "To get her pendant."
Now he was being ridiculous. Of what importance was her mother's pendant? Perri put her hand on it, lifting it away from where it hung between her breasts. "That's crazy," she told him.
He paused, staring at it, then at her. "Crystal never told you, then?"
"What?"
"It’s a wishbox necklace. Hand it over," he said, his fingers motioning for it.
Undoing the clasp, she placed it in his hand.
He gave it a sharp twist and pull, and it separated in the middle. The inside had been hollowed out forming a small chamber big enough to hold a tiny rolled piece of paper, such as the one hidden there now.
"Oh," Perri gasped as he slipped the paper out and carefully unrolled it. "What does it say?"
He studied it for a moment, shook his head, then handed it to her. "Mean anything to you?"
Two words...in Crystal's handwriting: "Scorpion here."
"No," Perri said. "Nothing." But silently she took back her negative thoughts about Joe's ideas. They no longer seemed crazy.
"Did she say anything before she died?" he asked.
"Just...she wanted me to have the pendant."
"Tell me what happened. Everything you remember. From the moment you heard the crash," he insisted.
"All right. I was unloading the car in the driveway when she drove by."
"Any brake sounds?"
"No.... The police didn't find any skid marks either. She went past the driveway, right into the rocks. The road's very steep by the entrance."
"If she had gone further...there's a cliff there. Pretty close if I remember it."
"Yes. The rocks kept her from going over."
"Go on. You saw the crash...."
"Mom wasn't supposed to be home for two hours—” Perri broke off, fighting for control.
"Sorry. Give yourself a moment." He reached out and took her hands in his again, his grip strong, and Perri stared down at them. Strong hands; comforting hands. Square and solid. Joe had known her mother. Well enough to know about the pendant. This must be hard on him too. She sniffed, swallowed, started again.
"I ran down the driveway. She had pulled herself out of the wreck when I reached her. She was busted up inside, pretty badly. I think she knew.... Anyway, she kept trying to take the pendant off. When I did it for her, she said to...to take it."
"What did she say, exactly? Can you remember?"
Perri covered her face with her hands. What had Crystal said? "Just, ‘Here you go, take this.’ No, she said... ‘Take this.’ Then, ‘Here you go.’”
"Are you sure?"
"Her voice was slurred, but I'm pretty sure. She never would wear her seat belt," Perri continued, distressed, half to herself. "She always thought they were a nuisance."
"She didn't ask you to look inside?"
"No. Yes, she did! I thought she meant inside the car; that there was a scorpion inside it." She touched the pendant. "I wouldn't have known how to open this, anyway."
"Hum."
"How did you open it?"
"Like this." He showed her and she tried it. It was easy, but only if you knew the correct motion.
"Joe, how many other people knew about the pendant? I don't think even Walt knew."
"Me...your Mom. And Hugo."
"Hugo?"
"Not your Hugo. Hugo Donnelson...the agent who gave the pendant to her. If she was ever in trouble, she was to send the pendant to either me or Hugo. It was actually sort of a joke."
"Agent?"
He grasped his face in one hand. "Oh...!"
"You slipped? Again?"
"Yes, again. And yes, agent. CIA."
"But Mom doesn't know—”
"Yes she did. Perri, Owen is an agent."
The words shocked her, but not as much as they could have. She had almost expected them. It explained so many things. Like why Owen couldn't be called when he was on one of his trips. Her mind raced onward. "And Walt? He's an agent, too, isn't he?"
"He's a Deputy Director now. His last assignment as an field agent was fifteen years ago; when a ‘friend’ in Central America tried to kill him with a bomb."
"And you?"
"Off and on. Not like I used to. Walt called me after he got the postcard from Owen. The word "Dora" was a personal code word between the two of them, referring to Pandora's box. It meant there was a leak somewhere in the organization. No one could be trusted. I flew down here to do what I could, but I've been unable to locate Owen."
All her family. Lying to her these many years. They knew she hated lies. Probably why they never told her. "My Mom? Was she an agent?"
"No. But she knew about Walt. She found out while working with his physical therapy. Before he asked her to marry him. He said she could read his mind. He also said you are just as bad, knowing what he was going to do before he had decided himself."
Perri looked down at the curled up scrap of paper. It had three finished edges, one torn. Probably the end of a sales receipt. "She had to have written this before the accident."
"Right. We aren't talking about an insect, I
’m afraid."
"Then what? Who?"
"I don't know. She evidently thought I would."
"But she gave it to me."
"No, I don't think so." Joe looked at her steadily, his thoughtful gray eyes weighing the situation. "I don't think you heard her right. I don’t think she said, ‘..you go.’ I think she said, ‘Hugo.' In fact I'm sure of it."
"But what does it all mean? Do you think someone killed Mom, because of the note?"
"It's possible."
"But...if so, how did the killer known she wrote the note and put it in there?"
"It depends upon when she wrote it. Maybe he saw her write it, maybe not. Maybe she told him, although I give Crystal more credit than that."
"And if not?"
"It still could have been a simple accident...but we can't treat it as such. Not with this note."
"Who would have given Mom the information?"
"Walt?"
"No. At least it's highly unlikely. He never, ever told us anything."
"He tends to do that."
Perri grinned at the exasperation that was clear in Joe's voice. "He does that to you, too?"
"Yeah. All the time," he agreed. "It's maddening. Walt doesn't tell anyone anything. Maybe that's why he's lasted so long. Owen's too talkative. He needs to take some lessons from his dad."
Joe held up the tiny scrap of paper. "I think this was a message to Hugo. Could I take it, Perri? I want to see if it means anything to Walt."
"Of course. But I'd like my pendant back, please?"
"Sure. I don't need it." He grinned, a slightly crooked, shy grin that was disarming. Reaching up he re-clasped the pendant around her neck, his hand casually sweeping aside her long hair to settle the chain. The action sent a shiver unexpectedly down her spine.
"How would Mom have known about anyone called the Scorpion?" she turned the thought over once more.
He pursed his lips in thought, then continued, "If the name doesn't mean anything to Walt, we'll have to ask ol’ Hugo— wherever he is. In the meantime, we've got your brother to find. With or without the help of his friends."
She liked the sound of that "we." It promised her she wasn't alone. "Right. I'll keep trying."
He sketched her a brief salute as he opened the door. "Keep at it. You'll do!" The door closed quietly behind him.