Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery

by Louise Gaylord

  Finally, a man says, “Give Miss Armington a hand, will you, Jed?”

  That voice. I know that voice.

  Chapter 29

  PAUL CARPENTER, even more emaciated than I remember, steps out of the shadows to stand before me.

  Tears of relief and joy come as I fall from the tailgate of the truck into his embrace. He hugs me hard against his trembling chest, then whispers my name before his lips meet mine.

  Stunned by the sharp mountains of his spine beneath my hands, I step away and stutter, “It’s a miracle, but how?”

  “Smoke and mirrors? Magic? Take your pick.”

  My initial joy at seeing Paul alive dissolves to anger, then fear. “You did this? Had me kidnapped? Blindfolded? Drugged?”

  The smile on his face sets as he steers me toward the open door. “Now, now, Allie. It wasn’t as bad as all that, was it? I’ll explain everything over cocktails since I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up.”

  I stare at Paul as the day replays. The strained meeting with Bill Cotton in Gibbs’s office. Luke Hansen’s ugly face behind a gun pointing in my face. His bestial dispatch of the cab driver. His verbal abuse of Jed and myself. And now, Paul’s seemingly cavalier attitude.

  When we enter the hall, I gasp. Except for the missing staircase, it is the exact replica of the entryway at Anacacho. I turn to see Adelena, standing in the opening of a wide corridor to the right. Not the serene Adelena I remember, instead, a shadow of her former self with wringing hands and anguish crowding her face.

  Paul must read my shock. “Adelena hasn’t been well, but she’s on the mend. Aren’t you, Adelena?” His question seems more a command.

  I glance down at my wrinkled linen. “I’ll need a miracle to resurrect this.”

  “Oh, we’ll remedy that. Adelena has dredged up a few things for you.”

  Adelena nods a little too vigorously. “Sí, Jefe. This way, Señorita.”

  I follow her down the hall that ends at double doors much like the ones that delineated the master suite at Anacacho. When she stops at the third door on the left and motions for me to enter, I know before I see the room, it will be exactly like the room I once occupied.

  “Shall I draw a bath?” Adelena is already at the bathroom door when she asks.

  “Please don’t bother. A shower will be fine.”

  She turns and we practically collide. When I see her fear, I take her by the shoulders and whisper, “What is it? What’s the matter?” Adelena stiffens, then steps away shaking her head, quickly scanning the room. She puts her finger to her lips, then says brightly, “You will find a fresh change of clothing in your closet, Señorita. Please don’t keep Jefe waiting. He has been most anxious to see you.”

  The door to my room closes and I’m left alone with a million questions.

  Paul is “Jefe”? But that can’t be. The last time I saw Paul he was gagged and bound with ropes and I will never forget the terror on his face.

  Hoping that a shower will wash away some of my confusion, I turn the knob and enter the closet to undress. Though the light from the bathroom is not that bright, I see several pairs of slacks and some blouses hanging in front of me. I step closer to examine them, then lurch away.

  My clothes. Though it seems like years, I’ve only been away from Houston a little over twenty-four hours. Somehow someone slipped through lobby security and gained entry to my apartment.

  I look down. My shoes. Two pair of flats and a pair of Nikes. I ease open a drawer in the chest. Bras, panties, and pajama tops—all mine.

  Then I see the faint outline of the door leading to the master suite. It’s the same setup as Anacacho, no handle or lock on my side. Paul is free to come and go as he pleases.

  After hanging up my pantsuit, with trembling fingers I remove my underwear. As the last piece of my clothing drops to the floor, my body is quaking so I have to clasp my arms tight about me to stop quivering.

  I’m too exhausted to think straight. I don’t even know where I am other than miles from the rest of the world. Somewhere south of the border. Without a passport.

  Then I remember Adelena’s admonition to hurry. Paul is waiting.

  The living room is dark except for a crackling fire that flickers on Reena’s collection of paintings above the antique Spanish table. The room is an exact replica of the living room at Anacacho down to the turquoise-studded cigarette box on the mantle. I shudder, remembering my run through the empty ranch house, then shudder again at what this means.

  “Allie.” Paul rises from the sofa and comes to meet me, arms open, a broad smile on his face. “Welcome to Anacachito. Not as grand as my childhood home, but what I have here is just as good.”

  “I see you have Reena’s paintings.”

  “Oh, yes. They were a vital part of the move.” My eyes question his.

  “I believe I told you they were being cleaned and re-appraised.” He gives a knowing smirk. “Not quite the truth. Several million from the street sale of a coke stash were sealed beneath the back papers of those paintings. One of my major coups.”

  He tries to draw me close and I slide free. “It’s been a very long day. I sure could use a drink.”

  If I’ve offended him, Paul doesn’t show it. Instead he ushers me to the couch. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Scotch, on the rocks, please.”

  Miguel steps into view. “Sí, Señorita.”

  He disappears as Paul takes his place next to me and covers my hand with his. “I’ve been waiting for this since I last saw you and now that it’s here...” He bends forward to plant a kiss just as Miguel appears with the Scotch.

  After a long sip of my drink, I ask, “What happened that day, Paul?”

  He studies me for a moment, then says, “It’s a long and complicated story. One that needs to be told in the proper sequence so you’ll understand the ‘why’ of everything.” He smiles as he combs my body from head to toe. “How lovely you look in the firelight.” Follow his lead, my inner voice says. Savor his seeming adoration and enjoy the Scotch.

  Miguel announces dinner and Paul offers his hand and turns me toward the dining room. No surprise there. The Navajo rug and the long refectory table sit beneath the same wrought-iron chandelier that filled the dining room at Anacacho with a golden glow.

  Once Paul has seated me to his right and poured a fine Chardonnay, he raises his glass. “To my dream of dreams. You’re here at last.”

  The kitchen door swings open and Miguel appears with the first course.

  I dip into clear broth floating with shredded chicken, tomato and lime slices, then give a satisfied sigh. Adelena’s agitation has not affected her culinary talent.

  Paul nods his approval of my gusto. “You see why it was absolutely necessary to bring Miguel and Adelena, don’t you?”

  He’s given me an entry and I take it. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. To duplicate my life at the Anacacho as closely as I could. This house and the stables took more than a year to build.”

  “What happened to Anacacho?”

  Miguel’s entrance to remove the empty bowls puts an untimely end to my first probe. He quickly returns to place a beautifully garnished platter before his master.

  Disregarding my question, Paul beams. “You’re in for a treat. Grilled marinated pork loin.”

  Miguel nods and disappears, leaving Paul to carve, then serve both gilded plates with the meat topped by a roasted corn and poblano chile relish.

  After filling a second wine glass with Merlot, he raises his again. “To you, to me, to us. We’re going to have a perfect life.” We finish the meal in silence. Though there’s some tension in the air, I don’t feel the need for small talk. I have more important questions to think about.

  Paul’s revelation that this second ranch took over a year to build means construction must have begun months before Reena asked me to the Anacacho. But it must have taken longer than that for Paul to secure the property and have p
lans drawn.

  Paul’s hand covering mine startles me from my thoughts. “Adelena made piñon flan with caramel sauce especially in your honor. Do you have room?”

  The look is tender, the voice solicitous, and for one small instant, Paul becomes the man I once loved so much.

  I reach for my glass of Merlot and take a sip to steady myself. “How sweet of Adelena to remember.”

  The creamy flan slips down my throat and I relish the heaviness of the caramel and the pop of piñon nuts against my tongue. I must betray my pleasure because Paul laughs that deep, low laugh I used to adore.

  “After watching you eat all that food, I’m afraid you’ll founder.”

  I laugh for the first time in what seems like a decade. “Only horses and cows founder. Goodness, do I look that bad?”

  Paul rises to stand by my chair, brushes the top of my head with his lips, and whispers, “To the contrary, you’ve never looked better.”

  When the first pale offerings of dawn paint my room in deep gray tones, I come to and sit bolt upright. The desperation and depression I left behind during the long night catch up and shove me to the edge of panic.

  I have made it through the night untouched. I grab the bottle of water from the nightstand and guzzle what’s left. At that, some semblance of rationality returns and I head for the closet.

  Before retiring I placed the vanity stool in such a way that if Paul came through the door he would run into it. If he tried to breach my flimsy fortification, there’s no sign. Still, the fact that he easily could have is very disturbing.

  Paul is already at the dining table and rises to greet me. “Did you sleep well?”

  I nod. In truth, I sat propped against the headboard, watching both doors until first light.

  I settle next to him as Adelena appears with coffee and for one brief instant the moment is déjà vu until I notice the hand that pours is trembling.

  When I look into her tears, she gives a slight “no” shake, then asks my pleasure. I order huevos rancheros and she disappears through the swinging door, leaving me with my captor.

  Paul beams and pronounces, “I can’t wait to show you around. Of course there’s still much to be done. Miguel and Adelena are temporarily housed behind the kitchen in what will become storage and a utility room. But I suspect they’ll be starting a family soon and will need a house of their own.”

  I lower my hands to my lap so he can’t see them tremble and put on a look of pained disappointment. “I’ll have to take the tour some other time. I’m booked out of Houston to New York this afternoon.”

  His smile dies. “New York this afternoon? That won’t be possible.”

  The huevos arrive, more coffee is poured, and Adelena vanishes.

  The tone of his voice is unbearably solicitous. “I didn’t know you had a trip scheduled.”

  Didn’t know? Was someone feeding him information? The Gibbses? Bill? I stanch my rising panic, hoping my anxiety doesn’t show and my voice won’t quaver.

  “My first deposition is at ten tomorrow.” Before he has a chance to speak I hurry on. “But that’s no problem. I can make the early afternoon Continental out of Laredo and still have ample time to make any one of several evening flights from Intercontinental.”

  He shakes his head. “Sorry. Perkins, Travis will have to send someone to New York in your place. It will be an inconvenience, but most law firms are quick to recover from the loss of a partner.” Perkins, Travis? He knows the name of my firm. Were the bugs Paul’s? Anger overrides my anxiety. “I’m not a partner—yet—and I won’t be if I don’t make that flight.”

  “I was hoping this wouldn’t be so difficult for you. That you would realize...”

  “That I’m your prisoner?”

  He smiles through cold eyes. “I would hardly call ‘wife,’ ‘prisoner.’”

  Wife? The man is demented.

  Careful. Careful. I’m not sure where the warning comes from but I’m grateful some part of my confused brain is still operational.

  Fingernails dig into palms. Immediate escape is out of the question. My only choice is to play along. For now.

  Words form, then reform, until what finally comes is a muted, “Oh, Paul. I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say except ‘I do.’” His voice is warm, but he warily probes my face. “I remember your saying that I needed to get things straightened out before we could be together. Well, now they’re all straightened out.”

  “By that do you mean Reena’s death?”

  “I didn’t kill Reena. You have to believe that.” “But you know who did?”

  “Does it matter? What’s done is done.” “And Fanny?”

  “She means nothing to me. Never did. Yeah, we fooled around, but it was mostly a business proposition.”

  I remember the ring on her finger and the way she acted. Some business. But he said “means.” Use of the present tense startles. “I thought Fanny was killed.”

  “As far as the police are concerned, she was.” He chuckles. “Fanny is one of the most upwardly mobile women I’ve ever met. She not only found this property and helped me build, she arranged for my ‘escape.’”

  I look away, too stunned to speak. Paul has covered all his bases. Reena’s death, Fanny’s disappearance. Yes, it seems he has everything figured out—except for my feelings. But it’s obvious my feelings don’t matter.

  He rises and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get the horses. Adelena has managed to scrounge some jeans and boots for you as well as a warm jacket. It was forty-five this morning.”

  As his footsteps fade, I stare into my half-filled plate, my appetite crushed beneath the growing stone in my stomach.

  Paul’s wife? A few years before—something I desperately wanted. Now—a life sentence.

  The door swishes and I feel Adelena at my side. She touches my arm, then motions me to follow her through the exact duplicate of the kitchen at Anacacho into the pantry.

  After shutting the door, she turns to whisper, “I heard everything, Señorita. What will you do?”

  “Do you know where we are?”

  Adelena shrugs. “Quien sabe. We were herded like cattle into that—that—” She makes the circular motion of a helicopter rotor and whirring sound. “I couldn’t see out, but we flew forever.”

  “Then, we are in Mexico.”

  “Señor Carpenter—Jefe—he—he’s muy loco. We hate it here.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Miguel and myself. Some of the hands.” She crosses herself and mumbles some benediction beneath her breath.

  “What about your children?”

  Adelena lowers her head. “The good Lord did not bless Miguel and me before we were spirited away. And now—there seems no good reason to bring a child into—this.

  “Can you help us, Señorita? We must get home to our families. Miguel’s mother was very ill when we left. Perhaps Jefe will listen to you.”

  “I don’t have much hope for that. I was kidnapped yesterday morning on the way to the Laredo airport.”

  “But we were told of your arrival several days ago. Jefe was so pleased your clothes came before you did.”

  My pulse picks up a beat. “And just how did they get here?”

  “A little yellow plane brings in supplies and fresh food every day. They came on that.”

  A little plane? Is there a way out of this hell after all? “How many people are on the ranch?”

  She thinks a minute. “Jefe, of course. Señor Luke, his cousin Señor Jed, and maybe three hands. They run the ranch. Miguel and me. Eight of us. Now, nine, counting you.”

  “No other personnel? Like the pilot?” “That’s Señor Jed.”

  I allow myself a small taste of hope. “Any others?”

  “Though I am not allowed to go to the barns, I have often seen many men down there. None come to the house.”

  “What a dreadful existence for you. I suppose you have to do all the cleaning and
cooking for everybody?”

  “I work only for Jefe. I don’t know who takes care of those other men. Thank heavens the house is big. If I didn’t have all this to do, I would go insane. The days here are very long.”

  Outside steps freeze. Then we hear Miguel’s voice. “Lena?”

  She cracks the door, peeks out. When Miguel sees me, fear fills his face. “Ándele, ándele. Jefe’s coming from the barns with the horses. He’ll expect the Señorita to be ready.”

  Chapter 30

  I STEP INTO THE EARLY MORNING chill to see Paul, eyes pinpoint bright, nostrils inflamed, standing between his roan, Chief, and the mare I rode into the Anacacho Mountains over a year before.

  I try to ignore the obvious signs of his addiction by hugging the mare’s neck and greeting her by her name. “Hey, Sugar, remember me?” I warm at her whinny of recognition.

  Paul laughs. “And they say only elephants never forget.” He helps me into the saddle, then mounts Chief.

  “This way.” He points to a trail leading away from the house into an endless expanse of tumbleweeds and mesquite.

  We ride in silence for almost a mile while my mind ferrets through the past twenty-four hours: the abduction—the shocking reappearance of a man I thought dead. Paul’s intentions seem clear, but addicts can change with the wind. What if I displease him? What if all this craziness is just a charade?

  The monotone landscape and gentle motion of the horse beneath me soothe my frazzled nerves and give me courage to say, “You’ve been involved with this business for some time, haven’t you?”

  “Going on five years.”

  “That long ago?”

  Paul smiles that irresistible smile of his. “If you’re counting years, my first brush with this ‘business’ came when I was at UT. My roommate’s father was a Mexican drug baron dealing in marijuana and heroin. After the DEA shut down the Colombians’ cocaine highway through Florida, the cartel approached Ramón’s dad.”

  “So, you called this guy up and said you’d like to play?”

  “Not exactly. Ramón and I stayed in touch after we graduated. He often hunted with me on the Anacacho. I knew what his business was, but we never discussed it. Actually, I have to thank Reena for opening that can of worms. She told Ramón she wanted to try some coke and the next time he came, he brought a kilo. Said it was a ‘thank you’ for the weekend. I’m sure it was for a lot more than that, but then, we know what Reena was.”