On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  “A car wreck. A drunk plowed into the side of her car when he blew through a solid red light.”

  Abby took notes.

  “Was there any way the light was messed up or maybe it was like a blind curve or something?”

  “No, I doubt it. The police would’ve probably checked that. Plus, Julie was an auto insurance adjuster. She knew all the bad intersections and what to avoid. She was a very, very defensive driver. It was just a typical random intersection.”

  “Okay,” said Abby, still writing. “Wait a second. Veronica, you said your mom died in Cozumel?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “She was SCUBA diving. Well, technically, she was learning to SCUBA dive, going for her open water license.”

  “And you?” Abby asked. “Do you ever SCUBA dive?”

  “Any chance I get. In fact I’ve been to Cozumel several times; it is one of my favorite places to go. Why?”

  “Holy crap, guys!” said Abby excitedly. “I just got us a clue or a fact or whatever you want to call it!”

  Martin woke when Abby leaned forward off the bench and began talking rapidly in a conspiratorial tone. The group huddled close to listen.

  “Think about this: Steve, your wife was the safest driver in the world and an insurance adjuster, and she died in a car wreck. Martin, you are a pharmacist, and you told me that your daughter died of an accidental overdose. And Veronica, your mother passed away trying to learn the very thing that you love to do. I don’t think we could get more irony if we tried!”

  She looked excited and scared at the same time.

  “And Zack,” she said. “He was one of the best quarterbacks in S Tech’s long football history, a shoo-in for the NFL. And he died . . . from a helmet accident? I am sorry, but that is way too much for this to be just coincidence. Each of the people we love died in some ironic way.”

  “No,” said Martin, shaking his head. “It’s not ironic. It’s just plain sick. That makes it sound like we are the butt of some cosmic joke. I don’t buy that.”

  “You might not buy it, Martin,” said Veronica. “But you do have to face that it happened. Abby’s right. This is too much to be coincidence. We have to consider the idea that maybe someone made these things happen.”

  “You mean like murdered them, Veronica?” asked Steve. “Come on, that’s hard to swallow.”

  “But not impossible,” said Veronica. “Think about it — none of us were there when they died. Steve, your wife was alone. Martin, you were not in that dorm room with your daughter. And I most certainly was not in Mexico. What if somebody were there, or tampered with the cars or the SCUBA tanks?”

  “No,” said Abby. “Zack wasn’t alone. He was walking off the field in front of thousands of people.”

  “And Veronica,” said Steve. “Your mom wasn’t alone — there was probably a whole class there right?”

  “Yeah, but even so, maybe somebody was there and found a way to make these things happen.”

  “The preacher,” said Martin.

  Veronica shivered.

  “Each time I dream about Julie’s death, it’s the preacher’s face that I see behind the wheel of the other car,” said Steve.

  “I see the preacher hovering over my Maggie in my nightmare,” said Martin.

  “And I am pretty sure he’s the one who kills Zack in my dreams, too,” said Abby, fear on her face.

  The initial boarding call for their flight interrupted any further discussion. They packed up without another word about it and joined the throng that was funneling toward the jetway. As they made it past the attendant, Martin beckoned Steve to stay back a few feet for a private word.

  “You know, Steve,” he said. “She is onto something. How is she going to handle it if he shows up again?”

  “I am hoping that Abby never meets him,” replied Steve. As he did, he took an unconscious look over his shoulder into the terminal. There was no sign of the preacher.

  “Amen to that,” said Martin. “But something tells me that if we get to where we’re going, if we get to the heart of it, we’ll be seeing him again.”

  A non-committal grunt from Steve was all he got in reply. Martin sighed and shook his head. As they neared the end of the jetway, Abby was waiting for them by the doorway to the plane.

  “Hey Steve, can we swap seats? Martin, I’d like to work on your memory a bit if you’re up for it. I’d like to take some notes.”

  “Fine with me,” said Steve.

  “Me too,” said Martin. “Lead on, young lady!”

  Their seats were only 10 rows from the front, three seats on each side of the aisle. The crowd on the plane was relatively light. It was a 737 and held nearly 200 passengers, but by Steve’s guess, it was barely half-full.

  They had the entire row to themselves, six seats for four people. Steve and Veronica were on one side, Martin and Abby on the other. Eventually the aisle traffic dwindled and disappeared. The flight attendants did a manual headcount and locked the door in place. Veronica breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  “You were expecting him to stroll through that door?” Steve asked.

  “Maybe. Abby’s right you know. This is more than coincidence, way more. And I think that nasty pastor is behind it.”

  She leaned over, shut the window shade and closed her eyes.

  “Martin couldn’t agree with you more,” Steve said.

  “Yeah, well, I recognized him as the brains of the outfit when you two showed up at my door.”

  She smiled, but didn’t open her eyes. Steve turned and looked at Martin and Abby who were already deep into their conversation. He watched them for a minute. Martin talked excitedly, waving his hands, as Abby scribbled furiously in her notepad to catch up. Eventually he gave up watching and closed his own eyes.

  Abby’s ominous detective work left Steve uneasy. He acknowledged that perhaps he was dealing with something well beyond his ability to control. How much more was involved, and how much could they really handle? Doubt wrestled with optimism in his mind. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard Abby’s girlish giggle, and it warmed him, if only a little bit. He hoped her deduction skills would indeed pay off, and they’d have a purpose or at least a next step when they landed.

  By the time the flight reached its cruising altitude, Steve and Veronica were both asleep.

  Chapter 32

  They touched down in Cozumel shortly after 4 PM. The flights and the stopover in Houston had been uneventful. For nearly the entire first leg of the journey, Abby had grilled Martin extensively and developed copious notes. During the short layover between flights, the group ventured out into the airport just long enough for a quick lunch and bathroom break. Re-boarding, Steve noticed that the flight had even fewer passengers than before. He supposed the Cozumel vacation crowd would come later in the week.

  For the second leg of the flight, Abby parked herself by a window and spread her notes around her. She put her ear buds in, donned her sunglasses, and made it abundantly evident that she was no longer in a conversational mood. Martin gave her space and took an entire row for himself, eager for an opportunity to take a nap.

  The first thing Steve noticed after they landed was the heat. Even through the jetway, he could feel the pulsating and oppressive tropical weather. Texas had been mild compared to the heat here in Mexico. As they entered the small terminal of the Cozumel Airport, he noted the giant welcome banner directly opposite the gateway: Welcome to Mexico!/ ¡Bienvenidos a Mexico!

  “So, what’s first?” he asked.

  “We’ve got to get through customs,” Veronica replied. “After that, well, the island isn’t that big and we are right outside San Miguel, the main town. But since we don’t know exactly what we’re doing here, I guess after customs we should locate some transportation.”

  The trip through customs was little more than a wave of their passports and the requisite inane questions about the intent and extent of their trip. They had all agreed to respond as
if it were a vacation, despite the fact that they had no big luggage, no SCUBA gear or even a golf bag. After making it through with little scrutiny, they beat a path to the bathroom and then gathered back in the entryway to the terminal.

  Veronica insisted on renting the car this time. She was well experienced in renting a car on the island for her regular diving pilgrimages. She also knew that the cost of the rentals, like most everything else here, was negotiable.

  When they walked out of the airport to locate their rented vehicle, the sun was blazing overhead in full force. Warm weather had not yet reached the east coast, so Abby was the only one prepared for the heat of Cozumel in April.

  “Bring the heat, baby!” Abby said, staring up at the sky. She took off her jacket and basked in the warmth that soaked into her arms and shoulders. It felt good after hours aboard the chilly airplane. After a brief search, they located their gunmetal gray rental car and dumped their bags unceremoniously in the trunk. Steve and Martin took the back seat, while Abby rode shotgun. The black vinyl seats did nothing to combat the oppressive heat. As Veronica maneuvered the car out of the parking lot, they bombarded her with cries for lowered windows and “max AC!” Abby laughed and rolled down her window. She looked natural in the heat. Her long slender arm rested comfortably on the sill of the window, and her blonde hair whipped in and out of the window as the car gained speed.

  “Okay, so we got the car,” Veronica said, turning her head so that the others could hear her over the wind. “Where do we want to take it?”

  “I dunno,” said Steve. “Abby, any chance all those notes you’ve been taking point us in some kinda direction?”

  “No, not exactly. I did find some very interesting stuff though.”

  “Do tell,” said Veronica.

  “Well, listen to this.” She took her now-familiar notepad from her backpack and flipped through her notes.

  “Where is it?’ she said, mostly to herself, as she scanned the notes covering several pages. “Aha, here it is! Steve, in the letter from your wife, she says something that made me wonder who she was talking about: ‘There is so much at stake here and we are all watching, listening and praying.’ It kinda shocked me ‘cause there is something almost identical in my letter from Zack.”

  She flipped through the pages of notebook and read further: “‘We R so worried about UR well-bein, but you gotta be strong, for everyone. U gotta show them the way! All of us R watching, listening & praying 4 U.’ And, when I talked to Martin about the message he got from his daughter, he recalled that she said something very similar.”

  “Yep. As soon as she mentioned that part of Steve’s note, I realized that Maggie had said something just like that to me, something about being very important to the world and that everyone was watching and praying for me to be strong.”

  “Exactly,” said Abby. “I don’t know what it means yet, but there is something going on with it.”

  Steve pondered the connections Abby had made. “Well, if nothing else, I suppose it does tell us that the same person or group sent those messages.”

  Martin shook his head. “So, you still don’t believe in it, do you?”

  Steve sighed, “I don’t know Martin. I believe it’s something, but I am not sold yet on that note being from Julie.”

  “You are a tough one to please, man!” said Martin.

  “Hey! I am here, am I not?”

  He noticed that they were winding through narrow city streets, crowded with pedestrians, cars and livestock. “Speaking of here,” he said, “where are we going Veronica?”

  “Well, since no one could decide, I figured our first stop’d be the Hotel Carmelita. It’s where I stay when I come down here, a small place with great views.”

  “A hotel?” said Steve. “Are we staying long enough for a hotel?”

  “How should I know? If you’ve got a better destination in mind, I’m all ears.”

  “Abby?” Steve asked. “Anything?”

  Abby shook her head. “No. I’ve been scanning all my notes and stuff, but nothing’s hit me yet. For what it’s worth, it still feels right to me that we’re here.” She smiled sheepishly at him.

  “Fine. The Carmelita it is.”

  He sat back and watched the small city of San Miguel pass by in the warm afternoon light. In other circumstances, Steve would have appreciated the trip. He and Julie had loved to travel. The cruise that would’ve taken them here was to be their first trip this far south. Looking at the streets paved in cobblestones, the whitewashed buildings with their terracotta roofs and the bright sundresses worn by every woman he saw on the street, Steve knew Julie would have loved it. Getting here like this, without her, was more painful than he had anticipated.

  Steve reminisced in silence all the way to the hotel, and was startled to see that they arrived so quickly.

  A simple “We’re here,” from Veronica announced their arrival.

  As they climbed out from the back seat, Steve and Martin were greeted by the clean and airy smell of the ocean.

  “Beautiful, huh?’ Martin asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s timeless,” Martin mused, “like they stopped moving forward at just the right time—got enough to go on but not enough to screw it up.”

  Abby and Veronica walked to the front door to reserve the rooms. As Martin headed to the trunk to unload, Steve stepped out into the side street to take in the surroundings. The small hotel was directly across from the main beach road. On the other side of the street were open-fronted stores, teeming with shoppers. The stores looked like a patchwork quilt. Jewelry stores, souvenir stands, tequila and cigar dealers and t-shirt vendors were all vying for the attention of the throngs of tourists crowding the sidewalks.

  Between the storefronts, Steve could catch tiny sliver views of the aqua waters that Julie had fallen in love with. In the distance, out in the water, he counted four giant cruise ships anchored.

  “Nice view, isn’t it?” asked Martin as he joined Steve at the curb.

  “Yeah,” said Steve. “That could’ve been me. That would’ve been me, over there.”

  Martin followed his friend’s gaze across the beach road to the throng of smiling and laughing tourists on the other side. He dropped the bags and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

  “I hear ya. Well, you’re with us now.”

  “Yep.”

  They collected the bags and headed to the lobby. Hotel Carmelita was a very small, but modestly charming example of Mexican artistry. Intricate patterns of mosaic tiles adorned the walls and ceiling of the lobby. The deep blues and greens with accents of mustard and rich reds formed repeating patterns that rolled over their heads as they crossed the room. Veronica handed Steve a room key.

  “Wow,” said Steve, examining the metal key in his palm, “an actual metal key. I haven’t been to a hotel with one of these in a long time.”

  “Like I said,” answered Martin, “trapped in time.”

  “I got us one boys’ room and one girls’ room, next to each other, second floor,” she said. “All the good ocean views were taken, but the clerk here says we’ve got a great view of the skyline and a little bit of the water, such as it is.”

  “That’s fine,” said Steve. They took the ornately carved steps to the second floor and found their rooms, parting in the middle of the hall.

  “Let’s meet back in an hour and talk next steps over a sampling of the local fare,” Veronica suggested.

  Steve and Martin agreed and entered their room. They each picked a bed and dropped their bags on the floor. Martin opened the window, and both men lay down on their beds without unpacking. Within moments, Martin’s breathing became regular, and Steve knew he was asleep.

  Steve lay face up, staring at the rough plaster walls and colorful watercolors hanging in the room. Through the window, he could hear seagulls and an occasional trumpet note or two from a distant mariachi band over the general buzz of the tourist crowd across the street. The sounds were simultan
eously reassuring and unsettling to him. On any other occasion, he’d drink in all the noise as part of the atmosphere of the place. It helped complete the picture. He could smell the salty air and the spicy dishes served at the outdoor cafes surrounding the hotel. He could see the frescoes and terracotta roofs and bright aqua Caribbean waters that lapped against the pale, fine sand beaches. At any other time, and perhaps to any other observer, it presented an intoxicating portrait and feast. However, here, under these circumstances, it only painted Steve’s hollowness in greater contrast.

  On top of the ache, and even more troubling now, was the sharp surface realization that this was the first stop on this express journey where he had no goal to attain. It gave him an uneasy feeling that would only be resolved with some sense of order.