Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  “Dalton, I didn’t—”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “But I—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I stared at him. He wasn’t going to budge. “How are you—”

  “Your mother’s sick. Needs you right away. I got you a seat on a plane this afternoon.” He crossed his arms. “You’d better hurry to the airport.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.” Argh!

  I picked up the phone and dialed the cab company. “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” I said. “Will you please return the moped then?” I went to the bathroom and got my toiletries bag. Everything else was already in my suitcase. I sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. All my dreams, devastated by one weak moment, one phone call to a friend. Dammit! At least I figured out who the kingpin was. At least I’d done that much. I glowered at Dalton. “It’s Maria.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “Maria. She’s the kingpin.”

  He looked at me with skeptical eyes. “How do you know this?”

  “The palapa bar, The Toucan. The one in the postcard. I found out Carlos Mendoza is the owner, he—”

  “You went to the bar?” He threw up his hands. “Dammit, Poppy.”

  “His family owns the land that abuts George’s property. It was him at the shed. ”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Maria and Carlos are brother and sister.”

  He stared at me. I could tell he was turning it over in his mind. “It’s a connection to George. Doesn’t mean she’s involved.”

  How could I make him believe me? “But it all makes sense. You know George isn’t—”

  “Okay, enough. I’ve heard enough.”

  “It’s her, Dalton. We gotta stop her.”

  “We aren’t doing anything.” He got up and grabbed my suitcase. “You’re getting on a plane.”

  “But I—”

  He flung open the door and shoved the suitcase at me. “Just go.” He hustled me out and slammed the door behind me. The air left my body. So that was it. It was over. I slinked to a nearby bench and sat down to wait for the taxi. I wanted to storm back inside, tell him everything, tell him how I knew, but he probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. I had no proof.

  When the taxi pulled into the drive, I slid into the back seat, hugging my damn over-sized purse against me. “Aeropuerto, por favor,” I said and slammed my head back.

  The driver put the cab in gear, drove out of the drive and on to the main road and I felt everything slip away. All because, in a moment of frustration, I had needed a friend. Dammit!

  The taxi moved along in traffic, then suddenly the driver jerked the vehicle to the side of the road.

  I sat upright. “¿Qué pasa?” I asked.

  “Meep, meep, meep!” Came the silly horn of a moped behind us. Why on earth would he pull over for a moped? I spun around in my seat.

  Dalton was knocking on the side window. He opened the cab door, grabbed my hand, and pulled me from the back seat. “I’m sorry, darling. I love you. Say you’ll stay.” He wrapped his arms around me and plastered me with kisses. “Let’s not ever fight again.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said and kissed him on the mouth. “Take me to bed or lose me forever.” He dug in his pocket and tossed a few dollars at the grinning cabbie, grabbed my suitcase, and slammed the door shut.

  “Pura vida, mis amigos,” said the cab driver as he pulled away.

  Dalton swung a leg over the moped and I tried to fit onto the seat behind him, my obnoxious white leather suitcase balanced on my knee. Dalton made a U-turn and we puttered back to the bungalow.

  Once inside the room, I asked, “What’s going on?”

  He stared at me, paced, then stared at me again as though he was still trying to decide whether he should have left me in the cab. He thrust his hands on his hips and said, “I think you, well, my gut tells me…what I mean to say is, I think you might be right. I’ve had the same suspicions.”

  I assessed him for a moment. “Why? What have you seen?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What you say makes sense. And since—” He gritted his teeth. “Dammit!”

  “Dammit what?” He’s not telling me everything. He’s holding something back.

  “Brittany would want to connect with the wife, right? That’d be natural.” He paused, then through clenched teeth, said, “We have to see it through.”

  I tried to hide my excitement. “I’m telling you, Dalton. It’s her. I know it’s—”

  “Yeah.” He had his hand up to shush me as he shuffled across the room, picked up his phone, and dialed George. After their hellos, he chuckled and said, “You know how women are. She’s been on my back about horseback riding with Maria.” I felt like we were kids and he was scheduling a playdate. “Yeah, uh-huh.” There was a long pause. “All right. Thanks.” And he disconnected.

  “He said to come on over.”

  I grinned. “Dalton, I swear—”

  “You’ve got three days to see what you can find out. Then we both get on a plane and go home. I’ll be making the next run alone. Do you understand me? Three days.” He made sure he had my attention. “But you listen to me, you better watch your step. This reckless behavior of yours has got to stop. From now on, you do as I say, do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t go anywhere, you don’t do anything, you don’t talk to anybody without my approval. You got it?”

  “Yes,” I said, my expression solemn. “I got it.”

  He eyed me for a long moment. He didn’t believe me. It was all right. Neither did I.

  “Sit down. We’ve got a half an hour to get you prepped.”

  I did as he commanded.

  “Your first priority is to gain her trust. Don’t ask her a lot of questions. You are the clueless, sweet, loving wife. You wanted a pet monkey is all. You have no idea it’s illegal.” He rubbed his chin. “But don’t talk about that unless she brings it up. Understand?”

  I shook my head. “No illegal monkey talk.”

  “Make it seem like we’ve got a lot of rich friends. Don’t be blatant about it, but make it part of who you are, a wealthy socialite with filthy rich friends.”

  “Rich friends. Okay.”

  “It’s all right to have different opinions, disagree with her, whatever. Don’t ingratiate yourself. It could cause suspicion.”

  I nodded.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Every word.”

  He sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. “This op is turning to shit.” He looked me in the eye. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

  “I know I screwed up before. And I never should have called Chris. I just—I can do this. You can trust me.”

  “I hope so,” he said. “Now, you’re going horseback riding, so—”

  I opened my eyes wide and let my mouth drop open. “Oh my god, I have to get on a horse?”

  He closed his eyes. “Oh, we’re screwed.”

  “Dalton, I’m kidding.”

  He glared at me. “If they don’t kill you, I might.”

  CHAPTER 11

  I left on the moped, Dalton in the car. He was going to golf with George.

  I figured I could get away with a few extra minutes so I parked near the beach, two hotels down from the Coco-Cabana. I found Chris lounging by the pool with a piña colada in his hand, his eyeballs glued to a team of college boys in the pool playing volleyball over a tiny net.

  When he saw me, he sprang to his feet. “Oh my god, girl. Did I get you fired? I am so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I told you, it was my fault.”

  “Man. If I’d a known.”

  “I smoothed it over.” I scanned the pool crowd. I didn’t want to run into anyone else I might know. “How long are you planning to stay?”

  His eyes traveled back to the bare chested guys in the pool. “Honey, I might never leave.” A blond spiked the ball and it
hit the side of the pool and bounced across the patio. “I’ve got it,” Chris yelled and scurried to pick it up.

  “You’re incorrigible, you know that?” I said when he returned.

  “Yes, but I get laid a lot more than you do, my dear.” He smacked me with a kiss on the lips. “You look exhausted.” He sat down in his lounge chair and patted the one next to it. “Take a load off.” He hailed the waiter walking by with a tray full of tropical libations. “I’ll order one with an umbrella. That way, as you sip it, you won’t have to worry about burning that little pink nose.”

  Chris had that creamy olive skin of the perfect mix of genes. His mother was Egyptian, his father of Scandinavian descent. No one could guess where he was from. He fit in anywhere on the globe, sunny or otherwise.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I’ve gotta go.”

  “At least tell me about that hunk of meat you are shacking up with. This fake husband. Is there any fake sex going on? Give me the juice.” His eyes went back to the blond in the pool. “I mean, he’s not really my type, but I can see why you got all flustered and had to call.”

  “He’s my partner. And this job…” I slumped into the chair. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Poppy-girl, you know how you are. You take on too much.”

  I looked at Chris, my best friend for as long as I can remember. His eyes were creased with worry. “I’m just frustrated really. This case.” I took a deep breath. “At home, poaching, it’s black and white. I catch you, you go to jail. But this.” I shook my head. “It’s complicated, organized crime. Even if I could catch someone red-handed, they’d get a slap on the wrist. That’s why criminals choose it over running drugs. The risk is low, and for the big boys, the payoff high.”

  “Then the laws need to be changed.” He held up his drink. “Maybe you should run for congress.”

  “Yeah, right. You’ve seen me in a suit.”

  “You’ll find a way.” Chris gave me a sympathetic frown. “Hey, they got Al Capone on tax evasion.”

  I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, recoiling from the jolt of an idea snapping into shape in my head. “You’re a genius.” Yes, this could work. Maria was one arrogant bitch who was used to being in control. But to do that, she required a lot of information. She had people watching our every move, had all the information about us at her fingertips. Or at least she thought she did.

  I’d been so worried about Chris appearing, how it had looked to Yipes, I hadn’t considered it might be useful in my favor. I ran over the scene in my mind, Dalton storming out, what Yipes thought he saw, different ways it could be interpreted. It was perfect.

  “Hey, Earth to Poppy,” Chris said, snapping me back to the now.

  “I’m going to need a favor while you’re here.” Chris could do his part, then hop a plane out of here.

  “So lay it on me.”

  “I need to get some information first, see if I can pull it together.” I got up from the chair, my brain on fire, ideas spilling out. “But don’t, whatever you do, come back by the bungalow, okay? I’ll come here as soon as I can and fill you in.” I took a step, then turned back. “And make sure you call me Brittany.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said and bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Trust me.”

  “Yeah, right. The last time you said that I ended up with a shaved head and a case of the crabs.”

  The relative humidity had dropped. A cool breeze blew down from the mountain. The sky was dappled with big, white, puffy clouds. A beautiful day for a horseback ride.

  Maria was filling a water bottle in the kitchen when I arrived. “Thank you so much for the invitation,” I said. “I’m looking forward to a ride. It’s been awhile since I’ve been out.”

  She forced a smile.

  I shifted my weight to my other foot. “Have you been riding long?” I asked.

  “Since I was a child,” she said, in perfect Midwestern English, no detectable Costa Rican accent.

  “What a relief,” I said, letting out my breath.

  She looked at me quizzically.

  “I thought maybe you didn’t speak English.”

  She nodded as though that made sense. She handed me a water bottle. “The horses are being saddled.”

  I followed her and her little dogs to the barn. Once inside, I had to hide my surprise. The barn was immaculate. The floors swept clean, not one piece of straw out of place. Tack hung on hooks in front of each of eight sturdily built stalls. The horses looked clean and healthy. A hint of straw was the only odor I could detect. This was the barn of a wealthy equestrian who cared about her horses. It didn’t fit the image I held of an evil wildlife smuggler—filthy cages, worm-ridden food. Interesting. As Noah had said: Know thy enemy.

  A man I didn’t recognize stood at the far door, arms crossed. The way his belt pulled tight at his waist, I was sure he had a firearm tucked at the small of his back.

  Two horses were saddled, one with little saddle bags for Maria’s dogs. Strange. Not an iota of guilt over the animals she tortures and sells, but she treats those little dogs like they’re her children.

  The horses were ready, but I had the sense we weren’t going anywhere right away.

  “I’m glad we are alone,” Maria said. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, shoot.” What is she up to?

  “Tell me, how do you say butterfly in Spanish?”

  “Butterfly?” I asked. Where is she going with this?

  “Yes, the beautiful insect with colorful wings.”

  “Um, mariposa?”

  “Ah, yes, mariposa.” The corners of her mouth curled into a devious smile. “It’s funny. When my American friends try to learn Spanish, they always stumble on certain pronunciations.”

  Crap. Mari, rhymes with sorry. A newbie would pronounce it like Mary.

  “You know what I think?” she said. She picked up a riding crop. “I think you are much smarter than you let on.” Her intense gaze was intended to make me feel like a butterfly pinned to the wall.

  I grinned wide and let out a sigh. “Oh thank god, you are a breath of fresh air,” I said. Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t expecting this response. Good. “I thought I was going to be stuck with some woman who wanted to swap cookie recipes.” I waved my hand in the air as if to dismiss her concern. “You know how men are—delicate egos.” I leaned toward her as if to emphasize a secret. “Please don’t tell John that I speak Spanish. He already feels like an idiot because he was an absolute dolt the other night when we got to talking about the wine.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s like he has to be good at everything or he doesn’t feel like a man.”

  “Yes, well—” she smiled wide, a fake smile, and nodded to the man at the door “—your secret is safe with me. Shall we?” She moved toward her horse.

  She was already dismissing me. This might be my only chance. It’s all or nothing. “My husband, well, he doesn’t exactly have a mind for business either. Oh, he’s fine to look at, and oh my, in the sack—” I paused as if to savor a memory of our passionate lovemaking. “After awhile, a girl gets bored when there’s not much upstairs, if you know what I mean. But in this misogynistic world, to do business, we women still need our men out front, even though we’re the ones doing all the work. The brains behind the brawn, so to speak. If you know what I mean.” I paused for effect, looked her straight in the eye. “But, of course, you know exactly what I mean.”

  She shifted her stance, ever so slightly. “Excuse me?”

  I took a step closer to her. A subconscious sign of taking control. I lowered my voice. “I have no interest in one damn monkey. And I’m not looking for some amateur strap-a-bird-under-your-pants smuggler crap. I’ve got buyers, buyers with very big wallets. I want a source. A direct, reliable source.”

  Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Barely perceptible. She was good. “What you are describing sounds illegal. I think you ha
ve misunderstood. My husband’s—”

  “It’s all right.” I shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find what I’m looking for while I’m here in beautiful Costa Rica, nature’s paradise.” I winked. “Speaking of that. I must decline the ride. Enjoy yourself though. I’ve got business to attend to.”

  I turned my back on her and walked out the door.

  I got back to the bungalow a couple hours before Dalton. Time to squeeze in some needed yoga.

  “How’d it go?” he asked before the door was shut.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Fine? What does fine mean?”

  I shrugged. “Fine. Nothing much to tell. She’s cold. She didn’t really want to take me. I think maybe George pressured her to, or she is covering her bases, keeping an eye on me. I don’t know.”

  “Well, what’d you talk about?”

  “Not much. We rode. Not a great situation for long conversations.”

  He stared at me as if he was trying to sort something out.

  “Why? What’s happened?” I asked.

  “George got a call from Maria right before I left. He hung up and invited us to a fundraiser dinner. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. No, it was more than that. It was the way he said it. It wasn’t an invitation. It was more like a directive. I wonder what that’s about.”

  “What kind of fundraiser?”

  “For Manuel Antonio National Park. For conservation and preservation. Can you believe that?”

  CHAPTER 12

  Playa de Delfines, a private beach club a few miles north of the park, hosted the fundraiser. Tiki torches and glowing paper ball lanterns illuminated the beach and patio with a warm glow. A nice evening breeze carried the scent of salt. The surf unfurled unto the sand with a gentle, rhythmic gush that mixed with the easy Latin beat of the band. A temporary dance floor had been laid out on a deck where several couples swayed and twirled.

  About two-hundred and fifty people were in attendance. Waiters in crisp white shirts casually moved about the crowd carrying trays of tropical drinks. A long table stretched the length of the patio, covered in white linens, its centerpiece a giant ice sculpture of a dolphin, and tray after tray of hors d’oeuvres—skewered shrimp, scallops wrapped in bacon, crackers covered in a dollop of ceviche, chorizo stuffed mushrooms. Nothing I’d eat. Once again, I’d be scrounging for a source of sustenance that didn’t include animal flesh.