Honeymoon for One

by Beth Orsoff

  “Keep them here,” Sergeant Ramos said to the security guard, before stomping over to the gate. If his hand gestures were any indication, he had a short but heated conversation with the agent before he returned. “Your flight will be delayed ten minutes.”

  “That’s not enough time—”

  Sergeant Ramos held up his hand, silencing Jeremy mid-sentence. “I have a proposal that will allow all of us to get on with our plans for the evening.”

  “Whatever you want, we’ll do it.”

  “Lizzie,” Jeremy chided, “it’s best to hear the proposal before agreeing to it.”

  Sergeant Ramos glared at Jeremy, but spoke to me. “I went to the Tortuga Inn this afternoon. Mr. Garcia did have a room there, and his home address did not match yours. The clerk also told us he had a lady friend with him the night before he died. A woman who did not match your description.”

  “That bastard!”

  “Lizzie!”

  “Sorry Jeremy. But doesn’t that prove I’m innocent?”

  “Ms. Mancini, did you know Mr. Garcia dealt in stolen antiquities?”

  “I knew he was an antiquities dealer, but he never said anything about them being stolen.”

  Jeremy sighed, but didn’t yell at me again, so my statement must not have been too incriminating.

  Sergeant Ramos nodded. “We recovered some items from his room. But others, including some very valuable pieces, are still missing.”

  “And you think Michael may have stolen those too?”

  “Lizzie, will you please stop talking.”

  “Yes,” Sergeant Ramos continued, “we think Mr. Garcia may have been involved.”

  Jeremy clapped his hand over my mouth before I could answer. “And what does this have to do with my client?”

  “We need to make sure Ms. Mancini wasn’t involved.”

  I tried pulling Jeremy’s hand away, but he had a firm grip.

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Jeremy said.

  “By searching Ms. Mancini and her luggage.”

  Excuse me?

  “And if she doesn’t have the stolen items in her possession?” Jeremy asked.

  “Then of course she’s free to go.”

  “Give me a minute to confer with my client.” Jeremy dragged me a few feet away before loosening his grip on me. “I don’t think you should agree.”

  Karen concurred. “If they want to search you, let them get a warrant.”

  “But can’t they just search me at the airport anyway?”

  “They can search you here for a weapon,” Jeremy said.

  “And before your international flight, the customs agents can search your luggage for specific items,” Karen added.

  “But not this random, I’m going to look at everything without probable cause search,” Jeremy continued.

  “But they’re not going to find anything. Whatever Michael was doing, he was doing it without me.”

  Jeremy and Karen were still debating the pros and cons of agreeing to a search when Sergeant Ramos interrupted. “I can’t hold the flight all night. What’s your decision?”

  “Search it,” I said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  We all followed Sergeant Ramos outside to a metal cart piled high with luggage. I pointed to my bag and the security guard pulled it out of the stack and carried it back to the terminal.

  I unlocked my suitcase and set my beach bag down next to it. Sergeant Ramos knelt to the floor and immediately began pawing at my clothes, my shoes, even my lingerie. He would shake each piece out, pad it down, then toss it onto a row of molded plastic chairs. When it was clear he wasn’t going to stop until he’d pulled every item out of my suitcase, I sat down next to him and began folding.

  After he’d finished with the main section of the suitcase, he moved to the zippered compartments on the outside.

  “What’s this?” he asked, squeezing inside the outermost pocket.

  “My suitcase.” Seeing all of my belongings, including my thong panties and padded bras, fondled and spread out in the waiting area for every person in the airport to see had not engendered my good will. Only a handful of passengers and airline employees were still around at that hour, but I still felt violated. And he hadn’t even gotten to the strip search yet.

  Sergeant Ramos pulled a Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and flipped open the blade.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled as he began to slice a hole in my suitcase from the inside. I heard the lining tear, then….

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  We all stared at the chunks of jade resting in his hand.

  Chapter 26

  I WAS MOMENTARILY MESMERIZED by the three angry faces staring back at me. The smallest carving, which was about the size of a quarter, had giant lips and goggle eyes. Its mate had a square jaw, a pointy hat, and a wicked scowl. The largest piece would’ve been a perfect two-inch square if it didn’t have a chunk missing from upper right hand corner. This face was the friendliest looking of the three, with squinty eyes, an upturned nose and giant holes for nostrils.

  “I swear to God,” I said, still staring, “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

  “What are they?” Karen asked.

  “Ornaments.” Sergeant Ramos tilted his hand toward Karen so she could have a better look. “They were worn by ancient Mayan kings and nobleman.”

  “Then why don’t they have any gold or jewels?” Karen asked in prosecutor mode.

  “This isn’t Egypt,” Sergeant Ramos replied testily. “In Central America, we used jade and shells.”

  “How old are they?” I asked, studying the jade faces.

  “Pre-Colombian, I think,” he said, “More than a thousand years old.”

  “What are they worth?” Karen asked, before I could.

  I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was—if I paid for them, maybe they’d let me go. The large one actually looked very similar to a pendant I’d seen in the hotel’s gift shop. That one was brand new and had more intricate carvings, and it was only $49.95.

  Sergeant Ramos quickly put an end to that fantasy. “They’re priceless.”

  “What now?” Jeremy asked.

  Sergeant Ramos nodded to the security guard, who grabbed both of my arms and held them behind my back.

  “Hey, what are you doing,” I yelled, followed by Jeremy’s, “Let go of her.”

  “Stand back Mr. Markowitz,” Sergeant Ramos said with his hand on his gun. “Ms. Mancini, you’re under arrest.”

  “For what?”

  “Possession of antiquities and intent to export antiquities.”

  “But I didn’t even know they were in my suitcase!”

  Sergeant Ramos cuffed my hands behind my back and started walking me towards the exit. “You don’t have to say anything unless you wish to do so,” he said, “but what you say may be taken down in writing and given in evidence. You may also speak privately with an attorney.”

  I looked back at Jeremy and Karen, too stunned to speak.

  “Don’t say a word,” Jeremy yelled. “I’ll call the Consulate as soon as we land in Miami.” Karen had her hand on his arm and was pulling him towards the gate.

  In my mind I was screaming, Please don’t leave me, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Sergeant Ramos talked for the entire five minute ride to the police station, but I have no idea what he said. My mind was racing: How did that jade get into my suitcase? I had to assume it was Michael who hid it there. But why? And when? Sure he had a key to the room, but as far as I knew, he’d only used it when I was there. He must’ve snuck in when I wasn’t. Otherwise, how did the ornaments end up sewn into my bag? Someone stashed them in my suitcase and I know it wasn’t me.

  Sergeant Ramos walked me up the front steps of a dilapidated wooden structure and held tight to my arm as he unlocked the front door.

  “Aren’t police stations supposed to be open all night?” I’d always assumed they were a 24-7 operation.r />
  “Not on Camus Caye,” he said as he flipped on the lights. I heard barking and turned to follow the sound. In the corner of the room was a six-foot by four-foot cell housing two dogs. The barking came from the smaller one, the mutt. Sergeant Ramos told him we had no food and he quieted down. The larger one, the German shepherd, merely opened one eye before falling back to sleep.

  “Some guard dogs, eh?” he said and laughed.

  The humor escaped me. “Aren’t I entitled to a phone call?” People are always entitled to phone calls in the movies. Plus I was an American. That had to count for something. I didn’t want to cry, but I couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down my cheeks.

  Sergeant Ramos unlocked my handcuffs and handed me the handkerchief from his pocket. “Yes Ms. Mancini, who would you like to call?”

  “I don’t know,” I blubbered. “Does it have to be local?” The only two local people I could think of were Jack and Cheryl. Besides the fact that I didn’t know their numbers, neither of them were speaking to me.

  “No, but if it’s out of the country you must call collect or charge it to your credit card. We don’t have the budget for international calls.”

  That was obvious. The only furniture in the room was a beat up desk, a folding table, and two chairs. No computer, no fax machine, not even AC. Just a phone, a fan, and a coffeemaker.

  “That’s okay,” I said, punching in my credit card number and dialing Jane’s cell phone. Thankfully, she picked up.

  “Jane, it’s me.”

  “Where are you? I called the hotel an hour ago and they told me you checked out.”

  “I’m at the police station.”

  I heard her gasp. “Did they arrest you? Do they really think you killed Michael? You better have gotten that list of lawyers I faxed you. The hotel swore—”

  “Yes, I got it. But it’s not about Michael, or not his murder anyway. They arrested me over stolen antiquities.”

  “For what?” was all I heard before her voice cut out. After that I just heard static and the occasional burst of sound, then nothing.

  “Jane? Can you hear me? Jane!” When the silence switched to a beeping sound I handed the phone back to Sergeant Ramos. “We got cut off. Can I call again?”

  “Maybe later,” he said, settling himself behind his desk and motioning for me to sit too. I eased myself into the only other chair in the room, metal with a ripped vinyl seat.

  Sergeant Ramos reached up and pulled the cord hanging from the ceiling fan, causing a flurry among the papers on his desk. He seemed not to notice.

  “Ms. Mancini,” he leaned back in his desk chair and clasped his hand behind his head, revealing two large sweat rings. “What are we going to do with you?” To be honest, he didn’t seem all that concerned.

  “You could send me home?”

  He smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Then I’m all out of ideas.”

  He picked up the phone and called someone named Paco. They spoke in a mixture of Spanish and English, but I got the gist of the conversation. Sergeant Ramos wanted to ship me off to Paco’s jail, but Paco wasn’t obliging. Sergeant Ramos hung up and muttered to himself.

  “I still vote for sending me home.”

  Sergeant Ramos ignored me and focused on the dogs. “Boys you’re going to need to move over.” The mutt barked, but the shepherd didn’t move.

  “Please don’t put me in there. I’m afraid of dogs.” I wasn’t. I was just hoping for better accommodations.

  “They’re very friendly,” he said. “Completely useless as guard dogs.”

  “I’m sure they are, but I’m really afraid of dogs.”

  He sighed. “I guess I could leave them in the bathroom. We don’t like to let them have the run of the place because they tend to chew on whatever they can find.”

  That explained my chair.

  Sergeant Ramos unlocked the cell and the mutt, Sundance, began jumping on him. The shepherd, Butch, still didn’t move. The irony of two police dogs being named after famous outlaws was not lost on me, but it was lost on Sergeant Ramos. When I asked him about it he just shrugged and went back to his desk for a box of doggie treats.

  “C’mon boys,” he said, shaking the box above his head as he slowly backed out into the hall. Sundance went nuts jumping on his hind legs trying to reach them. Butch pushed himself up from his mat with obvious effort, and loped after them.

  “Satisfied?” he asked, when both dogs were locked in the bathroom.

  Actually, I had to pee, but I decided now was not the time to mention it. I reluctantly followed Sergeant Ramos back to the cell and was horrified when he lifted Butch’s filthy mat from the floor and threw it on the metal cot.

  “I’m not sleeping on that.”

  “Butch won’t mind.”

  “Well I will. It’s probably infested with fleas and God knows what else.”

  Sergeant Ramos ripped the mat off the cot and threw it back on the floor. “Then you can sleep on it without a mattress.”

  “C’mon,” I said softening my tone, “try to look at it from my perspective. I’m new to the criminal world. Up until a few hours ago, I was on my honeymoon.”

  He didn’t seem amused. “I’ve got no other place for you. I tried Parrot Caye and their cell’s being used. I don’t think you want to room with an accused rapist, do you?”

  “Definitely not.” Even the flea bed would be better than that. “Isn’t there somewhere else you could put me?” I pointed to the door next to the bathroom. “What’s in that one?”

  “Storage.”

  An hour and a half later, the Camus Caye police department had a new cell. We’d pushed the file cabinets into the corner, moved all the boxes to the main room, sent the dogs back to their cell, and transferred the cleaning supplies (which didn’t look like they’d received much use) to the bathroom. Then I swept the floor while Sergeant Ramos grabbed a bench from the picnic table outside and a beach towel from the trunk of his car.

  “I just need you to help me open these windows,” I said, fighting with the rusted louvers which, judging from the accumulation of dust, looked like they hadn’t been opened in years.

  He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be secure.”

  “You can’t leave me in here all night with no air-conditioning and no windows, I’ll suffocate.” Surely even in Belize they had laws against cruel and unusual punishment.

  “Wait here,” he said and returned with his small desk fan.

  “All that’s going to do is blow hot air around.”

  “Then you can sleep with the dogs in the cell!”

  I sighed. “Can’t you put something on the outside of the windows?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Barbed wire?” Did I have to think of everything? He was the cop, I was just the prisoner, or detainee as I preferred to think of myself.

  “Wait here,” he said again and disappeared outside. For a brief moment I considered running, but before I could figure out where to run to, Sergeant Ramos returned with a hammer and a roll of chicken wire. “Come, I need your help.”

  I had to secure my own cell? Unbelievable. But if I could make it loose, then maybe. . . . No such luck. Sergeant Ramos had me hold the wire in place while he hammered in the nails.

  The phone rang just as we returned. Sergeant Ramos answered it then handed it to me with a look that made it clear I’d exhausted his patience.

  “Finally!” Jane said when I picked up. “I tried you back as soon as I got out of the canyon, but all I got was a busy signal.”

  “I guess the Camus Caye Police Department doesn’t have call waiting.”

  “No, but I did get through to my Dad, who put me in touch with the Ambassador, who promised to have someone out to you first thing in the morning.”

  Jane’s Dad was some big wig in the State Department. I never could figure out exactly what he did, but he always managed to keep his job no matter which party was in the White House.
I assumed it was because he made generous contributions to both sides’ campaigns, but Jane insisted it was naked pictures. I was pretty sure she was kidding.

  “You actually spoke to the U.S. Ambassador to Belize?” Mr. Chandler was definitely getting a Christmas card from me for the rest of his life.

  “No, he’s out of the country, so I had to speak to his Deputy Chief of something. But I have his home number, so if they don’t send someone, they’ll be hell to pay.”

  “You’re the best, Jane.”

  “I know.” No one had ever accused her of false modesty. “Do you think you can survive the night? I tried to get them to send someone sooner, but the deputy swore you couldn’t get in to see the judge until morning anyway.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Now that I knew help was on the way.

  “Good,” she said. “You’re never going to believe what happened to me this week.” Then she started filling me in on her latest decorating emergency. Jane, who was rich and demanding herself, only designed interiors for other equally rich and demanding people. They liked her exacting nature and she liked telling them what to do. Running other people’s lives is always much easier than fixing your own. Jane had just gotten started when Sergeant Ramos snapped his fingers, then slid his hand across his throat, which I presumed meant my time was up.

  “Jane, I’ve got to go. But I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I’m out.”

  “Fine,” she said, clearly annoyed that I’d interrupted her mid-story. “And I’d just like it noted for the record that I never once said ‘I told you so.’”

  “Consider it noted.”

  “Be safe.” Which was Jane’s version of good night.

  “You too,” I said and hung up.

  “Anything else you need?” Sergeant Ramos asked. “Curtains for you window perhaps? Or a chocolate for your pillow?”

  “I have a pillow?”

  “Get inside.”

  He was gruff, but I think he was starting to like me. He brought me a second towel and even turned on the fan before he locked me in the storage room. I suspected for a warden, that was as good as it gets.