Margaritas & Murder

by Jessica Fletcher

  A copy of Noticias had been left on her dresser. I picked up the English-language newspaper and scanned the lead story under the headline TWO KIDNAPPED OUTSIDE CITY. Beneath it: PERPETRATORS DEMAND A MILLION DOLLARS. The article said that New York publisher Vaughan Buckley, a part-time resident of SMA, had been taken prisoner, along with Woodrow Manheim, a permanent resident in the expatriate community, as the pair were returning from a short business trip to Laredo. A note the editors believed to be genuine had been dropped off at the newspaper office the previous evening, demanding a million dollars in U.S. currency and the release of revolutionary detainees being held in the Guanajuato jail. The note had threatened that if these conditions were not met, the men would be executed. It was signed “The Revolutionary Guanajuato Brigade.”

  “Carter, you can lecture me to your heart’s content when I get in,” Olga said, pulling her hand through her hair in exasperation. “You’re holding me up right now. Okay, I promise. I’ll call as soon as we touch down.”

  Olga had no sooner hung up than the phone rang again.

  “I’ll let Maria Elena get it,” she said.

  Dina walked in carrying a small package.

  “Olga, we need to talk,” I said.

  “I don’t have time to talk, Jessica. I’m due to leave here in fifteen minutes and I haven’t finished packing.”

  “Here,” Dina said, handing her the package. “It’s the smallest English-Spanish dictionary I could find. It’ll fit right in your purse.”

  “Thank you, Dina.”

  “You know that Nancy Kovach is downstairs with Guy. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her without all her diamonds.”

  Olga walked to her dresser and pulled open a drawer. “Well, this isn’t exactly a party.”

  “I know,” Dina said, biting her lip. “I had Roberto write out some phrases you may need, you know, when you’re talking to the kidnappers. I put the paper inside the back cover.”

  “Thank you very much. Please tell him I’m almost ready.”

  Dina lingered by the door.

  Sarah knocked on the doorframe. “Olga, a reporter from the Associated Press is on the line.”

  “I don’t have time to talk. Would you deal with him, please?”

  “Sure.”

  “Olga, what’s going on?” I asked.

  “We’re driving her to the airport,” Dina said.

  Olga folded two lightweight sweaters and tucked them in her bag. “I’ve already called my stockbroker, and I just spoke with our lawyer. We’re meeting with representatives from Interpol and from the State Department tomorrow morning. I have to make sure we have enough funds in our account when the kidnappers make their demands. I can only do that in New York.”

  I dropped the newspaper on the bed. “How do you know the people in this article are the kidnappers?”

  “Look!” she said, pointing to the paper. “They knew about the ransom before I did.”

  “And have you heard from the kidnappers?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have you been in touch with Woody’s son?” I asked. “Perhaps they contacted him.”

  She gasped. “No! I never called him.” Stung by her own insensitivity, she reached for the phone. “I’ll do that now.”

  “He wasn’t home when we stopped by earlier on our way here,” Dina said.

  I didn’t want to talk in front of Dina, but clearly she didn’t want to leave. “This whole thing is just not right,” I said. “You can’t know if these people in the newspaper are who they say they are or if they’re just taking advantage of the situation. They could be con men hoping to extort money out of you.”

  “Don’t you think she should get the money anyway?” Dina asked. “Just in case?”

  “I’m not going to tell you what to do,” I said to Olga, “but if I were you, I wouldn’t make any decisions until I had an opportunity to talk with the police downstairs. They may be aware of details that could put the situation in a different light.”

  “What details?” Dina said.

  Maria Elena entered the room and held out a bottle of pills to Olga.

  “You found them!” Olga cried. “Where were they?”

  “In the downstairs bathroom,” Maria Elena said. “You left them there the last time you were here.”

  Olga gave her a quick hug. “Thank you. You are just wonderful,” she said. “I’ll be finished in five minutes.”

  “Olga,” I said, “we need to talk.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Now.”

  “Now?”

  “In private.”

  She studied my face for a second. “Of course,” she said. “Ladies, will you please excuse us?” She held the door for Maria Elena and Dina and shut it behind them. “But you’ll have to talk while I pack, Jessica, and you’ll have to talk fast.”

  I took her hands and led her to the bed. “Please, sit down.”

  “Jessica, you’re scaring me.”

  “Olga, we found Woody.”

  Her face lit up for a second until she realized I wasn’t smiling. Then her hand covered her mouth. “Is he . . . ?”

  I nodded. “Dead. We found his body a little way from the car. He was shot. It looked as if he might have been trying to get away.”

  “You didn’t find Vaughan?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God!”

  “We looked for him,” I said. “We scouted the surrounding area for about a quarter mile, but there were only three of us. Chief Rivera radioed for a larger search party and also called for a helicopter, but it will take some time. The helicopter has to come from León. He also said he’d see if there was a tracking dog available.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance Vaughan got away?”

  “We didn’t see anything that might indicate that. Rivera feels that Vaughan is in the kidnappers’ hands.”

  “Should I cancel my trip to New York?”

  “Only you can make that decision,” I said. “I just wanted you to know all the facts in advance.”

  She bowed her head and was silent for a moment. Then she sighed and looked up at me. “I can’t sit around and wait, Jessica. It’s been driving me crazy all morning. At least in New York I’ll be taking action, doing something to help Vaughan. I’ll be ready when the instructions come, no matter who delivers them. I don’t care what it’s going to cost. I want my husband back.”

  “I understand.”

  “I know it’s asking a lot,” she said, “but will you stay here in my place? You know best how to deal with the police. I don’t. But I’m the only one who can handle our financial affairs back home.”

  “Of course I’ll stay.”

  “And you’ll call me as soon as you hear from the kidnappers?”

  “You have my word.”

  “They’ll be speaking Spanish, I’m sure, so you’ll need Maria Elena to translate.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  She stood slowly, straightened her shoulders, and went to finish packing.

  I opened the door to find Dina right outside.

  “I was just about to knock,” she said. “Roberto says he’s ready whenever you are, Olga.”

  “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute. I’m closing my bag now.”

  “You know, Jessica, Roberto is fluent in Spanish.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I watched Dina walk away. It was obvious to me that she’d been listening at the door. What was it about an emergency, I wondered, that brought out the best in some people and the worst in others? I was certain about one thing. As the day progressed, I would encounter both.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chief Rivera had received a call and left, but not before taking everyone’s names and receiving assurances of their cooperation. He did not inform them of Woody’s death, and I asked Olga not to say anything until we were sure Woody’s son, Philip, had been notified through official channels. I didn’t want Philip to discover that his f
ather was dead in the same way Olga had found out that the ransom was a million dollars.

  While the Fishers put her luggage in their van, Olga took a moment to thank her guests and to give Maria Elena last-minute instructions before driving off to the airport in León. With the focus of their attention gone, people got up to leave.

  Sarah Christopher pulled me aside. “If today is any indication, this is going to turn into a three-ring circus,” she said, shooting a look at the crowd over her shoulder. “I have to run home to take care of a few things. If you want to get away for a few hours, my place is just a short walk from here.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” I said.

  “I’ll be back later.”

  “There’s no need, Sarah,” I said. “Maria Elena and I can manage.”

  Her face turned stern. “Don’t turn down help, Jessica. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  A short, round man who’d been standing right behind Sarah stepped forward. “Mrs. Fletcher, we didn’t have an opportunity to meet. I’m Rafael Sampaio, from the mayor’s office,” he said, shaking my hand. “The mayor wants to express his great horror that such a terrible thing has happened in San Miguel and to assure you, and of course Mrs. Buckley, that we are cooperating with the police and will do whatever is in our power to make sure Mr. Buckley is brought home safely. This is most upsetting to the mayor. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  “It’s kind of you to come, Señor Sampaio.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot stay any longer. Here is my card. You must call if we can assist in any manner.”

  “Please thank the mayor for us.”

  I walked him to the door and stood there while others took their leave.

  “We’re Ted and Eunice,” a small lady said, introducing herself and her husband. “If you need anything, anything at all, Maria Elena has our number.”

  “We appreciate that.”

  “Mrs. Fletcher, I was hoping to get to meet you, but not under these circumstances, of course. I run one of the local bookstores. Perhaps we can talk another time.”

  “Another time.”

  “We’re in the book,” a tall man said, pushing his wife ahead of him. “Call any time, night or day, and we’ll be here.”

  “Thank you,” I said, realizing that he’d neglected to give his name.

  The Kovachs were the last to go. Nancy stood in front of the hall mirror and adjusted her scarf. “Woody must really want Vaughan to publish his book.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “He never put off a trip to accommodate Guy. ‘The mail must go through,’ he always says.”

  “He’s not a bad sort,” Guy said, shaking my hand. “And Vaughan’s a good man. Hope they find them both soon.”

  “You don’t have to call on Dina and Roberto,” his wife said. “They live out of town. I’m much closer if you need anything. Maria Elena has my number.”

  “That’s very kind,” I said, “but I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  As I closed the door behind them, I overheard Nancy say, “The Fishers always push their way into everyone’s lives. You’d think Vaughan was his brother the way Roberto was carrying on. He doesn’t even like the man.”

  I left the door open a crack to hear Guy’s reply: “Fisher likes the reflected glory,” he said. “Spices up his boring life.”

  When I returned to the living room, Cathie was helping clear away the glasses and plates while Eric put the borrowed chairs back where they belonged. I picked up the last plate and napkin and followed her down the hall. Maria Elena had given up trying to shoo them away and stood at the sink washing dishes.

  “Thank you both for staying to help,” I said.

  “We feel terrible, Jessica,” Cathie said, putting a pitcher of milk in the refrigerator. “We’ve only known the Buckleys for a short time, but we’ve become good friends. They’re lovely people. And Woody is, too.”

  “If you can think of something we can do,” Eric said, “we’re here to lend a hand.”

  “Actually, there is something, Eric,” I said. “Chief Rivera mentioned that kidnappers sometimes send their demands by e-mail. With Olga gone, we have no way of knowing if the men who have Vaughan are trying to contact her. Do you know how I can check their e-mail?”

  “Sure. I set it up for them,” Eric said. “Want me to show you now?”

  “If you have the time.”

  He raised his eyebrows at his wife and cocked his head. “Hon?”

  “Go ahead,” Cathie said. “I’ll pick up the kids and meet you at home.” She went to Maria Elena, put an arm around the older woman’s shoulder, and whispered something to her.

  Maria Elena shook her head and wiped tears from her eyes.

  Cathie gave her a squeeze and left.

  “They have their regular e-mails at home, of course, which they can access from here,” Eric said as we climbed the stairs, “but Vaughan uses his for business. So I set up a joint e-mail for them here in Mexico. You’ll only need to check one address.”

  “How would someone learn their e-mail address?” I asked. “I wouldn’t know it unless I asked.”

  “There’s a local telephone directory for the expat community,” he replied. “It’s up to you if you want to include your e-mail address as well as your phone number, but lots of us do.”

  “Where can I get a copy?”

  “I’m sure there’s one downstairs.”

  Eric pulled the wireless keyboard from its shelf, sat on the sofa, reached for one of the remotes, and pressed buttons. The doors covering the big-screen television slid open and the screen came to life. He patted the place beside him. “Sit here,” he said. “It’s easy. I’ll show you everything.”

  I watched as he typed in commands on the keyboard, turning the TV into a computer screen.

  “This e-mail program has an address book, a calendar, and the usual folders for storing old mail, new mail, and keeping track of mail you’ve sent. I’ll write it out for you,” he said, “but once we go over it a few times, it’ll be second nature to you.”

  “Do I need to know their password?”

  “No. It’s programmed into the computer. Just double-click on this icon and it comes up automatically.”

  “I don’t need to go on the Internet first?”

  “Nope,” he said, concentrating on the screen. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything here. Just an announcement of a local concert and an old message from Woody about their upcoming trip.” He closed the e-mail window. “This is how you shut it down.”

  Eric set aside the remotes I was to use and pointed out labels Vaughan had affixed that explained the functions. We went over the instructions a few times until I was confident that I understood the procedure and could find and open their e-mail.

  “I hope the cops find these guys before they have a chance to collect any ransom,” he said as we went downstairs.

  “Me, too,” I said. I thanked him again and walked him to the door, intending to go back upstairs to the media room to pull up Woody’s e-mail to Vaughan. But the telephone rang. I hurried to the kitchen, where Maria Elena had picked up the receiver, her eyes wide, fear in her face. She listened for a moment and shook her head at me, said a few words and hung up.

  I let go a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “It is someone from the television station in Mexico City,” she said. “I told her we are not talking to the news. ¡Ningún comentario!”

  “No comment,” I said, smiling.

  The phone rang again. Another reporter was told “¡Ningún comentario!”

  “We have already seven calls from reporters. See? I write down their names.” She held up a pad she’d placed near the telephone. “But nothing from the bandidos.”

  “Perhaps they’re waiting to see what the other newspapers print,” I said. “You may want to write down the telephone numbers of the reporters in case Olga does want to comment when she gets back.”

  “Bueno. I
will do that,” she said. “Are you ready for la comida? I am making empanadas and a stew for us, and for whoever will come.”

  “Give me a few minutes,” I said. “I have a little more to do on the computer.”

  I went back upstairs to look at Vaughan’s e-mail from Woody, but kept an ear cocked for the ring of the phone. The sound held both hope and frustration. The press was going to be persistent, but we couldn’t refuse to answer the phone if there was any possibility that the kidnappers would try to make contact.

  I pulled up Woody’s e-mail. It was a simple message, merely the time he would be at the house to pick up Vaughan and a suggestion to bring along cash to pay for the gas and for “tips”; the quotation marks were Woody’s. His P.S. said, “Don’t back out on me, buddy. I’m counting on you.”

  I opened another folder to see if there was anything helpful in earlier mail Vaughan had saved, and I discovered that the Buckleys had used e-mail to extend the invitations to the party they’d hosted for me. Instead of e-mailing the entire group of people all at once, they had divided the task, each taking a portion of their invitation list and sending personalized messages.

  The Fishers’ response had been terse, merely saying that they would be happy to attend. Woody’s RSVP was more effusive, telling Olga he could never resist any request she made but that Philip unfortunately had previous plans. From my one brief exposure to Philip in front of the police station, I imagined the Manheim men were happy to go their own separate ways when the opportunity arose. Sarah Christopher’s reply was predictably flirtatious. I wondered if she thought her words were for Vaughan’s eyes only or if she enjoyed the idea that Olga might see her message and read more into their acquaintance than was actually the case.

  Maria Elena hovered by the door to the media room, waiting for me to notice her, but I was engrossed in reading the Buckleys’ e-mail.

  “Señora Fletcher,” she called out, “I have made lunch. Would you like me to bring it to you on a tray?”

  “Oh, excuse me, Maria Elena,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were there. No need to bring lunch up. I’ll be down in a few minutes. You go ahead without me.”