“No. I kept talking to him, but he didn’t respond. He was unconscious. Maybe he was already dead. I don’t know. I just remember yelling. Yelling at the men. Yelling at Woody. And then everything went black.”
Father Alfredo had returned while we’d been making the rounds of the room. He stood near the door, quietly listening to Vaughan’s story. We stopped in front of him. He took Vaughan’s hand and patted it. “God has spared you,” he said. “I will pray for you tonight, and for the souls of the men who mistreated you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Did you see anything outside?” I asked.
“It was quiet. I think we should try to leave,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, turning to Vaughan. “I’ll feel a lot better once we have you home and we can report back to the police. Do you think you can walk a short distance?”
“I’ll try.”
I pulled the strap of my bag over my shoulder, turned off the lights in the warehouse, and opened the door. We stepped outside into the cool night, pulling the door shut behind us. Something was not right. There was a hum in the air that hadn’t been there earlier. I strained to see into the dark. My eyes had adjusted to the lights inside the building, and I couldn’t see ahead of me.
“What is it, Jessica?” Vaughan whispered.
“I’m not sure,” I whispered back.
We heard a click and a blinding searchlight poured over us, fixing us where we stood, as unable to move as butterflies pinned to a board. I squinted against the glare, shielding my eyes with my arm, trying urgently to see beyond the perimeter of the brilliant whiteness. The light was followed by the sound of a dozen rifles being cocked. Vaughan and I huddled together. Father Alfredo began to pray behind us.
“Put your hands up.” The voice coming through the bullhorn was speaking English. “And keep them up.”
As we raised our hands, a uniformed man stepped out of the darkness into the pool of light. It was Captain Gutierrez.
“Oh, thank goodness, it’s you,” I said.
Gutierrez touched a finger to his cap. “Señora Fletcher. I did not think to find you here.” He gestured for us to put our hands down. “Padre.” He nodded to Father Alfredo. “I see we are too late to rescue Señor Buckley.”
“On the contrary,” I said. “You’re just in time. We want to get him home. His wife will be waiting, I’m sure.”
Ignoring me, Gutierrez addressed Vaughan. “My apologies for your suffering, Señor,” he said. “I am Captain Gutierrez.”
“Captain,” Vaughan said, “I am very pleased to see you.”
“May I escort you to the car?”
“Thank you,” Vaughan said. “I would appreciate that.”
Gutierrez assisted Vaughan to the patrol car, glancing back to give me a puzzled look. He helped him into the front passenger seat, then held the rear door open for Father Alfredo and me. The driver was one of the men we’d seen outside the cantina.
The captain closed the door and bent down to talk through the open window. “My officer will drive you home. Tomorrow, when you are refreshed, we will come to your home to ask you some questions.”
“I appreciate your consideration,” Vaughan said. “I’ll be happy to talk to you then.”
“I can assure you, Señor, we will find out who is responsible for this.”
I leaned forward. “Captain?”
“Sí, Señora?”
“I think I can help you there.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Word travels quickly in San Miguel de Allende. The following day the house began to fill up as friends and acquaintances crowded in to welcome Vaughan back. Bearing all manner of Mexican dishes that I recognized—tostadas, tamales, enchiladas, fajitas, sweet empanadas, wedding cookies, and flan—and even more that I didn’t but that looked delicious, they filed into the house, depositing their gifts in the kitchen with Maria Elena. In short order the dining room table was laden with dishes and platters and trays of food, and as many as possible of the bouquets of flowers that had been arriving every hour, it seemed.
Olga had greeted Vaughan’s return the night before with ecstatic exclamations, embraces, tears of joy, and palpable anxiety about his condition. He had refused her appeals that they call a doctor, saying all he wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. After effusively thanking everyone—the police, Father Alfredo, Maria Elena, and me—and urging us to help ourselves to food and drink, Olga had ushered Vaughan upstairs to their suite, where she’d run a steamy bath for him, and as he’d soaked, plied him with more food than the poor man could possibly consume, along with pots of tea that she’d spiked heavily with brandy. She’d thrown out his soiled clothing, made a fire in the bedroom fireplace, and used an old-fashioned iron warmer to heat the sheets so that the bed would be cozy and comforting when he climbed beneath the covers. Her ministrations and a good night’s sleep had done wonders for her husband, who, looking refreshed, came downstairs in the morning to an enormous breakfast and a continuous welcoming reception from San Miguel.
The church bells had sounded longer than usual, a mark that the celebrant at La Parroquia had learned the news. The mayor came to the house in person this time, together with a photographer, to pump Vaughan’s hand, congratulate him on his courage, and present him with the key to the city. The editor of Noticias showed up with his own camera to take a few pictures, jot down a few quotes, and obtain the promise of a longer interview once Vaughan felt up to it. He accepted an invitation to stay and share in the festivities. A television station in Mexico City sent a camera crew who wanted to film Vaughan back at the warehouse, but Olga put her foot down. The TV reporter had to content himself with filing his story standing in the courtyard in front of the house.
Arm slung around Olga’s shoulder, Vaughan spent most of the morning on the telephone with the press, and also with well-wishers and friends from New York and elsewhere in the States, all giddy with delight at his rescue.
“No, no, I’m fine,” I heard him say. “Jessica found me. I don’t know. I haven’t even had a chance to ask her. Yes, she’s a good friend as well as a bestselling writer.” He waved at me. “Not at all. We have no plans to sell our house in San Miguel. We love it here.” He winked at Olga. “Well, the first order of business is to improve my Spanish. Yes, it would have been helpful to speak with my captors, or at least to be able to understand more of what they were saying. . . . No, I don’t think they spoke any English. . . . Well, I listened, and I was able to make out some of the discussion, but I didn’t try out my rudimentary Spanish. For one thing, I didn’t want to discourage them from talking in front of me.”
It was wonderful to see him happy. He was thinner and there were still traces of the pallor that had suffused his face when we’d found him, but he was visibly relaxed, relieved to be in familiar surroundings, even jovial in recounting his misadventures. In fact, I thought I detected a hint of him basking in all the hoopla and attention that attended his homecoming.
“I hadn’t thought about writing a book, but maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” he told a publishing colleague. “Olga, sweetheart, please make a note about that. I’ll have to get back to you on that, Dan. But if Signet thinks it’s a good idea, Buckley House may entertain the notion.”
They had rarely left each other’s side. Olga had parked Vaughan on the sofa in the living room, sitting beside him and forming a human barrier to keep everyone at a safe distance. “Don’t you dare get up when people come in,” she said, frowning at him. “All that up and down will tire you out. No one will think you’re being discourteous.”
“I’m not an invalid, Olga. I’m feeling better by the minute.”
“Humor me.”
“I guess I’ll have to,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’m afraid you’ll get violent if I disobey.”
“It’s a definite possibility,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t tempt me.”
Dina pulled at my sleeve. “Isn’t it exciting, Jessica
? And so romantic. Roberto and I are thrilled he’s safe.”
Roberto’s expression didn’t match his wife’s words. “I don’t suppose you’ll have time now to work with me on our book,” he said.
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“It could have been a big bestseller, you know.”
“Well, in that case,” I said, “you should continue working on it. I’ll be happy to read it when you’re finished and, if you like, make some suggestions.”
“I’d rather you gave it to your editor.”
“Why don’t you get it written first,” I said.
“Roberto, did you see the buffet?” Dina asked, tugging her husband toward the dining room. “Excuse us, Jessica.”
“You look pretty good, considering,” Guy Kovach said to Vaughan. “Doesn’t he?” he asked his wife, Nancy, as well as Cathie Harrison and Eric Gewirtz, who sat on the sofa across from the Buckleys.
“That’s because you can’t see the scars inside,” Vaughan said.
“You’re kidding, right?” Nancy said. “They didn’t beat you or anything?”
“No. They decided tying me to a chair all day long and dumping me in a crate at night was sufficient torture.”
“He’s a lucky man,” said Roberto, who rejoined us, balancing two plates of food. Dina put down her margarita to turn a desk chair around for her husband to sit. “You know the odds were against you,” he said to Vaughan.
“They weren’t going to hurt him till they got the money,” Guy said. “You saved a bundle by getting rescued.”
“He’s worth more than all the money in the world to me,” Olga said.
“I never thought of San Miguel as being dangerous,” Cathie said, “or I wouldn’t have brought my children here.”
“There’s no place without crime,” Eric countered. “We’ve taught them to be cautious and not to trust strangers. And there’s no chance they’ll be driving after dark on these roads. You do what you can, and then you have to trust their judgment.”
“This isn’t Mexico City,” Roberto said. “We have a pretty low crime rate, all in all.”
“Except for theft,” Dina put in.
“I’ve never had anything stolen,” Nancy said.
Sarah entered the room, her expression serious. “Thank God,” she said when she saw Vaughan. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you.” There was none of the flirtatiousness that had marked her previous exchanges with him. “I prayed every day that the police would find you, and my prayers were answered.”
“Actually, it was Jessica and Father Alfredo who found me,” Vaughan said. “But thanks for your prayers. I’m grateful for all the concern about me and especially for all the support everyone gave Olga. I was more worried about her—and Woody—than about myself.”
“Woody’s funeral is tomorrow,” Sarah said. “I hope you’ll be able to make it.”
“Without question, I’ll be there. How is Philip?”
“He’s doing okay. He’s here somewhere.”
“He is?”
“I brought him with me. He was glad to hear you were rescued.”
Vaughan ignored Olga’s instructions and struggled to his feet, his muscles still sore from his ordeal. “I’d like to talk with Philip,” he told her.
“Of course,” she said, taking his arm. “Let’s go find him.”
Sarah took Olga’s place on the sofa. “You’re quite the sleuth, I hear,” she said to me.
“I’ve been lucky at times,” I said.
“With the kind of luck you have,” Guy said, “I’d like to take you to Las Vegas with me.”
“Guy!” his wife said, but she flashed a smile at me.
“You can come too, Nancy. I wouldn’t leave you home.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
Guy slapped his thighs. “That’s a great-looking plate of food our friend Roberto has over there,” he said. “I’m going to get something to eat. C’mon, Nancy.”
The Kovachs went off to the dining room, and Cathie and Eric followed them.
Roberto waited till they were out of hearing range before commenting, “See? What did I tell you? He’s always looking for the easy buck.”
“Not now,” his wife said, frowning into her empty glass.
Maria Elena came to me and whispered that Chief Rivera and Captain Gutierrez were in the courtyard.
I went to find them. “Chief Rivera, I hadn’t realized you’d returned,” I said, shaking his hand. “I’m happy to see you again.”
“And I, Señora Fletcher, was very pleased to learn that your good friend has been found.”
“He has, and thanks to Captain Gutierrez, he’s safely at home.”
“I understand from my captain that you have been very busy in my absence.”
“Captain Gutierrez has been most helpful,” I said, eyeing Gutierrez and daring him to contradict me.
“Is that so?”
“We were in a precarious position last night, in a deserted part of town, afraid the kidnappers might come back, and with no one to help us. If the captain hadn’t turned up when he did, I don’t know what would have happened.” I smiled at Gutierrez.
“Señora,” the captain said, nodding at me. His face was set in a scowl. I had thought we might have come to some kind of acceptance after the previous night, but it was not to be. Captain Gutierrez wasn’t about to drop his macho façade, no matter what.
Rivera smiled. “I didn’t hear the story quite the same way.”
“Come in and join the welcome home party,” I said. “Everyone is so grateful for Vaughan’s safe recovery.”
They followed me inside.
“You know we finally traced the murder weapon,” Rivera said. “The gun belonged—”
“To Woody,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Yes, I know.”
Rivera’s eyebrows shot up.
“You see?” Gutierrez said.
Vaughan was back on the couch. The day’s social activities had taken an obvious toll. He was drawn, and the dark crescents under his eyes that a good night’s sleep had softened were starting to reappear. He perked up at the sight of the policemen, however, and stood to greet them.
“Señor Buckley, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Chief Rivera said after I’d introduced them.
“The pleasure is mine,” Vaughan replied. He shook hands with Gutierrez. “Good of you to come.”
“Actually,” Rivera said, “we’re here on official business.”
“I thought you might be,” Vaughan said. “Would you like to go upstairs to my study where it’s quiet?”
“I don’t think so.” Rivera raised his eyebrows at me. “Señora Fletcher, my colleague informs me that you might have some knowledge to contribute about the crime. If that’s the case, I would like to hear it.”
“I do have a theory,” I said. “After talking with Father Alfredo last night, I’m convinced the men responsible for the kidnapping were simply hired thugs, working for someone else.”
“Who would that person be?” Rivera asked.
“It had to be someone who not only knew that the mail run was going to take place but also knew the precise timetable.”
“That could be anyone in this room,” Guy said.
“Yes, it could.”
“You’re not accusing one of us, Jessica, are you?” Sarah asked.
I didn’t answer, letting the silence speak, and looking at each person in turn. My eyes rested on Roberto.
He was visibly nervous. “Buckley and I haven’t always gotten along,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with this.”
“They’re not accusing you,” Dina said. “Roberto would never hurt anyone, would you, Bob?”
“Shut up, Dina.”
She closed her eyes momentarily, then got up and walked away.
Philip had come into the room after the police had arrived, followed by the editor of Noticias, but they kept their distance from the others, Philip obviously uncomf
ortable among his father’s friends and Guillermo Sylva reluctant to draw attention to himself and possibly be asked to leave. Maria Elena and Hector stood in the doorway.
Philip spoke up. “You don’t think those men were just bandits waiting for whoever showed up?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “They were waiting for Woody and Vaughan. They knew they would be returning, and they had a good idea what time it would be.”
“That should cut down the number of people with inside knowledge, Jessica,” Vaughan said. “I called Olga, so I presume you and Maria Elena knew we were on our way home. Woody must have called Philip. Am I right, Philip?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell anyone?” Vaughan asked.
“That my father was on his way back? I—I don’t know. I might have mentioned it to a few friends. That doesn’t mean they were involved. I told you, too, Sarah, didn’t I? Did you tell anyone?”
“No. I don’t believe I spoke with anyone about it. No offense, but it wasn’t something of great interest. Woody went on mail runs all the time.”
“How do you know,” Captain Gutierrez asked me, “that these criminals were waiting to ambush Señor Manheim and Señor Buckley?”
“Father Alfredo told me that they had been recruited by a man they called El Grande.”
“El Grande? That’s funny,” Nancy said. “That means ‘the big one.’ That’s what they call Guy at the local market. Got to watch that tummy, hon.”
Her husband glared at her. She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. “No, no, it couldn’t have been Guy,” she said. “We had no idea when Vaughan and Woody would be back.”
“No, we didn’t,” Guy confirmed, his face grim.
“The padre, he knows who these men are?” Gutierrez asked.
“If he does, he’ll never tell you,” Vaughan said.
“Why not?” Nancy asked.
“He would likely claim the sanctity of the confessional,” I said. “Whatever he learns when someone goes to confession must be kept strictly confidential. That’s a rule of the Church. If he breaks that rule, he could face excommunication.”
“But what if what he found out about them wasn’t from confession?” Philip asked.
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