Murdered in Argentina: A Jack Trout Cozy Mystery

by Dianne Harman

  “Yeah, I’ve thought the same thing, but I honestly don’t know what I can do to speed up the process. I really think I’m the best qualified person to be president of the company. He kind of dangles it in front of me like a toreador does with a red cape in a bullfight, but he never sets a date for his retirement. It’s getting downright embarrassing. I’m the heir apparent, but the king isn’t stepping down from the throne, so what does that make me? I feel like I’m being played for a fool and maybe I am. I’m starting to get angry about it. It’s gone on way too long.”

  “Oh Mitch, don’t worry” she said, “you’ll think of something. You always do. I take back everything I said. Blame it on being disappointed. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure the kids understand what going on this trip means to your career. They can schedule an anniversary party for us a couple of weeks after you get back. It’s really not that big of a deal. People do it all the time.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. At 5’2” he was a foot taller than his petite wife.

  “Nina, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve having a wife like you, but when we met during the first day in that Introduction to History class in college, it had to have been the best day of my life. I know the only reason I’ve gotten as far as I have is because of you. I promise I won’t let you down. One way or another, this is the last time we’ll be apart on our anniversary. That I swear to you.”

  “Darling, it is what it is. We have each other, and that’s all that really matters. Anyway, anniversaries are just dates in time. We can make our own anniversary date. Try not to think about it when you’re on the trip. It really is a wonderful opportunity for you, plus I imagine you’ll have some quality time with Ray. Maybe he’ll finally realize the time has come for you to take over the company.”

  He buried his face in her long auburn hair and thought I really can’t do this to her again. I’ve got to find a way to convince Ray it’s time for him to retire. I owe it to Nina.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Well, Ray, now that we made it into Argentina,” Jack said, “you’re about to have the experience of a lifetime, fly fishing in the Patagonia region of Argentina. It doesn’t get any better than this. It’s a perfect place to use that split bamboo fly rod you’ve been carrying and some of those antique hand-tied flies you inherited from your father.”

  “I know it sounds strange, but I’m really excited about using that rod. I don’t know if I ever told you the story about how my dad got the rod and the flies. It’s pretty interesting,” Ray said.

  “No. The only thing you told me was that you inherited them from your dad. I’d love to hear the story,” Jack said as he drove down the isolated highway towards the small town of San Martin de Los Andes.

  “My grandfather was a dyed-in-the-wool Republican and was a good friend of Dwight Eisenhower,” Ray began. “My family originally came from Abilene, Kansas, before they moved to the San Francisco area. My grandfather and Ike went to West Point together. Their friendship continued through the years, since they were both nuts about fly fishing. When Ike became president, whenever it was possible, my grandfather would travel back East and fish with him. Occasionally they’d meet halfway and fish in Colorado. Over the years, several people who wanted to curry favor with the President of the United States gave Ike rare and highly collectible fly rods and flies.

  When Ike got too old to fish, he called my grandfather and asked him to bring my father to see him. Long story short, he gave my dad a split bamboo Winston rod from the early 1900’s and a full box of flies tied around the same time. Not only were they really expensive and rare, but the fact that a president of the United States owned them and fished with them makes it almost impossible to put a value on them, at least that’s what I’ve been told. They’re beyond value, really priceless, and even though I have them insured, no one can say with any certainty what they’re worth. I keep them under lock and key in a glass case in my home, and like Lisa said earlier, adding to the collection has become my hobby, however, everything I’ve ever bought is way down the ladder value-wise from the Eisenhower fly rod and flies. I decided when I came on this trip I’d use the rod and the flies for the first time.”

  “Wow! I can’t wait to see them, but I’ve got to tell you you’re really putting pressure on me to make sure you get into some fish while you’re using that special rod and the flies,” Jack said laughing. “Trust me, I’ll do everything I can to make it happen.”

  “Ray, for Pete’s sake, that rod is just a stupid old piece of bamboo, and those dumb flies are just some feathers and hair glued together to look like some kind of a strange bug. Sure doesn’t seem like that big of a deal to me,” Lisa said, tossing her head back and frowning.

  Jack and Ray exchanged glances and even Carola, although she didn’t fish, knew what Lisa had just said was probably one of the dumbest comments she’d ever heard. To Jack and Carola, it was pretty apparent they were witnessing a marriage that had become totally dysfunctional, and there certainly was a question in each of their minds whether or not the marriage had ever been functional.

  About an hour later, Jack said, “We’ll be having lunch in the next town we come to. There’s a special restaurant where I stop every time I come to this part of Argentina.”

  “What’s so special about it?” Ray asked.

  “Well, it’s got some flies displayed in glass cases that were tied by some very famous fly fishermen as well as photos of huge rainbow trout caught in the local area. That’s in addition to the best steaks and chimichurri sauce I’ve ever had in my life. We’ve gotten to know the owner and a lot of the waiters. Each time we come they give us a bottle of chimichurri sauce to take home with us. While you three go in and get seated, I’ll double check and make sure the information center where Ray needs to get his Argentina fishing license will be open when we’re finished with lunch.”

  Jack turned off the highway and drove to the center of the small town of Rica Hueney, stopping in front of a large restaurant. “Go on in. I’ll be back in a minute. You can order me a beer,” he said over his shoulder as he quickly strode to the information center located in the next block.

  Lisa, Ray, and Carola walked into the nearly empty restaurant. The owner hurried over to Carola and kissed her on both cheeks. “You’re just in time,” he said as he turned the open sign on the restaurant door over to show that it was now closed. “Follow me. I’ve set a table up in back for you. I was worried you’d gotten tied up at the border and would have to skip lunch.”

  “No, the border just took a little longer than we thought it would,” Carola said, deliberately not looking at Lisa who appeared to be oblivious to the fact she was responsible for the delay. They walked over to the table the owner had set for them and were immediately given menus by the attentive waiter.

  A few minutes later Jack sat down at the table and said, “We’re in luck. The information center doesn’t close for siesta time, like so many of the local places do, so when we finish here we’ll get Ray’s fishing license.” Each of them read the extensive menu and then placed their orders with the waiter.

  Two waiters brought their food, and Jack and Carola eagerly waited to see what Lisa and Ray’s response would be to the food. Ray was the first to speak, “I know we’re in cattle country, and I figured I’d be eating a lot of meat, but I had to try this lemon trout, and from the looks of it, I think I’m going to be very happy I did.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Lisa said, looking at the huge steak that nearly covered her entire plate. “I don’t know why they would serve such a large steak. I mean, who could possibly eat it? It’s a joke, and in my opinion, a really bad joke. What a waste. I’ve probably gained ten pounds just looking at it.”

  “I’ll tell you who can eat it,” Carola answered. “I ordered the same thing you did, and I can and will eat all of it. Hands down, although this restaurant is located in a small village, it’s one of the best in Argentina. The food is always perfect.” With that said, Carola picked up
her steak knife and cut into the perfectly cooked steak. “As many times as I’ve been here, I’ve never been disappointed.” True to her word, a half hour later there wasn’t a piece of steak left on her plate. And true to her word, Lisa had only nibbled at hers.

  “Lisa, forget the diet you’re always on,” Ray said. “So what if you gain a pound or two? Like you said, you probably won’t pass this way again, and it would be a shame not to enjoy the beef Argentina is known for. I mean when you think of Argentina, what comes to mind? If you’re like me, it’s gauchos, barbecues, and steak. We saw a gaucho riding a horse on the side of the highway a little while ago, and from now on, although the trout was wonderful, I’m going to enjoy the beef that Argentina is so famous for.”

  “Time to go,” Jack said, accepting the bottle of chimichurri sauce the waiter handed him. “Jose, thank you. We’ll see you in a few months. As you know, you’re the first place we stop when we cross over the border, and we’re never sorry.” He turned to Ray, “Let’s get your fishing license, and then we need to drive to the lodge which is located on the other side of San Martin de Los Andes. By the time we get there the rest of your group should already be at the lodge, which by the way, is also a working cattle ranch. There’s a lake in front of the lodge, and we should have enough time before dinner to do a little casting. I can’t wait to see that bamboo rod and those flies.”

  CHAPTER 4

  As he boarded the big Boeing 787 Dreamliner commercial jet in Miami, Brad Dixon could barely contain his excitement now that he was finally on his way to Argentina. He sat down in the roomy business class section, glad he’d had to first attend a conference in Miami before leaving for Argentina. That way he didn’t have to fly with the other members of the Moving Graphics Company going on the trip. He wanted to spend part of the flight using his laptop computer to research the fishing gear his boss, Ray Martin, had told him he’d be bringing with him to Argentina.

  People knew Brad Dixon was a fly fisherman, but what they didn’t know was that he had an extensive collection of antique fly fishing equipment. He regarded it as almost sacred, and he’d never shared it with anyone. When he wanted to bid on antique fly fishing items at an auction, he always had someone else bid for him. He did the same thing when he saw something he wanted in an antique shop or listed for sale online. He paid in cash, and no one knew that Brad Dixon was the ultimate buyer and possessed one of the most extensive and valuable collections of antique fly fishing equipment in the country.

  He’d started collecting antique fly fishing gear after his father died. His father taught him how to fish when he was a young boy, and he’d impressed upon Brad the importance of catch and release fishing. His father was a fly fisherman, and that was the only type of fishing Brad had ever done. His memories of his father were precious, as his father died from throat cancer when Brad was in his late teens. Before he passed away, Brad and his father had formed a strong bond of which fly fishing was the cornerstone.

  He smiled as he remembered the fishing trips he and his father had taken. By the time Brad was fifteen he’d been to Alaska and British Columbia several times, fly fishing for salmon, as well as fishing with his dad on most of the trophy trout streams in Montana and Wyoming. As the vice-president of a large oil company, disposable income was not a problem for Brad’s father.

  Brad’s mother divorced his father when Brad was only two and left to find “her passion,” as his father called it. It became obvious to Brad when he got older that her passion had not included Brad or his father. He had no memory of her other than that of a woman who was in a couple of photographs his father had kept. After his father died, Brad threw them away.

  When the stewardess announced they were flying at an altitude of 32,000 feet, and it was safe for passengers to turn on their laptops and other electronic items, he eagerly booted his up and began his search for the three types of antique fishing gear Ray had mentioned he’d be using when they fished in Argentina. He spent several hours learning all he could about those three things, namely (1) Winston split bamboo fly rods from the late 1920’s; (2) antique collector quality flies from the early 1900’s; and (3) Hardy Perfect fly rod reels, first produced in 1890.

  When he was finished he sat back and tried to ignore what he was feeling. He ordered a scotch and water from the stewardess, hoping that would make the intense longing he was feeling go away or at least mask it. The drink didn’t help. If anything, it only intensified his desire to have the three things Ray owned added to his collection, which actually could be better described as a shrine to memorialize his father.

  It’s very simple, Brad thought. I’ve got to have those three items. I don’t know how I’ll get them, but one way or another I will. Dad will be so happy when he looks down and sees them. He’ll be so proud of me.

  He put a pillow behind his head, opened the blanket the stewardess had given him, and spread it out. In a few moments he was fast asleep, dreaming of the Winston rod, the box of flies, and the Hardy reel. A stewardess walking down the aisle wondered what was causing the man in seat 13C to smile so broadly in his sleep. It was better she didn’t know.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Gentlemen,” Janelle Byers said to her two fellow Moving Graphics colleagues as they stepped out of the SUV at the fishing lodge, “I enjoyed the flights and the dinner last night in Buenos Aires, but I’m really beat. I’m glad to be here, and right now taking a nap takes precedence over everything else. If I’m going to catch any fish, I need some rest. See you later.”

  Manuel Diaz, one of the fishing guides at the lodge, opened the front door of the lodge for her and carried her luggage up the stairs to the room where she would be staying during the fishing trip. “If you need anything, Ms. Byers, please let one of the staff know,” Manuel said. “I hope you enjoy your stay, and I look forward to fishing with you.”

  “Thank you, Manuel. I’m looking forward to fishing, but before I do anything, I need to call my fiancé and let him know that I’ve arrived safely.”

  She took her phone out of the large leather tote bag she always carried with her when she traveled. It was large enough to easily accommodate her laptop and any other personal items she wanted to carry with her rather than ship them through in her luggage.

  “Darling, how are you?” her fiancé, Andrew White asked when he answered his phone.

  “I’m tired. As you know, we flew from San Francisco to Dallas and had a layover there of several hours, and then it was a ten-and-a-half-hour flight to Buenos Aires. Believe me, I was completely jet lagged. I joined Dean and Kevin for dinner at the hotel last night, and I think we were all in bed by 9:00. The South Americans eat much later than we Americans do, so we were the first ones in the restaurant which didn’t even open until 8:00. When we left, nearly an hour later, there were only a handful of customers in the restaurant, and it’s billed as one of the most popular in Buenos Aires. How’s my favorite wealth management banker doing? Have you had any luck raising the money to pay me back?”

  It was very quiet on the other end of the phone, and Janelle knew what was coming. “Janelle, I’m trying, honestly I am. I know you’ve got to put the money back into the Moving Graphics bank account before anyone finds out it’s gone. At least having Ray in Argentina gives us a little breathing room.”

  Janelle thought back to their conversation several weeks earlier which had led to this moment. Andrew had told her how he’d been taking money from the accounts of several of his clients in a Ponzi scheme much like the one Bernie Madoff had successfully pulled off for many years. He’d told her he’d invested the money in a start-up company in which a friend of his was involved. Andrew said his friend promised him he had so many people who wanted to invest in the company it would only be a matter of a couple of days until he could pay Andrew back the amount he’d invested plus a bonus of two hundred thousand dollars.

  One of Andrew’s clients was a lawyer who had recently become semi-retired and decided he wanted to manage his own portfoli
o. He told Andrew he wanted to withdraw one million dollars from his account. The problem was Andrew didn’t have the funds to pay him. He’d skimmed money from the lawyer’s account and used it to invest in his friend’s start-up company. When he did it, he was sure his friend would repay him in a matter of only a few days, and he would get his investment back plus the two hundred thousand dollar promised bonus.

  Much to Andrew’s dismay, his friend told him several of the people who were going to invest in the start-up company had backed out, and the repayment plus the bonus wouldn’t be paid for several months. Andrew was concerned that if his Ponzi scheme unraveled, he would almost certainly wind up in jail. Based on those concerns, he’d reluctantly told Janelle that even though he loved her, he thought it would be best to call off their wedding for now.

  Janelle was deeply in love with Andrew White and thought at her age she’d been incredibly lucky to find him. He was ruggedly handsome, utterly charming, and connected to some of the most important people in San Francisco. She’d become used to going to the gala events that were often on his schedule. Rarely a week went by that they weren’t attending the opera, the symphony, fund raisers for politicians, or important art gallery openings. She loved her new life and had no intention of calling off the wedding, particularly since the invitations had already been sent. People would probably think she’d been jilted and left at the altar if the wedding was cancelled.

  Transferring a million dollars from one of the many Moving Graphics bank accounts was a small price to pay for becoming the wife of Andrew White. As the head of the Finance Department for the company, she’d made some internal bookkeeping adjustments and transferred the money to Andrew, who promised it would be repaid in just a few days. The days had led to weeks, and she was becoming concerned that sooner or later, someone would question the disparate numbers in the accounting records of the company.